Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The noise of the frame falling was deafening. It ceased their intimate moment instantly. The priest was suddenly looking at her as if she was a stranger. He felt like he woke up from a steamy dream but somehow she was still there. In front of him. Staring at him, confused herself, waiting to see what he was going to do next.

He stepped back, rubbed his eyes, turned his back and went running to hide in the inner parts of the church. He wished she wouldn’t follow him. He needed to sober up.

“I hate it when He does that”, he thought.

Granted, the church building was old and decrepit, not to mention all the movement of their bodies in front of the confessionary while they were kissing. “That would do it”, he told himself later.

Being sober didn’t seem like a good idea to him anymore so he reached for another bottle from his old stash. This time it was easier to reach. He was still with his back turned to the door when he heard her… again.

“Father,” she said, almost whispering. “Your guy did his trick again.”

Her lipstick was smeared a bit from their passionate kiss but she still looked gorgeous. Her hair still maintained its beautiful curls. Like a 1930’s movie star. He wasn’t facing her though. He had his eyes covered with his right hand.

“Yeah, He seems to have made a habit out of that”, his sweet Irish accent sounded.

“Maybe it was a reaction to all the numerous sins I confessed”, she tried to lighten up the spirit and smiled.

“No, I think it was my sin that was the problem,” he sighed.

“Come on, Father, you can barely call a kiss a sin”

“I don’t think you get the concept of the thing I’m wearing on my neck,” he started to raise his voice. “My calling did not include making out in churches nor fantasizing… nevermind”, he turned away.

“Fantasizing about what?” she smirked. “Father, have you been naughty? Having alone time..”

“Oh, fuck off! You’re the one with the fantasies! Do you have a thing for celibate priests? Being the one and only that’s the reason for breaking an oath?” He was really angry this time. “Maybe you’re just not worth it!”

These last words floated over a long pause. The priest couldn’t take it back and she felt unable to rise up to his verbal “challenge”.

“Goodnight, Father”, the only response she found fit. She left the private room, took a glance at the confessionary where she was kneeling moments ago after opening up about her deepest fears. Seems like he did tell her what to do after all. To fuck off!

Chapter Text

She thought that Claire’s lawyer was an interesting guy. And hot. That was the first thing that came to mind when she met him. In truth, she attributed qualities to him that it was doubtful he possessed. But drinks made everything seem… brighter. She hadn’t planned how the evening would progress. She just needed to forget… that.

The conversation was going smoothly, he made her laugh and feel titillated about what might happen next. She wouldn’t refrain from a bolder move. In plain words, she needed rebound sex.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom. As she was looking at her fixed lipstick, she recalled the reason it got smeared in the first place. As she was washing her hands she felt the sensation of the fabric on the Priest’s weird dress. She had been trying to lift it up and make her way to his belt, it was almost comedic. Everything was still so vivid in her memory. Can she move along with the hot guy who’s waiting to get some?

All this sexual tension that she experienced at the church, almost going all the way with the Priest, needed some release. She was no stranger to a one-night stand. Just hit it and quit it. Deep down she feared she would be thinking of him all the way through.

A knock on the bathroom door dragged her out of her contemplations.

“Hellooooo? Are you there?” he called her.

Normally she would find such behavior annoying but she was feeling so buzzed and horny that she was glad he went after her. She opened the door, grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him towards her and kissed him passionately. When they parted lips to catch their breath she saw the gratification in his eyes. It led her on. They moved in one of the stalls and she drunkenly tried to unbuckle his belt. When she succeeded, she remembered what she was told earlier to do… kneel.

It was a surprise to her how pleasurable the night could be. They had made their way to her bedroom in the meantime. Climax after climax she was progressively forgetting her woe. She chose well. He knew what he was doing. She saw him like a god at the time. A sex god.
“Wait… God. No! Avoid that correlation. Forget it!” she commanded herself.

But her brain didn’t comply. At first she thought about how frustrated she felt when she stormed out of the church unsatisfied. And rejected. The memories went further back in time though. Her vulnerability in front of the Priest when he drew back the curtain, the way he caressed her skin, the kiss that was a peck at first and then it grew hungrier and hungrier… Then she forgot about the guy who was on top of her and it was the Priest who gifted her with her ninth orgasm.

She was exhausted. As much as she thought of herself as a sexually devouring siren, she couldn’t go on any longer. Besides, who seduced whom on this date really? The bottom line is they both got what they needed out of the night.

“So? How was it?” his voice interrupted her thoughts.

She just pretended she had fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

As her footsteps took her further and further away from him, as she slammed the church door and its noise echoed over the building, as he was left alone, the rush of anger faded away and he realized how hurtful and cruel his words were. Justified or not, he had no right to behave that way. Especially to a woman who had just opened her soul to him, bursting in tears. Or to anybody really. It was not a part of his calling to blur insults to people.

The events of the night were twirling in his mind and he decided to resort to his comfort zone. Booze and early 00’s Christina Aguilera blaring from his old-school stereo.

He couldn’t decipher his actions. Giving in to temptation, lust. And going on to blame the partner in crime. As if he wasn’t culpable for what happened… He was supposed to be the bigger person, the steady moral rock. Not a landmine in a deserted field, ready to go off on anyone who comes close.

To his surprise, his religious slip-up was what mattered less. His behavior towards her afterwards was the thorn on his soul.
“What did Leo Tolstoy write? The one who is to blame suffers the most?” he was trying to recall. But that was rather a profound thought for his confused and drunken mind.

‘Genie in a bottle’ was playing when it was suddenly turned off. “Is she back?” The thought rushed through his mind and made his body tingle. He turned around. It was Pam staring at him through her judgemental eyes.

“Father, what are you doing here? It’s after hours for you”
That whole scene was familiar to him.

“Why c… why can’t anyone leave my music alone?” he stammered angrily.

“Was somebody else here?” Pamela looked really confused.

“Ah, forget it”, he made a dismissive gesture.

“Okay, I don’t like that kind of tone. Or the noise in the church. I just came to organize things for Sunday only to find you drunk. Just go to bed, Father!” Now she was the angry one.

He woke up with the nastiest of hangovers. But it wasn’t only a result of the alcohol as much as of all the frustration he experienced the previous night. He was immediately overwhelmed by a sense of regret but before he was fully awake he couldn’t remember what was the source of the feeling.

The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to see her. But… the wedding! Talk about an awkward situation.

The truth is he did want to see her but as the illusion that came with Jin & Tonic cans, laughed and questioned everything he believed in. He didn’t know what her image would be like in real life anymore.

Did he need to get out of this?

He saw the Holy Bible he had given her on the nightstand. She returned it the night she ambushed him with drinks. He looked at the little note she had placed inside: “Interesting read. It’s a pity I knew how it ended”. It formed a bittersweet smile on his face. But still that didn’t change his mind.

He needed to call it off and do it in person.

Chapter Text

She was on her way to her father’s house almost stumbling. Her make up was smudged and she was wearing last night’s clothes. So it was what some people would call “the walk of shame” but, as a feminist, she hated that phrase. But she was definitely in no position to pose for that fucking portrait. What gave her some sense of satisfaction was that she got her revenge on her “hot priest”. But was anyone keeping score?

She saw her sister Claire, Godmother’s other muse, rushing to the house from the opposite direction. She dreaded the awkward encounter on the doorstep. But Claire was faster and entered the house before her. She would scold her for sure but for now she was safe.

Her nightmare of high heels finally led her to reach the door. She was about to ring the bell when she heard that mellow accent.

“Hey. Our timing is uncanny, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing here, Father?” she asked, trying to conceal her adventurous night with a more upright posture.

“I… Your father and stepmother… About tomorrow…” he muttered.

“Some kind of rehearsal?” Now her interest was piqued.

“No. I’m just… I’m not going to officiate the wedding.” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“Why not?” She was surprised at first but then she smirked “You’re running off again, aren’t you?”

“Looks like someone was having fun last night.” he changed the subject.

That caught her off guard. He was the one that had some explaining to do but he threw the ball on her court. She didn’t know if she should gloat or be ashamed about her rebound sex.

“Listen” the priest turned solemn, “the plan is that this is the last time that we see each other. I would ask you not to come to the church again. And no more G&Ts”

She pretended she didn’t hear that. No, that couldn’t be. That was an upright and permanent rejection.

“She is going to turn insane that you leave them hanging at the last minute. You’ll hear ‘Exorcist’ level swearing” she was secretly hoping he was going to be the victim of Godmother’s wrath.

“I’ll make some bulletproof excuses and as for the profanity… I can take it”

“It’s a pity about the dress though. We picked a good one” she laughed. “Well, I don’t think she’s going to be up for painting after that. So… I’m just…”

She didn't answer anything about them cutting the cords. What could she say?

She turned away from the house and was directing straight to the road.

“Well, fuck you then!” he said smiling.

She faced him and gave him the same cheeky smile. She tried to take a mental picture of him. (Damn, he looked good in total black!) The fact that this is the last she sees him didn’t sit well with her. It was painful actually.

As she was walking away, she wasn’t stumbling anymore. It was like a rush of adrenaline turned her back to normal. She heard him ring the doorbell and felt sorry for what awaited him. But why? He brought it on himself. He left her up to dry, killing all the hope she had for them. Yes, for once she was hopeful.

But now… what next?

Chapter Text

Her nose hurt as she was wiping the blood off and she made a distressed face in the mirror. Were she alone, she would curse throughout the process but the needy waitress was there, a fucked up nose on her face as well. Fleabag handed her a towel, thinking she was a drama queen, lying on the bathroom floor.

Everyone had left. But he waited. Finally she came out of the ladies bathroom with her face flustered, her nose still bloody. He was befuddled with her. A woman in such a vulnerable position showing such resolve and almost turning a whole restaurant into shambles.

His head was pounding, being part of the mayhem. But he recalled he had been in many bar fights a few years prior. He wasn’t the definition of an altar boy.

He awkwardly handed her her things.

“So is the waitress still there? Is she alright?” He tried to strike up a conversation.

“Yeah… umm… who cares?” She was putting on her coat, not looking at him. She was obviously annoyed by his effort.

“I mean, she was collateral damage.” he said almost apologetically. “And not the only one” he lowered his voice uttering the last sentence. He felt that it was best to tread lightly to avoid her anger and her fits of violence.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” she glanced at him. She seemed aloof but deep down she felt bad.

The Priest made a nonchalant gesture with his hand but he was really thinking “was it worth it?”

“I’m sure everyone thought you and Martin were a couple and this was some kind of domestic violence.” he tried to make light of the situation but that came off graver than he thought. Far from a joke…

“I’m sure people thought you and I were a couple” she gave him a coy smile.

“Oh, how so?” he had presumed that it would have indeed made an impression on others. She sparked most of his interest the whole night.

“Nah… it’s just… the waitress gave me this endearing look in the bathroom when you knocked.” she wanted to continue “and the way you defended me against drunk Martin'' but she kept silent.

“So… that guy, Martin…” It was like he read her mind. “As a man of the Church I shouldn’t approve of violence but… he had it coming.”

“I don’t really… It doesn’t matter” she put her walls up.

“Of course” he looked at his shoes as if she had just scolded him.

She turned away, ready to walk out. He reached for her and lightly touched her arm to get her attention.

“Listen, I really think you should go to a hospital,” he said.

“Sure” she nodded, trying to go along with her lie.

She didn’t turn away this time. They were both standing awkwardly not knowing how to go forward.

“So… I assume you don’t get together much” he chuckled, breaking the silence.

She seemed confused. A remark out of the blue…

He sensed she was wondering what he was saying so he clumsily added
“I… I asked you earlier… outside… for a smoke”

“Oh” a cheeky grin formed in her mouth.

“Why would he remind me he cussed me off?” she wondered.

But his next gesture wiped away that memory. He handed her his information in a folded napkin and encouraged her to reach him in case of need.

That definitely surprised her. She didn’t say anything, she was just looking at him. He wanted to avoid another awkward silence so he turned around and he was trying to find the exit of the restaurant, dazed by the wine and tequila.

The napkin in her hand…
This is a love story.

Chapter Text

“Can you take us to the nearest hospital?” Fleabag told the taxi driver as she sat next to Claire. She was pleased she didn’t drag Martin along with her. She thought she was gullible enough to continue her night with him as if nothing had happened.

“The priest was quite hot” Claire broke the long pause.

“So hot” she confirmed her remark. “You know he told me to fuck off” Fleabag said smugly. She knew that would irritate Claire.

“Ugh, you couldn’t manage to get along with at least one person at this dinner”.

“Don’t defend him like he’s a saint. He is one of the weirdest priests that could be out there and that’s saying something” she seemed like she was about to rant.

She had a quick flashback of his swearing, his lusty gulps of alcohol and … his unruly hair.

“If he’s even a real priest. There was something about him that impressed me actually” Fleabag changed her tone and smiled.

“Oh, really?” Claire rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“His family is more fucked up than ours”

Claire surprisingly nodded in agreement.

“Thank you by the way” Claire tried to sound indifferent looking out of the car window.

“Of course I would take you to the hospital” she said in an endearing tone.

“No, I mean about Martin. But you could choose a non-violent way and not wreck the place”

Fleabag knew that her sister would always add something negative even when she’s opening up. So she just focused on the “thank you” part.

“Yeah, it’s a pity there was collateral,” she smiled, remembering the wounded priest.

“I doubt Martin will leave it like that. His ego…”

“I’m not afraid of your arsehole husband!” the anger in her started to accumulate again. Claire might be willing to take this kind of behavior but she wasn’t.

Before things turned into an argument the taxi pulled over near the hospital gate. Fleabag forgot about all the male presence of the night. Claire’s wellbeing was what mattered.

She took out her frustration on the hospital staff who thought that her messed up face was what needed medical attention.

He was sitting at his study, a glass of bourbon at his side, and he was trying to work on his sermon for Sunday. But it was futile. His head hurt so much as if it was detached from his body and the events of the night kept making their rounds in his mind. So what was he supposed to write? About “turning the other cheek”?

The paper page in front of him was blank (he was a traditional guy so no laptops for his work). Maybe he should write about loss. Or the blessing of the meek. How can a dinner night define his thoughts so much? He kept thinking about her. “How is she coping? Will she follow through with his invitation? Will she assault anyone else tonight?”

He finished his drink and that somehow signaled the end of the night. He should go to bed as early as possible. That wouldn’t prevent how shitty he would feel the next morning though. Booze and a beating? He definitely needed some divine assistance.

He didn’t feel like reading anything tonight. He just covered himself with his light blanket and waited for the sweet release of sleep.

That was the first night he dreamt of her.

Chapter Text

Fleabag ruffled with the restaurant money in her pocket as she was walking to the Catholic church. “Yes, this is the reason I’m going! I’m paying him back and I’m leaving”. She found herself repeating it over and over in her head. That was the plan, right?
She expected an intimidating gothic looking house of God but the Priest’s “kingdom” was very simple yet elegant. She was late but when she walked she encountered only a few people. “Not much of a crowd” was her first impression. She found herself prejudiced on that contemplation.

After her restaurant money was denied by the Priest and donated to… Wait. Where exactly does this money go? Fleabag shook that thought. The tea invitation was more important.
The Priest escorted her to the back room and he extended his arm behind her back to guide her. He didn’t expect her to walk that hesitantly and his palm accidentally grazed her shoulder. His fingers were open wide and Fleabag felt every one of them touching her, conducting electricity on her skin. She felt the ghost of this contact for some time.
“Sorry the room is a bit of a mess.”
“So am … -don’t say so am I- So, I’m not judgmental, Father.”, she tried to save it at the last minute.
With her face all flushed, she took a seat behind the desk as The Priest went to prepare tea.

“Oh God, I fancy a priest”

“So… Should I go on with the rest of the review?”, he asked coyly.
“No, no! I mean yes! I’m sorry, I think the G&T got to me! Yes, I would love to hear but…”
“Come on, there’s nothing holy in it”, his attempt for a quip.
“Actually, I think I should go”, she said trying to escape the new sensation that was growing inside her. “So tomorrow? You mentioned an event?