A True And Noble Lover

‘What in God’s holy name!’ Alexander moaned from his perch on a window seat. ‘What noise are you pummelling out of that bloody piano, Ferenc?’
A chorus of howls also arose from the other young men lounging around their temporary barrack’s mess.
‘It’s the future of the Twentieth Century, you clot,’ Ferenc shouted over the protests. He leaned back from the piano so he could smile over at Alexander. ‘It’s a new piece by Schoenberg,’ he beamed, ‘fantastic, eh?’

The response came back from the room in a barrage of news papers, tin cups, boots and foul language.
‘You lot know nothing!’ a young man leaning over Ferenc roared back. Normally silent, this deathly pale youth silenced the hoots and catcalls for a few moments. ‘I want to hear it, Ferenc,’ the lad said as he leaned in closer to turn over the sheet of music.
‘Oh! do give over, Altenberg, you silly prig.’ A broad faced Salzburg peasant shouted from the comfort of his chair.
‘They’re all the same, these types,’ sneered another Greater German son of the Land. ‘They’re a load of fancy-boy Jews.’ He got off his couch and flounced around the room, mincing it up as he lisped, ‘Look at me boys! Do fuck me boys!’
‘The bigger the better boys!’ The peasant bellowed after him.

Staring out of the window, Alexander tried to blot out the racket exploding behind him. Before him the dank hills around Sarajevo drifted in a mist of lavish greens. The city itself hadn’t been seen from their command and control centre for two whole days.
Rain splashed against the window panes in a sudden gust, and once more the high winds rattled everything that got in their way. Yet all that he really looked for was the first sign of Zoltan. Alexander had been so busy peering out at the murk that he didn’t realize Ferenc had stopped playing and was now standing beside him.
‘You’re alone,’ the corporal from Alexander’s floor at the Hofburg sighed.
Alexander nodded, drawing up his legs so Ferenc could sit down at the window.
‘He’s all right, you know,’ Ferenc said to his own highly polished boots.
‘Who?’ Alexander snapped.

Ferenc looked into Alexander’s eyes. ‘Zoltan, of course.’ Alexander turned his face away from him and rubbed at the window pane. So Ferenc examined the shine on his boots once more and went on, ‘There was bound to be some trouble, you can’t annexe a place and not expect some trouble. Not even if you’ve been running the place for thirty odd years.’
‘Have you heard anything?’ Alexander asked with a sudden interest. Ferenc had been up before the promotions board, as he and Zoltan soon would be.
‘About the gunshots?’ Ferenc asked, then shook his head. ‘Just that some troublemakers were up to no good, like we were told.’
‘Bloody Greater Servia!’ Alexander groaned.
‘The Servians had hopes, I guess. And with Russian interests against the Dual Monarchy, well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it!’ Ferenc shrugged it all off.
‘Bloody russia!’ Alexander cried, drawing attention to himself. He leapt off the window ledge and stomped across the room. ‘Bloody, bloody, bloody Bosnia!’ he shouted. Roars and cheers greeted him as he went, while under his breath he sighed, ‘Bloody Dual Monarchy.’ And with greater bitterness, ‘Bloody Zoltan too!’

Before Alexander could storm out of the door, Sergeant Major Weissenthal slammed in. The noise of the mess juddered to a halt then evaporated.
‘You lot,’ Weissenthal barked, ‘keep a lid on it, or else!’ The sergeant scanned the room, now firmly to attention, and he reached out to hold Alexander’s arm preventing him from going back or forward. ‘I want you here, Strauss,’ he said, then he moved slightly so that the whole room could see and hear him clearly.
‘What is it, sir?’ The youth, pale as death, asked impatiently, knowing he had committed a cardinal sin.
The blind hatred pouring from the sergeant’s face caused an almost traceable quiver to ripple through the room.
‘First, you’re on a charge, Altenberg. Report to the Guard House when I’ve finished with you.’ Sergeant Major Weissenthal relaxed with this discharge of authority, he even let go of Alexander, wiping his hand with a handkerchief. ‘I’ve come straight from the Map Room.’

A silent acknowledgement sped through the soldiers, it was more than a dressing down, it was news - serious news.
‘Orders are arriving from Vienna,’ Weissenthal went on. ‘we must make ready for a deployment of more troops immediately.’ He let the words sink in. ‘It looks like the real thing, gentlemen. Servian arms have mobilised along the border.’
A few gung-ho cheers were soon quelled as Sergeant Major Weissenthal told them to shut up in plain military terms. ‘Horath, Schneider, von Thurn, report to your stations. The rest of you just keep out of my hair.’

‘Did you want me, Sergeant?’ Alexander asked as the chosen three sped passed, smiles all beaming.
Weissenthal turned on Alexander, ready to lather into him for interrupting his train of thought. But he thought better of it. He drew Alexander aside to speak with him. ‘You are friendly with Private Balázs,’ he said.

Alexander’s heart sank. Something had happened to Zoltan.
‘Give him this,’ the sergeant said, handing him a letter from the Imperial Chancellery; and with a sharp turn he strode off.

‘Is it war?’ Altenberg asked as he halted momentarily beside Alexander. A shrug was all that Alexander could give him; his mind was fixed on Zoltan and his letter.
‘Of course it’s war, you pratt,’ the burly Salzburg peasant smacked Alexander on the back. ‘Didn’t you hear what the Sergeant Major said, mobilization. Must I spell it out for you, boy?’
‘Oh! Give over, Brehm,’ Ferenc minced up to them, ‘you silly prig.’ Suddenly serious, he added, ‘If it were war, the big guns would be on us before you could sneeze.’
‘Yeah! Right!’ Brehm pushed Altenberg aside so he could join his mates. ‘And you’d better get your arse moving, if you don’t want to be in the brig, Bergie-boy.’
Altenberg bolted through the doorway with a crash.

‘So, you don’t think it’s the real thing, then, Stephan?’ Alexander tried to search Ferenc’ face for some insider’s clue hidden behind the budding artist’s flare. But all he saw was their common mix of boredom and excitement.
‘It’s coming, Alex,’ Ferenc sighed. ‘Maybe two years or three, maybe five.’
‘Do you believe?’ Alexander asked out of nowhere. ‘In God, I mean.’
‘What!’ Corporal Nemeth looked incredulous, as though he’d just been asked to lick clean Brehm’s broad, sweaty, Salzburg arse.
‘Oh! Nothing,’ Alexander laughed, stuffing the letter in his tunic’s breast pocket, then he headed over to the piano. ‘A little Waltz Dream, I think,’ Alexander said, settling on the piano stool. ‘How’s that, lads?’

The room approved the choice of Oscar Straus, though Brehm mumbled ‘Another Jew-boy lover’ to his Südetenland friend. Still he got up to help clear a patch of floor, and made the most of the light-hearted, youthful high spirits.
‘A lovely couple,’ Ferenc whispered to Alexander as Brehm and his bosom pal Kreibel slid past in a deliberately oafish waltz. ‘Quite the dream!’
‘Any requests?’ Alexander called out.

Vienna Blood! Tritsch Tratsch Polka! Golliwog’s Cakewalk! No, that niggerboy Joplin! Yes! Gladiolus Rag! Blue Danube! Blue Danube! The calls came thick and Alexander played fast to give a joyful taste of them all.

Ferenc slid onto the piano stool beside Alexander so they could give a virtuoso rendition of the Black and White Rag. As they went into a selection from the operettas, Ferenc whispered into Alexander’s ear with almost a lover’s kiss. Alexander shrank, but smiled, and he rose up to sing the lead part in a duet from The Chocolate Soldier.
Cheers ripped about them as the opening bars of one of latest hit tunes greeted them, then as Alexander began silence fell. His voice and the music filled the room.
‘I have a true and noble lover,
He is my sweetheart, all my own..’

Ferenc took up the strain, his soft baritone first replacing then joining in with Alexander’s more satisfying tenor tones.
‘We pledged our troth
each to the other,
And for our happiness I pray..’
In truest Ruritanian style, the soldiers in various states of undress and friendly hugs gathered and gave the chorus their very manly best,
‘Come! Come! I love you only,
My heart is true,
Come! Come! my life is lonely
I long for you..’

A couple had split from the main body of soldiers when an encore was demanded. The couple wandered over to the seat Alexander had filled for most of the last three days in his moping vigil. With discrete disapproval Alexander seared them.

Whether they had noticed him or not, the couple ignored Alexander. They simply sat and talked, occasionally looking out the window.
‘Me Lexi, me!’ The Südetenlander Kreibel sighed as he pulled away slightly from Brehm and tried to grab Alexander.
Alexander was playing his audience for all its worth, so he blew Kreibel a kiss then smacked him on the forehead, pushing him back onto Brehm in a tumble.
‘Look!’ One of the couple by the window seat let out a shout. He pointed out the window and said, ‘Look, uniforms, coming up to the path. Our boys from the Imperial Guard’s unit.’
A plunging mass of rain headed across the windows. But there below them in the drizzling distance, hussar blue could just be seen. Drenched in grey great coats and fatigue covered shakos, horses, riders and men on foot struggled toward them.

‘There’s wounded!’ Brehm shouted, and he and Kreibel dashed off saying they’d go to the medics room.
For a heartbeat Alexander stood rooted, but as Brehm’s cry rang out he sprang away from the spectators at the window and sped down the corridors along the stairs and out through the doors until he too was lashed with rain.

Slowly a small train of straggling soldiers and what looked like prisoners emerged from the downpour. There was no obvious sign of Zoltan at the front, or among the few civilians in handcuffs, being gee’d along on foot.
Alexander went along the line of troopers and prisoners, but no Zoltan. ‘Private Balázs?’ he called out in desperation to one of corporals as he passed. A thumb jerked to the back of the line, among the injured.

A couple of blood-splattered prisoners sat uncomfortably strapped to each other, just about balancing on a commandeered horse. Beside them three troopers trod, miserable as sin. Behind them two hussars were swathed with pride in field supply head bandages.

And there behind them Zoltan trotted along, chatting with another cheerful hussar. They waved and called to Alexander before he got passed the wounded prisoners and their unhappy escorts.
Zoltan peeled away from his stable mate and leapt from his mount to stand before Alexander. Torrents of water sprayed from his helmet as he shook himself off like an excited puppy.
Anger raged from Alexander like a damn fit to burst. ‘And!’ His days of exasperation finally left him without words.

‘What?’ Zoltan laughed, though clearly wounded. He had expected a hero’s welcome, or at least a hug. ‘Aren’t you glad to see me?’
‘Of course, I am!’ Alexander snapped.
Stable boys had come forward to take charge of the horses, so Zoltan made a fuss of his before he handed him over for the care and attention that the brave beast deserved. That done, he turned on Alexander.
The open heavens had calmed and even the long drizzle eased off. While the returning troop was received into the HQ with whoops of joy, Alexander and Zoltan stood square on to each other, and the clouds seemed to part promising a hint of sun.

‘At least part of you’s happy to see me, I’m glad to say,’ Zoltan jeered, nodding at Alexander’s groin.
‘Zolte, all of me is glad to have you back,’ Alexander said, reaching out to take firm hold of Zoltan’s arms. He pulled Zoltan toward him in a surrendering, mutual embrace, and he sighed pressed up to Zoltan’s cheek, covering it with tears, ‘So glad to have you back, safe and sound.’
‘I couldn’t get a personal message out, Ally.’ Zoltan explained as they ambled through the grounds toward a deserted garden hut, all but obscured by overgrown greenery. ‘Those snipers were good, too good to be locals.’
Alexander nodded, understanding not only the military position and the danger Zoltan and the troop had faced, but, more importantly for him, that Zoltan was there beside him once more large as life and twice as handsome.

Before they had a chance to wander much further the skies darkened and unleashed yet another downpour. Alexander indicated the summer hut, and dragged Zoltan with him as he dashed toward its narrow porch.
Large drips plopped through the slatted roof so Zoltan prised open the rust stiffened hut door. Alexander stood dark in the door frame, waiting, but Zoltan strode in and started to strip out of his sodden great coat.
The musty dry-as-dust atmosphere seemed to pull them in to the centre of the hut, and close, so much closer, together.
Their breath mingled as they folded in toward each other and deep into a kiss. Alexander ripped Zoltan’s shako from his head, tossing the helmet aside, and he dragged Zoltan’s head back by the tight tufts of his wet close cropped hair.
‘Don’t you ever dare cause me such pain again, you hear me?’ Alexander growled, shaking Zoltan’s head violently between kisses.
‘Can’t promise,’ Zoltan whimpered.
Alexander strengthened his grip and tugged harder, ‘Never!’
‘OK! I promise, you have my solemn word, I’ll do my best.’

This seemed to satisfy Alexander, for he released his hold on Zoltan’s hair and instead turned to unbuttoning his jacket as once more their lips met.
The Mounted-marksman’s medal pinned tight to the jacket’s breast jangled with each button that Alexander prised open, so he bent in to kiss it. Zoltan put one hand behind Alexander’s head and pressed his face to his chest, encouraging Alexander to lay light nibbles between the gold braiding before he started to peel open his inner tunic.
Rain had soaked through the uniform to Zoltan’s bare skin, so his chest was a mat of tangled curly, black hairs. Although he was wet through, Zoltan’s skin was still warm to the touch. Alexander nestled into Zoltan’s breast, teasing his soft nipples erect, and a sigh oozed out of Zoltan’s throat as Alexander ran his finger’s across the exposed skin. ‘I love you, Zolte,’ Alexander said, into himself almost like a whispered prayer.

As if from nowhere Zoltan grabbed Alexander under his arms, hoisted him off his feet and he flung the two of them in a huddle onto some tired sacking in the corner of the hut. ‘I missed this,’ Zoltan said before laying a smothering kiss on Alexander. ‘And,’ he went on, while he pinned Alexander beneath him, ‘I’ve missed you most of all.’

They slipped down into the creaking silence of the rain splattered hut, hands trembling in the dim light, seeking to help each other out of constricting clothes.
Suddenly naked after all the frenzy of stripping, they lay for a while close together, just looking at each other. Zoltan took hold of Alexander’s left hand and kissed it. Rubbing Alexander’s fingertips over his forehead, Zoltan’s eyes flickered shut off in his own private ecstasy.

‘I want to be inside you,’ Zoltan said gently, looking into Alexander’s eyes, and he released Alexander’s hand with a kiss on the palm. He brought his hands behind both of Alexander’s knees, pulling his legs into the air and pushing him over on to his back. Licking down Alexander’s chest to his navel, he teased his dick, which was throbbing rapidly, hard against the softness of Zoltan’s tongue.
When Alexander felt his dick slide past Zoltan’s lips, and the pleasure of his willing mouth wrapped around him, Alexander squirmed.
Very slowly Zoltan started to run his lips along the shaft, and each time he reached the head he swallowed Alexander’s dick right to the back of his throat.
Like alternating pulses of electric, tremors were running up Alexander’s thighs, across his belly, and then in a tense spasm through his whole body.

Zoltan looked up at Alexander’s face and smiled. He took a break from Alexander’s dick to lick over his nutsack, sliding in-between Alexander’s legs as he did it. Then, after sharing another look of impish glee, he forced Alexander’s thighs up and apart, bent at the knees, and he continued downward to his ass crack.
Once there he began to attack Alexander’s exposed hole, licking around it in vicious circles, stabbing the tip of his tongue deep into his hole. He almost made Alexander cry out loud when kisses mingled with licks and bites.

Zoltan’s head twisted and turned in all directions, furiously, trying to cover every inch of Alexander’s crack with an animal’s slavering desire.

With Alexander’s legs still in the air, Zoltan used his shoulders to push back on Alexander’s knees so that he could lean over his face and open his buttcrack more.
‘Do you want me inside you, Ally?’ Zoltan asked, rubbing his cock against Alexander’s puckering hole.
Yes! Alexander nodded, but said nothing
Zoltan eased back, so he could get to the hole easier. He spat on Alexander’s ass and into his hand, pressing the salvia into Alexander's still tight pucker. Taking hold of Alexander’s dick, he rubbed it as he also yanked at his own meat, but Alexander took his hand away.
‘I’m ready to pop a load, now, Zolte.’ Alexander sighed. 'Just take me. Fuck me!’

A gasp rose from Alexander as Zoltan hunkered in, pressed passed his tight ring and started to drive slowly inside him, going right up to his full length. Alexander exhaled noisily, letting out a great low moan. He grasped at Zoltan’s thighs to halt his penetration and the thrusts - but only for a few moments. With his eyes rolling into the back of his head, Alexander bit on one wrist, and gave himself over fully to Zoltan.
At first with a gentle easy rhythm Zoltan ploughed deep into Alexander, but with choked back cries of ‘Fuck Me!’ ringing out, Zoltan gradually increased his rate and pumped harder; so hard he had to cry out that he was getting ready to spunk off.

The rocking eased up, and Zoltan kissed Alexander’s calves as he toyed with Alexander's pre-cum soaked dick jerking on his belly. In response to Alexander’s renewed pleas for hard thrusts, just to let him feel the real pain of his man inside him, Zoltan once more launched a feverish bout of fucking.
Alexander screamed through the bites on his knuckles when his dick filled and fired off a powerful spray of jism, splattering his face as well as his chest and arms in wave after wave of orgasm.
Zoltan too let out an uncontrolled yelp of juddering ecstasy, bending over Alexander, breathless, as his balls wrenched and his seed spewed out in completion.

Silent once more they lay in each others arms, neither daring to move lest the disturbance destroyed the feeling of intimacy.
Finally a chill shivered over them and they laughed. Alexander spotted Zoltan’s letter in the breast pocket of his coat.
‘Zolte, sorry,’ he said reaching over for the envelop, ‘ Weissenthal gave me this for you. From the Imperial Chancellery, Vienna.’
‘So I see,’ Zoltan said, his face draining of its post sex flush.
‘Aren’t going to open it?’
‘No need,' Zoltan said mysteriously. ‘I know what it is, already,’ he shrugged, tossing the letter on top of his uniform and cuddling close into Alexander for warmth. ‘It’s permission from the Emperor for me to marry Katarina.’

The air in the hut was thick with their speechless breathing. And outside a bunch of drunken soldiers passed by bawling Alexander’s tune at the top of their lungs, ‘I have a true and noble lover..’