Adrian pinned you against the wall of the bathhouse.

You stand with your back to him, slowly untying the apron strings. He watches, as always. Left shoulder first, then right—same order every time. His uniform jacket drops without a sound; the look doesn't. Adrian's eyes burn through you, and goosebumps run down your spine.

The boards smell of resin. His impatient hands tug at the fabric of your nurse's uniform, where it's caught between your knees. War is etching the formalities out of him.

Steam clogs your lungs, making it hard to breathe. He presses his lips to the curve of your shoulder, leaving a mark darker than gunpowder. Your nails dig into the tattoo on his forearm; he whines into the hollow between your collarbones, as if he's trying to bury the sound.

"Смотри," he rasps—first Russian of the night. He lifts your leg, not letting you escape his grip. "You…" his finger presses into the soft of your thigh, "so bloody soft."

The motion is sharp. You grab the shelf above your head, knocking the sauna whisks to the floor. He moves methodically—fingers on the pearl, three short impulses, a pause, a dull slam of his hips. Your ankles slide over his slick back, preventing Adrian from pulling away.

Lips to lips—biting kisses. You catch his breath: the alcohol of camp moonshine, the bitterness of gunpowder. His hands squeeze your sides, as if checking whether you would crumble under his pressure, when he decides that he might not live until morning if he doesn't drive you into a corner somewhere and pepper you with kisses.

You sob, but the sound is drowned out by the roar of artillery. The man mumbles through his teeth, in English: this is obscene, and filthy as a sailor in the hold.

He flips you over, face to the wall, the boards cutting in, leaving patterns on the skin. Deeper. Angrier. He wheezes something—прости, thank you—God knows what. A muddle of languages.

"My sweet, lovely girl…" He hugs your wrists back. The buckle rattles. A belt—cold as a bayonet. Made in Birmingham. He pulls. Tightens. "I want more."