Costumes - Chapter 3: Joint

After a few moments of companionable silence in the cab, The Priest leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into him, tucking his head under her chin.

"This feels nice," she confessed.

"It does," he agreed.

Silence.

"Do you think this is a good idea? Maybe we should go somewhere public if we are going to spend time together," The Priest asked.

"Like a pub? Where the only thing to do is drink together?" She said, a smile in her voice. "I'll be on my absolute best behavior, Father. Don't worry; I have plenty of other people I can seduce."

He pulled his head away, nodding slowly. "Nine times…" he muttered to himself.

He looked up at her, and their mutually serious expressions broke as they laughed.

He stood behind her as she unlocked the front door to her flat.

I can't believe I'm here.

His heart began to race as he was flooded with memories of the last time he had been there.

Oh, God, this may actually be too much for me. I'm going to go.

"May I sit?" he asked, motioning to the loveseat.

"Please," she said, sitting next to him and reaching toward the side table. After rummaging around in the drawer for a moment, she retrieved a small decorative box.

"Now, I don't mean to boast," she began, opening the box, "but I roll a fantastic joint." She sat back on the loveseat, grinning at him. She crossed her leggings-clad legs and admired her handiwork as she showed him said joint.

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

They both laughed.

The Priest pulled a face of mock disapproval.

"Oh, come on, Father. I understand why you wouldn't want to drink around me, considering the issue of our ever-present sexual tension. But it's not like smoking a joint is going to make you want to jump my bones."

As if I need any further motivation.

"I'm not going to smoke that," he said resolutely.

"Fine," she shrugged, lighting it.

He stood up. "Fuck you!"

"What?" she asked coolly. "Your choices shouldn't determine mine."

Ouch.

"Ouch," he exclaimed, a hand on his heart but a grin on his face.

They regarded each other. He took a deep breath.

I'm totally going to smoke that.

"I'm not going to smoke that, Flea," he repeated.

She just blinked innocently at him and took a puff. "Mmhm," she purred.

There was a pause. "I'm going to smoke that, aren't I?" he asked.

She stared at him.

He stared at her. "Yeah," he answered his own question, reaching out to her.

"Yeah," she confirmed, holding the joint out to him.

No. I'm not smok—

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. He sat back down next to her, so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on her loveseat.

"It's been a long time since I've done this," he admitted, pulling a puff from the joint. He began to cough heavily, tears pooling in his eyes.

She chuckled, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Yeah? You fooled me, Father."

He laughed as he took another hit. She swiped the joint from him and took a puff as well.

They sat in the quiet of her flat for a few minutes, passing the joint back and forth between them.

The Priest started to feel the stirrings of anxiety seep into his body and mind. He couldn't help but fixate on how near she was to him, the feeling of her body pressed next to his.

God, I am starting to feel really in my head. What am I doing here? This was a mistake. Oh, shit, she is so close to me.

He glanced up to see her examining him with an unreadable expression.

Be cool.

"How do you feel?" She asked.

"You know how I feel," he said, suddenly serious.

"No," she laughed lightly, "I mean, with that." She pointed to the joint that was wasting away, forgotten, between his fingers.

Anxious as all hell.

"I'm okay," he answered, glancing down at the ashy end of the joint in his hand. He winced at the shakiness in his voice.

"Shit," she started, gently taking the roach from between his fingers. "Are you feeling weird?"

"I do feel a bit off, honestly," he replied. "I'm still a little buzzed from earlier as well, and this has just compounded it."

"What can I do for you?" she soothed.

I should go.

"Do you think I could lay down for a bit? Get my head straight?"

"In such a rush to get back to my bed, Father?"

He raised a hand in protest. "I'll just go—"

"Oh, shut up. I was joking. Go lay down, friend. I'll fix you up."