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The Silken Cage: Journey	By : margotlefaye Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Angel(us)/Buffy > Angel(us)/Buffy Views: 21206 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel or any of the characters therefrom. No profit is being made from this work of fanfic, which is intended as commentary on the original, not as a derivative work. No infringement intended.

Chapter List
- 1-The Silken Cage: Journey
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15a
- 16-Part 15b
- 17-Part 16
- 18-Part 17
- 19-Part 18
- 20-Part 19
- 21-Part 20
- 22-Part 21
- 23-Part 22a
- 24-Part 22b
- 25-Part 23
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The Silken Cage Series

Journey

Part 1

by

Margot Le Faye
She woke to darkness, and the smell of the sea. For a moment, she was disoriented, trying to understand why no light of moon or star filtered through the curtains over her bedroom windows. Wondering why the smell of the ocean surrounded her. Then she realized she wasn't in her bedroom. Wherever she was, the bed was hard and narrow, the sheets of some cheap, rough cotton.
And she did not occupy it alone.
She was on her side, her back pressed to a surface cool and hard as marble. An arm banded her own arms and ribs as unrelentingly as an iron fetter, while an equally imprisoning leg was thrown over her lower limbs. Her hands, pulled up protectively before her breast, were bound tightly together with scarves of silk. Memory flooded in, memory of terror and desire, and Buffy knew that neither would end for her anytime soon. Her foolish need for Angel to regret leaving her had led her to lie to Cordy, had led to Cordy's misunderstanding, had led to Angelus' return. Her Angel was gone forever, now, leaving the demon free. She felt the tears start, sliding down her cheek. She tried to cry silently. She had no wish to wake what lay sleeping beside her.
The room took a precipitous dip just then, giving her part of an answer to the riddle of where she was. She remembered the night of her seventeenth birthday, when Angel had been the logical choice to take the Judge's arm out of Sunnydale to prevent his re-assembly. She had been distraught when he told her he would be gone for months, had felt that she was loosing him. But taking a cargo ship was the only way for him to travel safely, because there was no sure way to protect against daylight on an airplane.
The gentle movement of the room she was in, the smell of the sea, the narrowness of the bed…she was in a bunk on some sort of seagoing vessel. Most likely a freighter. Oh, God! Angelus hadn't simply captured her. He was taking her somewhere far away from Sunnydale and any hope that her friends could find and rescue her.
Perhaps she made some sound, a moan or gasp, at the realization. Perhaps she had shivered in despair. But he woke, then, stirring behind her, tightening the possessive hold of arm and leg about her captive body.
"Awake so soon, lover?" he crooned in her ear. "So eager, then."
"Not for you," she said bitterly.
Untruthfully. He knew. He laughed unpleasantly and shifted his leg off of her…so that he could lift her own leg over his hips. She felt his hardness behind her, and drew in her breath to curse him. Pleading wouldn’t stop him. But what she intended to say didn't matter. His own words and actions forestalled her.
"Only for me," he corrected with a low, rumbling growl. He impaled her in one forceful thrust. Buffy couldn't suppress her whimper of pain. Unlike the night before, she was awake and aware, knowing that this was not Angel, loving her, but Angelus, ravishing her. Her body was not prepared for his invasion. Would that please him, adding a further twist to his conquest of her? She could almost hope for that. Buffy wasn't sure she could bear it if he made her feel the way Angel had, again. Because that would be a violation of everything that had been between the Slayer and her now lost love.
As ever, because it was the one thing she could hope for, it was the one thing denied her. Angelus went still inside her after that first thrust. He waited, with the preternatural patience leant by eternity, for her body to accustom itself to his. Nor was he fool enough to expect things to happen on their own.
He pulled her closer, his hand caressing slowly up her ribs to her soft breasts, idly fondling, gently squeezing. Buffy tried not to react to him, but he had Angel's memories of what pleased her, and he exploited them ruthlessly. He chuckled when she shivered at a particular touch, arching into it instead of cringing away. He nuzzled his face into her neck, licking the sensitive spot that bore the twin brands of his earlier feeding. But he didn't try to break the skin, this time. Still, her body remembered what it been like when he had, as it remembered the pleasure he had given her the previous times he had sheathed himself inside her.
And so, despite her will, her body responded, growing wet for him, yielding around his intrusive staff. She melted around him like softened wax around a seal, her flesh gloving him tightly, conforming to the very shape of him, molding her as surely as if she had been poured into a cast made from his flesh. She fit him as she had been born and destined to do.
The heartache of it nearly broke her. She could not but weep, and was beyond caring if he heard. He smiled, sucking lightly on her abused neck.
And then he began to move, oh so slowly, inside her. Force would have amused him, but he knew her well enough to understand that if he used force, if he made her fight, if he ignored her satisfaction in seeking his own, she would simply endure him, holding herself aloof. But if he devoted himself to satisfying the fires he knew lay just below the surface with her…that would be sweetest victory. She would yield to him, and hate herself for yielding. Her despair would grow deeper…even as his own satisfaction grew greater.
Any way he looked at it, he won.
After a few moments, he realized that Buffy was trying a different sort of warfare. She was holding herself absolutely still, resisting him in the only way left to her. Poor baby. She must be desperate.
Good.
Angelus moved the hand that had been playing with her lush breasts and taut nipples, taking another leisurely journey down her body, this time coming to rest in the nest of curls between her thighs. He found the tiny bit of flesh that was standing at stiff attention, begging for his touch despite her efforts to deny him. He gently stroked the bud.
Fire washed through Buffy's veins as Angelus' strong, long-fingered hand played across her body. She hated it, hated her body for its betrayal, hated him for knowing everything Angel had known about the ways she craved his touch. But she could no more resist what he did to her than she could resist the urge to breathe. Sobbing, Buffy surrendered. There was no point to her battle. Rescue was impossibly far away. Even if he hadn't secured her bonds so tightly that she had no hope of fighting free, what good would freedom do her in the middle of the ocean?
Despair washed over her, but it fled before desire. She was too new at the sensations coursing through her in response to his skilled ministrations. She couldn't fight them, couldn't disdain them. She had spent months yearning for just this touch, just this closeness, just this joining. How could she remain unmoved by it now?
He felt the change in her, the gradual speeding of her heart, her increasing breathlessness. Her hips began, gently at first, to push back against his, matching his thrusts, so that he slid deeper into her tight channel each time. Angelus growled again, in satisfaction rather than warning, this time, and nipped lightly at her neck. He still didn't dare break the skin. The little bitch was making him so hot, if he tasted her blood, it would be all over for both of them. He contented himself with licking the half-healed wounds, savoring the faint bloodtaste that still lingered. He worked the little bud beneath his fingers more forcefully, and she responded by pushing back against him more firmly. She was so damned tight, so damned wet… He wasn't going to last long, but he was determined that she would go before him. He began to thrust more quickly, harder, deeper, his fingers ruthless against her clit. She began to make the soft, whimpering sounds that he loved, reassuring him of his mastery over her. He felt her inner walls ripple, as she approached her first crisis. He smiled, pulled as far back as he could…and slammed into her with merciless power.
Buffy screamed, hot pleasure exploding from the very center of her body and scorching along her nerve endings like fire along a fuse. She felt herself clench helplessly around his manhood, hips bucking back against his pelvis. And it felt so right to be this way, so good to have him inside her. It was, after all, the flesh of her beloved joined to her own flesh; the very thing for which she had longed.
Angelus wasn't of a mind to let her off easily. When he felt the contractions inside her ease off, he moved slightly, changing the angle of his penetration, finding other nerve endings to tantalize. His fingers shifted position, stroking her outer lips, cupping her entire mons, then circling lazily back to her clit once more. Buffy was mewling, following his lead, hips twisting to meet his strokes. He sped up, until he was slamming inside her with a brutal force that would have injured another woman. Buffy keened her appreciation, and he was rewarded when her tight sheath tightened further, going into sweet, strong contractions that brought him closer to his own peak.
She couldn't help herself. Couldn't stop her body from feeling the ecstasy he demanded she feel, her flesh from welcoming his, her heart from yearning toward the last remnants of Angel. Illogical it might be. She knew that Angel was gone, drifting in the *aether.* But her senses recognized his taste, his scent, his feel, his appearance, and they defied logic, telling her that she was with Angel and that she should rejoice in the fact. Buffy was simply too new to lovemaking to fight what he did to her. And her grief over losing Angel was too new for her to reject even such a tenuous connection as this must be. In the end, she stopped fighting and allowed herself the release Angelus forced her to. Deep inside, though, she knew the difference, and could not help but weep for it.
Her sorrow was as sweet to him as her pleasure, telling him that he had won, that she would yield to him despite herself, and give him everything he demanded. But he still hadn't demonstrated his mastery over her to his own satisfaction. Angelus shifted again, this time rolling them both until she was on her stomach, and he was above her. Not letting the connection between them break, he drove himself inside her to the hilt, then grasped her about the waist, lifting her hips to meet his own so that she was kneeling beneath him on the bed. He knelt between her spread thighs. Her bound hands made it impossible for her to brace herself; her head was bent down, resting on the pillows, while her lovely derriere was raised to accommodate him. She was open to him in a classic attitude of submission. And her despairing sobs would have broken a heart of stone.
But he had no heart to break.
Angelus drove himself into her still-fluttering womanhood, riding the aftermath of her orgasm, not letting it fade completely away, but building it to white hot intensity a third time. In seconds, he had her writhing against him again, meeting his thrusts, accommodating his flesh. This time, when he felt the delectable contractions of her heated depths, he let himself flow into them. Roaring, he spilled himself inside her, pouring his cold essence into the fires of her body. She accepted every drop, her own pleasure matching his as she joined him in rapture.
But then, that was why she was still alive: he had never known a human woman who could match his passion they way Buffy did.
She closed her eyes, beyond tears now. She was helpless before the fire in her blood that only he had ever roused, before the satisfaction of her flesh that only he had ever given her. He. Angel or Angelus, man or demon, the same body, housing both spirits. How was she to fight him on this battlefield, when she barely understood the weapons, and her only experience in wielding them had come at his hands? How was she supposed to fight him when the only thing she wanted was to take him deep, deep inside herself until both of them were sated and spent?
He had gone so deeply inside her that she had felt him at the mouth of her womb, and he had made every nerve in her body, ever cell, every fiber respond to his touch. He had made her not care that he was Angelus, not Angel, not care about anything but having him with her when the pleasure crested and peaked and possessed her, not care about anything but the feel of his seed streaming inside her. She learned that she could bear it if he made her feel the way Angel had, again. Because she had no choice but to bear it. And she had learned one other thing: she was not alone in this. As great as his power was over her, she still had power over him. As deep as her craving was, his matched it. He would have drunk her and been done with it, else. Comfort of the coldest sort, but she held it to her as her tremors faded and her legs gave way, no longer able to support her, so that she collapsed onto the mattress.
He collapsed over her, not bothering to spare her his weight, pressing her down into the mattress. She felt good beneath him, a warm, soft cushion of flesh. He pressed an idle kiss against her neck, over the wounds. She sighed. He smiled. Eventually, he withdrew and rolled away from her. For a moment, she lay sprawled where he left her, a delectable, ravaged tousle of blond hair and golden skin. Before she turned away, seeking the dubious warmth of the thin covers, his eye was caught by the glisten of his seed as it began to leak from her body onto her thigh. A rush of primal male possessiveness swamped him at the sight.
Mine, he thought savagely, tucking the covers around her to keep her warm.
Had she known his thought, Buffy would have despairingly agreed.
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The Silken Cage: Journey