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Sirius has never been all that good at love.
A lot of it has been his fault. He didn’t have to sleep with Lily. He didn’t have to break James’s heart. He didn’t have to have that awful, empty relationship with Remus where he tried to pretend he felt the sort of love he’d seen on the telly. He didn’t have to fuck all those other men, but he did. And now, James is dead because he thought he would garner Lily’s sympathy if he injured himself just enough, but what he didn’t count on was the velocity of the bike and how getting hit like that would send him careening in front of a truck.
It’s not something Sirius likes to talk about.
Even his Dad recognizes it, which is slightly more embarrassing than Sirius would like to think about. He tells him at that godawful dinner they invited Sirius to, even though he’s barely talked to his brother in a year, and his godmother and soon-to-be-stepmother despise him. Sirius goes because he thinks he should still try to be a part of his family and because he’s a lot sadder than he would like to admit.
His Dad tells him when they’ve escaped for a smoke: “I think you know how to love better than any of us. That’s why you find it all so painful.”
Sirius tries to laugh and play off the words, but it’s harder than it used to be. He’s always been a marvelous liar, but now the words feel stale. The script exhausted.
Then, of course, Dad, in all his tactless grace, gifts him a coupon for three free therapy sessions that, Sirius, of course, opens at the dinner table to Regulus’s pitying glance.
They all make sympathetic sounds except for well – the Priest.
Sirius isn’t sure where his godmother found him, but he’s an actual godly priest in a world of atheists. He’s not wearing the priest get-up, just a casual black blazer and trousers. He’s not traditionally attractive, not Sirius’s usual taste in men, but he’s hot. Really hot. Sirius tries to ignore it.
The Priest even asks about him – an interjected “What do you do?” – after forty-five minutes of his family ignoring him. It takes Sirius aback, both the suddenness of it and the deep sound of his voice.
“I run a café,” he explains, to Regulus’s wife tutting. She doesn’t approve of him. He’s going to ruin Regulus, which is why she’s done all she can to drive a wedge between them.
The Priest actually seems intrigued, so Sirius explains awkwardly – it’s themed after deers. Yes, it’s strange. Yes, his business partner – James – had an obsession with stags. Yes, it’s doing well.
His family is surprised at that. For a while, it hadn’t been doing well, but as the rest of his life turned to shit and he lost his brother, his café finally started to make money.
The conversation shifts back to the upcoming wedding and Sirius tunes them out. He watches the Priest though. He wonders if Regulus sees or it’s just him. Of course, Regulus isn’t supposed to like men, but his brother’s bisexual even if his wife likes to pretend he’s as straight as a rod. It’s a point of tension with Sirius being as gay as he is.
Fortunately, the dinner wraps up. Sirius says goodbye to the Priest – he doubts he’ll ever see him again – and the Priest nods and hands him his number. Sirius takes it confused.
“With a family likes yours, I’d figured…I don’t want to presume, but the church-,” he stumbles, and it’s incredibly endearing.
“That I’m nutcase in need of guidance?”
The man smiles, and Sirius watches entranced. “Something like that.”
His godmother interrupts, but Sirius can’t help his smile from lingering on his face. He exchanges one final look with the Priest and leaves.
A week later he asks Regulus: “So the priest?”
Regulus shoots him a stare. They’re meeting on a park bench in Greenwich, and it’s a covert operation. Regulus’s wife doesn’t like to see them together. They work past it, even if the last year has been difficult. Sirius wants him to divorce her. Regulus says he won’t.
“What?” Sirius asks guiltily.
“Fine, yes. He’s hot.”
“So it’s not just me?” Sirius teases. Regulus rolls his eyes.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” Regulus advises, scattering a handful of breadcrumbs for some birds.
“What do you mean?” Sirius asks, even if he thinks he already knows.
“He’s a priest,” Regulus states drily.
XXXXX
Sirius googles celibacy.
Fuck.
XXXXX
Sirius hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it did.
He fell in love.
He fell in a love with a priest who drinks G&T and has a paranoia over snakes hunting him and goes to bed at nine o’clock, even on a weekend.
He fell in love with the man’s shoulder-length black hair and his dark eyes and that low voice of his that sounds like sin.
It was an awful fucking mistake, but he couldn’t stop spending time with him, couldn’t stop going to mass even if he thinks people created “God” to fill the empty voids of their lives. He couldn’t stop volunteering for church events and finding ways to spend more and more time with him.
He’s so obvious about it that surely the Priest knows. For a while, though, he’s entirely sure it’s one-sided. The Priest is a man of God. He’s not entertaining thoughts of railing Sirius against the altar.
Mistake. Don’t think like that.
Then, it changes. He starts to think – but no, but maybe.
It’s different from all the others. All those quick lays that left him feeling worse than he did before. He’s never had to wait for it before. He’s never not known if someone is into him or not. With the Priest, he has no idea. He hopes, though and then the Priest says:
“Fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.”
He can’t even come up with a response for that, so he smiles and the space between them buzzes with tension.
XXXXX
He’s not sure what drives him to the confessional, but he goes.
It’s late at night – just the Priest and him – and he has a hard time speaking. He tries to make a joke of it; he’s an atheist, surely won’t God set him on fire?
The Priest laughs, deep and velvety, and Sirius wants to hear it again. And again and again.
“If He did, it would confirm my faith,” he teases, black eyes glinting, and Sirius grins as he saunters into the confessional. He’s trying very badly to disguise his nerves. He’s on the edge of something. He can feel the knife blade between them.
The Priest steps in, and Sirius listens to him settle. He can see the shadow him through the mesh screen. He feels alone, though, in this space.
“Okay, so you say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned-.”
“I’m not saying that,” Sirius instantly cuts in because he’s watched too much priest porno to feel fully comfortable with that. The Priest huffs out a laugh.
“What? Very good. So now you say how long it’s been-.”
“Years.”
He can practically see the Priest’s smirk. “Then I say ‘that’s okay, now tell me your sins’. If you want,” he adds.
Sirius stares at the wooden door. He swallows hard. “Why would I tell you my sins?”
The Priest pauses. “Because it’ll make you feel better! And because…I want to know.”
They both laugh at that, even though it’s not necessarily funny. The tension is going to smother Sirius, so he forces himself to speak.
“I lied.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve stolen things. I’ve had a lot of sex outside of marriage. And once or twice inside someone else’s. Lots of sodomy. I’m gay, you know. So major ding there. There’s been much masturbation, a good amount of violence, and of course, the endless fucking blasphemy.”
“And?”
“And.”
“Go on.”
“And I-,” Sirius starts but then he sees James, and he remembers the expression of heartbreak when he realized Sirius betrayed him by fucking the girl of his dreams. “Frightened,” he chokes out.
“About what?”
“Forgetting things. People.” James. “Forgetting people. I’m ashamed of not knowing what I…”
“It’s okay not to know what you want,” the Priest says, his voice deep and comforting. Sirius wants to drown himself in it.
Sirius bites down a bitter laugh. “No, I know what I want. I know exactly what I want. Right now.”
“What’s that?” the Priest asks lightly.
Sirius toys with saying ‘you’ but something compels him to speak differently. “I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning.”
The Priest laughs, but it’s the least funny thing Sirius has ever said. “Okay, well I think there are-.”
“No, I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like. What to hate. What to rage about. What to listen to. What band to like. What to joke about. What not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and who to love and how to…tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong. And I know that’s why people want someone like you in their lives, because you just tell them how to do it. You just tell them what do and what they’ll get out of the end of it, even though I don’t believe your bullshit and I know scientifically nothing that I do makes any difference in the end, anyway, I’m still scared. Why am I still scared? So just tell me what to do. Just fucking tell me what to do, Father.”
Sirius ends out of breath, and he’s raw and hurting, and the Priest is there, listening to him as he confesses just how fucked up of a human being he’s become. He wants to die. He wants God to smite him. He wants-.
“Kneel.”
“What?” Sirius asks because he’s not sure he’s heard him right.
“Kneel,” the Priest repeats, and there’s no mistaking the dark lull of his voice. “Just kneel.”
Sirius complies after another long beat. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he had asked the Priest to tell him what do to. He kneels, the wooden floor hard on his knees.
He hears movement – and then the door of the confessional swings open, and Sirius stares up at the Priest, at his handsome hook of his nose and his heated black eyes that search Sirius’s face.
The Priest kneels down slowly and reaches out to touch Sirius’s face. His long, pale fingers caress Sirius’s cheek and jaw, and Sirius starts to pant. He can’t bring himself to look away, so he watches. The Priest is there, all-consuming.
The Priest leans forward and presses his thin lips against Sirius’s own. Oh god he thinks because it’s better than he had ever expected, and now they’re kissing, mouths moving in tandem, pressing and pushing and edging for more.
They stand together, their lips never breaking. Sirius burns under the passion of it and starts to fumble with the Priest’s cassock. It’s too much fabric and he can’t manage it, so the Priest pushes his hand away and does it himself. Sirius starts to pull at his own shirt, but the Priest reaches out and grabs him, spinning him around to press him against the confessional wall. He grabs the underside of Sirius’s knees, pulling them upward. Sirius grips his legs around the Priest’s waist, and they’re both panting and hard.
The desire thrills, and he’s been waiting for this. He’s needed this. He loves him. He loves him. He loves him, and he can’t imagine anything more heavenly than the feel of the Priest pressed against him.
A loud crash interrupts them. The Priest turns to look, and Sirius whines at the distraction. The Priest stares at the fallen painting of Jesus with a stricken expression and then unhooks Sirius’s legs from his hips. He stumbles backward, still staring at the painting.
Sirius tries to laugh it off, but the Priest isn’t finding it funny. He looks stricken, tormented. Sirius realizes quickly what’s going to happen, and his heart breaks with the weight of it. He’s trying to compete with God for the Priest’s affections. He’s destined to lose.
The Priest stumbles out of the chapel, his shame and conflict apparent on his expression. Sirius watches him go.
He’s never been good at love.
Loving the Priest is no different.