Page 25 of Hansel and Gerhardt (The GriMM Tales #3)

Hunger

G erhardt’s head swam. A touch of nausea ate away at him—a cloying, ever-present nausea, in the background, but just solid enough to cloud his thoughts.

It was food he needed. Something to eat. Then he could start to get a handle on things.

Naked, hair washed, he dried himself, then searched about for his clothes. Breeches on the floor. No shirt. Broken boots. Green.

That’s right. Herr Candy had said to put on the green.

He stepped one leg, then the other into the new breeches. They puffed out, then curled in just below the knee. Shorter than his own. But socks…

There. Green and white, checkered. Bizarre socks that would stretch over his knees.

He gave a shrug and dropped onto the bed to put them on. What did he care, anyway? It was food he needed.

His gut shrank and curled at the thought of it. The veins beneath his wrists seemed to throb for it. Food. What would Herr Candy give them tonight?

Maybe he should have chopped more wood. Done something more for him, so he’d deserve a better meal.

He’d looked mad just before.

He’d looked so angry.

Gerhardt knew what he’d wanted him to say. Gerhardt knew he’d wanted permission to stay. To bathe him. To watch him. And his tongue almost said it, almost wrecked the lot for him. But Hansel…

Gerhardt leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands.

Lovely Hansel.

How was he to get him out of there?

His stomach groaned, and that damned hunger!

One and a half cakes and a biscuit. And he was starved. He was even hungrier somehow than he thought he’d have been had he had nothing.

He slid the shirt over his head, tucking it tight into the breeches. He pulled the vest on.

He looked stupid. But it hardly mattered. It was dinner time.

He strode to the door, wrenched it open, and there was Hansel. Hansel leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for him.

Gerhardt tried to reach a hand for him, but it didn’t move. It stayed at his side. He said, ‘ Hansel, I need you ,’ but the words that came out were, “You need to eat tonight.”

And he was walking towards the stairs. And Hansel had his hand, and he was telling him not to eat—he was begging him not to eat.

But what a stupid notion. To not eat in a candy house? Of course he would eat.

That hunger gnawing away.

He searched the walls, and would Herr Candy be very mad if he licked them? Just a little? If he bit that sweet, twisting bannister on the stairs, would he really mind? He could fix it, couldn’t he?

Then a surety hit him that Herr Candy would like him to bite it. Would like him to eat and eat and eat until he was plump and firm and ready.

Ready for what?

Hansel was speaking, but he was behind Gerhardt now. And Gerhardt was running down the stairs. Running through the living room. Running to the back of the house and to the table and Oh! But that table…

It was laden with every sort of good thing.

And Herr Candy, handsome, but repellant somehow, stepped forward, his fingertip blood red, and he brought it to Gerhardt’s lips and Gerhardt didn’t want it, not like that, but his tongue shot out, met the heavenly sauce, and his eyes shut out the world.

He was in the woods. He was in the woods, and it was hot and heady, and it was Hansel.

Hansel and his big body flush against him, and he wanted his finger deeper in his mouth.

He sucked him in, wrapped his tongue around him, dug his teeth gently into his flesh, and they weren’t going to stop this time.

He reached out a hand, seeking the press of Hansel’s cock, but his hand was caught.

Wrenched around and away, some semblance of the candy house flew by, all of it over Hansel’s shoulder as he ripped him from the kitchen, and he ran, Gerhardt stumbling after him to a blank wall, where Hansel shouted, “Where’s the door? What have you done?”

“There is no door,” Herr Candy drawled. “Why would there be a door?”

“Why would there be a door?” Gerhardt repeated, aiming his words at Hansel. “And why do you always say such stupid things?”

He’d heard the words on his lips, but he hadn’t said them.

He hadn’t .

He hadn’t even thought them.

And Hansel, who was strong and true, looked at him with so much fear and hurt in his eyes that all Gerhardt wanted was to throw his arms around his neck and apologise.

Instead, he said spitefully, “I wish there were one. And you could leave us alone. Then I would be happy, if only you were gone, you boring oaf.”

It was agony. The one precious thing he’d ever had in his life was Hansel’s heart, and he was tearing it all to pieces with his words. And he couldn’t stop them.

Hansel was barely breathing with the ache of the wound, and had there been a door, Gerhardt was sure he would have fled right then and there. And there should have been a door. And some confused part of him was scared Herr Candy would put it back just then.

It took all of his strength, every last spark of energy in an exhausted body, but he reached out and he gripped Hansel’s hand. He gripped him so tight he bruised his flesh. His short fingernails clenched so hard he pierced Hansel’s skin.

Hansel’s other hand was on his cheek, and Gerhardt was locked in, and he couldn’t grab him. He couldn’t tell him. He looked clear into the sapphire eyes, and he said, “I need to eat.”

“Like hell you will,” Hansel responded. He ripped his hand from Gerhardt’s, curling it into a fist. He took two steps towards Herr Candy, raised his arm high, and froze.

Deafening silence took the room. Gerhardt was bolted to the floor by some magic, Herr Candy not even flinching back from Hansel, and poor Hansel, struck with abject horror, stood with his arm utterly immobile.

“Oh dear,” said Herr Candy. “Look at your arm.”

It had turned to biscuit. The entire arm, from shoulder to fist, had become a curling biscuit, coated in icing sugar and roasted slivered almonds. His hand was rich with dripping chocolate, as if it had just been dipped. His shoulder too.

“How delicious you look,” said Herr Candy. He ran a finger through the chocolate, looked Hansel in the eye, and slowly raised it to his mouth.

“Stop!” cried Gerhardt.

Herr Candy’s finger paused a millimetre from his lips. He lowered his brow, and he smiled. “How are you still doing that?”

Gerhardt could barely understand him. It were as though his words were coming from far away, the nausea pounding in his ears drowning them out. “Stop,” he whispered.

Herr Candy reached out and wiped the smear of melted chocolate down Hansel’s cheek before making his way over to Gerhardt.

“There’s something very peculiar about the two of you.

” He raised Gerhardt’s chin. “Such a shame. You’re so, so pretty.

” He dropped his hands to his hips and gave a heavy sigh.

“Very well. Would you like him to have his arm back, dearest?”

“Yes,” Gerhardt begged. “Please.”

“And you’ll promise to behave and be a good dinner guest?”

“Gerhardt!” came a warning from Hansel.

“I promise,” Gerhardt said. “Anything you want.”

“Good,” said Herr Candy, hitting the ‘d’ of the word hard. “Then keep your animal under control, and we shan’t speak of this again.”