It'd only been a month since surviving the last recruits Alloces Erdenhardt had thrown at him.

Through trial and

tribulations, maneuvering and close calls, they made it out alive, as a team, unscaved. It was a feat within itself
to come out with your life, but Sergei? He'd ensured not a hair on any of his crewmate's heads were disturbed.

The German officers originally supressed their surprise for Turgenev's commanding performance. Since he had
no shells to be aiming and firing, his only concern had become calling out and telling comrade driver where to
go to avoid being blown to smithereens by a Panther. Overtime, in the watch tower surveying the one sided
battles, he could spot one of them almost jumping with joy and cheering at the infamous crew dodging another
death sentence.

The most they had endured were deflected shells, but before the next match the tank's wounds had been buffed
out and repaired. Stepan, ever fond of the Tiger 32, had begun calling it Svetlana. Upon Sergei's request for
paint to rebrandish Svetlana and make her more authentic, Alloces had obliged with a small chuckle, redirecting
one of his lower officers to the task immediately.

Thus, along the barrel of the Tiger and on her turret, was painted “SVETLANA” in bold red lettering,
contrasting the dark forest green and the newly added patches of brown with white accents and other letterings.
The star on the cap had been redone, and framed with a bright golden yellow to accentuate the symbol.

They might of been prisoners, but Alloces rarely treated them as such. Instead, a mutual respect had grown
between Sergei and the German officer over the weeks. Sergei was issued a more appropriate uniform; and
although he worked only for his life, he enjoyed it. He was no Nazi, and did not dawn that uniform, but instead,
a simple, rankless black coat and trousers with a ushanka on cold days.

His crew had been rehoused to their own private quarters, and while they were no palaces, it was the best they
could hope for. Slowly, they settled into a schedule. Wake up. Meet at the training grounds or the classroom,
depending on whose turn it was where. Sergei was in charge of training future commanders, Stepan drivers, and
so on.

Often, Alloces would meet him at some point during the morning, and they would exchange casual
conversation. Sergei was not always recognized as an equal to the Germans, but Alloces never treated him that
way. There was a silent understanding. They were both soldiers, fighting for their countries, and they both knew
that if Sergei could choose, he would he on the other side with his family.

Erdenhardt and Sergei spoke in different languages, yes, but later in the day, after completing another round of
training with his pupils, they would meet up during more casual, late hours. Erdenhardt would teach Sergei
some German words, and in return, the Russian tought the Kraut some of his own. Alloces was always fond of
it, and it wasn't long before they were able to understand eachother with a mix of the two.

Onlookers, more specifically Alloces's superiors, never commented on it, but the disapproval was always clear
on their faces whenever Erdenhardt switched to messy Russian whenever he wanted to speak exclusively to
Sergei.

The day went as normal. Sergei awoke in his bed, which was a little bigger than he needed, and began getting
ready for the day. As a soldier, he was already used to waking up at the crack of dawn, and as a prisoner, it only
solidified the habit. The sun had barely started peeking over the horizon.

Sergei tightened his belt around his waist, clasping it into place before pulling on his boots. They were short,
brown, unlike the tall black leather of the Nazi footwear. He appreciated that he was not forced into such.

Today was chilly, the dew on the grasses leaving the air fresh and crisp. The camp was already alive with
movement; officers and soldiers waking up for the impending day of work. In the distance, he could hear the
shouts of Jews and Russians alike. The true prisoners.
He did not feel any guilt for rising above his brothers. Sergei worried for himself and his crew, and that was it.

While making his way along the gravel path to the panzer field, he was greeted with nods and the occasional,
“Guten tag, Turgenev” or, “Guten morgen, Comrade Sergei”. He wasn't sure if the 'comrade' was genuine or
mocking, in the sense that he was indeed Russian and referred to as comrade by his fellow brothers. Maybe they
did not understand the power of the word.

Many officers milled about, the majority having atleast few soldiers in tow at a casual jog on the other side of
the gravel roads. A few slick black autos and military vehicles rumbled past, but the air was so damp today that
they didn't kick up dust.

The morning fog that settled over the camp begun evaporating as the sun climbed higher in the sky, but it
eventually disappeared behind a curtain of angry looking clouds. By the time he made it to the field, it was
sprinkling. It was still late summertime, but he could spot the changing of leaves on the foliage around him.

Sergei fixed his scarf more securely around his neck. If he wanted to now, he could escape the compound. But
Sergei had come to enjoy it. Even though he was training the very men who would be killing his neighbors, he'd
come to accept it, ignore it, and move on. He was a traitor to the motherland, but atleast here, he wasn't a dead
man. Here, he lived a better life on the winning side of the war with his closest friends.

As he stared off into the sky, hands in his pockets, he felt a hand drop on his shoulder after the crunch of gravel
signified an approach from behind. Lost in his thoughts, it caused Sergei to start slightly, glancing over his
shoulder at the culprit.

Stood in full uniform was a smirking Alloces Erdenhardt, who greeted him with a nod before muttering quietly,
“Looks like it's raining,” He sighed, glancing up at the sky as he moved to stand beside Sergei.

Sergei chuckled, managing a sarcastic tone despite his choppy, slow German, “You want.. bet?” He too glanced
at the sky, just as a fat droplet landed on his cheek. He moved to wipe it away, Alloces grinning that thin-lipped
smirk, the familiar gap of his teeth bringing a small joy to the morning.

“Where are your students?” He asked, glancing around like he might find them hiding behind a panzer.

“Why?” Questioned the Russian in return, allowing himself a smile.

““I thought I'd come to watch today,” Alloces responded, maneuvering his hands into the pockets of his
trousers. A few sprinkles of water had started collecting on the black visor of his service cap, and when he
glanced over at Sergei for a response, they gathered into a cohesive drop and slid off, just infront of a blue orb.

“What, you don't mean by your…Tower? No, no,” Sergei tore his eyes away after staring for a moment too
long, eyes darting around the ground as he nearly tumbled over his words keeping his composure. The eye
contact had made his heart race, but Sergei, oblivious, never thought anything of it until now.

“I have come down to honour you with my presence, do not be so ungrateful, Sergei.” Responded Alloces
without missing a beat, no doubt catching the way Sergei shifted uncomfortably at the prolonged eye contact,
which Alloces sought to continue by the way he kept his eyes locked on Sergei's face.

The German had quieted partway through his chatter, the piercing blue gaze he owned unfairly probing as
Sergei sought to avoid it in the few silent moments that left his heart spasming, in what? Excitement?
Anticipation? He hesitantly met the stare, Erdenhardt's expression now tame, studying, as the rain truly began
pattering down around them.

It felt like time stuttered for a second before he heard the familiar sound of marching behind him, and Alloces
was the first to look away as he addressed the group.
 

The rest of the morning seemed to fly by, numbed by the sounds of rain and distant shouts as the day wore on.
Most of the rain had ceased by lunch time, in which everyone took a brief break to head to the public mess hall.
Sergei was allowed entrance to acquire as much food as a regular German soldier, but was not allowed to sit at
the tables or mingle with officers. He didn't mind. He much preferred the company of his comrades, as they
preferred theirs.

A weird feeling of questioning plagued him as he ate his thick soup and bread. He was unsure what questions to
ask, or even what had really happened this morning. Was it even a thing to be concerned about? Sergei was
unsure, and ate lunch alone within his quarters.

Return to the field. Train. Go home.

That was the plan. He hadn't seen Alloces after the first half of the training session ended, and when he'd
glanced over at the observation tower, saw no sign of the more brown colored uniform in the window. He
ignored it, and continued, running his students to exhaustion by the end of it.

The training ended unceremoniously, and of the few officers in the tower, none hardly moved.

Afterwards, everyone began making towards the cafeteria once again for dinner, his trainees huddling around
Sergei and bothering him with questions. He wasn't really in a status to deny them, but as he didn't speak much
German, couldn't anyway, and simply tried to answer their questions to the best of his ability.

Mostly, during training, he had phrases and commands down, and a schedule in place so they knew what they
were doing and what to expect. Sergei, even though he had never tought anyone prior, was still an excellent
teacher even with a language barrier.

Dinner came, dinner went, and the sun was falling behind swathes of gray clouds as he made his way to his
quarters.

“Instructor Lieutenant Sergei!” A soldier approached, rendering a snappy salute, but seemed to have forgotten
Sergei was not one of the ranks, and quickly removed his hand, looking a little embarrassed. Sergei said nothing
as he continued, “Standartenführer Erdenhardt asks for your presence.”

To this, Sergei's eyebrows scrunched together briefly before he nodded timidly, sending the young soldier on his
way, “Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can, Thank you”

He had been invited, per request of Alloces, to his quarters. Sergei wasn't sure to make of this, and felt a pang of
anxiety as he recalled today's earlier event. It would he a little awkward, but not nearly as bad if he decided to
disobey a command from the alluring German. He decided he'd make there immediately, and then he'd get to
collapse into his bed and sleep. Today had been long and boring.

The officer's quarters were fancy, and located on the safest branch of camp, in the back, away from the panzers
and away from the POW side of camp. It was lavish; Sergei had been in there many times, mostly accompanied
with Alloces, and had memorized the way to the panzer commander's office. Second floor, to the left, end of the
hallway.

Two guards stood watch at the entrance, and at Sergei's appearance, nodded after patting him down for
weapons. Turgenev made his way upstairs, the place eerily dark and inactive. Some sat at type writers with a
light, tapping away at the keys and speaking in rushed tones to eachother, ignoring Sergei as he passed.
He wrapped his knuckles against the dark wooden door of the abode, clearing his voice before speaking
hesitantly, “Erdenhardt?”

There was an immediate response from the other side, but it was slurred, uneven. “Komm rein, Turgenev.”

He made his way in, keeping his gaze to the floor as he turned and shut the door behind him, but was stopped
when Alloces interrupted in Russian, “Lock that,”

Sergei complied quickly, but his gaze became skeptical as he made his way over to the familiar round table that
they often chatted at whenever Alloces needed to brief him on something. “What is this?”

Alloces was hunched over in his chair, a glass filled with a brown, translucent fluid in one hand as he looked up,
“Do you want a drink?”

Erdenhardt looked, for lack of better words, lightly hammered. If he had to guess, he'd been sipping beer all day,
and only now broke out the läger just as he invited Sergei. He blinked, taking in the appearance. Just by looking
into his striking blue eyes, Sergei could tell he was fairly intoxicated, his uniform not quite as tidy as usual, the
hazy look he had. His tie was slightly undone, left invitingly open. His cap was still in place, albeit slightly
turned.

Sergei shook his head, asking again, “Alloces, is there something wrong?” Even though Alloces was German,
and Germans were well known for their infatuation with beers, Sergei had never seen Alloces this drunk before.
It was almost laughable, was it not extremely unprofessional.

The room felt electric as Alloces took another sip at his drink before pointing to a chair beside him, “Sit.”

He sighed internally, clenching his jaw as he settled beside Alloces, whose gaze had come to rest on Sergei in
that same way from earlier, only, lazier, casual, fearless. Even intoxicated, that stare saw into Sergei's soul,
making him shiver in his seat.

It was like that for a moment, Alloces watching him and studying him, Sergei meeting his gaze without
retreating. Alloces almost looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't, and neither did the Russian.

It was slow, patient, the way Alloces leaned towards him, almost standing as he placed one palm on the table to
steady himself after setting his drink down. In seconds, their faces were inches apart. Alloces's eyes flickered
down to his lips, like he was drawn to them, and all Sergei could do was sit there in shock. He felt numb, almost
panicked, his superior, but yet his equal, looming so close, so intimately.

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of lips against his own, light, testing. He could smell a whisp of flavored alcohol,
feel the exhale on his face.

His heart fluttered in his chest like a wild bird, unable to help the sudden feeling of heat blooming within him
before he had a hand curled around the back of Erdenhardt's neck, guiding him closer in another kiss. It ignited
into passion, Alloces tilting his head and moving closer to get more of Sergei, his breathing becoming quick
between deep kisses.

Sergei couldn't help the roam of his hands, the way he exploded into consuming movements with the sudden
urge to have more of Alloces. His fingers tightened around the German's tie, tugging it lightly between
breathless kissing as he made to stand, his other hand sneaking behind the officer to roam against his lower
back.
Alloces moaned faintly as Sergei caged him against his chest, nipping gently at his lips and pressing closer. The
heat between them skyrocketed, Alloces's hands pressed against the other's chest as the floorboards creaked
beneath their weight as they mindlessly stepped towards Alloces's room, which was hidden behind sliding
wooden doors.

Sergei's hands lowered to start undoing Alloces's belt, who littered Sergei's face and neck in little mischievous
bites and pecks, a slow, youthful grin appearing on his features as he reached backwards, yanking Sergei with
him as he opened the sliding doors and guided him backwards into the tidy room.

Once the belt was abandoned, Sergei pulled away if only for a moment to close the doors behind him before
pouncing back on the German, his overcoat discarded on the floor. His hands slithered up and down the more
lithe frame of the officer until they fell together onto the bed, the springs creaking reluctantly. Sergei had
Alloces pinned beneath him, the full glory of his length spearing into the Nazi's hip. To which, Alloces gasped
as the Russian straightened, towering over him as he fumbled with his pants. He looked unsure; and Sergei
guessed that Alloces had never done this before. That made two of them, but in the moment, they didn't care. He
wondered if this was Alloces's first time, period. Sergei had been with plenty of women, but Alloces didn't look
like he got a lot of attention from feminine lovers. But by the way he kissed, how he made the first move, maybe
he was wrong. In his urgency, Sergei kept his coat on as he worked to undo his trouser's buttons. Alloces looked
a little lost, simply watching before Sergei's gaze lifted to the officer's face. Alloces Erdenhardt laid propped up
on his elbows, that daunting grin appearing. Once he'd captured the attention of his subordinate, he slid his legs
apart, inviting Sergei between them wordlessly.

A wave of heat further flooded him, satisfied at the sight. He leaned down to layer the German's neck with
kisses, Sergei tugging down the lower's trousers just above his knees. Taking everything off was a hassel, it was
more time spent not touching Alloces, and he couldn't afford it.

Sergei pulled away, his expression betraying the longing want. He lifted the German's legs, folding the SS agent
almost in half with himself acting as the weight keeping Alloces pinned to the sheets. Erdenhardt, in his drunken
state, let himself be moved and manipulated, which left Turgenev unsure of the other's want.

Alloces only curled his arms around Sergei's neck, leaving him no time to reconsider before the Kraut was
uttering soft German phrases to the Russian, and although he hardly paid attention to the words, the intention
was clear; Alloces had planned this.

Sergei had no complaints. Angling and aligning himself, he pushed his hips downwards, entering with little
resistance. Alloces moaned over his shoulder, his movements sloppy and slow as he squirmed with attempts of
getting comfortable, and Sergei let him.

Before long, it was Alloces who was getting impatient, and he bit at the Lieutenant's jaw needily before his head
fell back to the pillow when his demands were met with a steady rocking of the bed.

Alloces was loud; but it was not from agony, so Sergei could assume that Alloces had bee thinking about this
for a long time, and took the time to prepare himself. It left him wondering how many nights had Alloces laid
legs spread pretending his fingers were Sergei? The thought spurred his hips quicker, deeper, rewarded with
another shameless sound.

He could feel the sweat building under their coats eventually, stomach to stomach and chest to chest as they
chased out their physical goal.

It was Sergei who first heard steps, and then a concerned questioning from down the hallway. The walls must be
thin here, and Sergei placed a hand over Alloces's opened mouth, muffling the endless praises as he stared down
into the blissfully pleasured expression of him. Eyes squinted close, eyebrows draw upwards, a desperate look.
Though the need to be silent remained, Sergei never once stopped the plow of his hips, only slowing to
minimize the annoying creak of Alloces's wooden framed bed. As soon as they arrived, the steps retreated back
down the hallway, and likely far away.

Finally removing his hand, Alloces hugged him closer, lips brushing Sergei's ear to cry pleading, “Bitte, bitte,
Sergei-” before being cut off by another moan of ecstastey. It was followed by more pleads, in an assortment of
broken Russian strung with German, like Sergei might understand better in his native language.

The threat gone, he rocked the bed frame to the wall as he deepened, roughened, sending eachother into a world
of perfection for the next minute before Alloces's indefinite groans faltered into begging, the breath wracked
from him as he arched and squirmed and no doubt soiled Sergei's front.

Alloces had no need to beg, Sergei would of pleasured him all the same. He felt himself finishing before he
knew the sensation of burning hot pleasure in his lower region, sensitivity from the duration of the event making
him shudder as he retreated from Alloces.

They collapsed against eachother, beaten of breath. Alloces, smiling that young smile, slipped his fingers
through Turgenev's hair appreciatively, still bent like a pretzel as he croaked, “Danke.”