In the Arms of an Angel
(gairid)


(Notes: For the background song challenge on the LJ community Contrel a Montre. The song is Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" which has always put me in mind of the disintegration of Louis and Lestat's relationship before Lestat's attempt to kill himself, and the subsequent debacle of the Body Thief, and the less said about *that*, the better. The challenge was to write the story in 30 minutes or less...this took me 21 minutes. Warning: Angst ahead.

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I'm losing him, I can feel it. It's like it was so many years ago...the restlessness and the arguments. Gone at first for hours, then days...then weeks. How can this be? So many long years apart and we found each other again, and it all seemed so perfect. Even after Akasha we managed to come back together.

But did we really? Have I become his habit? He says so little to me when he is here. I will not hold him to me if it is not what he wants but I want so desperately to believe he will stay with me forever.

I hear the front door open, and God help me, my heart speeds up at the thought that he is here. He sweeps into the room, and he's larger than life as he has always seemed to me, a shining angel, the one who once came to deliver me from myself.. His mood is not so dangerous as it has been of late; he has been so strange since he shared her blood, the Mother, eldest of all. When his eyes meet mine I feel like I could cry at the haunted look I see there, and when he hold out his arms I can not deny him the comfort he so clearly seeks.

The embrace turns passionate, for in this we have ever been in tune, and we make our way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in the hallway. Incendiary kisses that make it so easy to believe that the angry words and the cold silences are not as they seem. Easy to believe that the sweet madness of our lovemaking will turn away all the demons that snap and gnaw and whisper.

When he is inside me I can do nothing more than cling to him, panting his name as though that would bind him to me, and that beautiful release makes memory seep from my veins like blood from torn flesh.

When it's done and I am in the arms of my angel, I wonder despairingly why this is not enough.

Fin