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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
A,N, Originally posted in two parts.
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"A luau? At this hour?" Buffy shook her head. "You’re kidding, right?"
He raised a brow. "No. At this hour, if you wanted a luau, you’d have one. A word to Mai, and it would be done. But, it is late. I’ll understand if you’d prefer something a little less elaborate."
Buffy shivered. Angelus in an accommodating mood, willing to indulge her whims rather than forcing her to indulge his? This was unnerving. She was wary of such generosity in this notoriously ruthless, vicious demon. Of course, he wasn’t always vicious, as her thoroughly sated body could attest. She was a little sore, aching even. But very pleasantly, rather than as a result of unspeakable torture. Still, she knew just how unspeakable the torture he could inflict would be: Rupert Giles had fallen victim to him, after all. It was best to be on her guard.
"Less elaborate would be of the good. I haven’t eaten since we were on the ship this afternoon, and, frankly, I’m starved."
"Yes, you have been working up an appetite," he smirked. Buffy blushed then turned away in exasperation, heading for their bags in the living room, with the idea of finding a replacement for the dress he had ripped off of her earlier. He reached an arm to restrain her.
"Check the closet, first," he suggested.
She arched a brow , but followed his suggestion. Hanging from padded satin hangers, she found several dresses, all of them formal, expensive, elegant. Buffy chose the simplest of them, a black silk sheath with a modest scoop neck and a hem that skimmed just above her knees. She took it, and the undergarments hanging with it, into the bathroom.
She was closing the bathroom door when she heard a discreet knock on the main door to the apartment. Probably Robert, attending to some commission of Angelus’. She risked a quick peek, but no struggling captives were being delivered for a quick snack. Instead, Robert was handing Angelus a simple brown bag, from which the vampire quickly withdrew a quart-sized bottle. Ah. Mystery solved. The blood on the ship had been tainted, and Angelus must have decided he didn’t have time to hunt. Relieved that no vulnerable innocents were in need of her very dubious protection, she turned her attention to getting dressed.
As she had come to expect, even the intimate garments fit her perfectly. The black lace bra cupped and lifted her breasts to show to best advantage under the neckline of the dress. The matching slip was just an inch shorter than the hem of the dress itself. She was a bit annoyed to find a garter belt and stockings instead of the far more convenient panty hose she was used to, and more than annoyed that panties did not form a part of the ensemble, but she didn’t think complaining about it would get her very far.
One look in the mirror told her that she’d made the right choice. The dress suited her, rendering her skin almost lucent in contrast to the black fabric, and the cut was very flattering. She pinned her hair up once more, fixing the dragonfly pins back in place, with a rueful smile for the memory of how they’d gotten dislodged in the first place. A light touch of makeup, and she was ready to go.
Angelus gazed at her appreciatively when she came back into the bedroom and slipped into a pair of black pumps. They weren’t the kind of shoes girls her age normally wore, not the square-heeled, thick-soled platform shoes she was used to. These heels were thin and high, so that she had to take cautious, almost delicate steps. The shoes made her very aware of her legs, of the way she moved, of the sway of her hips, and the brush of her thighs against each other, caressing her naked sex. One look at his eyes, and she could tell that they made Angelus aware of those things, as well.
"Lovely," he said, his voice husky. Buffy trembled, wondering if they were going to make it to the restaurant after all. A short while before, she would have said the idea of making love with Angelus yet again this evening was out of the question: she was too sated, too sore, too drained. And yet, at his look, a frisson of heat coiled through her, settling low in her belly, and she became conscious of a physical heat burning through her, a kind of fire running through her veins. She frowned, remembering the unnatural heat of Angelus’ flesh when he had come to her.
"What did you do to me, this time?" she asked, slowly.
"Nothing you’ll dislike, I promise," he drawled, pretty much admitting her suspicions were accurate, then turned the conversation. "The neckline needs something," he said, drawing out another jeweler’s box. Buffy walked slowly closer. She hadn’t been happy with his earlier gift that day, but there could hardly be another claddagh resting within the leather box.
There wasn’t. It was a rather simple piece, really, a slender choker. But it was made of white gold and it blazed with diamonds, and could probably have paid for her entire college career . . .not that she was ever likely to make it back to college, if Angelus had his way.
"It’s beautiful," she said quietly.
"Then come here, and let me put it on." She obeyed, shivering at the touch of his no longer cool hands on her nape as he fastened the catch. He came around to admire his handiwork.
"As I thought," he said, staring at her. "Perfection." His smoldering eyes were not lingering on the necklace, but boring into her own. Buffy was intensely aware that he wasn’t talking about the jewelry, or her dress. The fire in her veins intensified.
"Angelus–" she breathed. He smirked down at her.
"Soon, my love," he promised. Buffy shivered once more.
Mai’s silent chauffeur, Robert, was waiting with the limo. He drove them to the other end of the island. When the ride began, Buffy was anxious, made skittish by the odd and surely unnatural fire coursing through her blood. Angelus seemed to guess her discomfort, but did nothing to relieve it, merely watching her with a pleased smirk. She gazed at him warily, then tried to distract herself by looking out the window. More lush jungle. More breathtaking lava cliffs. More dramatic expanses of ocean. There was moonlight, and her night vision hadn’t deteriorated too badly, despite the impairment from the drugs he was feeding her. She was able to make out enough detail. But she couldn’t help wishing she were seeing some of these things by the light of day.
As well wish for the moon, she thought wryly. Angelus was hardly apt to expose himself to the dangers of sunlight just so she could enjoy the view.
Then again, there was a lot to be said for the view he finally did show her.
Robert drove them to the North Shore, and eventually pulled up in front of the sort of hotel Buffy couldn’t even imagine affording. A uniformed doorman appeared instantly to assist them in alighting from the limo. Angelus took her arm and led her into the plush lobby where a server instantly appeared to greet them.
"Mr. Angelus?" the young man inquired politely. The pin on his immaculate tuxedo shirt identified him as Chris.
"Yes."
"Good evening, sir. Everything is ready. If you and your lovely bride would follow me?" Buffy glared at Angelus, who simply lifted her beringed hand to his lips and kissed it, before linking her arm through his and guiding her through the hotel behind the server. Buffy was acutely conscious of the discreet, appraising glances which came her way from those hotel guests who were in the lobby or seated in the lounge, enjoying cocktails while a piano played softly in the background. She was glad she was dressed every bit as expensively as anyone there. She only wished the damnable fire in her blood wasn’t rising. Her lack of panties made her feel very vulnerable. With each step she took, the soft flesh of her inner thighs brushed together, and she could catch the faintest scent of her own arousal. She desperately hoped no one else caught that particular odor.
Buffy had expected to find herself in one of the hotel’s elegant restaurants, and was a bit surprised when they were led outside once more, through a secluded garden and then down a private path to the beach. A protective runner covered the sand from the end of the path to their table, so Buffy was not inconvenienced by her thin heels. The table was set with candlelight and further illuminated by Hawaiian torches. The stand beside it boasted an ice bucket inside which a bottle of champagne was chilling. And before them was spread a stunning view of Hanalei Bay and the surrounding mountains under the moonlit sky.
"It’s beautiful," she said, awed. Chris smiled at her spontaneous comment, then pulled out her chair. At Angelus’ arched brow, however, he stepped away. Angelus seated Buffy himself, then took his own place while the server attended to the champagne. He displayed the bottle to Angelus, who nodded approval of the vintage and year. Chris expertly popped the cork and filled two crystal champagne flutes. Buffy decided she was going to need all the fortification she could get and reached for her flute. The pleasant thought struck her that she might be about to enjoy her first untainted meal in a week.
How odd. A week. It had only been seven days since she’d been captured. Eight days ago, she had been engrossed in her courses as a freshman at Sunnydale U, meeting Willow for study groups and mocha breaks, patrolling with poor Riley, and fielding phone calls from her anxious mother, who wasn’t quite used to the emptying of her small nest. It seemed so much more than a matter of days, so much farther away than the matter of twenty-seven hundred miles. Buffy sipped her champagne.
The table was covered with a pale peach linen tablecloth. Matching linen napkins were rolled into sterling silver rings. The plates were bone china and the silverware was precisely that: silver. The menu she finally opened did not have prices. It did have a tempting array of delicacies, reminding her that it had been a good six hours since her last meal. A spinach salad with shrimp and lobster looked like an especially appealing way to begin the next one.
Angelus asked her preferences, for once, instead of deciding them for her. She gave them to him, wriggling slightly in her chair. Whatever he had done to her, it was making it hard for her to sit still. She looked out over the magnificent view, and held out her flute for a refill on the champagne. Drinking it seemed to help. It didn’t exactly put out the fire, but it made it easier to handle.
Fortunately, the service was first rate, and she didn’t have to wait long for her food. As she might have expected, the meal was one of the best she’d ever had in her life. The hoisin vinaigrette accompanying her salad added just the right touch. Angelus had opted for clams in a white wine sauce--sans the usual garlic--flavored with truffle butter. She had not declined his offer of a taste. And then she had asked for more.
"It’s not as if you really need to eat," she pointed out as she snatched one of the tasty morsels off its shell. Chuckling, he indulged her.
"Not food," he agreed tranquilly, toasting her with his champagne flute. She found herself blushing again, squirming as the fire coursing through her rose once more. She was in public, more or less, for the first time since he had captured her. The warrior in her had noted the entrances and exits through the hotel, had assessed the difficulty of engaging in a pitched battle in the relative privacy of the beach. The very public lobby of a very expensive hotel was a few hundred yards away, and there were banks upon banks of public phones to be found there, from which she could surely make a collect call to the mainland. She had never been closer to freedom.
And she had never been more conscious of how illusory that closeness was.
It wasn’t just that Angelus was too strong for her, now, too fast. It wasn’t just the fact that his reflexes were supernaturally quick and hers had been slowed to barely above average. It wasn’t even the heat in her veins which kept her mind turning away from battle tactics and toward memories of the way she and Angelus had spent the earlier part of the evening. The truth was, he knew her too well. He could sense when she was ready to try the bars of her cage, the strength of her bonds, and he was always there to make sure she couldn’t break them. So, she could wait until Chris had left to bring their entrees, flip the table over on her dinner companion, grab one of the convenient wooden torches, and try to thrust it through Angelus’ heart, and if her strength and reflexes were up to par, that would probably work. As things were now, though, Angelus would be able to wrench the torch from her grasp before she could even aim the damned thing. Then he’d probably knock her out, and carry her out of the hotel with a graceful apology to Chris and the other concerned hotel staff. His bride had wanted a stroll along the beach, had fainted, and he’d overset the table trying to reach her. Any bruises would be explained. Any offers of help gracefully deflected.
And as soon as he got her back to their apartment, he would make her very, very sorry she hadn’t eaten her dinner.
She’d had enough of a lesson from him, when she’d tried to ram the wooden chopstick into his heart from behind. She didn’t want another one. All in all, enjoying her supper and the view seemed much the better idea. And the gradually building fire inside her didn’t have a damned thing to do with it, she reassured herself. Buffy shifted in her chair again, once more trying to find a comfortable position, one which could dampen that fire. It wasn’t working, now. Instead, her wriggling seemed to increase it.
"Problem, lover?"
"Not at all," she said stubbornly, reaching for her champagne flute. Another low chuckle reached her ears, but then, she hadn’t really expected to fool him. Vampire senses being what they were, she was betting he could smell her arousal. She sipped her champagne. It wasn’t helping as much as it had before. Chris came back, whisking away the remains of her salad and the empty clamshells, and presenting their main courses.
Angelus took his beef rare. He’d ordered it "black and blue," seared on the outside and nearly raw in the center, which held a slightly bluish tinge. The irony of the term was not lost on Buffy. As Angelus sliced into his steak, rich, red juices seeped out of it, soaking through the potatoes which had been roasted without the garlic that normally accompanied them. He finished cutting, and raised the tidbit to his mouth. Buffy’s steamed Hawaiian snapper lay ignored on her plate as she watched his white teeth close over the dripping meat. Fascinated, she continued to watch him as he chewed, with apparent relish.
"Vampires don’t like food." She said, surprised when the words came out slightly slurred. She eyed her champagne flute. It was full. Again. That couldn’t be right . . .
"Vampires don’t need food," Angelus corrected. "And, our sense of taste is different from a human’s. But something like this has its . . .charms." He quickly sliced another portion. "Would you like a taste?" His voice was a low, seductive purr as he speared the sliver of beef on his fork and lifted it toward her.
"Yes," she found herself saying, and leaned forward, opening her mouth.
It was a tender morsel, almost dissolving on her tongue without the need for her to chew. And it left behind the hot, salt, texture of flesh and blood in her mouth. Oh, yes, she could imagine the charm nearly raw beef held for Angelus. She hadn’t a clue why she was enjoying it. Maybe the champagne had something to do with it.
"How’s your snapper?" Angelus inquired, amused.
"Snapper? Oh!" Buffy turned her attention to her own plate. The snapper was as delicious as everything else she had tried. But it wasn’t the beef. Buffy pushed aside the momentary discontent, determined to enjoy her meal. For the most part, that was easy enough to do. The fish had been steamed with ginger, amongst other appealing herbs and spices, then served with shiitake mushrooms. It was moist and delicately flavored, and she ate it with relish.
Until Angelus offered her another taste of what he had on his plate.
Chris had discreetly withdrawn again. The whole point of these intimate dinners for two was romance, after all, and a third party would definitely inhibit the mood. Angelus held out his fork once more, Buffy opened her mouth, and another tender morsel dissolved on her tongue. Closing her eyes, Buffy leaned back in her chair, savoring the taste. When she finished with it, she opened her eyes and looked at Angelus, not even trying to fight what was happening to her.
"It’s got something to do with what you did to me earlier, doesn’t it?" she said as the heat inside her leapt higher.
"Blood intensifies the craving," Angelus nodded. He had finished all but one final piece of beef, and he held this toward her now.
"You are a bastard, aren’t you?" she inquired. But she leaned forward, licking her lips as he lifted the tidbit to her mouth.
"Could you doubt it?"
"How much time do we have before Chris comes back?" she demanded, when she was through.
"Enough," he promised, pushing his empty plate away, and his chair back from the table. "Come here."
Ignoring her half-eaten snapper, Buffy slid onto Angelus’ lap eagerly, now glad that she wasn’t wearing panties as she tangled her hands in his thick dark hair, and pulled him into a desperate kiss. His hand slid along her thigh, beneath the hem of her dress, then delved between her legs. She wriggled into a more accessible position, granting him entrance, but not breaking the kiss. She couldn’t break the kiss. She needed it too badly, needed the taste of him, needed the savor of champagne and the trace of blood. His thumb brushed her clit and she moaned, knowing she was going to go off in a matter of seconds. A finger probed inside and she whimpered, sucking hard on his tongue. It hurt. They had made vigorous, passionate love all day long, her Slayer recuperative powers were compromised, and she was still so new at this. Her sexual experience was limited to one night in the arms of the man she loved, and one week in the bed of the demon who wore his face. Over a year and a half stretched between the two events, and it seemed as if Angelus was determined to make up for lost time. Her body was suffering the consequences.
He had heard the telltale whimper, had felt her flinch, and understood the problem. But she was kissing him with unabated passion, and the knowledge that she was ignoring her discomfort for the sake of their shared passion was intoxicating. He was a vampire. Her pain excited him. But, her passion excited him even more. For the moment, he was moved to a protective tenderness. He withdrew the probing finger, concentrating on her clit, instead. She wriggled in his lap, and he chuckled.
Buffy devoured Angelus mouth, hungry for his kisses. She experienced a moment of shock at his consideration. Understanding the pleasure vampires took in pain, she was surprised that he hadn’t simply tried to make her come despite her soreness. Instead, he had opted not to hurt her. But she had no time to think about what it all meant, because his knowing fingers had busied themselves with her aching clit, and she could think of nothing but the pleasure escalating slowly, too slowly, inside her.
He took his time, and he could tell that was driving her crazy. She was afire, achingly close to climax. One more twist, and she’d be over the edge. But he liked having her in his lap, liked the desperation of her kisses, and he never, ever seemed to want to rush things when he had her in his arms. He let his fingers find another spot to tease, moving her back from the edge, and making her start the climb once more. The next whimper was one of disappointment. But it had served its purpose. This time, when he probed inside her, she didn’t seem to feel any pain. He set up a slow, steady, rhythm, pumping in and out of her gently while his thumb massaged her clit. She was moaning into his mouth, and he risked a second finger. She whimpered, rubbing her breasts against his chest, and if he was causing her any pain at this point, she was well beyond caring. Another brush against her clit and she was screaming into his mouth, climaxing in shuddering waves, writhing in his arms.
Every nerve in her body, every sensation, seemed to be centered in a tiny bit of flesh between her thighs. She couldn’t believe the intensity of her orgasm, as Angelus played her body like a virtuoso played a violin. And she couldn’t believe, as the hot pleasure washed over her and slid away, that instead of sating her hunger, it left her hungrier than before. She could feel him, hard against her thigh, and she rubbed against him like a cat in heat. He chuckled again, but shifted her slightly, moving her away. Before she could protest, another firm thrust of his fingers and caressing brush of his thumb started a second wave of pleasure rolling over her, and she shattered for him anew. Once more the wave crested. Once more it drained away. And once more, Angelus summoned the waves. He held her in his arms, and he was merciless. She lost count of how many waves crashed over her, how many times she drowned in the surf, how many times he dragged her upward, only to drown her yet again. Then she knew he had gone into game-face, because she could feel his fangs against her mouth. She ran her tongue daringly over each one, licking against the points. Just as another orgasm hit, she deliberately pricked her tongue against one fang, and he instinctually sucked down the tiny drop of welling blood. Somehow, it made that orgasm the best yet.
Angelus held her tight, as the tremors coursed through her body and she moaned into his mouth, incredibly, willingly gifting him with just a taste of her blood. He was hard again, but that could wait. Primed as she was, he wasn’t going to want to rush things with her, wanted to enjoy what she could offer, and that demanded more privacy than was currently available to them. The Lamia venom had, as was its wont, seeped from his system into hers when he had spilled his seed inside her. Even thus diluted, its effect on Buffy was noticeable, enhancing the delightful responsiveness of her nature. Maybe, he reflected as he began to ease Buffy down from her peak, it was a good thing he hadn’t acted on his earlier impulse to bring Mai into things. If Buffy ever ingested Lamia venom straight, he doubted even his vampiric stamina would be equal to the task of keeping her satisfied. Of course, Mai would be there to help him . . .As Buffy began to calm in his arms, her kisses becoming less demanding and more lingering, Angelus had a flash of a vision, the two females entwined, Mai suckling at Buffy’s breasts, her pale fingers moving as his did now, Buffy’s legs lifting to wrap against around her partner’s waist, her hips churning, her golden hair tossing as she gave in to pleasure.
Against every expectation he had, against everything in his nature, against inclinations he had avidly indulged over the course of one and a half centuries, the vision did not please.
Growling, Angelus tightened his grip on Buffy, and kissed her with bruising force. She whimpered slightly, but returned the kiss. Mine, he thought, and realized, as he did so, just how often that particular thought had crossed his mind when he had this girl in his arms. It was not a comfortable realization.
Momentarily spent, Buffy at long last broke their kiss, resting her head against his shoulder. Angelus pulled his hand from between her thighs, smoothed down her skirts, then raised his hand to his lips and licking off the honeyed residue.
"Lovely dessert," he smirked.
"Smug bastard," Buffy sighed, without any real heat. Given her current state of satisfaction, he was entitled to be as smug as he pleased. Almost on the thought, a tiny spark of fire raced along her veins, and she realized that whatever satisfaction she felt was destined to be fleeting. She raised her head and looked down at him, pouting.
"We’ve been making love all day, I’ve just had a series of incredible climaxes, and two seconds later–I want you again. I can feel–something. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?" Angelus considered the possibility. Did he want to tell Buffy he had pleasured Mai the way he had just pleasured her? It was his right, true, and Buffy had no claims on him, as she did with Angel. He had declared her his mate, but in vampiric terms, that didn’t imply the fidelity it did amongst humans. He wasn’t even sure she would care if he were unfaithful, a thought which he found oddly disturbing. He couldn’t imagine why he would want her to care.
Then again, he couldn’t really imagine why he was being, by his standards at least, faithful.
"Well?" Buffy demanded, nipping at his lips, recalling him to the present, and to her question. He nipped back.
"No." He kissed her.
"Bastard," she repeated, before kissing him back.
"We’ve established that." His tongue swept across her lips. She moaned, and opened for him.
Chris cleared his throat.
"Will Madam be having dessert?" His eyes flicked to Buffy’s half-full dinner plate, as if he doubted dessert would interest her.
With a soft, embarrassed groan, Buffy broke the kiss and buried her head in Angelus’ neck.
"It’s all right, darling. I’m quite sure Chris is used to honeymooning couples by now, aren’t you Chris?"
Chris affably agreed that he was. Buffy made to rise from Angelus’ lap and take her seat once more. Angelus tightened his arms and she stayed where she was. Desserts and coffee were ordered and the remains of their earlier course removed. When they were alone again, Buffy finally raised her head from the safety of Angelus’ shoulder and stared down at him thoughtfully.
"Honeymooning couples," she said quietly. "Is that how you see us?"
He looked back at her, his dark eyes unfathomable.
"After a fashion. You’re mine, Buffy. We’ve established that. A honeymoon is a time away from the world, time for a couple to adjust to their new relationship, to each other, before they face the world again, as a couple."
"How romantic," she said dryly.
"Not always. I see this as your time to adjust. You’re used to being a force to be reckoned with in your own right. That’s over, my love. I want that very clear. You are mine and everything you do will reflect upon me. That’s part of the meaning behind the ring you are wearing, behind my public declaration that you are my mate. In the vampire community, that makes everything you do something for which I am responsible, because it makes you, in a fashion, an extension of me."
"That’s not even medieval, that’s out of the Dark Ages," she bristled. "Unless it works both ways?"
He didn’t bother to dignify her angry remark with an answer.
"There’s no question of my letting you go. There’s even less of a question of your escaping, and if you try, I will make you regret it in ways that you can’t possibly imagine, even now."
"And you expect me to just accept that?" she demanded, furious.
"Hell, no. I expect you to fight me every step of the way," he grinned, kissing her fiercely. "And that’s going to make it so much sweeter for me when you lose."
"Prick," she groused. But she kissed him back.
Chris arrived with desserts and coffee, but Angelus held her in his arms until their obliging server had disappeared once more. When she attempted to slide off his lap, Buffy made a fairly shocking discovery.
"I’m soaking," she whispered, mortified. "I’m soaking, and I’m not wearing panties, and silk stains!" When Angelus chuckled this time, she hauled back her hand to slap him. He caught her wrist, still amused.
"Yes, darling, silk stains. So does linen, but I don’t give a damn about the handkerchief." He kissed her hand, then reached for the handkerchief in his breast pocket. Buffy blushed as he lifted her skirts once more. "It’s been years since I’ve played ladies maid," he commented as she looked daggers at him. "But I don’t think I’ve lost my touch."
Pointing out once more that he was a smug bastard seemed a bit redundant. Buffy suffered thorough his ministrations–the hardest part of which was in seeing to it, as he stroked the crisp cloth against her sensitive flesh, that she didn’t give him more to clean up. When he was done, she pushed her skirts down herself, then slid off his lap and returned to her own chair. She eyed him calmly refolding the damp square of linen. "You aren’t going to put that back in your pocket?"
"Why ever not?" he asked coolly, doing just that. She shook her head, giving the argument up as lost, and turned her attention to dessert.
Two confections were on her plate. She picked up her spoon and debated which one to try first. She’d had crème brûlée before, but ginger crème brûlée was a new one on her. She went with what she knew, then compared. She closed her eyes, and sighed in delight. Comparisons were of the good.
"Enjoying yourself?" Angelus asked, amused. His chocolate torte with minted truffle cream was going largely ignored. Buffy decided that was a shameful waste and leaned forward to snatch a spoonful. He grinned and pushed the plate in her direction.
"Very much," she said, lifting her heavily laden spoon to her mouth, then reaching for her coffee. "I’m enjoying everything, Angelus. Just don’t expect it to turn me into your willing slave." She set the coffee down and picked up her spoon once more. "I’ll be viewed as an extension of you? My actions will reflect on your reputation?" She laughed. "Prepare to have your reputation in the vampire community damaged beyond repair."
"Oh, no, my love," he grinned back. "Prepare to make my reputation in that community the most feared and respected of all time."
"You’re dreaming," she warned him, before licking ginger cream from her spoon.
"Most pleasantly," he agreed, watching the unconscious sensuality of her little pink tongue.
Chris returned to inquire if there was anything further they required. There wasn’t. The check was quickly settled, Chris presented with a tip that caused even his eyes to widen in appreciation, and before long, the were headed once more through the hotel, before which Robert was undoubtedly waiting patiently for their return. Once more, Buffy was conscious of the glances coming her way, of the brush of her thighs against each other, of an arousal recently sated renewing itself once more. This time, she wasn’t embarrassed. Was it the champagne making her want to flaunt her sexuality, instead of hide it? She could feel her nipples, which had been achingly hard this past hour, was aware that they showed through the silk of her dress, despite the modesty of the bra beneath. The display didn’t concern her. She was wondering how dark the glass separating Robert from the rest of the car was. Could he see through it, or would anything going on in the back seats show up in his mirror? Of course, Angelus wouldn’t show up in the mirror at all, no matter what he got up to, and one of the seats faced away from Robert, so he wouldn’t be able to see whatever transpired there . . .
She grew wet once more, contemplating the possibilities.
They were crossing the lounge when the interruption came.
"Angelus?" came an incredulous voice. Angelus stopped, halting Buffy as well. Chris turned questioningly.
"Wulf," Angelus said pleasantly, extending his hand to a man every bit his own height, who seemed to have about a decade on him. The man’s hair–long, and pulled back into a que fastened with a bit of black velvet ribbon–was white, but not with age, and his eyes were an icy blue that chilled with a glance. He shook Angelus’ hand heartily, his teeth flashing in a smile which Angelus returned. Buffy was reminded of wolves baring their fangs in a display of dominance.
Angelus glanced at Chris.
"Tell my driver that we’ll be staying a bit longer," he said dismissing the server. Chris accepted the commission, wished them a good evening and left them with their new companion. Buffy was glad to find that her Slayer’s reflexes and instincts weren’t so badly impaired by the drugs that she couldn’t recognize the other man as a vampire. Wulf. She wondered what Giles would have been able to tell her about him. She was just betting that he had a rep to rival that of Spike, Darla, the Master, or Angelus himself.
"I’d heard rumors that you returned, last year," Wulf said to Angelus. "And then you seemed to disappear, again. What have you been up to, my boy?" Buffy arched a brow. She didn’t need to see the flash of rage in Angelus’ eyes to know how he was going to react to that appellation.
"No good, of course, Wulf," Angelus replied pleasantly enough.
"And who is this lovely creature?" Wulf said. His cold blue eyes raked over Buffy, taking in the flash of diamonds at her throat, and lingering hungrily on her stiff nipples. The slightest flare of his nostrils told her that the scents from Angelus’ handkerchief, undetectable to any human who wasn’t standing almost on top of them, was not lost on Wulf, either. She could tell he was wondering if Angelus would be willing to share his meal, and if he weren’t, whether she would be worth the trouble of stealing her from him. She almost giggled knowing how Angelus was going to react to Wulf’s inspection.
"This is Buffy. My mate," Angelus purred. She smiled at Wulf politely as his eyes widened in shock and his own smile faltered for just a moment.
"Well, you have been busy, haven’t you?" Wulf said. "Do join me in a drink. I must, of course, toast your happiness."
"We’d be delighted," Angelus said.
They were seated in low overstuffed chairs that were so roomy, they were closer to sofas. Angelus had taken advantage of that, and she sat curled into his side, the very picture of newlywed bliss. Their table had an unobstructed view of the evening’s entertainment: the pianist and a woman with a smoky voice perfectly suited to the classic blues and jazz ballads she was delivering. But they weren’t so close that their conversation was overwhelmed by the performance. Angelus ordered more champagne. Wulf offered a toast to "a long and fruitful alliance." Buffy maintained her silence, and sipped delicately at the contents of her glass, hoping they could leave soon. If she had to wait much longer to get back to their room, she might go up in flames. She tried to distract herself by paying attention to what the two vampires were saying.
Had she taken the ensuing conversation at face value, she would have been bored to tears. Certainly, anyone who happened to overhear it would assume that two old friends were getting caught up on the doings of mutual acquaintances. But the conversation didn’t have a damned thing to do with friendship, and everything to do with power and position.
"So sorry to hear about Nest, of course. And Darla. What a blow that must have been to you, my boy."
"Time heals all wounds," Angelus replied smoothly. Buffy wondered if Wulf knew of Angel’s part in the demise of The Master and his responsibility for Darla’s end. She didn’t think so. But something must have come to his ears. Angelus was deflecting things nicely, though. Not that she expected anything less. "Their affairs were left in quite a bit of disarray, and I’m afraid that some of their . . .heirs. . .have behaved rather badly. I may have to take a hand in things." Buffy sipped her champagne to hide her surprise. From the look of things, Wulf was even less pleased with Angelus’ declaration that he intended to get back whatever territories the Master and Darla had once possessed.
"An unenviable task," Wulf said with what anyone who didn’t know them would have to consider heartfelt sympathy. "I can’t imagine that the heirs in question will thank you." Buffy wondered if that was a veiled threat to Angelus himself, but Wulf didn’t press the matter, instead turning to a new topic. "I’m hearing the most astonishing things about Drusilla and William. Surely they’re still together?"
"Sadly no," Angelus was forced to admit. "She left him, last year. The winters up north didn’t agree with her any more. She decided that Brazil had more to offer her. Though, I’m a bit surprised at the Chaos she’s succumbed to."
"Chaos? Really? Well, if you think about it, she always did have the oddest tastes." Buffy recognized the slight to Angelus and to Spike. "Poor William must be devastated."
"He’s just not himself," Angelus lamented. "Really took the bite out of him."
"Indeed?" Wulf digested that tidbit thoughtfully. Buffy could almost watch the wheels turning, as Wulf assessed just how badly Dru’s desertion of Spike would affect the younger vampire, and if there were some opportunity for Wulf himself in Spike’s new vulnerability. Or, perhaps, he was debating whether he could make an alliance with Dru. She wondered why Angelus had revealed so much to Wulf, but a moment later, he neatly scotched both plans, in one urbane sentence.
"Given how close I was to both of them, I’m extending each of them all the help I can, of course," he said. Meaning, Buffy realized, that Dru was still, as Angelus’ childe, his territory, and that Spike, though deserted by Dru, was under Angelus’ protection, as well. An alliance with Dru would need Angelus’ approval. Any move against Spike would be taken as a move against Angelus himself. And, of course, if Angelus were extending his help to the two younger vamps, anything of theirs was, in a way, his. Vampiric relationships were nothing if not Byzantine. Angelus had just declared himself master of whatever territories Spike hunted in the states and Dru had taken over in Brazil. She wondered idly what Spike and Dru would think of that, then decided that Dru would be so delighted to have her Daddy back, that she’d hand over whatever rights he cared to assert. Spike might not want to be so accommodating, but Buffy had the feeling he wouldn’t be given a choice. Then again, if she and Angelus were going to spend much time in Japan, and points east, the matter might never be put to a test.
Wulf, however, seemed unable to resist testing the waters.
"You’re too generous, dear boy," Wulf said. "No one can expect you to shoulder such burdens when you’ve just taken on your own, most delightful, responsibilities. I’m sure your lovely bride would prefer that she had your attention all to herself. No man should risk neglecting such a charming creature, after all." Buffy had to give Wulf points for cajones. He’d just warned Angelus that he had designs on Dru, Spike and Buffy herself.
"No risk of that," Angelus reassured Wulf with deadly politeness. "I couldn’t think of neglecting Buffy. I can support Dru and William without taking time away from my bride." Angelus intended to hold what was his.
Oddly, this seemed to please Wulf. Or perhaps, not so oddly. Vampires respected strength, cunning and ruthlessness. Like sharks, they would rend their own at the first sign of blood or weakness. But they admired a vicious leader.
"I’m delighted to hear it. Will you be traveling to traveling to Europe any time soon? You must let me put some of my properties at your disposal." Wulf had just done a volte-face and proposed an alliance.
"That would be most welcome," Angelus accepted. "Our itinerary is rather flexible. I’ll have to put you in touch with Mai. I’m sure you know of her?" Buffy wondered what Mai was, that the mere mention of her name could instantly cause Wulf to become deferential.
"Who does not? But I’d be delighted with an introduction. We’ve had business dealings, of course, but it isn’t quite the same."
"No, it isn’t," Angelus agreed finishing his champagne. "You’re staying here? I’ll see that she gets in touch with you tomorrow." He stood, and the two shook hands once more.
"A pleasure seeing you again, Angelus," Wulf said as Buffy got to her feet. He turned to her and lifted her hand to his lips, but was circumspect, and did not actually press a kiss against her knuckles. Nor, when he met her eyes again, was there the slightest trace of his earlier hunger. "Charmed, my dear. I wish you every happiness." Buffy spoke for the first time, murmuring polite thanks.
They took their leave of Wulf, and made their way through the hotel and out the main entrance. Buffy took a deep breath of the night air. Robert pulled the limo up a moment later, and Angelus handed her back into the car.
She took the seat opposite him, her back to Robert.
"How far do you trust Wulf?" she asked.
"Trust?" Angelus raised a brow. "It isn’t a matter of trust. It’s a matter of strength. He realized tonight that I’m back and I’m strong. The offer to introduce him to Mai cemented the matter. She has access to power he can’t even imagine."
"And she’s in your debt. What is she, Angelus?"
"Something that doesn’t concern you."
"Doesn’t she?"
"Not in the least, my love. Haven’t we better things to discuss?" The last was said in a seductive purr, and the fire that had been warming her blood all evening leapt to attention.
"I suppose . . ." she purred back.
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The Silken Cage: Journey