A Good Soldier

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Booksie Classic
Aniello Adelberg is an eighteen year old Italian Jewish immigrant living in Bavaria, Germany. He is involved in a train crash, after his family are captured and sent to Dachau work camp. Finding refugee in a nearby barn, he realizes he isn't alone.

Submitted: July 10, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 17, 2017



Day 1


6:35 p.m.


The young man stared hard at the unmoving figure sitting just across from him. Quietly trying to peak out of eyes that were bloodshot red, and his face was stained with dry tears. The lifeless body before him was slumped down against a bed of hay, breathing heavily through his mouth, in and out repeatedly. His black uniform was crisp and clean, except for the stain of blood on his left breast where he had been stabbed. His jet black hair was swept back and combed neatly, without the slightest hint of tampering. This man's name, he had learned, was Josef Herman.  Age 28 and a current lieutenant in Herman Gorring's established  gestapo police force. The boy, who hid behind the pole in the barn they both resided in, was unfortunately of Jewish descent, with some Italian characteristics hidden deep in his amber brown eyes and honey roasted skin. He wondered how it came to be, that he was so ill fated, he would be in the presence of a gestapo officer during the height of the Second World War. It was probably that name that did it. Yeah...it was always the name.


5:30 p.m.


The year was 1944 in Bavaria, Germany and his little family was just a little ways south of the state. The boy had just been issued his first golden star by the nazi officials. He and his family were in the midst of leaving-or rather fleeing-to find safe refuge with close relatives in neighboring Czechoslovakia. However, even though they looked more Italian, especially himself, they were ultimately Jews. The officers seized his family and threw them on a train headed for a work camp in Dachau. On that train, he saw stripped outfits, worn out faces, mixed with people who looked like they were also seized suddenly. Their normal life, or what little could be called normal, was forever disrupted by the reality of Nazi Germany. On that train, when the camp was in sight, a man stood up and revealed a concealed handgun he had stowed away in his pant leg. The boy didn't remember what happened next, only that a gunshot was heard and screaming could be heard. The next thing he knew, somehow he was being thrown off the train. When he recovered from his painful fall, he looked up to see the train had swerved off the tracks and crashed just a ways ahead of him. He immediately wanted to run, to go help his family, but he could also hear the sounds of gunfire from the officers and sight of innocent people running for their lives. With a heavy heart, he fled. Without looking back, tears streaming down his face, he ran full speed to get as far away as possible from the train.




 It was early December, and colder than usual in Germany. So the boy was glad when he had happened to perchance upon an abandoned farm just as it was beginning to snow. He had grabbed some fruit from an apple tree, then hurried into the abandoned barn to escape the cold. When he entered the barn, the floor was covered with soft hay and he collapsed to the floor, exhausted from the stress of the day. Just as he was about doze off, he noticed that a fire had been started where the fireplace was. How could this be? He thought. If the whole land was abandoned-proven by the work tools in odd places and the animal food left out-who could've lit the fire? At that moment a bullet whizzed past his head and struck the barn door. The boy jolted and tried to hide himself behind the mound of hay when a voice suddenly broke the silence.


"I know you are there." It was a thick voice, undoubtedly male with a heavy German accent. Yet he hardly felt relieved, as the owner of the voice didn't sound very friendly. the situation was dangerous enough without the threat of being killed again. When the boy gave no response, a bullet went flying through the hay and just past the tip of his ear. With a yelp, he cried out immediately.


"Nicht Schieben!" He cried, hoping the sound of the gunman's, supposed native language, would convince him to spare his life. It was silent for a moment. Then the sound of shuffling somewhere directly across from him, and the voice spoke again, this time with suspicion.


"Du spreken di Deutch ?" He asked. 


"Ya." Came the reply. Another pause. Then the voice said.


"Bist du Deutscher?" well, no he wasn't German, he was Jewish. All The mysterious voice had to do was ask to see his face and he would have his answer. So the boy kept quiet, which was unwise on his part. Another bullet flew near him, and this time it grazed through the top of his shoulder. The boy gasped, but but his tongue so as to not disclose his location and gripped his now bleeding shoulder. It was just a flesh wound, but he had never been shot before and feared he would lose too much blood. In his terror and confusion, the voice called to him in a brutal tone.




"NEIN!" He called back without thinking. now there was yet again, that familiar cutting, silence. Then finally, the voice said.


"Lass mich dein Gesicht sehen". The boy was tempted, out of pure instinct, not to follow that order. He too was unaware of the identity of the gunman, whom he didn't know about, save his voice. But what if the gunman were a Russian or British spy pretending to be German? Or worse, what if the man was one of the officers from the train wreck? He heard the hay rustle, and the gun cock, and decided he had no time to debate. He raised his hands up, hopefully high enough so that whomever was on the other side, could see. No response. Slowly, the boy got up and rushed behind a pole, before another bullet came whizzing past him. He covered his head with hands and begged,


"Bitte Nicht Schieben!" Yet again. For a long time, there was no response. And the boy had wondered if the man had fallen asleep, but he had not. His husky voice came out more forced this time, as if he were using up precious energy."


"What...is your...name?" He asked. The boy was silent now, tears streamed his face as a flashback of the check in station appeared in his memory. 


"That's not your name! Filthy , Jewish pig!" The police officer backhanded him and he hit the ground hard. "What was your given name? The one on the registry!" He shakily picked himself up with tears welling in his eyes. Beside him, his mother and little sister were still as statues. She motioned for him to tell the police officer. He stared at the ground, burning holes into his new brown leather shoes as he uttered the name he was never allowed to use.


"My name is-"



"Aniello!" He cried. Then his eyes flew open. He was staring down at his brown, leather shoes. They were moist from the melted snow-or was that because of his tears-and covered in dirt and scratches. He noticed too, his buttoned up, white shirt and brown suspenders were wrinkled. He said it again.


"My name is Aniello." This, of course, was an Italian name. He was not born in Germany, but in Italy to A Polish-Jewish father and pure Sicilian mother. His mother gave him that name at birth, and he was taught at a young age to say that this was his name. If anybody asked, he was always Sicilian. He even spoke perfect Italian. his father was forced, however, to put down a jewish  name in the registry when they emigrated to Germany. No questions asked, that was just how it had to be. He had initially, out of pure habit, said the Italian name to the officer, and was struck for it. His mother was a superstitious woman who believed in bad luck, and to her, his Jewish name was very bad luck. This was why he was afraid to utter it. However, he didn't have much of choice in that situation, and let the cursed name slither out of his mouth then and there. Now look at him. Stuck in a barn, with a trigger happy lunatic whom he wasn't sure would kill him if the fact that he was part Jewish was found out. Speaking of which, Aniello had noticed the voice had not spoken after he said his name. Did that mean, he was approved to live? He wasn't sure if he wanted to sneak a peak, but he could suddenly hear the choppy, heavy breaths of the man sleeping. This was a beautiful, albeit horrid, sound to hear. He quickly looked around the barn to see if there was any rope, or weapon, or heaven help him, a fucking escape route! He searched and searched and could find nothing useful, until his eyes caught sight of a discarded black jacket. Upon closer inspection he discerned it belonged to the man with the German accent. Carefully, he grabbed the jacket without making too much sound and rummaged through the pockets. 


his hand enclosed around something small and square shaped. As he pulled it out, he was greeted by the sight of a handsome man with slick black hair, blue eyes and the swatsticka embroidered upon his black uniform. His heart skipped several beats. One more, and he might've just died right there with any luck. He looked down at the words printed in German beneath the photograph.


Josef Franz Steiner. Age 28, Gestapo officer

Born: February 7, 1916 in Austria-Hungary.


6:35 p.m.


Aniello knew it then. It was that damned, cursed name he spoke. He knew he shouldn't be blaming his heritage for his predicament, but what could he do? What the fucking hell, could he do? Hot tears poured from his face. He hiccuped through his fingers, which were pressed heavily to his mouth until they turned white. Desperately trying to muffle the sound of his sniffles and gasps. Behind him, the gunman rustled. He froze instantly, clutching the jacket to his chest, not daring to even breathe. Then the man settled, his harsh breathing resuming. Aniello sighed.  This was too much for an eighteen year old heart to handle. Daring to move as much as he could, he peaked his head out to get a look at the gunman, and there he lay. Same jet black hair, same unsmiling face, same black uniform. The only difference was the obvious stab wound in his chest. This was how eighteen year old Aniello Adelberg had come to meet officer Josef Steiner. Later, he would recount this night as possibly the most eventful of his entire life. 




How long had it been? What time was it? Where was the clock? Will someone find them? What about his family? Are they unharmed? Did they survive the train crash? Should he try to take the gun? What if he wakes up? What if he's faking sleep? Should he try to run? Where would he go? What would he-


"Shut up." He muttered unconsciously. His own head had been swimming with so many questions and scenarios,  he felt as though it would explode if he didn't quiet it. His thoughts were so loud and panic filled, he feared even the Gestapo Officer would hear them. He had laid his head against the beam, and draped the jacket over his body to fight off the oncoming cold. The fire had begun to dwindle, and the rickety barn offered little shelter from the December wind. He did not, however, go to sleep at all. In this situation, he didn't dare. He knew all about Hitler's final solution. What it meant. All Gestapo, he was sure, were soulless, Jew hating demons. This one was probably no different, either. So he forced himself to stay awake as long as he could. The barn ceiling seemed to move, and the room was spinning. He was so tired. So...incredibly-


"Tired." He breathed. And he collapsed to the ground, his head barely hitting the hay before he blacked out.




He was having a somewhat pleasant dream. His mother, with her dancing skirts on, was singing in Italian and dancing the Tarantella, while his father clapped and played the tune on the grand piano in their small apartment in Italy. His aunties were there too. Coddling over him as they gossiped in Italian. Somewhere in a hidden room, he heard one of his aunties cry out,


!" ( someone stop the baby from crying) Baby? His sister? He was about 8 in the dream so his sister had to be three, however he turned to see she was suddenly dancing with their mother, squealing happily like she always did when she was a kid. He ventured to the hidden room.


It was a happy dream...


Inside the room, his aunties were surrounding the crib. Wait...who's kid was that? There was only two kids, right?


It was a happy dream...


His aunties were chattering away as he walked up to them and pulled on their skirts. As they turned, their faces were strange. But he couldn't see their expression. As if they were hidden by a smoke screen. In their hands was a small, crying baby wrapped in his mother's shaul . He reached to uncover the face. Suddenly his face went pale. The baby's face was purplish pale, and its head hung heavily from its shoulders. It had stopped crying, for It's neck was snapped.




It was a somewhat, happy dream...


He awoke with a violent jump, pushing himself up and back against the beam. It was difficult, waking up from a...dream? Nightmare? Well, whatever. All he knew was that he had fallen asleep. And now the fire had been snuffed out, enveloping him in complete darkness.


"Would you please silence the baby, Aniello?" He said aloud, without thinking. He definitely didn't understand that dream. After all, there were only ever two children born to his parents. And that was him and his sister. He smiled as he thought of how she was dancing so happily with Mamma. How he missed those days. He wished that, just once, he could hear his dad play the piano again. The sound of the keys, the movements he made, everything about it was beautiful. Completely delirious, he lifted his hands, readied them, just like his Ojciech (father) taught him. From there, he played the song his father played best. "Exodus" from his favorite polish composure Wojciech Kilar.


"Duh, duh, duh , duhhhhhh duh, duh." He hummed as his fingers danced across the invisible keyboard. He was alway so enameled by his parents richness for music. It was so beautiful. The dances, the rhythm, the soun-




Sound?  What he just heard, was a sound he wished he had never heard. All at once the music stopped playing as he froze in mid air, eyes bugged, hands ceasing their elaborate dance. Finally, he came back to reality, to find himself truly in complete darkness, with no way of escape. He slowly turned his head, ever so slowly to glimpse behind him. The officer was not there.


Step. Step. Step. Step.


He thought in desperation as the boots echoed in the silence.  When the sound stopped, he heard the cartridge of the officer's gun spin right next to his temple. His blood had gone cold. But his heartbeat thundered against it cage in his chest. Drops of sweat followed by more tears, coated most of his body and face as he forced his head to turn and soon was looking down the barrel of a gun. And attached to that gun was Josef Steiner, his blue eyes cloudy, skin pale white and blood running down his mouth.


"A-ah, ah, ahhh." He gurgled incoherently his hands still in that ridiculous position. The officer looked at him, then traveled down to the jacket which had been rummaged through, then back at him. Aniello thought of nothing, as  his body shook and suddenly he felt something warm trickle down his rear end and leak out onto the floor. He could smell the liquid as it was soaked into the floor. 


"Ah. B-bitte...ni-" he stammered but Josef shoved the gun straight against the whimpering boy's temple. 


"My...jacket." He said, barely audible to Aniello whose eyes were locked on the gun.


"Please-" he begged again. The officer began to pull the trigger.


"Give me back...my jacket."






This was the sound the gun had made when it went off, as Josef Steiner collapsed face forward into Aniello's piss. There were no bullets cocked into it. The only remaining ones where buried in the pockets of the officer's jacket. Aniello sat with his head to the side, still positioned as if a gun were there. He twitched a moment, then watched his life flash before his eyes.


"Heh." He laughed. Then he too, collapsed. 




He had hoped that maybe, the gun did  go off, and he had died. When he next awoke, he kept his eyes shut for a long time. Pretending that he was actually dead, only it was  taking God a long time to come get him. However, the foul stench filling his nostrils reminded him that he was still alive. In a barn. Next to a Gestapo officer who was sleeping face first in a puddle of his urine. Slowly, he opened his eyes. luckily,  the moon was shining through the cracks and holes that were abundant in the barn, and managed to light up the barn. After his eyes had readjusted to he dark, he realized his face and the officer's face were dangerously close. He almost had the urge to scream, but he pushed the feeling back down into his gut. Up close, Josef Steiner looked like a mess. His hair had been sweated out and was now in a tangle all over his head. His bloody lips were chapped, and bruised. He had large, dark circles underneath his eyes, and his wound was probably infected. But more importantly, the one thing that was different about Josef Steiner, the one thing he could easily distinguish between the gestapo and normal human beings, was that he looked just like a tired, helpless man broken by war. And this is why, Aniello made up his mind to save Lt. Josef Steiner, Gestapo officer, from the brink of death. He took off the jacket and stretched his body, finally able to move. Next, he took the gun, loaded the three bullets from the jacket, and hid it under the hay where he could retrieve it later. He ignored the foul smell he was emitting, in favor of finding a match to light the fire with. Luckily,  he found everything all laid out on the fireplace itself. Apparently, Steiner had been in the barn for a while before he came, for there was plenty of fire wood. In no time, another fire had erupted from the fireplace and washed the room over with its warm flames. After the fire was lit, Aniello took great care in moving the half dead officer back to his place on the other side of the barn. The man reeked of blood and urine. And so did he. Then he realized, he was completely parched and was desperate need of a bath and sip of water. He had noticed that it had stopped snowing outside, and took the officer's jacket for warmth, then headed outside to find a well. His breath was visible in the frigid cold, and the snow was deep. So he was happy to discover , a well was right behind the barn. He made several trips to the well in order to fill up the large wooden tub that was in the barn. He had to wait for the water to boil, then poured it in and repeated the process until the tub was full of steaming, hot water. He took his clothes off, and emptied the officer's jacket and washed the articles of clothing by hand, first. As he did, he wondered how many people Josef Steiner had executed personally? How many lives did he sentence to die in the work camps? He would ask when the officer awoke. He hung the clothes to dry on a clothesline that was in the barn, then proceeded to take his own bath. In the middle of his bath, he had failed to notice that Josef Steiner had regained consciousness for a moment, and was gazing at him while he bathed, until the officer slipped back into the depths of unconsciousness. Aniello finished his bath and wrung out his clothes as best he could, before putting them back on, the smell of urine now gone. Next, he carefully removed the officer's boots and uniform, gingerly making sure to avoid the stab wound. Then he drug the heavy man to the tub and hoisted him in. He cleaned the blood from the wound, and his mouth, then washed away the dirt from his face. He took a fistful of the man's hair and washed it dutifully as well. He was quite taken aback, when the officers handsome face appeared again after being washed. Suddenly, the man stirred. Aniello froze again, cautious. Steiner breathed deeply, apparently enjoying the warm water, then unexpectedly reached for

The hand that was entangled in his hair and mumbled


"Don't be so rough." Aniello felt his cheeks grow slightly red. Ignoring the half conscious comment, he pushed away the hand and continued about his business. Now he had to look for a needle and thread to sew up that wound.




Aniello stared into the pit of the fire, as his thoughts dwelled into darker places. A quote he thought of, said by Frederich Chopin, suddenly roamed his mind.


"I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness, and yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them." He repeated into the flames. 


"Frederick Chopin." Aniello snapped his head to the right, where officer Josef Steiner sat, fully conscious, cloaked by his jacket but missing a shirt, showing off a finely chiseled body. 


"It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to." He was, as usual, not smiling. His hair had dried but was no longer slicked back, and the bangs fell beautifully into his eyes as he stared ahead. He then turned to Aniello. 


"That was-"


"Also Chopin, yes I know." Aniello reached for the officer's gun in his back pocket, he had retrieved it minutes before from its hiding place. He visibly held it in his hand so that the officer could see. Which he did, but he looked away.


"Are you afraid I'll try and shoot you again, kid?" His voice was sarcastic, but his face was expressionless. Aniello didn't look at him.


"You had three bullets left in your pocket. If I miss your vitals twice, I still have once chance to kill you." He said dryly. Steiner showed emotion, and smirked.


"A boy, try and kill a Gestapo officer? You'll need years of target practice."


"At least I'm a better aim than you are." He retorted, gesturing to his shoulder which had a slight tear in it." 


"Unfortunately, I tend not to aim as well after being stabbed." Steiner motioned to the stitches in his chest. "Danka." Aniello almost couldn't believe his ears, did a German just thank him? Not only that, but a Gestapo officer? A Gestapo officer!? He had, had enough. He pointed the gun directly at Steiner and hissed. 


"Who the fuck are you, and why are you here?"


"You went through my jacket, you saw my ID. Shall we stop playing these foolish games?"


"That's not what I mean!" Aniello yelled. He and Steiner locked eyes for a moment.


"Fine." He said simply. " I was born in Austria-Hungary as you well may have seen on my badge. My parents were poor farmers, and we had nothing." 


Wait, what? Is that a lie. 


"I was their only child. Still, they sold me off to a wealthy German man for extra marks." Aniello was more than a little surprised, but that look in Steiner's eyes was too bitter to be anything but real. 


"I had a good education with that man in Germany. Ate everyday, enjoyed the finer things of life. But still, I preferred the country side and the life of a small farm owner. Maybe that's why I came here." He mumbled the last part, but Aniello heard it clear enough. It seemed the man was letting forth all his built up stress and pain. Aniello didn't mind this.


"That man knew Adolfo hitler and was Gorring's cousin. So you can imagine how I came to be-" he tugged on his jacket, "this." Aniello understood but something was off.


"You're far from any post. And the nearest camp is-" Aniello was bombarded with a picture of his father playing the piano and his mother dancing with his sister. "In Dachau. So how'd you get out here?" Steiner's face grew dark.


"Let's just say that, they didn't want my condition to stain their reputation." Condition? What condition? Aniello was tempted to ask, but he refrained."


"Why'd you carry three bullets in your pocket?" 


"So I could kill my self." Aniello stared at Steiner in astonishment. "It's like you said. If I miss my vital signs twice, I still have one chance to kill my self." This was truly no ordinary Gestapo officer. He had a secret. And Aniello would find out. Then an idea came to him. He could use Steiner to find his family, then he would kill him or maybe just leave him, he didn't know. Aniello yawned, he had realized how tired he was. He had eaten cold apples and drank frigid water, so he finally was able to Rest In Peace. Or so he thought. 




He pointed the gun at Steiner.


"You're gonna sleep outside." He said.


"No I am not." Steiner refused calmly. "Temperatures have dropped." He was right, but Aniello could not sleep with Steiner in the room. he just couldn't. But Steiner insisted. 


"Kid, it will be cold tonight. Why don't we sleep together for warmth." Now that, definitely, was out of the question.


"No fucking-" Steiner had suddenly advanced upon him, and was now staring him down with his steely cold blue eyes. "Way?" He finished. 


"You're Jewish aren't you? But you said your name was Aniello? Are you Italian as well?" Aniello was still unnerved by the closeness, but nodded all the same.


"Ah, I see. Growing up, I enjoyed Italian food and music." With that, Steiner fell to the hay and began to sleep. Aniello, slightly embarrassed, held onto the gun as he reluctantly lay down next to Steiner, making sure to keep just enough distance between them to feel comfortable. As he was about to go to sleep, Steiner spoke one last time.


"If I really wanted to, I would've just killed you the moment you ran into the barn." Aniello felt a chill run down his spine at this statement and gripped the gun tightly. 


"Guten Nacht." Steiner said.


"Buona Notte." He replied, in Italian.




It all happened so quickly, Aniello didn't have time to react. In the middle of the night, he was awakened to feel the soft caress of a hand on his back. This unnerved him, and he was about to grip the gun when he noticed that he could not feel it. Panicking, he let his eyes travel to his hand and found that the gun had slipped out of it while he slept and was now out of his reach. So he could do nothing but pray and stay still. Remembering, what Steiner had said before. Maybe he was just dreaming? In time, one hand turned into two. One hand traveled slowly down his thigh, which he was forcing to stop trembling, and squeezed tightly. Aniello felt a small squeak escape his lips, but was proud that the sound was barely audible. The other hand had shifted from his back to his arm and was caressing it up and down. This continued for a few minutes, and was beginning to feel like a massage. Aniello had relaxed more, and was about to drift off back to sleep when suddenly, the hand on his arm slipped under his shirt and the hand on his thighs grabbed at his crotch. Aniello was most certainly not expecting this, and gave out a frightened cry,


"A-ah...S-stop it! St-Steiner, wake up!" but Steiner had closed the distance between them, and was now so close, Aniello could feel the man's breath down his neck, making him shiver. 


"Shhhhh. Don't be scared. I won't harm you....Frederick." Steiner whispered into his ear. Frederick? Aniello didn't know who that was, but Steiner must have been mistaking him for that person. Steiner' hand hand ascended further and his fingers gently caressed one of Aniello's nipple. A strange sensation came over him and cried out again


"N-no! N-not there...that's. Weird!" And it was weird. First, he had never once done anything similar to what the two were doing. Second, it was a man that was doing it. Finally third, and most upsettingly, he didn't know if it felt good or bad or if he wanted Steiner to stop or not. He was just confused. Confused by the heart warming story, confused by the attractive face, confused by how easy he was to speak too. But what tore his insides,  was the fact that this man, who was gently caressing his body all over in such an affectionate way, was a Nazi. And he could never forgive that.


"Steiner!" He said more forcefully, and managed to pull away to face the man. "Don't fucking touch-hn!?" Aniello was stopped mid sentence by an unsuspecting kiss. Steiner had pinned down Aniello, so that his body was now facing Him, and his back was to the hay. Steiner deeply kissed Aniello, who squirmed and writhed under the powerful man. He had honestly never been more terrified in his life, but also, had never been more turned on. His whole body was reacting to Steiner's every, little touch. While he was kissing Aniello, Steiner continued to caress the boy's chest and thighs. Then suddenly, he broke from the kiss, much to the thankfulness of Aniello who was starting to lose his breath, and planted a kiss on the boy's neck.


"Mmm, nggh!" Even his neck was sensitive. Steiner methodically placed soft, yet aggressive kisses down his neck, to his collarbone and finally stopped at his nipple. With his tongue, he flicked the tip, then suckled it slowly while his other hand worked the boy's other nipple. A moan had escaped the boy's mouth which he covered with his hand, surprised such a sound could come from him. He didn't get what was going on. Of course he knew what was happening, but he didn't understand why his body was reacting the way it was. He should be disgusted by the touch of a nazi, but for some reason, the man who was touching him now, was just a man named Josef Steiner who was pleasing his lover. Even though he was mistaking that lover for him. Steiner let his hand travel down the boy's belly where they stopped at the hem of his pants. Aniello was very frightened at this point, and grabbed Steiner's arm, tears in his eyes.


"Please, Steiner! I'm begging you...y-you're scaring m-" but another passionate kiss silenced him, and Steiner slid his hand down the boy's pants.


"Ahhhh!" Aniello gasped through the kiss, still trying desperately to wrench away the man's hand. Aniello' face had gone dark red, and his head began to spin, almost as if he were seeing stars. He tried to turn his head away whenever Steiner was about to kiss him, but the man merely sucked his neck until his face turned back around. It was all too much. It was too overwhelming. Steiner skillfully stroked his shaft and tip with precision, making him moan with pleasure. Aniello had never felt anything like this before. 


"Ah! N-no! I-I can't, I don't know-"


"Shhh. I love you, Frederick. I want to make you feel good. Please, don't be scared." Aniellos heart had skipped a beat at the weight of these words. The way he spoke, and the way he looked. These were not small things just anyone would do. He was sure that whomever this Frederick person was, he was very special to Steiner. Steiner then increased his rhythm, along with kisses, and it was almost unbearable for Aniello, who had wrapped his arms tightly around Steiner's neck and buried his face in the man's chest. He could feel his climax coming.


"N-no! No! I'm g-gonna...I'm gonna come! And in an instance, an incredible, powerful sensation washed over his body as he released. He arched his back and his body convulsed for a moment. Then the two were motionless, breathing hard. Aniello sniffled, his heart feeling a though it would break.


"J-Josef..." he whimpered. Suddenly Steiner's eyes seem to lose their cloudy, dreaminess. He stared in a trance, down at Aniello as if the boy were a stranger.


"A-Aniello?" He questioned. The boy covered his eyes with his arm. 


"Pl-please let me go, now." Steiner looked down and saw his hand enveloped around the boy's member. He snatched it away and leaped up, staring first at the white liquid on his hand, then back down at the shaking boy. 


"Steiner?" He asked when he had gained composure. He lifted himself up in a sitting position, and at some point had even grabbed the gun. Tears rolled down his face.


"Are you a homosexual?" Judging by the look on his face, Aniello was right. So that was his "condition".


"Es tu mir lied." He whispered dryly, then rushed out of the barn into the frigid cold. Aniello knew he left, but when he lay back down he was sure he could still feel Steiner next to him.

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