Church’s Gospel
Synopsis: Nikto’s curiosity about Black!GN reader’s interest in christianity, despite being a hardcore atheist.
(torment+burn/scar inaccuracies[feel free to correct/criticize])+bionic writing attempt
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9 AM, Sunday— you finally open your eyes. Looking beside you, only to find no one there. Nikto always did wake up exceptionally earlier than you.
Sighing, you reluctantly got out of bed: sleep still having its calming claws on you.
You admire yourself for a moment, having learned long ago to give praise and grace to yourself before anyone.
Putting a towel toward your face, thick arms wrap around you. Lips begin to smother your face, hands fondling your chest, and stomach.
Nikto took the side of your bonnet, lifting it a little to give your hair a quick sniff. That’s when you had to intervene. He weird.
“Dude! You’re almost 40!” You swat his head away, slipping your bonnet back into place.
“You finally awake?” Nikto gives a gruff laugh.
His presence startled you a bit. Loving and hating when he’d sneak up on you. His muscles were huge; his veins showing themselves proudly. Must’ve exercised just recently.
“Not fully, Nikto! I was just wetting my face, you’re disturbing the process!” You huffed, but still snickered out.
“We haven’t had our water yet.” Nikto then gives a disgustingly long lick to your face. Which has you thrashing and slapping his arms to get out of his hold.
“What the fuck!” You yelled out. He releases you, seemingly satisfied at the chaos he’s caused you. He always has this weird way of showing “affection” after a night of sex.
“Why are you up so early?” You wipe your face as he questions you.
“I’m going somewhere.” You vaguely state, as you splash your face again.
“Where?” He leans on the wood door directly behind you, basically touching the whole of your ass unintentionally. It was quite a small bathroom.
“Why?” You said a little to harshly. The unnecessary guilt was somehow eating you up, despite being a grown ass adult.
Maybe it was because you felt like a hypocrite.
Nikto raised both his eyebrows. “Innocent question.” He rubs the side of your stomach.
You put the towel down, silently breathing out. “Because… I’m going to church.” You felt bad for being defensive about such a stupid thing.
Turning around to face him, wanting to get a good look at his body. His hairy chest— black follicles spreading across his pectorals trickling down between them before dispersing again— and his plump stomach. He’s been exercising more often: his return from leave just around the corner.
It always made you melancholic to be alone for months on end. However, the waiting made you more appreciative of him, and that body of his.
Nikto perked up his eyebrow. “We thought you were an atheist. Change of heart?” Nikto grabbed your sides, pulling you close.
“No,” you felt embarrassed for some reason. Having trouble explaining to someone like him. You’re sure he has religion where he’s originally from. So, why are you so anxious?
“I just want to go. That’s it really,” looking away from his vehement stare. His eyes creeped you out a bit— you’d never tell him that though— you still loved them.
“…Why?” Nikto was still confused. Gently pulling your head back to match his gaze.
“I like the music. I like gospel songs.” Maybe you were hoping he doesn’t ask to go with you.
“Oh. We can understand that.” He was curious about that bible that’s been beside your bedside this entire time. His curiosities weren’t piqued yet then.
“You do?” You looked bashful as you met his eyes.
“Yeah. We use to be orthodox christian a couple of years ago…” Now he was the one not meeting your gaze.
“Why did you stop?” You asked, Nikto immediately answering with the same question.
“Why did you stop?”
He had that intense stare. So did you. Neither of you wanted to confess why you gave up your beliefs. Knowing Nikto, it’s harder for him to be vulnerable. You had to be the one to step up in order to prompt him to do the same.
“I kept praying for things God apparently could change. My life, my environment, the world itself. I noticed it wasn’t getting better. Not in the slightest.”
You involuntarily began rubbing his chest; it soothed you many times.
“I thought, maybe I was asking for too much— that maybe I misunderstood. Assuming that God made too many mistakes, and I was doubting him. So, I prayed for less. Then, I eventually didn’t pray for anything at all. I stopped believing by then.”
You pouted, resenting all those years you’ve spent believing in the wonderfulness of God. And resenting the people that doubted, hated, and denied his existence.
“You?” You hesitantly asked.
“When we were younger, my parents would bring me to church. Kids usually believe in what their parents believe in, right?”
Nikto rubbed his chin in deep rumination. The most he could grow was a bit of stubble.
“I liked the hymns especially. The belief stayed with us for a while, even after joining the FSB, we still believed.”
Nikto rubbed your shoulder, staring— almost through you— without saying anything for a minute. It was awkward and uncomfortable; then he continued. There was an absence of a smooth transition into his next sentence.
“Then I was captured and tortured. I remember the tools he used, where I was, I thought I was a deadman.”
Nikto had this vacant look on his face, never looking away from you. It unnerved you.
“I remember silently praying to God for 7 days,” he tittered. “I was hoping, in the end, I would be forgiven. I know that wouldn’t happen.”
Nikto has told you he’d been captured, but you’ve never heard details. Nikto wasn’t a good man; he’s correct about not being forgiven. Regardless, it’s always a nice thought to have.
You almost wanted to cry, despite a man like him not needing anyone to cry for him.
“I’m glad you’re here, even if God doesn’t appreciate that.” Misty-eyed, you still gave him a smile.
Nikto’s eyes crinkled at its edges, a satisfied smile on his face. His hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbed against your soft lips.
You grabbed the hand that was delicately clutching your cheek. Looking at him with complete adoration. Closing your eyes to give him a kiss.
He quickly leans in and gives a long, toe-clenching, satisfying, gracious, blissful, fulfilling kiss. You felt like you were having heart palpitations from how much emotion this man is putting into the kiss.
He suddenly lifts your body to the sink, kissing down your neck now.
“Woah— I have a schedule I gotta stick to! I’m already a little late…” You still let him kiss all over your neck, loving the affection.
“That’s not sticking to a schedule then.” He says, hands under your shirt, touching your abdomen.
“Nikto... We can do this later. You— you know I find it hard to say no when you look this good.” You palmed his shoulder, your willpower becoming less and less.
“You gave us all these hickeys, and don’t expect us to try to give you one?” Nikto’s muffled laughs vibrate your neck in a ticklish way.
“Hmm, that’s definitely not happening! Tryna make me look indecent on my first day back to church! Nikto!” You put your hand on the back of his head, laughing.
“We’ll stop, we’ll stop.” His voice gruff as he smiles against your throat, teeth— fake and real— gliding over your jugular veins. You loved how his accent got thicker when he was seducing you.
You could hear your heartbeat in your ears by the time he stopped. A question blurted out of you before you could stop yourself.
“Wanna go to church with me?” You cringed at the delivery of it. “The music is very energetic at times, but also entertaining! It’s most likely not going to be in your tastes though.” You caress his chin.
He thinks for a second before answering: “Yes.”
“Okay!” Heavy shame and embarrassment entered your body picturing this man at a protestant church. It’s not that big of a deal considering you’ll most likely be in the back, not standing, singing, or clapping much. You’re also scared it’ll make you both negatively stand out.
From the years you’ve been with Nikto, he’s stopped wearing that heavy mask in public to attract less attention, opting to wear cheap disposable facial masks. Of course he has his cap: patches of his hair missing due to torture. Seemingly never growing back— not that he’s tried anything to get it to grow.
You give him a peck on the lips before shoving him out, hearing him laughing. You get ready to leave for church, excited at the prospect of hearing the gospel jolt and shake through your body once again.
Being Nikto’s first time to a protestant church only made you happier, not that he’d give much of a reaction either way. Still— him just being there with you, made it all the better.
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