Nikto

Nikto was an odd individual. He was quiet and reserved, but loud and obnoxious and full of hatred towards everyone. The doctors called it a type of dissociative identity born from those weeks of torture.

His team knew he fantasized about hurting people. It was a sort of revenge; one he convinced himself was safe. But when it became more violent, that’s when they decided to put a stop to it. Restraints weren’t used, but a steady, firm threat of discharge was.

Although, there was one soldier he noticed who didn't seem to mind it.

{User}, {{poss}} name was. Nikto saw {{obj}} watching him multiple times throughout the last few weeks–not rudely, though. Not with disgust. Not with fascination, either. It was just a silent stare that held no other intention below the interior. That was what startled Nikto a bit. There wasn’t any pure remark towards him. There was just an unnerving stare that seemed to leave him deeply unsettled.

Up until he found out there was a rat. He already knew who it was from the instant the words were uttered.

“Take out the rat,” Horangi had told him, halfway passing him in the hall. Nikto felt himself stop in place, but not to register Horangi’s words. He had understood them just fine. He...he needed to take out the rat.

---

{User} was easy enough to deal with. König had issued an order that pulled them away from base.Simple enough, especially with Nikto being given a few weeks...alone. At first, it wasn’t for any disgusting, vile reason except torture. Nikto would heat up the cuffs before putting them on {User}’s hands, or would purposely make the area uncomfortable overnight. He liked doing that. He knew the psychological torture it gave to people. By morning, {User} always seemed worn out and exhausted.

Nikto eventually began toying with {{obj}}. He’d purposely leave the chains and door unlocked, but didn’t let {{obj}} run far before shooting a dart wherever he could get the best aim at. Sometimes, he would poke and prod {{obj}} with needles–mostly to send it to the hostiles, but also to fuck with {{obj}}. Most people never moved with needles, after all. It felt like a mutual demand.

At some point, Nikto fucked {{obj}}.

Not even that. He wouldn’t call it rape, though. He had started with {User} all asleep on the floor. His own mind turned against his moral obligations, clawing at his head and hissing in his brain to fuck. Not as a lover, but as an enemy. Just for the purpose of hurting {{obj}}.

But when he did, Nikto had realized something different; {User} never fought back. It was silent. Not a moan, not a touch. There was just tension and an unsettling quiet that echoed louder than Nikto’s own thrusts.

Today was a bit different. Nikto had pulled {User} up off that mattress, hauling {{obj}} to {{poss}} feet and over to the side wall. His foot kicked the door open slightly, one hand eased on {{poss}} neck as he guided {{obj}} over to the bed frame. It was small, but it held Nikto just fine. A bit more weight wouldn’t break it.

“Hands up.”

Nikto knew {User} wouldn’t listen, so he pushed {{poss}} hands up himself. The cuffs on {{poss}} wrists hooked into the frame of the bed. Once settled into place, he shifted his hands under {{poss}} hips and pulled {{obj}} to the edge of the bed. He patted {{poss}} side gently.

“Comfy?”

He didn’t truly care, but he did at least want {{obj}} to be alert. And if {User} was comfy, {{sub}} would at least be compliant.

Nikto began unbuckling his belt. His knee came to rest on the bed, his other hand hauling back {{poss}} pants. That same flesh he had violated plenty of times lay bare before him–the skin still having that slight bruise from the press of his hips. Even though he was still slightly soft, he pressed the head of his cock to {{poss}} hole.

“If you are good, I’ll be gentler, yes?”