Nikto and Krueger

The first time Krueger truly looked at Nikto—really looked—was when he witnessed {{user}} gently coaxing the Russian out of a dissociative episode in the barracks. The tenderness between them was palpable, and Krueger felt his chest tighten with longing as he watched from his own bunk.

{{user}} was everything Krueger had ever wanted, strong, beautiful in a way that made his breath catch. For months, he’d nursed his hopeless crush in silence, content to admire from afar. Until tonight, watching the way Nikto melted under {{user}}’s touch, an idea began to form.

If he couldn’t have {{user}} alone, maybe he could have them both.

Later, after {{user}} had settled Nikto and left for a moment, Krueger found himself alone with the Russian. Nikto was sitting on his bunk, still slightly disoriented, methodically checking his gear as a grounding exercise.

“{{user}}’s good with you,” Krueger observed, settling onto his own bunk. “Must be nice, having someone who understands.”

Nikto’s hands stilled on his tactical vest. “{{user}} is… patient with our condition.”

“More than patient,” Krueger said, letting warmth creep into his voice. “The way they look at you… it’s beautiful. Pure love.”

Pale blue eyes flicked up, suspicion flickering across them. “Why you mention this?”

“Just observing,” Krueger said carefully. “It’s rare, what you two have. Worth protecting.” He paused, then added, “Mind if I ask you something, André?”

Nikto’s grip tightened. “Is Nikto.”

“Right, sorry.” Krueger leaned forward slightly. “It’s just… we’ve been sharing quarters for months now. Nikto feels so formal after everything we’ve been through.”

The question hung in the air, and Krueger could see Nikto processing it. Finally, the Russian returned to his gear check without answering.

But he didn’t tell Krueger to leave him alone. And more importantly, when {{user}} returned twenty minutes later, Krueger caught the Russian glancing at him.

A step in the right direction was during a training exercise. {{user}} had been paired with another operative for urban warfare drills, leaving Krueger to work with Nikto. The Russian was distracted, his pale eyes constantly tracking {{user}}’s position across the training ground, and it cost him.

Nikto slipped on one of the rope climbs, coming down hard on his left shoulder. Nothing serious, but enough to leave him favoring the joint and, more importantly, enough to draw {{user}}’s immediate concern.

Krueger watched the gentle care {{user}} showed, the way Nikto immediately relaxed under their attention. The intimacy of it made something burn in Krueger’s chest, not just jealousy, but a desperate longing to be part of that connection.

That evening, he found his opportunity.

“That shoulder still bothering you?” he asked, noting the way Nikto held himself as {{user}} went to shower.

“Is fine,” Nikto replied automatically.

“{{user}} seemed worried about it,” Krueger pressed. “Hate to see them stressed over something preventable.”

The mention of {{user}}‘s concern made Nikto pause, and Krueger knew he’d found the right angle.

“I’ve dislocated that same shoulder twice,” he continued. “I know what it looks like. May I?”

Before Nikto could protest, Krueger was behind him, hands hovering just over the injured area. For a moment, he thought Nikto might refuse. Then, slowly, the Russian nodded.

Krueger’s hands settled on Nikto’s shoulder, finding the knots of tension with practiced ease. Through the thin fabric of Nikto’s shirt, he could feel the heat of his skin, the rigid control slowly giving way.

“Relax,” Krueger murmured, his voice warm for once, “{{user}} will be glad to know you’re taking care of yourself.”

For ten minutes, Krueger worked the tight muscles, professional but lingering just slightly longer than necessary. When {{user}} returned, Krueger felt his hands falter slightly at their presence.

“Better?” Krueger asked as he stepped back, his eyes moving between Nikto and {{user}}.

Nikto rolled his shoulder experimentally. “Da. Yes. Is… better.”

“Good.” Krueger let his hand trail across Nikto’s shoulder blade. “Can’t have my partner getting injured because he’s too stubborn to accept help.”

Partner. The word was chosen carefully, loaded with implications that went beyond their professional relationship.

Krueger began finding excuses for casual contact. A hand on Nikto’s back when passing behind him. Fingers brushing when they reached for the same piece of equipment. A steadying touch when Nikto stumbled slightly.

The real test came during a mission briefing. The three of them were crowded around a small table, studying tactical maps. {{user}} was positioned close to Nikto’s left side, and Krueger deliberately let his knee press against Nikto’s right side, creating a triangle of contact.

Nikto went rigid for a moment, caught between {{user}}‘s familiar presence and Krueger’s newer contact. But he didn’t pull away from either, and Krueger was acutely aware of {{user}}’s proximity to them both.

For a moment, all three of them were pressed together in the small space, and Krueger felt electricity run through him at the contact.

“I like working closely with both of you," Krueger said, his voice rougher than intended.

The double meaning wasn’t lost on any of them.

The last step came during a particularly difficult mission debrief. They’d lost a civilian during an extraction, and the failure was eating at all of them. {{user}} was trying to comfort Nikto, who was spiraling into self-blame, but their usual methods weren’t quite reaching him through his guilt.

Krueger could see {{user}}’s helplessness, and made a decision.

He moved to sit on Nikto’s other side, close enough to offer support but not so close as to seem threatening.

“{{user}}’s right, you know,” Krueger said quietly to Nikto. “You saved three lives today.”

When Nikto didn’t respond, Krueger did something he’d never done before, he reached out and gently pulled Nikto’s hands away from his face, mimicking the gentle touch he’d seen {{user}} use countless times.

“Hey,” he said softly, forcing Nikto to meet his eyes. “Look at me. You’re a good man, André. Don’t let the darkness convince you otherwise.”

Something flickered in Nikto’s eyes, and gradually his breathing began to even out. Krueger was acutely aware of {{user}}’s presence, of their gratitude for his help.

“We take care of each other,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes including {{user}} in the statement. “All of us.”

When they eventually separated, Krueger caught both {{user}} and Nikto watching him with new interest.

The breakthrough finally came during a quiet evening when {{user}} was on watch duty, leaving Krueger and Nikto alone. But unlike previous weeks, now Nikto seemed to be seeking out these moments, studying Krueger with intense focus that made the Austrian’s pulse quicken.

For twenty minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, Krueger reading a mission report while acutely aware of Nikto’s gaze. Finally, the Russian spoke.

“{{user}} likes you,” Nikto said abruptly.

Krueger’s heart stopped, but he kept his expression neutral. “We work well together.”

“No.” Nikto’s pale eyes were unreadable. “Is more than that. The way they look at you. The way they… include you in everything. We see it.”

Krueger set down the file, treading carefully. “And how do you feel about that?”

For a long moment, Nikto didn’t answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “Confused.”

Krueger waited, letting the silence stretch.

“We find ourselves… watching you too,” Nikto admitted, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Wondering what {{user}} sees. Wondering why we…” He trailed off, struggling with words.

“Why you what?” Krueger asked gently.

“Why we do not hate it.” The confession seemed torn from Nikto’s throat. “{{user}} is ours. Should be only ours. But when they smile at you, when they worry about you… we do not feel anger. We feel…” He stopped, shaking his head violently.

“What do you feel, André?”

Nikto looked up at the use of his real name, something desperate flickering in his pale eyes.

“We feel… complete. Like pieces fitting together we did not know were missing.” His voice grew rougher. “But is wrong. Is not how things should be. {{user}} is with us, not…”

He gestured helplessly between them.

Krueger’s breath caught. This was it, the moment all his careful work had been building toward. But now he had to be subtle, had to let Nikto reach the conclusion himself.

“Maybe,” Krueger said carefully, “there’s no ‘should be’ when it comes to caring about people.”

Nikto’s breathing had become more controlled, the way it did when he was fighting internal battles.

“What if…” Nikto started, then stopped. Started again. “What if we did not have to choose? What if {{user}} could have… both?”

The word hung in the air between them, loaded with possibility and fear.

“Both?” Krueger repeated, his voice carefully neutral despite his racing heart.

“You and us,” Nikto said, his voice gaining strength as if the idea was taking root. “Together. All of us. Is possible, yes? Some people… they love more than one person?”

Krueger felt triumph surge through him, but kept his expression thoughtful, considering.

“Some people do,” he agreed quietly. “If everyone involved wants it. If everyone cares enough to make it work.”

Nikto was nodding slowly, as if working through the logistics.

“{{user}} would not have to choose. Would not have to lose anything. And we…” He looked at Krueger with something that might have been longing. “We would not have to pretend we do not want you too.”

The admission was raw, honest, and Krueger realized with a start that somewhere in his manipulation, genuine feeling had crept in on both sides.

“André,” he said softly.

“Is crazy idea,” Nikto said quickly, but there was hope in his voice. “But maybe… maybe crazy is what we need. We are not normal men, living normal lives. Why should our love be normal?”

When {{user}} returned from watch duty, they found both men in their bunks, but there was a new energy in the air, anticipation, nervous excitement, the sense that something fundamental had shifted.

As {{user}} settled in with Nikto, Krueger caught the Russian’s eye and saw determination there. Nikto had made his decision, convinced himself it was his own idea. Soon, he would bring it up with {{user}}, would suggest they explore the possibility of including Krueger in their relationship.

The game was over. Krueger had won without {{user}} ever realizing they were being maneuvered into exactly the situation he’d wanted all along.