Free Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) by K.A. Merikan

true purpose.
    The room was rather spartan, with a simple wooden
bed with drawers under the mattress, a low table and chair, and a medium-sized
chest where Crunch kept his belongings. There was only enough room to move
between the bed and door, but at least he had a small window, so he didn’t have
to rely on candles all the time. He was also prepared to use the window as an
escape route in case of an emergency.
    During his time off, Crunch liked to be outside
anyway, so he didn’t mind the room being cramped. Having no lodging privileges
also meant he wouldn’t get any envy about it from other guards, which was a
good position to be in.
    He had a night of patrol today, but he didn’t mind
the long walk along the fences as it would also give him a chance to sneak out.
The conclusion to his mission was coming in huge strides, and it was now a few
days, maybe a week away. Tonight, he was to meet one of his informers in the
forest, and while the trips outside the camp have never been pleasant, at least
the distance he had to cross was getting shorter and safer each time.
Unbeknownst to the people of Honeyhill, a fenced passage to the camp was being
built close by. Since none of the patrols actually included going out into the
woods, the Humanists could remain undetected as long as the occasional
fugitives kept running along the rail track to London, unknowingly keeping the
coast clear on the other side of the farm.
    With a sigh, Crunch grabbed the ring on his neck
and brought it up for examination. It was solid gold, that he was sure of. The
band resembled an intricate crown of leaves that surrounded a single ruby. He
still couldn’t believe what happened in the afternoon. Only a day ago, he told
Victor to stay out of trouble, follow the rules, and what he got was Victor
hiding gold up his sleeve.
    Crunch opened the chest all the way. If he was to
go out into the forest, he had to be as well protected as possible. One of the
best things about being a guard in Honeyhill was the outerwear they were
equipped with for emergencies and which Crunch took full advantage of. Thick
leather gloves, a jacket buckled up with straps so it fit snugly but left
enough room for movement, a helmet with enforced leather at the back of the
neck. The gear made him slightly less flexible, but it was a small price to pay
for enhanced safety.
    Crunch left on time, strolling towards the fence
when the sun started slowly going down. Once in a while, he tried to discreetly
look back under the pretence of lacing his shoes or adjusting some strap, but
no one was following him. After several months in the camp, he was relieved at
the thought of being able to be himself again. It had been a tense six months,
having to not only watch but also participate in the torment, even if he never
resorted to violence when it could be avoided without blowing his cover. And
while he was happy Victor would be out of danger in a matter of days, today’s
events shook Crunch’s confidence in the lad. It was clear Victor tried to use
his charms as payment for the keepsake, even if he insisted that wasn’t the
case.
    Did he consider fucking Crunch a chore that he had
to go through for safety? Crunch really thought it couldn’t be that bad for
him. Last time, he had a thorough wash before their meeting, got a fresh shirt,
all the best food he could gather on short notice... yet still he felt queasy
about the idea of fucking someone who might be secretly resentful. He knew he
should stop the flirting at once, but it wasn’t all that easy. Victor was such
a looker, he seemed eager, and Crunch had been horny and alone for long enough.
Would fucking a willing man really be such a bad thing after having carried out
a dangerous job for such a long time? Didn’t Crunch deserve a bit of a break?
Maybe he should just get Victor the food and pretend he wasn’t interested in
anything but company to evaluate the lad's intentions?
    Eventually, he reached a remote part of the