holy hour A Vampire Chronicles story by _Twi_ (mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]) , May 1998. Number two in the Cure trilogy and the "Le Coeur" series; sequel to _"A Funeral Party."_ (http://blood.less.as/hearts/funeral.html) Rated PG-13 for homoerotic situations (Armand/Daniel). Some of the candles have tipped over, and the translucent white wax is spilling carelessly onto the rich red plush carpet, but they go unnoticed. A day has passed since the fateful morning, when the sun sought to burn immortal stone to ash and embers, and it is night again. The pews are lit with candles, the flickering flames making tall shadows on the darkened stained-glass windows, the only light. Two figures lie entangled on the altar, disregarding their surroundings, lost in each other. A tender kiss falls on bruised lips, and then another; blood flows between them, burning as it heals. "I thought I had lost you," murmurs one of them, the taller, fairer one, "but I knew you'd come back to me." "Mmmm," mutters his lover, unable to find words. "The sun couldn't take me. And I wanted it to." "Don't talk like that," whispers the first, claiming his mouth again. The blood is shared between them as before, escalating in liquid passion; hands grasp and clutch, lips moan, legs kick and entwine. Love and love and love. The smaller one, the one whose auburn hair is tossing shimmering golden highlights back at the candles even in its grimy, mistreated state, pulls back, eyes a question. "What would you have done, if I had died? If the sun had taken me?" The blond one looks away. "Don't ask me that. I would have died." "You wouldn't." "I would!" His eyes are full of bloody tears. "Don't do this to me." "What should I do, then?" "Drink again." And, shuddering, he arcs his head back, baring his smooth throat to his love. The kisses are so soft; he wonders if they are not made by lips, but with the finest sable brush, the softest silk. But the fingers on his back are too solid to be anything but flesh, and he leans into the kisses, arching his back against his lover's hands. A small cry escapes him at the sharp slide of the fangs beneath his skin, and he reciprocates hungrily, the bloodlust clouding his violet eyes. "Really, what would you have done?" asks the redheaded one, suddenly breaking the embrace. "Shhh." A gentle hand strokes his hair, smoothing the mussed, singed ends. "Stop talking. You need to sleep." He cradles him against his body, resting his chin against the top of his head. "You need to heal." So they lay together in silence, the soft sound of breath the only sound. In a few hours the sun will be up, and the first of the faithful will enter the church and wonder at the burned-down stubs of candles filling their seats; but for now, the reunited lovers lay together in the holy hour. (http://star.less.as/) ************************************** Get a sneak peek of the all-new AOL at http://discover.aol.com/memed/aolcom30tour
