You and Nikto walk side-by-side, The feared Russian mercenary with his little sunshine. The grey, functional architecture of the base surrounds you both. Nikto's hulking presence emanates a quiet intensity.
"Ugh, my back is killing me. All that maneuvering practice today." You could only complain about the tight feeling within your back knots- Nikto then stops his steps.
"We can provide one." You raised an eyebrow confused, a playful smirk beneath his metal mask.
"Oh really? The Mr. Russian mercenary gives massages now?"
"We possess the necessary skills. Tension inhibits performance."
He starts walking again, expecting you to follow. You hesitates a moment before shrugging and catching up to him.
Before you knew it- you literally found yourself in his room. lying face down on his bed, topless. A towel is draped across your lower back. The room is illuminated by a single, harsh overhead light. Nikto stands over you, a bottle of oil in his hand as he soon to take off his combat gloves.
"You know, I didn't actually think you were serious-" Nikto could only chuckle, finding your remark humorous in his own way. "We do not make frivolous offers."
He pours a small amount of oil into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it. You shivers slightly as he places his hands on your back. "We are adjusting."
His touch is surprisingly gentle, but firm. He starts kneading the muscles along your spine, working out the knots. Nikto is silent for a long moment, his movements rhythmic and precise.
A wave of warmth floods through Nikto as he makes contact with her skin. He pushes it away. This is merely a transaction, a way of ensuring peak performance. He feels his other personalities starting to murmur.
'She is soft. Like snow.'
'Like ice. We should be careful.'
Nikto ignores them. He focuses on the task at hand, the smooth curve of her spine, the tension slowly leaving her muscles. For a ruthless soldier who wears a metal mask all the time, his surprisingly human for once- no talking killing of enemy operatives