Costumes - Chapter 5: Intimacy
They were being very careful. Their cuddle was relatively chaste, her head on his chest and their fingers entwined. The Priest's free hand lightly cupped the back of her head, holding her gently to him.
"Jareth is packing some serious salami," The Priest commented, chuckling to himself as the Goblin King danced and hopped across the screen. "It's obscene, really."
"You're high," she observed, laughing, her head resting on his chest.
"I am," he confirmed. "I mean, 'Dance, Magic, Dance?' 'Bulge, Magic, Bulge,' more like it."
He squinted down at her as she looked up at him. They burst into giggles.
Their gaze lingered on one another as their smiles faded, replaced by something heavier.
I'm not going to kiss her.
They stayed there, suspended in the moment that had suddenly crashed down around them. His eyes darted between hers and her slightly open mouth.
"How are you feeling?" Fleabag broke the silence.
The Priest knew she was asking how he was feeling regarding his too-stoned status but felt unwilling to leave the heaviness of the mood behind despite his better judgement. "I'm feeling…a lot of things at the moment." Their eyes were still locked, faces very close together. "None of which I want to confess."
He untangled his hand from hers and tucked her hair behind her ear. The backs of his fingertips trailed softly over her cheek. He swallowed hard.
I'm not going to kiss her.
There was a long moment of quiet as they stared at each other. The Priest's fingers moved from her face to lightly touch her collarbone before he dropped his hand to his side.
Fleabag sighed, taking his fallen hand and moving back up to cup her face. Pressing the pad of his thumb gently to her parted lips, she closed her eyes for a moment, seeming to enjoy the contact. She opened her eyes again, looking up at him beneath her dark lashes.
His breath caught in his chest at the feeling of her lips, and he swallowed again. The fingers of his other hand tangled into the curls at the back of her head. It was all he could do not to pull her face closer to his own.
They both breathed heavily, in and out, for a long stretch of time. The Priest could feel her warm breath against his hand. Fleabag moved her head to the side slightly, causing the pad of his thumb to drag across her bottom lip.
He licked his own lips at that. "I thought you said you weren't going to flirt with me. So many others to seduce, and all that."
She smiled innocently against his finger. "I guess all that bulge-talk got me stirred up. I blame you. Besides, I'm not doing anything you don't want me to do, am I?"
He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.
"Furthermore," she purred, her voice low, "if it's going to happen, you have to do it. It has to come from you."
"What?" he asked, confused. He dropped his hand from Fleabag's face again.
"You're the one who left me," she stated, without accusation in her tone. "There's no way I would make the first move and set myself up to be so vulnerable for your inevitable rejection, Father."
He frowned. He could tell there was more. He waited.
"And frankly," Fleabag continued, "I'm terrified of this intimacy. Whatever this"—she gestured between them— "is. I share more intimacy with you in just a shared look than I have with all the men I have fucked, combined. What am I supposed to do with that? This isn't about sex for me, and that's…really saying something, as I am a very, very horny person." She smirked. "And you're…well, very, very hot."
The Priest flashed her a smile at the last part. Then his expression grew serious.
"I understand what you mean about the intimacy. I don't…I don't want you to think it's only you who feels it," he said, pulling her head to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I feel extraordinarily close with you. I mean, yeah, I admit it. I desire you sexually, but—it's not that that scares me. What scares me is the intimacy. You see right through me."
She sat up slightly, surprised. "That's not true," she protested, "I'm always wondering what you're thinking. I never know. I'm shocked you think I have any natural insight into how you're feeling. The only time I knew for sure was when you told me flat out that you were choosing God instead of me."
The Priest stared at her, thinking carefully about what to say next.
"I do have to confess something." He cleared his throat. "Until you asked, 'It's God, isn't it?' I had no idea what I was going to do or say that night at the bus stop. I was hoping you'd tell me what to do. I guess—when you asked that—I took it as a sort of sign that my path was God. I am frightened that what I really did, though, was take the easier road. The path of least resistance. Because I am terrified"—he leaned in, feathering a kiss across her temple—"of intimacy like this." He paused, straightened slightly, and gave her a dire look. "I have doubts. About the priesthood. I think you should know that."
"I think I like it when you confess," Fleabag said, eyebrows raised, after regarding him for a moment.
He smiled a bit sheepishly. "There's more."
"I'm listening," she licked her lips unconsciously.
That mouth.
"I think I am less afraid of leaving the priesthood than I am about being intimate with you." He chewed his bottom lip as he nervously gauged her reaction.
"You're afraid of sex? We've had—"
"No, not sex," he interrupted. "I mean, well, okay yeah, sex is fucking terrifying, actually, but—"
They both laughed at that.
"But I mean intimacy. We've had sex"—he smiled, a little embarrassed—"but we didn't… I mean—" He ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "I feel like the most intimacy we had shared before tonight was the night in the confessional. That first kiss, before we really lost our fucking minds." His eyes glittered at the memory. "We took our time for that kiss. For a moment, it was something tender and beautiful."
"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?" Fleabag asked tentatively, her eyes narrowed.
"But," he went on, "we rushed. We rushed that night, and then we rushed the night I came over here. There was all of this sexual tension that hit a crescendo, and all we wanted to do was just—" He paused, searching for the right words.
"Bang it out," she supplied, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Bang it out," he agreed. "And, I mean, it was amazing. Like, truly fucking amazing. But, we didn't really get a chance to explore. We had admittedly wild sex for just that one night. Then I had to leave early the next morning. We didn't even get to have morning sex." He pouted. "And we didn't cuddle."
She waited for him to continue his stream of consciousness.
"What I'm trying to say is," he explained, "I held back. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the slow kiss, the loving caress. The cuddling. The parts of myself that I actually want to share with you. The bits I haven't ever wanted to share with anyone else."
"I get it," she answered, matter-of-factly. "Do you know, I once had a boyfriend who only wanted to make love every single time we fucked? It was an absolute nightmare."
He tipped his head back and chuckled at her vehemence before meeting her eyes again as she continued.
"I could not have wanted intimacy with him any less. But, with you…I feel an overwhelming desire for intimacy that I've never experienced before. It's scary as fuck. I've never connected this way, on this kind of an emotional level. I guess I held back, too."
"Oh, you definitely did." He laughed lightly. "You were doing that thing you do—when I don't know where you go."
She frowned at that. "I'm sorry if it seemed like I checked out. It was just a lot. And the whole fucking time I half didn't believe it was even happening. It was like a fevered wank dream."
"Right?" The Priest agreed, eyes large. "It was a wild fuck-a-thon of unleashed sexual tension. It was surreal." He paused. "And you have nothing to be sorry for. We are just human beings," he reminded her with a grin.
Fleabag grinned back, then bit her bottom lip as she watched his gaze darken with emotion.
He cupped her face again gently, his expression growing serious. "I wish I had taken my time."
"Father—" she whispered.
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip again. Her lips stayed slightly parted as it passed over them.
"If I could do it over again, I'd take my time. Memorise the taste of your skin. Pay more attention to the way your breath quickens before you climax," he said huskily.
Her breath caught audibly, and she looked panicked for a moment. Then, she looked decided.
"What are you wearing under that costume?" she asked pointedly.
Oh, Christ.
