[Fyodor D. X Reader] Birds in the House of the Living

02: Bible school

"You abducted me here just to make me listen to you play the cello?"

Unbothered, his hands continued sliding the bow, creating consistent tune, his eyes shut as he smiled, insincerely. The same condescending smile he shoots you everytime, as if he deems you a foolish one. This was the second time he drugged you, and it has only been a few weeks. Seriously, this is all you get? Is this his form of repayment for your willingness to join his shitty terrorist cult?

A few weeks had passed since your recruitment to his organisation, you were his first accomplice. Soon enough, a childhood friend of his will be here to accompany you both, he announced. You trust his words, even more than yours. He was obviously the man who does not turn on his words, and he was sure of himself.

His pale figure contrasted sharply with the darkness, his long fingers teasing a melody from the cello. He presented the sombre architecture of the ruins through the fluidity of his notes. The vibrations under his control told stories to the broken pillars, yet his music remained intact. Intact in the way he held the cello between his legs, his solitude remained intact as rigid as his posture. He pressed on the instrument and sways its strings gracefully. His lips slightly parted as his head tilts back like a euphoric release. At this point, he was art. Not the music.

What is this feeling? How are you supposed to describe this? It's so much similar to those feelings when you look back in memories - oh, God. This scene will probably find its way to be ingrained deeply in one of your core memories, forever, out of your own will..

He abruptly stops. Ceasing its melodies.

"Ah. That's not it.. Don't you have anything nice to say about it, Мышка?"

"Нет."

He was a cryptic man. At first, it was okay, but now, it's unbearable. He can never be forward with his desires, alas, the reason he drugged you for the second time now was to listen to his performance inside an old church with its stained windows broken.

"Where is Puppet?"

"Fret not, it is safe inside a shelf."

"It's a he, and he does not like being locked in small spaces."

"Oh, how disheartened I am.." His tone shifted to one of mockery, showing his lack of care for your puppets' pronouns. You couldn't deny that his tone annoyed you like none other, and it wasn't just because of his incorrect usage of Puppets' pronouns.

He sets his cello aside, a loud thud coming from the cello faltering to the ground as if he didn't have an ounce of care left in his heart to just purchase a bag for it for safety. He arose from his seat and began to walk his way towards yours.

"Say, Мышка.. Have you read the Bible?"

"No."

He looks down on you. His hands found its way to creep up upon your back, travelling up until it reached the back of your neck. He uses his freehand to tilt your chin to look upwards, you look up on him.

"Adam and Eve, have you any knowledge of the fable?"

"Obviously."

His hand that rested on the nape of your neck shifts to your hair, he grabs a fistful of your locks and alarmingly pulls your hair up. You wince at the pain, your eyes widening more as you look at him.

"Adam and Eve.. Once pure and untainted. The evil serpent tempts Eve to consume the forbidden fruit in trade of everlasting holy knowledge, in the false sense that she was to become God Himself,"

Stop.

As you remained on your chair, he dwelves his body deeper in your essence, standing in-between your parted thighs. He pulls your hair in a way that'll make you bury your head in his chest, you can feel the faint heartbeats coming out from him which seems to have increased with the weight of your head against his own chest.