unique_high Unique High

"I don't come close to an angel you ain't never been no kind of saint but when we both came together. Hell to heaven, you were my escape.” "I don't come close to an angel you ain't never been no kind of saint but when we both came together. Hell to heaven, you were my escape.” The same lips that spread the gospel of his God were the same lips that paused every inch of my body. I wanted to be his God, his lover, his paradise, and everything else in between. He is a righteous man, a man who feared me more than he did his God— And I loved that, being held higher than his God in his eyes.

LGBT+ Interdit aux moins de 18 ans.

#mxm # #boyslove #bl #mlm #romance #humor #lgbt #gay #bisexual #jealous #drama #gayinterracial #interracial #ambm #asianandblackromance #mature #abusiverelationship
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Love can hurt


Father Michael stood outside of church shaking the hands of his congregation. He smiles at each of them, saying something to them, probably a small prayer or words of encouragement. I took a drag of my cigarette before throwing it to the ground—I crossed the street to head to the Catholic church. I waited at the second step leaning against the railing. People passing by gave me a dirty look. It was as though they could see I wasn't one of them. I ignore the urge to give them the finger. Religious fuckers get under my skin. But not Father Michael, though. He is different. He is fake.

Father Michael looked my way. I waved at him. He looked away when a family stopped in front of him. He talks to them longer. After he is done, the family says goodbye. I walked up the stone steps towards Father Michael.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as soon as I was in front of him. I reached out, running my fingers tips along his knuckles. He jerked his hand back like electricity touched his skin.

"Everyone is welcome to church, right?"

"Atheists don't come to church."

"Maybe my views have changed and I believe in some guy upstairs."


"I miss you." My words came out too quickly and sounded desperate. Father Michael glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot.

"You don't. Now leave."

He was right; I didn't. But the space in my bed was longing for his body to be there again. He has days where he flakes, backtracks and doubts himself. He loved me in silence. Too afraid to commit to me fully—because of his belief.

"You'll do your baby boy like this?" I asked, soon followed by a small pout.

There was a flash of emotions that came across his face—he quickly masked it.

"I have to help the youth group set up for this evening. And an extra pair of hands would be nice." Father Michael said as he turned his back towards me.

He didn't even give me a chance to say no. I followed him, right on the heel of his foot, into the church. We walked out of the main part where church services are held and into a more gymnasium-looking part. Teenagers put out chairs forming a large circle.

Father Michael and I went over to a stack of chairs. He grabs two and I grab two.

"Father Michael. We're going to need some ice for the coolers." A red-head boy said.

"Okay, I'll get some after I'm done here," he said.

Father Michael put down the chairs and positioned each one in the circle where there was space, and I did the same. After we put the chairs out. Everyone stood around, either talking or drinking a juice box. I was drinking a juice box, leaning up against a table watching Father Michael talk to some boy.

He would touch Father Michael's arm if he said something funny—closed in the space between them anytime anyone else tried to talk to Father Michael.

Father Michael looked over at me and waved me over. As I walked toward him, I drank from my juice box.

"I can't go get the ice. You and Kyle need to get it. Kyle has the money." Father Michael said.

I look over at Kyle with a bored expression. He gives a friendly smile—quickly dropping it when I don't smile back.

"Let's go."

Father Michael grabbed my hand. His grip is tight. He tells Kyle to go ahead of me.

"Say nothing to him." Father Michael warned.

At first, I couldn't understand why he'd say that. Then I thought maybe he didn't want me ruining the ears of one of his young sheep.

I zipped my lips and smiled.


Kyle and I were pushing red wagons with bags of ice. We didn't talk on our way to the store. Only once in the store when he asked me if I thought twenty bags of ice were enough.

"So...." Kyle dragged out. "How do you know Father Michael?"

"Friends." I left it at that.

"Oh. Cool. I didn't know Father Michael had a friend. He seems very reserved." Kyle said. "He's really cool, don't you think?"

I laughed. Father Michael, cool? He was lamer than he was cool.


"You really think he's cool?"

"Of course! He's understanding. I can tell him just about anything and, unlike the others, he doesn't go back to tell my parents."

He's a kid. So kids find comfort and safety in those who they can trust the most. At fifteen, I met Father Michael before he was a priest. When he was just a Deacon who visited the mental ward. I watched him—I always watched him, followed him around the hospital. I didn't understand that back then, it was love at first sight that turned into an obsession with time.

We made it back to the church with the ice. Kyle and a girl put the ice in the coolers. When Father Michael returned, Kyle was the first one to run up to him—he eagerly bounced on his tiptoes. Father Michael reached out, ruffling Kyle's hair. Then he touches his shoulder, letting his hand linger there for a bit.

Something inside of me cracked, then something broke the way Father Michael had smiled at him.

The way Kyle looked at him. It was clear. He liked Father Michael the same way I did when I was younger.


Father Michael laid quietly on his side with his head on my lap, his face hiding in my stomach. We came back to my place after he was done helping the youth group.

"Kyle must be your favorite," I asked out of the blue as I stared down at him.

"What are you talking about?" Father Michael mumbled into my stomach. He pulled away, eyes opening as he stared up at me.

"You must be close with him, right?"

"He's a kid I'm teaching about becoming a transitional deacon. He was to be a priest later in life."

"You're touchy with him. He's touchy with you."

He knits his brows together as he sits up, keeping eye contact with me. "No one is touchy."

"Do you like him?"

"As a student, yes."

Even though Father Michael had eyes only for me. I didn't trust him. He could be a liar sometimes — too good of one.


"Sage. don't start this," he said. "He is just a student of mine. Nothing more."

"You know he likes you, right?"

Father Michael laughed, shaking his head. "He's only a kid. He doesn't like me. Not in the way you're thinking."

"I liked you when I was only a kid. What makes him any different?"

"He's my student. He likes me as his teacher. Whatever you saw, you read it the wrong way." he said. "So don't go trying to have a tantrum over nothing."

"I still don't trust you."

And there I go letting my insecurity show. One slip up from him at the beginning of our relationship and I lost trust in him. His every word I doubted. Wherever he went, I had to know where he was going, who he was going with, and when he would be back. Little by little, that trust was restored. I backed off some, but still kept my eyes on him.

Father Michael scoffed and looked away from me. He stared straight ahead at the turned-off TV.

"I thought we moved on from that."

"We did."

"Apparently not." There was distaste in his mouth. "I'm leaving."

"You're not going anywhere."

Father Michael doesn't move from his spot on the sofa. Instead, he sighs and looks back at me. "Because if I left you'll think something crazy like I'm going to cheat on you?"

"Most likely." I shrugged. "Who knows? You'll probably go meet up with Kyle somewhere."

"He's a freaking kid!"

"So was I. But that didn't stop you, did it?"

And maybe then I should have kept my mouth shut. Just drop the whole thing—but no, Sage doesn't know when to let something go, especially when I've gone too far. Our relationship was a sensitive thing he danced around with sharp yet fluid movements, brisk yet slow-paced as though he was ready to let us go but not yet, and that alone couldn't brace me for the impact of when he stops.

"Good night, Sage," he said as he stood from the couch. He grabbed his Bible from the coffee table and ended towards the door. "I need a couple of days, so stay away from me."

I get up following behind him.

"I'm sorry–"

Father Michael stops in front of the door. His shoulders slumped. He turned around to face me. His eyes glossed over with tears.

"You're never sorry," he said. "Ever since you were fifteen, I've been there for you. When you got out of the hospital at seventeen, I was still there. I took care of you until you were able to do for yourself. I knew the feelings I had for you were wrong, especially with the position I was in back then. I told you there could be nothing between us. But you didn't listen. You threatened me by saying you would take your life—now looking back, maybe you should have. Then I wouldn't be stuck with you—just stuck with the burden of knowing you took your life because I wouldn't return your feelings."

Maybe it was out of an old habit that I raised my hand and struck him across his face.

You promised you would never raise your hand at him again.

But he knows how my anger can get the best of me—he knows this. I would say I'm Sorry. But he's right. I never mean it when I say it.

I stepped closer to him and cupped his face in the palm of my hands. My thumb tightly stroked against his reddened cheek.

"I love you." I kissed his lips. His body tensed up. He wants to pull away, but I keep a tight hold on his face.

"You love me don't you?" I said against his lips.

Father Michael doesn't answer. I pushed him, his back hitting the front door with a soft thud.

"Just get the hell out."

24 Octobre 2022 11:08:55 0 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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Unique High “Love is a beautiful kind of fear.”

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