Bad Wrong Things

by C.P. Harris

A deep moan overran whatever he’d been about to promise when I flattened his chest to the floor, hiked his rump into the air and face-dove into his spread ass, sucking and using his hole like a straw. “Fu-fuck,” he groaned, rearing into my mouth. I slurped up the leaking cum loudly, pausing a few times to sniff him because I couldn’t resist. “To-touch… my cock.” His voice was raw, forehead resting on the rug, sweat pebbled every inch of his skin.

Raven ran to be caught. He hid to be found. “I love you, Raven,” I said before drifting off. “And I’ll forever find and catch you.”

“Because love doesn’t waver with moods, Clint. It doesn’t question or doubt its existence. It isn’t based on whether or not the world around it will be accepting. And it doesn’t only want its presence felt when it needs something to fuck! Believe me, I know.”

“Bad things happen to me sometimes, and good things are taken away because of it. I just don’t know if you’re the good thing taken, or the bad-wrong-thing that’s happened to me.”

Because only love could make someone hate that big.

Needless to say, I had my jealousy to contend with. My loneliness to tackle, and an addiction to kick. Because Raven didn’t only ensure that I fell for him, he’d made breathing impossible without him.

“Even beat up old cars deserve a second chance,” he’d said, grin expanding until he was all cheeks and teeth. “And so do you, Clint.”

“To my battery. To the man that keeps me going.”

That was the point. Destroy what you wanted but couldn’t have. Make it so no one else could come along and pick up the pieces.

“You were my antidote and the loss of you had been killing me slowly,”

“I’m so sorry, Raven.” “Don’t,” I yelled, backing away until my legs bumped up against the bed. “Don’t use that voice on me, please.” It was too loving, too alluring, and I was a dog beaten and now afraid to respond to the good type of love.

“I can’t live without you isn’t some fucking cliche,” I said, drying his tears as his eyelids drooped and his hold on my jacket slackened. “But I’m going to do it, anyway.” “I’ll find you,” he said, fighting sleep. “I…love you.” “This isn’t love, Clint.” I cried for all three of us, weeping all over him. “Not anymore.” “Then what is it?” he mouthed more than spoke. “Poison.” The low dose, slow-killing kind, and we’d reached the death end of it.

“Does he know you’re mine? Does he know I have your heart?” “Yes, you own me, Clint. And no one fucks me like you do.”

‘Today I’ve decided to forgive you. Not because you apologized, or because you acknowledged the pain that you caused, but because my soul deserves peace.’ ~Najwa Zebian

‘True forgiveness is when you can say thank you for that experience.’

I’d accepted that my entry into the world would define my departure and the roads leading there.

Dead flowers—tulips and daisies, some wilted, some crumbling—cuffed the bottom of his bicep. Their vibrancy returned in increments as the bouquet branched higher up, coming to life in sharp colors, growing more lush inch by inch. Yellows and oranges and greens stimulated my senses. Pink peonies cupped his rounded shoulders, spilling onto his chest in a starburst of red rose petals. Raven’s work held deep meaning for him. In his painting, he was the dead flower, and Joey and my love had been what watered and resuscitated him. The problem now was I didn’t know which end of the tattoo was the beginning. Was he dead or alive?

I’d be jealous of God if you said you were going to spend time at church.

He used to smell like nicotine, fire, and mint. Now he smelled like sun, moon, and stars, all things that were promised to return. He smelled like second chances.

“It happened the way it did for a reason that is beyond me, but I’ll always cherish the time I got with him. Had it not been for that accident, I wouldn’t have Joey. And me falling in love with you didn’t make me a bad parent or person. It was my right to love you. A privilege, and I should’ve honored you better.”

“My mother never wanting me doesn’t make me unwantable. It never did,” he whispered over my face. “Her not choosing me doesn’t make me unchoosable. And I no longer need your obsession, or your skin and bones, or to compromise myself in order to feel loved, be loved or to prove my love.” “What do you need, Raven?” “What you gave me so spectacularly. Love.” He shrugged. Plain and simple.

“I need you now,” he said frantically, sitting up to capture my lips. “Need to be inside you. Need to be home.”

“Are you going to bathe me in your cum, Clint?” “Yes, sweetheart. All night.” “Are you going to fuck me long after I’ve had enough, when my pleas for you to stop turn into cries of no?” “With pleasure,” he growled, spanking and bunching my ass between his palms. “And I’ll take your mouth after I’ve worn your hole out, spilling down your throat.”

His bite marks decorated my ass cheeks, his hickeys covered my inner thighs and neck. His lips were shiny from our kisses and from taking sips of his own cum, the latter dripped down his chin as he popped his face off my hole and climbed me to have his way with my tongue.

“I promise to never waste another minute of our lives on what-ifs. I’m going to love you for however long I’m privileged to do so, and you’ll let me because I don’t plan on giving you a choice in the matter.”

“This is what love should look like,” he whispered into my mouth. “This is what love should feel like,” I returned. “Home,” we said in unison. Love should feel like home…

“Was coming back the hardest thing you’d ever had to do? Harder than leaving?” I rolled to my side, mirroring his position, smoothing a thumb over his scrunched brows. We hadn’t had time to talk about everything, but we needed to, because we were different people now and those differences were what was going to sustain us. “No. The hardest was a toss-up between leaving you and staying gone.”

“I promised myself that if I ever got the chance to love you again, it’d be the right way. That I’d never let anything come between us again. Not even my demons. I wouldn’t squander a second opportunity. And if I promised it, I had to mean it. I couldn’t risk pretending, or thinking I’d laid the past to rest only to discover with one look at you that I hadn’t.”

“It felt good to sit back and let you be the one to work hard for us for a change.” “You had every right to be leery. I was the one that screwed up. It was my turn to prove to you that we could work. My turn to make a believer out of you. Rebuilding faith and trust was my job, Raven. Not yours.” “It’s both our jobs now, Clint.”

“I love taking you from behind,” he said, interrupting my dirty thoughts. “The way your back arches when your chest meets the bed—or the floor. I love watching my cock plow in and out of you. Having you at my mercy, whimpering, makes me feel powerful. But…” He peered down at the wet stickiness falling over the fingers that stroked me, there was so much of it. “Jesus, Raven. Are you about to come, sweetheart?”