#said he wanted to run his fingers through vance joy's hair and feel good skin against his

[peachydinosaur]

local alternative radio station late night dj REAL gay tonight

[this-is-a-love-story-fleabag]

Pulling me back into the flames

This Fleabag/Priest fic is based on 2 tumblr prompts:

1. If you’re taking prompts, maybe a fic showing an alternative to how they first sleep together? (workhusbandandwife)

2. The song “Georgia” by Vance Joy reminds me of Fleabag and the Priests love story (brightnss)

My asks are open if you have any more ideas for prompts.

2339 words. Also available on ao3.

"I don't know what this feeling is," he breathed, hands skating over her body to touch her hair, her thighs, her neck, her arms.

"Lust?" she supplied helpfully. "It's probably lust. I am a moderately attractive woman from certain angles."

"Fuck you," he murmured into her mouth, biting her plump bottom lip for good measure. "You knew what I meant."

You know that feeling when the hot misogynist who might not be a misogynist is turning up at your house for the second time in 48 hours to give you nine orgasms you don't want, just to do something to get your head out of the fact the only person you want to see in the world is the priest that you're probably in love with who is almost definitely never going to sleep with you? So, you pick yourself up, cover yourself in coconut oil and-

The buzzer rang.

"I'm back, m'lady!" the lawyer hollered through the door.

Fine.

---

The two sweaty hours of predictably good sex was a relatively effective palate cleanser, thank fuck. He left before midnight, saying something about having a lot of briefs to work on.

She resisted the obvious joke, and instead rolled over and, exhausted, slept deeply until morning.

---

The priest looked fucking awful. Sure, he was wearing the robes she'd helped him choose (with the good sleeves), and there was no hiding that perfect bone structure, but he had the haunted eyes of a man who'd stayed up all night praying to a god he wasn't sure could hear. His hair was wild. Something was clearly troubling his mind, and she was pretty sure she knew what it was.

She'd feel guilty about it, but it was his own fault. Or possibly God's. Either way, she'd let it be.

He stumbled, zombie-like, through the wedding service. She knew he'd been working on something original, but he seemed to have abandoned it and gone for something straight out of a book. Or, well, the book.

"Love is patient," he intoned listlessly, looking straight through the happy couple. "Love is kind."

It turned out to be a good day, despite her misgivings. She and her dad had a meaningful heart-to-heart in the attic. Her sister finally dumped her dickhead of a husband and ran off to see the man she loved. She nicked the statue again. She felt... present. There was no detatched, ironic part of her keeping away from connecting with the people she loved.

Would she prefer to have a hot, sweary priest to come home to? Of course. Cherry on top, and all that.

---

He really hadn't slept.

The night was spent down on his knees, and not in the fun way. Praying didn't bring him the answers he was looking for, no matter how vehemently he asked God to help him. He'd even been stone cold sober for two days straight and it hadn't made a lick of difference. Her eyes, her lips, her body, her sharp wit and the way she just understood him were inescapable, playing through his mind on a loop. He was supposed to love one thing, but he didn't. He loved her, in the way he wasn't allowed to.

He'd lasted the entire day - the whole day, and she'd been right there, with her knowing smile that he could still remember the taste of, her lips generous and warm.

He made up his mind, eventually, to follow her out to the bus top, to convince her, or himself, that they couldn't do this. She was a sight to behold, alone on the bench with bold red lips and an elegant dress, and he paused outside the door, just to look at her.

Then, in a heart-stopping moment, he saw it. A fox, heading straight for the woman he loved.

"Fuck!" he shouted, a rush of adrenaline propelling him forwards to leap between them and block the vile beast from reaching her. "No!" he cried, steeling himself for a vicious attack. "It's me you want!"

The fox sat down on the pavement and cocked its head to one side, watching him.

"I think if we just walk away, slowly, it might not follow us," he said out of the corner of his mouth. His heart still pounding, he turned to face her. She was wearing the same expression as the fox, looking directly into and through his soul.

"Come on," he hissed, slightly afraid that the fox could understand him. "I'll walk you home."

She glanced at the bus stop's display for a second, then assented. He kept himself between her and the fox as they walked away, shooting worried glances over his shoulder.

"This is very chivalrous of you, Father."

"I don't know how they keep finding me."

They were three streets away before he finally relaxed, losing his twitchy look and the tension in his shoulders. It occurred to him that he should probably make conversation.

"It was a lovely day for a wedding," he offered.

"We were very lucky with the weather." She paused. "Your sermon was a bit-"

"I know," he sighed, cradling his head in his hands. "I had so many ideas, but I just couldn't- it didn't feel-" He let out a frustrated noise. "I was a bit distracted."

"What by?" Her eyes were deceptively innocent, and the backs of their hands were so close as they walked, side by side.

"Oh you know," he breezed. "Climate change, the value of the pound, Brexit, that kind of thing." He glanced over his shoulder again.

"Fuck!"

He pulled them both around a corner, pushing her against the wall and shushing her. The fox padded past the mouth of the alleyway on silent feet, sniffing the ground.

He pressed his chest against hers protectively, shielding her from view, holding his breath and watching the beast with eagle eyes, heart beating staccato against his ribs. The fox finally moved out of sight and he turned back, brushing her nose with his. He rested his forehead against hers, and brought up a hand to stroke the side of her face, despite himself. Their lips were so tantalisingly close.

"Are you OK?" he breathed. Her eyes were focused on his lips, electricity crackling between them. "I don't know how it- How does it know?"

"Smell?" she guessed.

"Some kind of demonic telepathy bullshit, probably."

"Ley lines or something."

"I need to-" He touched her hair, running his fingers through her dark curls. "I need to stop walking along the ley lines, that must be it."

Her chest was heaving like a damsel in distress from a terrible bodice-ripping paperback romance, and he really needed to stop noticing it. He tore himself away, shaking his head to clear it, and peeked around the corner into the street.

"Come with me," he said, nodding his head towards the mouth of the alleyway. "I think it's gone."

She took a moment to straighten her dress and collect herself, then brushed past him and looked back and forth along the road before stepping out.

"I think I'm probably safe, you know. You're the one they have a grudge against."

"We can't take that chance!"

Vigilant, he stalked ahead of her to survey the whole area. The streetlights cast a yellow glow over the parked cars and cracked pavements. The only sounds were the distant rumble of traffic and his own, ragged breathing. They might have been the only people in the world.

"It's around here, isn't it? Your place?"

She raised a judgemental eyebrow. "How do you know where I live?"

"I asked your sister, I was going to- Last night, I was thinking-" He gestured expansively. "I decided against it, I- Fuck, this isn't coming out right."

She chuckled. "Yes, it's around here," she said, taking mercy on him so he didn't have to work out how to finish his sentence.

As they continued on in companionable silence, their little fingers brushed and his breath caught in his throat.

Too soon, they reached her building, a nondescript block of flats squeezed between two red-brick townhouses.

"You want to come in," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Sure, yes, thank you," he rambled as she turned the key in the lock and pushed the handle. "I- uh- fuck," he said with an exhale, a wild look in his eyes, as he pushed himself against her and finally, finally allowed himself a kiss.

He heard the click of the door as it closed behind him, and then she was shoving him up against the wall, her lips insistent against his, that perfect body pressed along the whole length of him.

"I don't know what this feeling is," he breathed, hands skating over her body to touch her hair, her thighs, her neck, her arms.

"Lust?" she supplied helpfully. "It's probably lust. I am a moderately attractive woman from certain angles."

"Fuck you," he murmured into her mouth, biting her plump bottom lip for good measure. "You knew what I meant."

"Is it a good feeling or a bad feeling?"

"Too good," he sighed, as her thigh came to rest between his legs, grinding against his achingly hard cock. "This isn't - ah fuck that's good - this isn't the way I'm supposed to do things."

"What are you supposed to do?" She was nosing at the sensitive spot between his neck and his shoulder and it was making it difficult to think.

He brought his hands up to rest either side of her face. "I'm supposed to love people as a father," he said, stroking his thumbs over her jaw. "I don't-" He looked into her eyes. "I don't love you like a father," he admitted.

"No," she agreed. "More like a creepy uncle."

He groaned again and rested his forehead against hers. "You're not making this any easier."

She pushed away, walked to the kitchen, and pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer. "Would you like a drink?"

That sounded good. "I would like so many drinks."

Pouring them both a liberal glass, she motioned for him to sit on the sofa and sat next to him, the whole side of her body pressed against his.

She smelled exactly how he remembered, a light floral perfume and something deeper underneath that was unmistakably her. He was in a haze, hyper-aware of his skin burning wherever they were touching, but the sting of the ice-cold alcohol at the back of his throat woke him up a little.

"I can't work out what to do," he said helplessly, his hand drifting to her knee despite himself.

"I have a few ideas," she said, cupping his cheek with her hand and running her thumb over his bottom lip.

"I really tried," he said softly. "Fuck, I tried so hard not to want you." He turned into her embrace, her fingers hot like brands against his skin. She kissed him, so sweetly, her soft lips warm and firm against his.

"I love you," he told her. There was no point denying it. They hadn't even slept together yet, but it didn't matter. He loved her.

She smiled, bright as the sun, and kissed him again. "I love you too," she said, so easily, as though it were an everyday thing to love someone, and not a total fucking catastrophe.

Her smile turned wicked and her fingers tightened in his hair. "What are you going to do about it?"

He growled low in his throat and tangled his hand in the curls at the back of her head, pulling her into him in one swift movement and crashing their lips together. She moaned into his lips and melted into him, licking into his mouth, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.

With a tug, he pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him, and kissed her as if his life depended on it, grabbing handfuls of her arse, her thighs, her breasts, touching her everywhere he could.

"Fuck, I love your tits," he said, thumbing her nipples through her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra - how the fuck had he not noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra while he was staring at her body for literally the whole day? Full of surprises, this one. "I think they're my favourite things in the world."

Smirking, she pulled her dress over her head in one smooth movement, tossing it on the floor and the sight of her, wrapped around him, naked save a pair of barely-there lace knickers, took his breath away.

"So beautiful," he breathed, dropping his head down to mouth at a nipple, palming the other breast.

The feeling of her tight little body grinding down against his achingly hard cock was almost overwhelming. He stifled a groan by biting down on her shoulder. She unbuttoned his shirt, lingering a little over his collar, then ran her nails down his chest, making him shiver.

"I feel the same about your arms," she admitted, stroking up and down his biceps. Bringing his hand up to her mouth, she pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist, over the pulse point. It was shockingly intimate, sending thrills running to his soul.

Hooking one arm around her waist, his other hand cupping her arse, he stood up so that he was holding her aloft with his strength alone.

"Fuck, that's hot," she mumbled into his neck, wrapping her legs and arms around him, her soft body moulded against his.

"Bed?" Or, a wall? I don't fucking care which."

She jerked her head to indicate where her bedroom was, then focused on sucking and biting at his shoulder as he carried her across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, gently placing her back down on his lap. Far less gently, she pushed him backwards.

He fell onto his back with an "oof", and she hovered over him, studying him intently.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked, looking searchingly into his eyes. "I understand what's at stake here."

"Yes," he said, with conviction, and he felt in his heart that it was true. He might lose his faith, lose the life that he'd built for himself, but he couldn't give this up, no matter what the cost. He faced the flames of hell without fear, and pulled her down for another kiss.