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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
A.N. This chapter was originally posted as separate parts 19a, 19b, and 19c. Once again, I am going to include the original Warning for Part 19b. You will be able to distinguish where one part originally ended and the next began by the dividing line that will separate the sections. Thus, you can scroll past 19b if, after reading the warning, you decide to do so.
Further note that this chapter contains bits of dialogue from the Ats episode I Will Remember You and the BtVS episodes Anne, Amends and Forever. Again, no infringement intended. Rather, I expected that fans of the show would remember the original contexts in which the lines were given, and that this would give point to the new context in which they are placed, here. Intended as commentary on the original work, not as a derivative work.
Original WARNING: In previous chapters, I’ve cautioned you that Angelus, in this story, is not simply a cranky version of Angel. I’ve said that he hasn’t been turned into a lapdog by his love for Buffy. I’ve told you that we would be getting occasional looks into the darker workings of his mind. This chapter contains such a glimpse. Be warned that things will get very dark, indeed, and Buffy will not like it. If you don’t want to read that bit, skip part 19b in its entirety. Of course, you’ll miss a key plot point, but you can pick that up by inference later on. And, yes, I am evil. Not as evil as Angelus, maybe, but close.
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The luau went on for hours, and it was late in the evening by the time they took another carriage ride back to the parking lot. The imperturbable Robert was waiting for them with the limo.
As they drove back, Angelus pulled Buffy firmly against his side, absently stroking his hand along her flanks as he stared out the window into the night. He wasn’t necessarily trying to arouse her, but he succeeded none the less. Buffy felt herself growing wet as the cool hand lightly skimmed along her curves. She wriggled, trying to get more comfortable, to still the insistent tingling of her flesh, and became aware of a faint, aching soreness. She still wasn’t fully healed. Buffy wondered uneasily if that would stop Angelus, if he decided he wanted her.
The matter wasn’t put to the test. Angelus made no attempt to do more than caress her, rather as if she were a kitten he was petting, for the rest of the ride. Once back at their suite, he suggested that she go to bed while he talked to Mai about her meeting with Wulf.
Buffy experienced a shocking moment of pique, as the thought crossed her mind that Angelus might have other plans for the stunningly beautiful demoness than just a staid business meeting.
"It’s after midnight," she heard herself saying. "Why not wait until morning?" Where the hell had that thought come from? Buffy flushed, recognizing the emotions that had prompted her to speak. To judge by how quickly his mouth curled into his trademark evil smirk, Angelus recognized them, as well.
"Jealous, little one?" he asked silkily. He was very pleased with himself, Buffy thought resentfully. And, it didn’t help that she had given him reason. "Because you know," he went on, "you could persuade me to stay, if you’re willing to take the consequences." The look in his eyes left no doubt as to his meaning. If he stayed, she was going to be a lot sorer than she already was.
Buffy had the sinking realization that the idea of Angelus taking her, heedless of her discomfort, didn’t bother her nearly as much as the idea that he might make Mai a bit sore, herself. Buffy’s feelings were a confused jumble: she wanted to escape from Angelus, but couldn’t bear the thought of him bedding another woman. She wanted to be left alone to heal, and she wanted to lose herself in his embrace. She knew that he could take her so tenderly, the minimal discomfort would be well worth the rapture he would give her. And she knew that he was equally capable, and likely more inclined, to take her so roughly that she would bleed for it. She didn’t know which he would enjoy more at any given moment. The only thing she was sure of was that it wouldn’t do to let him know the trend her thoughts were taking, or how much power he was beginning to hold not only over her body, but over her emotions. She tried to back-peddle.
"I . . .I just thought . . .it’s after midnight, and she might not want to be disturbed." That sounded lame, even to her, but Angelus seemed to take her concern seriously.
"She’s in my debt. She won’t regard this as a disturbance," he explained with surprising patience. "I want to talk to her now because in the morning, Mai will be taking you to see more of the island. I’m going to need to make some decisions, and I’d rather have tonight to sleep on whatever information she has for me, instead of making those decisions on the spur of the moment."
"Oh," Buffy said. Angelus chuckled and came nearer, pulling her into his arms for a lingering kiss. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, parting her lips, encouraging him to let the kiss deepen. His tongue dueled with hers briefly, but he soon pulled away.
"Go to bed, darling," he said, his tone indulgent. "I promise I won’t be long." She wasn’t sure how to answer that, but he wasn’t waiting for her reply. He left, and Buffy listened to his footsteps as he went down the stairs to Mai’s apartments. She listened as he knocked on the door, as Mr. Sung opened it, and admitted him, closing the door behind him. She listened a moment or two longer, to assure herself that Angelus wasn’t coming back right away, before she walked slowly over to the door to their apartment, stealthily opened it, and made an attempt to walk through.
She wasn’t really expecting to get very far, but as she had hoped, the spell was weakening. She was able to lift her foot all the way off the floor, though she still couldn’t step over the portal.
Buffy knew she had to leave, had to take whatever chance for escape she could find, as quickly as possible. Less than ten days with Angelus had already made her reluctant to do so, had confused her emotions and clouded her judgment. If he continued to show her such tenderness, if he continued to forebear killing innocents, another week might find her unable to summon the will to leave him. There would be no chance of escaping him back on the ship. She had to make her move before they returned. With luck, tomorrow would see her away from Angelus, and away from the confusing, conflicting emotions he roused in her. As she quietly shut the door and headed back to the bathroom to wash up for the night, she wondered whether she’d have a better chance of escaping if Mai took her horseback riding, or if they went swimming.
In the end, she opted for horseback riding, because she could wear the necklace she still meant to pawn concealed beneath her shirt, and she was likely to get farther on horseback than she would under her own steam.
It was also fairly easy, on horseback, to keep enough distance between herself and Mai that she could avoid a reactivation of whatever spell the demoness had used. All morning long, Buffy pretended a docility she didn’t feel, trying to lull Mai into a false sense of security, as if escape were the last thing on her mind.
For a while, it was. Kauai on horseback, waterfalls tumbling from lava cliffs into the lush jungle below, was indeed a breathtaking sight. Buffy could almost forget her desperate plans to escape in her enjoyment of the scenery. Almost. But, she took note of the trail they were following, the way that trails branched, and the branches that seemed to head back toward Hanelei. Around noon, Buffy suggested they stop for coffee at a roadside stand that catered to riders. Mai didn’t put up much of an argument. Buffy led the way, not letting Mai get too close. This time, she asked their waitress for directions to the women’s room, and made no objection to Mai coming along. However, on the way back, Buffy used the pretext of admiring the view to lean over a table on which a number of coins made up part of a tip. She surreptitiously palmed a few of the coins--less than a dollar, which should be all she needed-- before Mai quite caught up to her. Buffy tossed the demoness a guileless smile, then slid back into her seat. She pocketed a few of the cubes in the sugar bowl at their table as a treat for her horse. She figured it was going to need it. As they drank their coffee, Buffy mentioned that she was hoping to spend more time on the beach before dinner. Mai was agreeable to turning back. Buffy followed as closely as she had all morning --until she reached the fork she had been waiting for.
It didn’t take much to pretend that her horse had gotten a stone in its shoe, to dismount, and persuade an impatient Mai to help her check. As Mai was peering at the hoof, Buffy grabbed one of the large, ornamental stones separating the path from the jungle, and knocked her unconscious. The demoness toppled to the ground, and Buffy lost no time remounting her own horse, slapping Mai’s on the flank to encourage it to bolt from the vicinity, and taking off.
She felt the barrier at the bottom of the path. Her horse pulled up, neighing and shaking, unwilling to go through. But, Buffy could feel the barrier was much, much weaker than it had been the day before, and she wasn’t about to lose this chance. She coaxed her reluctant mount back toward the invisible barrier, speaking soothingly. She threw a nervous glance behind her. How soon before Mai came to her senses and came hunting? Buffy didn’t have time to wait around. She calmed her mount, then set her heels to it. It snorted in discomfort, but obeyed her commands.
She felt like she was riding through a very large spider web, with a thousand sticky strands, each pulling at her, trying to hold her back. Invisible strands wound about her throat, choking her. The horse whinnied in dismay, but she kept urging it forward, fighting the strands, feeling them tear and shred as she fought her way through them. At one point, the horse reared up, pawing the air in desperation, but she clung to him and kept her seat in the saddle, fairly desperate, herself. Finally, finally, the last strand gave way, and she was free.
Buffy leaned low over her mount’s neck, and urged it to race down the path toward Hanelei. It was as eager to get away as she was. They made it to the outskirts of town in something less than an hour. Buffy dismounted, and offered the winded horse the sugar cubes she had saved for it. Then, she shooed it away, trusting it would find its way back to its stable. Hopefully, that’s what the other horse had done, before Mai could catch it. If not, pursuit might not be far behind. Buffy found an alleyway to duck into, and stripped off the long-sleeved white shirt she had worn over a pink camisole top she’d managed to purchase while Mai was occupied elsewhere on their shopping spree the day before. She removed her necklace, and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, then made quick work of pinning up her hair, and using the scarf carried in another pocket to cover her head, concealing her hair color. Having changed her appearance as much as she could, she left the alley and headed toward the more populated area of town.
It was late afternoon before she found a public phone, and she almost wept in relief when, this time, she got a dial tone. She deposited her coins, and punched in the number she needed. The call was collect, of course, and Buffy took a deep breath when asked to give her name, knowing her voice would be recorded and replayed for Giles, imagining the shock it would be for him to hear her, when he was certain he had buried her a day or two before. "It’s Buffy, Giles." She only hoped he was at home.
He was.
"Buffy! My God, how? The coroner--"
She couldn’t help the sob that broke from her, hearing his voice, but she didn’t have time to give in to her emotions, and forced herself to go on. "It was a trick. Someone else dressed in my clothing. I’m okay, but, Giles, it’s almost dark and he’ll come looking for me."
"Angelus?" Giles said grimly.
"Yes." Buffy told him where she was and what her resources were. Giles asked if she had enough coins to make another collect call, then told her to hang up, and try to get to the more populated area of town. And, no, she was not to pawn the necklace: that would be the first thing Angelus would check for. She was to call him back in half an hour, and he would tell her what to do next.
It was the most nerve-wracking half-hour of her life. Buffy stuck to the lengthening late afternoon shadows, trying to be unnoticed, and staying alert for any pursuit as she made her way deeper into the town. Every car on the road, every person on the street was a potential threat to her freedom, if not her very life. She was relieved when she could call Giles again. He had booked a room for her at one of the better hotels in Princeville, using the name of Elizabeth Brighton. Her suite was paid for. Ms. Brighton’s father would be joining her later that evening. That nearly set Buffy crying again, because she couldn’t believe she would be seeing Giles in a few hours, but he was still giving her instructions. Before she went to the hotel, she was to find a cab, and go to a particular shop, where she would be provided with cab fare, a suitcase, also paid for, as were its contents.
"How did you manage all that?" Buffy laughed shakily, wiping away tears.
"The Watcher’s Council has contacts in the most unlikely places," Giles said wryly. "I want you to change clothes before leaving the shop, to further throw off the possibility of pursuit. I don’t think he will be able to follow you, but I don’t want to take chances. I can’t risk losing you again, now I’ve just got you back."
Buffy started to cry again, Giles told her be brave. Promising to call as soon as she got to her room, she hung up, and went looking for a cab.
An hour later, she was curled up in a chair in her suite, talking to Giles once more as she clutched a stake in her hand. Several had been in the suitcase she’d been given, and holding onto one of them made her feel marginally more secure. Giles would be arriving at Lihue Airport in a matter of hours. Buffy started crying again. Giles told her to be brave, and hung up so that he could catch his flight. Buffy was reluctant to break the connection. She felt somehow safer knowing that Giles was on the other end of the line. But, it was a foolish thought. She wouldn’t really be safe until she was off the island altogether.
No: she wouldn’t really be safe until Angelus was dust.
Buffy dashed the tears from her eyes, stood up, and walked over to the large window, overlooking Hanelei Bay. Another glorious sunset was before her, but she couldn’t really enjoy this one. Sunset meant that Angelus was free to join the search for her, himself, and no matter how illogical it seemed that he could find her in this tourist-filled city, when she had left no trail he could follow, no witnesses he could question--even the WC contact didn’t know where she was going, or who she was--she couldn’t quite convince herself that she was free of him.
Her suite was luxurious. Another step taken for her safety. Giles thought it was doubtful that Angelus would think to look for her in a four-star hotel when, as far as he knew, she hadn’t a penny on her. He might suspect that she’d contacted Rupert, and been sent a ticket home, or that she was trying to get passage on another freighter. Most likely, his minions would be scouring the waterfront and the airport for her. She was safe. Or, so Giles had repeatedly assured her. Buffy took his assurances. But, she also bolted her door.
She would have felt just a bit safer if Giles could have found a private home for her to stay in, where any vampire would require an invitation, rather than a hotel room, which, as a public accommodation, didn’t offer even that slim protection. Of course, given the servants Mai had at her disposal, it probably didn’t matter. Giles felt she would be better off in a more public setting, where there were security guards and surveillance cameras to ensure the well-being of the guests.
As if such things would ever keep Angelus from what he wanted. She had not shared that thought with her Watcher. There was nothing more that could be done, and Giles was anxious enough. Once he arrived, Buffy might actually begin to feel as safe as she was supposed to be.
Until then, she couldn’t keep torturing herself with doubts. Giles had suggested she get something from room service. Though she took his advice, ordering a simple burger and salad, she was too anxious to do more than pick at her food. Finally, she gave up, pushed the cart with her half-eaten dinner out into the hall for the staff to retrieve, then headed for the bathroom. Perhaps a soothing bubble bath would help relieve her lingering soreness, and relax her too-taut nerves.
She spent a long time in the bath. Her tears mingled with the hot water covering her aching body. She had, impossibly, succeeded in tearing through the bars on her silken cage, and flying free. But that freedom wasn’t bringing her the peace of mind, the happiness, it should. Irrational or not, she couldn’t convince herself that she was safe. She could swear she felt the bond between them, alerting her of his nearness, a reaction that was most likely caused by the state of her nerves. And, even if Angelus couldn’t find her now, she knew that he wouldn’t give up looking. The bitter truth was, until she put an end to him, it wasn’t safe for her to return to her normal life at home. He would make every effort to recapture her, and he had the resources, she understood now, to expend on those efforts. If she doubted the intensity of his obsession with her, she had but to look down at the ring weighting her left hand.
A week ago, the solution to her problem would have been obvious: keep an eye on the cargo ship that had brought them from Sunnydale, and if Angelus tried to board it, a well-placed crossbow quarrel would ensure that he never set foot on deck. If he didn’t try to return to the vessel, she could stay on the island long enough to get her Slayer strength back, and track him down. Most likely, those were the very things Giles would suggest. He was probably bringing her weapons with him, in addition to the stakes he had provided in the suitcase, and would insist that she put an end to Angelus, for her own safety.
The problem was, she wasn’t sure she could. Not anymore. In the few days of her captivity, her demon lover had taken possession of more than her flesh. She was afraid that she was in love with him, just a bit, and the idea horrified her. Not only was he the quintessence of evil, but her heart still ached for Angel. But, Angelus was part of Angel, and she found that some part of her loved him, responded to him. She was afraid that she no longer had the clarity, the strength, the will, to put an end to him. Maybe, in a month, or a year, she would regain those things. Now, all she wanted to do was weep.
Another bitter truth: one of the things she wept for was the loss of Angelus. As badly as he wanted to find her, as badly as she wanted to remain free, there was yet a small, undeniable part of her that wanted nothing more than to be found, to surrender utterly to her demon’s desires.
That was something she would never be able to explain to her friends, something she would never admit to them at all. She couldn’t even justify to herself her need for a cold-blooded murdering beast. How could they possibly understand? The only thing she could do was mourn her double loss: Angel, his soul forever banished to the ether, and Angelus, whom she would herself have to banish from the earth. As the bubbles faded in her bath, and the water began to lose its heat, Buffy’s tears continued to fall.
Eventually, she cried herself out. She got out of the tub, wrapped herself in the fluffy bathrobe the hotel provided, dried her hair, and headed back to the bedroom. Which was no longer as empty as it had been when she left it for her bath.
"Hello, lover," Angelus purred, the caressing note of his voice belied by the murderous rage in his eyes.
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Angelus was sitting in the very chair from which she had called Giles. Buffy’s gaze flew to the door, which remained locked. The curtains billowing from the window told their own story.
"How did you find me?" she breathed. Even in the depths of terror, she knew better than to scream. Screaming would bring the security guards, and she had no doubt that Angelus would kill each and every one of them, before she could stop him. She watched as he pushed himself out of the chair and stalked toward her. He was dressed all in black once more, one with the night that had always been her destiny. She had tried to escape that destiny from the first, rejecting her Slayer’s calling, yearning for a normal life. Her efforts had been futile, and it was almost fitting that a piece of the night now came to reclaim her. Still, she backed away from him, unthinking of the stake tucked in the pocket of her robe, the rage apparent in his face leaving her numb with fear.
"If I were blind, I would see you," he spat at her. "Did you think, much of your blood as I’ve drunk, that I couldn’t follow, wherever you fled? That I can’t feel you, can’t smell you, a mile away?"
Unbidden, a rush of moisture flooded from her, as her body reacted to her mate’s declaration of how thoroughly she was his. A flare of his nostrils and a sudden glint in his eye made her realize that Angelus could tell what had happened, and that he was pleased. But not appeased: her terror remained unabated. For good reason.
"I–" She didn’t get any further. He landed a blow to her cheek, the force he used almost enough to knock her to the floor. She kept her feet with an effort.
"Shut. Up." he told her savagely. And then, more frightening than his rage, he smiled.
"I gotta tell you, Buff, I was worried. Thought you were just gonna continue to be so damned seductive, so damned enticing, that you weren’t gonna give me the chance to show you how much fun I can have hurting you. So, I’m really glad that you made a run for it. After I was so considerate." His smile faded, the rage returning. "After I put off my own pleasure, for your sake."
Buffy couldn’t afford to give in to her terror. She knew that her life was the least of what was at risk, now. In desperation, she pulled the stake from her pocket, and lunged for his heart. Angelus was almost laughing as he effortlessly sidestepped her, grabbed her wrist and wrenched her arm up behind her.
"Naughty, naughty," he said mockingly, as he wrested the stake from her grasp, tossed it away and threw her to the floor. She refused to stay there. Time to see just how much of her Slayer’s strength had returned. Grimly, she bounded back to her feet and delivered a front kick to his head. He ducked it, caught her ankle, and tossed her back down. She hooked one foot behind his ankle, pulling forward as she jammed the other into his knee, pushing back. She brought him down as well, then sprang up once more, trying to make her way to the nightstand where she’d hidden the other stakes. But he had regained his footing as quickly as she had: she cried out as her headlong dive was arrested when he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back with a vicious tug. She fought back, sharply jabbing an elbow in his solar plexus while digging the nails of her other hand deeply into the hand holding her hair. The scent of his own blood did nothing to calm him. Roaring in anger, he let go, but she hadn’t gotten more than two steps away before he wrapped his arms around her waist, picked her up, and tossed her back onto the bed. She lost no time rolling away but he only grabbed her back. She was still weaker than she should be, while he seemed stronger than ever. In the end, it took very few minutes before he had her completely pinned. Buffy continued to struggle, desperate to escape the weight of the heavy body crushing her down. Her own body had other ideas, and insisted on continuing to flood with moisture. Her need for freedom and her terror were at war with another, appalling desire: to give up, to yield, to rub herself against the hard flesh pressed against her intimate core, and try to placate the fury she could sense within him. In the end, what she wanted didn’t matter. He simply held on to her as she struggled, until she wore herself out, and quieted beneath him.
She was trembling in fright, her warm, soft flesh shivering deliciously against his. Yet the air was perfumed not only with the adrenaline stench of fear, but with the delectable fragrance of ripening lust. Angelus inhaled deeply, and growled approval, smirking down at his luscious captive. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes, and he was utterly enchanted by the combination of terror, desire and humiliation her so-responsive body expressed. Angelus ground down against her, letting her feel how ready he was to begin her next lesson. She wouldn’t enjoy this one nearly as much as he would, though, and not only because she hadn’t fully healed from his more tender attentions. There would be nothing tender about what he would do to her now, and he might never let her fully heal. He was eager to begin, and wondered how long it would take for the others to play their parts. The phone rang at that moment, as if it, too, obeyed his will. He gave her a malicious smile.
"That’s for you. And, I don’t think you should miss this call." He let her up.
Buffy scrambled to the other side of the bed, as far from him as she could get. She reached for the phone with shaking hands, dreading that she knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.
"Hel--hello?" she managed.
Her fears were realized: Giles’ voice was barely recognizable as he choked out his apology for failing her. She froze, as the sounds being made by the assailants beating him came to her ears. Angelus pulled the phone from her nerveless fingers and, as she huddled in on herself, wracked with sobs, he spoke into it, giving one of his minions very explicit orders for the remainder of Rupert Giles’ torture.
"But don’t kill him," he instructed. "I might need to use him, later." He broke the connection and turned his attention back to Buffy. He retained his human features, but there was no comfort for her in that. He looked cold, remote; his eyes glittered, almost black with malice.
"Let me make this clear to you, darling," the fury she could hear in his voice chilled her to the bone, and when he leaned over her, and stroked her hair with deceptive gentleness, she couldn’t repress a quiver of dread. "I know where all of your little friends live. I know where your mother lives. I still have minions in Sunnydale, and not all of them are vampires. The next time you try to escape, someone you love dies, as unpleasantly as I can manage, and the others will be tortured, as inventively as I can devise." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him, to stare into the depths of his merciless eyes. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered, her own eyes huge, tears continuing to fall down her cheeks. Angelus brushed one away with his thumb, smirking down at her. "Now, if only I believed you." he said, shoving her back against the pillows. "If only I thought you’d really learned your lesson. But, you know, Buff, if there’s anything I’ve discovered about you, it’s how stubborn you can be. So, I think I’m going to have to impress upon you just how serious I am about this." He straightened up and moved a few feet back. "Lose the robe, babe." he demanded coldly.
Buffy was shaking violently as she knelt up on the bed, fumbled with the ties of her robe, and slipped it off her body. Angelus watched her, then began to unbutton his shirt.
"A nice display of submission, my love, but very much too little and very much too late. I want so much more than just a display."
"What . . ." she choked, then licked dry lips and tried again, "What do you want?"
"This morning? I wanted to ravish you until you clawed my back bloody and screamed your throat hoarse from the force of pleasure I can bring you. Now? I want to break you." She couldn’t suppress a whimper at the cold ruthlessness of his voice as he said the words. He smiled, satisfied at her reaction, and slowly began to strip off his own clothes as he explained further. "I want you to learn who is master, and I want you to learn what it means to be my slave. I want you to know that you belong to the Scourge of Europe, utterly, completely belong to me, and I want you to learn exactly what that means. And the pleasure, my darling girl," he finished as he retrieved his pants, and began to pull the belt free of the loops, "will be all mine."
Buffy was introduced to an extreme of terror she had never before known. Death at the hands of the Master had not been worse, her belief that Angelus meant to kill her the night he’d captured her had not been worse, than the promise delivered in that velvet, beautiful, terrible voice. There was no possibility of defense, of defiance. The stakes in her nightstand would go unused. This was the very reason why every Slayer before her had kept her identity secret: so that those she loved could not be used as hostages against her. Even if Buffy were at full strength, she wouldn’t try to fight Angelus, now. Not with Giles, her mother, Willow, Xander and Oz vulnerable to Angelus, and beyond her ability to protect. The only thing she could do was yield, surrender, and endure.
And hope she survived the night unturned; that she survived it, at all.
She watched, trembling anew as he wrapped the belt--supple black leather, adorned with a large buckle-- around his hand, leaving the buckle to dangle free at the end. "I think you’d have liked the braided whip better, darling," he said. "It doesn’t do nearly as much damage. But I was kind of in a hurry, and didn’t have time to pack. So, we’ll just have to make do with what we have." He flicked the belt toward her, just grazing her shoulder. She gasped, shocked by how much so light a touch could hurt.
"Off the bed, and on your knees" Angelus ordered. She obeyed instantly. "Now, come here." Buffy understood that she wasn’t to get up, that she was to crawl to him, on her knees. She did so.
"Good girl," he said, stroking her hair gently, before tangling his hands in the blond mass and forcing her head towards his groin. "But not good enough. Suck me off, babe," he demanded.
Buffy unhesitatingly opened her mouth, preparing to slide her lips over the head of his cock, and take him in as far as she could, but this was not the sensuous love play he had encouraged in her before. Angelus ruthlessly held her head still as he pumped his hips forward, fucking her face, shoving his immense length to the back of her throat, gagging her, making her struggle for breath. In sheer self-defense, she tried everything she could think of to make him come, anything to stop the brutal assault that was leaving her choking. Her hands caressed his heavy balls, while she swirled her tongue along his length, then upward to lave the slit in the head, but he wasn’t giving her time to do the things she thought he wanted. The only thing he really wanted was her terror and her pain.
Her helplessness, her despair and fear aroused him to fever pitch, and he was unwilling to let things end too quickly. He held back his release until she was whimpering, tears streaming from her eyes as she struggled for breath. He considered letting himself spill into her mouth, but that would mean he’d have to wait for the next little lesson, and he wasn’t in the mood. Abruptly, he pulled himself out of her mouth, and pushed her away.
"Crawl back to the foot of the bed, my love. Then stand up, spread your gorgeous legs, and bend over, grasping the posts at either end of the foot board." The position he demanded left her vulnerable to so many things he could do to her, not least of which was to leave her back, rear, and thighs available for the cruel kiss of his belt. Buffy continued to shudder and weep, but for the sake of those she loved, she didn’t dare disobey.
A moment later, she gasped anew as steel handcuffs secured each wrist to the bedpost. Angelus tugged on her hair again, lifting her head so that he could whisper into her ear.
"You are going to be as quiet as a little mouse, lover. I don’t want to be disturbed. For every scream you make, someone here in the hotel will die, in as much anguish as I can contrive, and I think you know that I can contrive a lot. If you cry out, and a guard comes, I will gut him in front of you, and take you in his blood. And if the management is called, or if the police interfere, I will burn this place to the ground, and every living soul inside. Are we clear, darling?"
"Yes," she breathed, as new vistas of horror opened before her. She had absolutely no illusions about his ability to follow through on his threats.
He let go of her hair and her head fell forward to the bed once more. She wondered where he was going to strike first. She didn’t have long to wait.
The belt buckle bit into the tender flesh of her rear, and Buffy bit into the coverlet on the bed, trying to stifle her cries.
"That’s right, darling, quiet as a little mouse," Angelus taunted as he brought the belt down across her back.
Buffy was a Slayer. She was built to take a lot of damage. Angelus seemed determined to find out just how much. A dozen blows rained down on her in quick succession as she squirmed and tried to suppress the screams that wanted to burn their way past her throat. She sobbed into the bed, trying to keep herself as quiet as possible, desperately frightened of what Angelus would do if she disobeyed his edict that she not scream. He enjoyed that, and whispered encouragement, telling her he loved her pretty tears, loved listening to her pretty sobs.
He beat her until her she felt the skin break, and blood leak in a thin stream down her back and across her thighs.
"Charming," she heard Angelus whisper as he came closer.
He licked the blood from her back, his tongue rough, rather than soothing, as if he were trying to keep the wounds open and bleeding for as long as possible. Buffy cried harder.
When the bleeding stopped, he stepped away from her again. The next blow that fell struck across her quaking thighs, and she could feel a difference: he had switched the end of the belt he was using, and was no longer cutting her with the buckle. For a moment, she didn’t understand such seeming mercy.
Then the first stroke of leather hit, oh so lightly, up through her parted thighs, to score her tender, vulnerable femininity. Buffy nearly howled as a hideous bolt of delight shot through her, tempered by a burning agony.
Angelus was not merely a master of pain, and a master of pleasure, he was a master at the exquisite balance between both, and of the art of turning one to the other. He was giving Buffy her first lesson in that dark art.
Fire licked up between her thighs, the pressure of the leather stinging yet arousing. She sobbed as Angelus alternated blows to her back, rear and thighs with strokes against her womanhood, until her overwrought nerves couldn’t tell the difference between torment and tantalization. Before he was through, Buffy welcomed the pain for the sake of the building rapture, craving the delicate assaults of the belt striking up between her legs, setting her afire with need. Each carefully delivered blow--he knew the exact pressure to apply, the precise angle at which to strike--burned with a dreadful sweetness, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Twenty minutes after he had begun, Buffy reached her first orgasm of the night on the end of his belt, as her own blood dripped between her thighs. Only when he had succeeded in making her come despite the hurts he inflicted did Angelus dispense with the whipping.
As the aftershocks of her release faded, Buffy began crying in earnest, humiliation washing over her. Angelus walked to his sobbing captive, and surveyed his handiwork admiringly. She was shuddering so badly, that she could no longer stand unsupported. She had collapsed on the bed, her shapely legs dangling over the side. A lovely lace of thin, bleeding cuts adorned her back, buttocks and thighs, and she was beginning to bruise in the most gorgeous shades of rose and black and purple. Buffy was crying harder than ever, but not, he was certain, as much as he could yet make her cry. Grinning, Angelus sat on the floor beneath her, arranging her legs so that he could rest comfortably between them, his back against the bed. Her succulent femininity was displayed before him, vulnerable to his attentions. The little pearl he loved to tease was covered with his favorite sauce, tempting him with a delicate sheen of red, and he settled himself to feast.
Angelus wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled them forward to his face. He licked up the blood on her thighs, the blood weeping from her abused clit, and then he abused her clit some more. He licked hard and fast, stimulating every nerve the sensitive bundle had to offer, until Buffy was writhing in his arms, moaning in a mix of despair and rapture. He paid special attention to the bruises caused by the belt, worrying the flesh that had been swollen and torn by the leather. He ran his tongue soothingly over the abrasions, making her gasp and whimper and moan. But she didn’t try to pull away. Oh, no. His darling girl pressed closer, offering him more, welcoming each tender lick and vicious nip. With the little mewling cries that he adored, she moved her hips rhythmically against his questing tongue, abetting the things he did to her, enabling him to work her toward orgasm. When he felt her stiffen and convulse in the throes of passion, he let his demon lose, and sank his fangs into her clit, savoring the heady mix of Slayer’s blood and Buffy’s completion as it poured down his throat. From the way she arched herself into him, he knew that her response was all he could desire, and that her climax had been intensified by the sharpness of his bite.
Someday, he thought, he would make her climax from his bite alone, make her crave the pain and sharpness as much as he craved the raw fire of her blood. But for now, he contented himself with nursing delicately at her abraded flesh, wringing each nuance of satisfaction from her body that he could elicit with teeth and tongue. Only when she was limp and spent in his arms did he move away, getting to his feet and standing above her once more.
Buffy shivered as Angelus traced one finger delicately over the lacerations on her back. She was shocked by her own response to him, by how much pain he could inflict upon her, and how quickly he could turn that pain to excruciating ecstasy. The worst thing about what was happening wasn’t the fear for her loved ones, or the way she was being hurt. No. The worst thing was how much she wanted what he was doing to her, how much she wanted to appease his anger, and move him to tenderness, that she might again enjoy his gentler embrace.
Except that she wasn’t sure he would ever show her gentleness, again. Her attempt to escape had awoken the cruelty and viciousness germane to his demon nature. He was clearly enjoying brutalizing her, and might never stop. The thought of what her captivity might become unnerved her, and she wept helplessly.
Angelus savored the sight of his delicious prize trembling before him. The taste of her blood was fresh in his mouth, the scent of it lingering on the air, arousing him anew. He undid the cuffs holding her to the footboard, and pulled her shaking, injured body up onto the bed, so that she lay on her belly. She was an irresistible beauty, and he had neither the inclination nor the need to resist. Angelus moved over her torn body, waiting for her sobs to quiet.
"Get on your knees, my love," Angelus said, smiling in satisfaction as she forced her unsteady legs to obey. An arm like a band of iron came around her waist, holding her still. He rubbed himself against her, nipping lightly at her neck, enjoying her quivers of mixed terror and desire. He eased inside her wet core, and gave a few shallow thrusts, making her moan, as he coated himself in her lush moisture. Then he pulled out, and she hissed in distress as he shifted, forcing himself inside her tight back passage. He wasn’t being gentle, and whatever lubrication her own body had provided wasn’t enough for what he was doing. Buffy bit her lips to keep back the cry his rough entry caused, but she wasn’t entirely successful. He heard and chuckled. He wanted her to do it again. Angelus slammed his pelvis against her bruised rear end, and rode her hard. Buffy was soon sobbing once more. He was tearing her, and she could feel her blood begin to make it easier for him to saw in and out of her body, easier for him to pound into her. The assault left her with a burning sensation, as if she were being split apart. She couldn’t imagine reaching climax from such treatment, this time.
He soon showed her the paucity of her imagination.
He ignored her clit, which was too damaged from his earlier torture. Instead, one hand fondled her full breasts, while a finger of the other slid into her tight core, rubbing up inside her. Buffy’s sobs of anguish began to turn into mewls of something other. Her lover was filling her completely, his finger stroking in counterpoint to the punishing thrusts of his steel-hard manhood. He quickly added a second finger, then a third, stretching her as much as she could bear. Hardly enough for him: he would always force her limits. A fourth finger joined the others, and she sobbed anew as her burgeoning rapture became tinged with pain. But he was relentless, giving her no respite, forcing her tiny body to accommodate his whim. Soon, the rapture returned, despite the brutality of what he did to her. Soon, she was gasping and bucking beneath him, matching him, willingly impaling herself completely on his manhood and the tormenting fingers. Angelus growled in satisfaction as she once more came apart in his arms. As she hit her peak, the fingers at her breast turned cruel, twisting and pinching her nipples. To his delight, the pain didn’t curtail her orgasm, and she continued to climax, her body squeezing his cock so hard he thought he’d burst. This time, he decided he had waited long enough for his own release. Knowing that after the lovely contractions of her release subsided, pleasure would turn to discomfort once more, he waited until her whimpers assured him she’d reached that point, then forced her flat to the mattress. He followed her down, the weight of him on her bruised back forcing her to tangle her hands in the coverlet, and bite into the pillow to keep back her screams.
He sawed in and out of her trembling body ruthlessly, now intent only upon his own satisfaction. As he felt his pleasure crest, he sank his fangs into her jugular, and took a few rough, greedy gulps of her blood. There was no pleasure for her in this act. Only the agony he desired her to feel. But, she endured it beautifully.
The spill of his cold seed soothed the burning inside her. She shivered, wishing she could be sure he was now satisfied, and that her ordeal was over. But, she knew it for a vain hope. When his release was complete, he pulled out of her with uncaring savagery, eliciting another faint whimper from her.
Angelus was enormously pleased with her responsiveness. Hurting her, making her climax even as he degraded and tore her, was even more intoxicating than he had ever imagined it could be. Tonight had reminded him of what he was, and he decided to dispense with the more tender approach he had been taking with her these past few days. That had been lovely, but this--he was born for this, and she had been born for it, as well, his to dominate and torment. Damn, he had forgotten just how much a bit of sadism enlivened his bed play. He wouldn’t forget that again. He had always reveled in torturing his victims, and Buffy was so much more than a mere victim. She was has utter and complete slave, his match: an erotic delight able to endure so much more of the punishment he loved to inflict than a fragile, human victim. Buffy was a passionate, delectable creature with whom he could amuse himself endlessly, far more delightful than the other human females who usually died before he could really let loose. She could take what he dished out as well as a vampiress might, but she didn’t have the natural immunity to such things that a vampire female would have. Nor did she quite have a vampiress’ appetite for it yet. But, he could tell she could be taught that, and under his tutelage, she would soon learn. In many ways, she was the perfect toy, the perfect pet, the perfect object for his darkest desires. The mere thought of all the things he was going to do with his darling little slave was enough to make him hard again.
Buffy whimpered as Angelus pushed her over onto her back. She could feel her cuts opening up again, as he covered her once more.
He entered her without preamble, thrusting hard and fast. As she rocked with him, following the rhythm he set, she felt the wounds open further, bleeding more freely. She was terrified that she would be unable to suppress her screams this time.
Then his fanged mouth closed over her own, bruising her tender lips, and she allowed herself the release of crying out into his mouth.
Her suffering was as intoxicating as her submission. Angelus was incited to frenzy, pounding her into the mattress, ravaging her lips. For a moment, she hoped he might spill quickly, and that she wouldn’t have to endure much more. Then he pulled back with a snarl, slowing his pace, and she knew he was going to draw this out as long as he could. She wondered what it would take to satisfy him this time.
In the end, nothing would satisfy him but her complete and utter humiliation.
Angelus fucked her until she was raw and bleeding, and still unable to resist the orgasm he could wring from her. By the time he was through with her, she had forgotten why she wasn’t supposed to scream, but it no longer mattered because she simply didn’t have the strength to scream very loudly. The best she could manage was a wail as much of fulfillment as of despair, as she reached another blood-soaked peak in his arms.
Finally, after what seemed hours, he made an end of things. Angelus poured himself into her with a howl of release, and she was almost grateful to feel his cold seed flood her, his fangs pierce her neck. She had survived the punishment he’d meted out. Giles was alive. Her friends were safe. She almost didn’t mind as his fingers coaxed one last response from her own abused flesh, and she gifted him with her last climax.
When it was over, she was too exhausted to move. She couldn’t even reach for the coverlet, to pull it over her chilled body when Angelus left her to use the bathroom. She wanted to drift off to sleep, wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the healing dark of unconsciousness. But, she was afraid to do so, until he came back to the bed and she was sure of his mood. For all she knew, he would demand that she sleep at the end of the bed, like a favored bitch at the feet of her master. He might even force her to sleep on the floor. That would be almost mild compared to everything else he had done. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would have her get dressed, and return to their hidden retreat, so that they would be safely ensconced there before dawn.
As it happened he did none of those things.
Angelus prowled back to the bed like a sleek, satisfied cat.
"Good. You’re awake," he said pleasantly. "I’m really glad you took your first lesson so well." He bent down and retrieved his pants from the floor, checking the pockets for something. Buffy didn’t have the strength to lift her head and see what he held. Sensing that, he came closer, and showed her. She gasped in horror. "Time for your second lesson," he said as he flicked open the deadly little jackknife, and drew it lightly between her breasts and down her belly, watching hungrily as the lovely blood beaded to the surface of the thin line.
Buffy felt the scream burn its way out of her throat. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the torture . . .horror. . . terror. . . nightmare. . .
"Sssshhhhhhh, Buffy, it’s all right. It’s over, my love," a voice said soothingly in her ear.
The voice was not that of Angelus.
________________________________________________________________________
Buffy was afraid to open her eyes, afraid that if she did, the sight that greeted her would not be the one she so desperately wanted to see.
But if she could not see, she could feel. The wounds and bruises that had been inflicted upon her were all gone, her pain no more than a too-vivid memory. Strong arms were around her, holding her close to a body as naked as her own, a body she knew intimately. She was being rocked tenderly, soothed, reassured.
Cherished.
"You needed to see. You needed to know. I’m so sorry, love, so sorry. . ."
She knew that voice, in all its incarnations: every nuance and intonation conveyed to her a world of meaning beyond the sense of language alone.
"We can only come to you when he isn’t near, and there’s so much you have to understand."
"Angel?" she whispered, still afraid to hope for so much. Was this some hideous new torture Angelus had devised for her? There was no use delaying: she had to know. Buffy opened her eyes.
She was not in the suite of the hotel. Nor was she in the bed she shared with Angelus at the cottage. She knew this place: Angel’s apartment, where they had made love on her seventeenth birthday. She couldn’t really be there, of course. Angelus had moved most of the apartment’s contents to the mansion, and Angel had retrieved whatever had been left, packing it off to his new home in L.A. Yet Buffy now found herself in the bed where she had given her virginity to Angel, unwittingly releasing Angelus into the world.
But it wasn’t Angelus who held her in his arms, not Angelus who soothed away her tears. It was her own lost Angel gazing down at her in concern, his dark eyes grave and intent. She stared deeply into those eyes, intuitively recognizing the soul to be read there, knowing that this was no game, and Angelus was not with her.
All the pieces fell into place.
"I’m dreaming." It was a statement, not a question, and she didn’t really need Angel’s nodded assent for confirmation. Her prophetic Slayer dreams had always been possessed of a quality of immediacy–of reality–that normal dreams lacked. Angel looked at her sorrowfully.
"Yes," he said. "I’m sorry." For a moment, she thought he was expressing his regret for what Angelus had subjected her to in the dream, but then she understood. Angel had no need to apologize for what Angelus hadn’t even really done . . .unless he were apologizing for subjecting Buffy to the vision, in the first place.
"You . . .you did this to me?" She tried to pull away from him, shocked that the man who loved her so much, whose love for her had been her main source of strength to endure whatever Angelus dealt out to her, had somehow subjected her to such an horrific experience, real or not. Confusion and hurt overwhelmed her, and she struggled to get free. But Angel tightened his grip on her, and pulled her back into his arms.
"I’m trying to keep him from doing that to you," he said fiercely. "What you saw, what you dreamed . . .if you try to escape him, that’s what will happen. Every blow. Every cut. Every torment."
The only thing more horrific than the vision inflicted upon her was the idea that she might actually have to live through the experience. Buffy’s anger evaporated, and she collapsed back into the arms of her lost love. "No," she said, shivering against him. "I can’t--"
"You won’t," Angel said firmly, holding her close, drawing her head down to rest on his shoulder, then caressing her soothingly. "You’ve beguiled him, my love," Angel reassured her. "Your willingness, your yielding intoxicates him so that he’s enjoying being tender with you. It’s a novelty for him. You’ve made him forget how much he likes pain. I don’t want you to make him remember."
"I don’t want him to remember, either," Buffy said with a watery laugh. "Big ‘no’ to the Circus of Pain." She quieted in his embrace, relaxing into his gentle caress, allowing him to soothe away her tears. "Angel," she asked when she had grown calm again, "what am I supposed to do? All the time on the ship, I kept waiting for my moment, waiting until I could get free. I’m supposed to have a Sacred Duty, here. Now, you’re telling me that I’m not meant to get away from Angelus. I don’t know what to think. Am I supposed to just give up? Let him use me? Am I supposed to let him kill again? Let him feed?"
"Not kill, at least, not innocents. He won’t feed." Angel chuckled wryly. "He’s taken too much of your blood. It’s ruined him for anything else. He’ll be able to tolerate animal blood, but human blood will taste like garbage to him, now that he’s become used to the elixir of Slayer’s blood that runs in your veins."
"That won’t stop him from killing people for the fun of it," Buffy pointed out.
"No, it won’t," Angel acknowledged. "You’ll have to persuade him not to do that."
"Is that even possible?"
"It has to be. Everything happens for a reason, Buffy," Angel said earnestly. "Some of the things he said to you, the things you didn’t want to hear . . .he wasn’t wrong. But, he didn’t get it all right, either. You’re beginning to understand that. You’ve already realized that if you were made for him, then he was made for you. But, he was wrong when he said that my only purpose was to lead you to him. It wasn’t. It isn’t."
Buffy raised her head from its comfortable position against Angel’s shoulder and stared deeply into his eyes once more. "You’re saying that there’s a reason why I’m supposed to be with Angelus. That there’s a purpose to all of this. Does that mean . . .are you saying that you can come back to me?" she breathed, almost afraid to ask, afraid to have this sudden, unexpected and fragile hope dashed. Angel held her gaze, but his expression was somber.
"I don’t know, Buffy," he told her. "Where I am . . .I haven’t been given any promises. Just a few hints. I only know that you have to trust, have to have faith. There’s a reason why you and I were brought together, and a reason why Angelus is obsessed with you. Find that reason, Buffy." Angel’s head suddenly turned toward the door.
"We don’t have a lot longer."
"No!" Buffy said in alarm, sitting up, clinging to him. "I can’t . . .I need you."
"Buffy . . ."
"It’s not enough time," she insisted. "I can’t just . . .get you back for a few minutes, and then lose you. Please!"
"Shhhh, my heart," Angel said, wrapping her once more in his embrace. "You won’t really lose me. When you’re with Angelus . . .it isn’t me, not really, but we both know, he is part of me. If my soul is ever restored to me, I’ll have every memory of every kiss you share, I’ll be able to recall every touch, every taste of your lovemaking, as if all of me were with you."
"It isn’t the same," Buffy said sadly. "Even when he isn’t hurting me, Angelus likes things I don’t think you would ever ask me to do."
"No, I would never ask you to do them," Angel said wryly. "But, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy them if you did them without my having to ask."
Buffy took a moment to digest that. "Oh," she said in a small voice. The idea wasn’t as upsetting as it should have been. The truth was, when he wasn’t hurting her, there wasn’t anything Angelus had done that he hadn’t made her thoroughly enjoy. Would some of those things be even more delightful if she were doing them with Angel? She hoped that someday she would find out.
"At sunrise, he’ll leave Mai and return to you," Angel told her now.
"Faith said you couldn’t come to me when he was near by."
Angel nodded. "No, we can’t."
"So, we can only be together until sunrise."
"When you go back to him, I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to torment yourself with thoughts that you are betraying me. You aren’t."
"Because he’s part of you?"
"Because he’s part of me." Angel looked away again. "The sun will be up soon."
"How much longer?" she asked fearfully, clinging to him.
He closed his eyes, as if communing with some unseen presence, and when he opened them a moment later, he smiled at her tenderly. "We still have a few more minutes before sunrise."
"Good," she said, pulling his head down to hers and covering his face with kisses. "Good . . ."
It was a dream, but it wasn’t. Buffy knew that she was with her lost love in a way that transcended physical reality. It wasn’t everything she could wish for, but it would have to be enough. She slid her hands down his chest, resting them above his unbeating heart.
"How much time?" she asked.
"Enough," he assured her, and brought his lips to hers for a gentle kiss.
It wasn’t enough time, though: not for everything she wanted from him. She suspected that even eternity wouldn’t be enough.
But what time there was, she would take for her own.
As Angelus possessed Angel’s memories of what she had enjoyed, so now Angel possessed the memories made by Angelus. Thus, he knew the way she craved his touch, the perfect place to taste her. And yet each action, no matter the physical similarity, was infused with a different sensibility. Alike, and unalike, with only one thing unchanged: her absolute and unquestioning need of him.
She needed the gentleness of his kiss, and she needed it to stop being gentle. His need, as ever, perfectly mirrored hers, and they were soon devouring each other’s mouths, hands frantic on each other’s bodies. She wanted the pleasure of undressing him, of being undressed by him, but she didn’t need it: she needed the satin slide of his skin against her own, the dominant weight of him upon her, and those she had. She needed his strength and his adoration, neither of which he stinted her. She needed him to remind her that she was his, and that the more she gave herself to Angelus, the more she belonged to Angel.
Angel took what was his, kisses moving from her lips to trail down her body until he rested between her thighs. She moaned as his tongue laved the swollen heat of her center, arched into his teasing fingers, whimpered at the blunt pressure of his teeth. As she felt her pleasure mount, she tried to draw him away, wanting him inside her. But he growled warningly, not to be denied the honeyed taste of her ecstasy. His tongue lashed her into a frenzy of delight, and within moments she was crying out her release as rapture burned along her veins and set fire to her flesh.
Angel proved himself as ruthless as his darker half: he kept up his delightful attentions, sustaining her at the peak, easing her down only slightly before making her peak again. And again. And again. Not until she sat up, pounding on his shoulders to make him stop did he relent, and kiss his was back up her body.
Buffy parted her thighs wider, cradling his hips, feeling his manhood hard and cold at her too-hot center. He pressed his steely length against her outer lips, rubbing the slick little pearl of flesh, making her whimper and grind against him. She was hungry for him, and they had so little time . . . Buffy pushed away the unwelcome thought, and concentrated on the present. She tilted her hips, enticing him onward, and he accepted her invitation. Angel slid into her welcoming heat, and she discovered, to her immense delight, that her dream self wasn’t the least bit sore. A moment later, she discovered that her dream self was untouched by Angelus. She gasped as Angel came up against the remnant of the barrier that had been left after their first tender tryst. She felt him shudder in reaction, and force himself to go so slowly, so delicately. She didn’t tear at all, just yielded, infinitely, until her own beloved Angel was seated deeply inside her.
"I love you," she said.
"Always," he answered. The kisses he gave her were tender, worshiping, and the love he made with her was as deeply tender as it was consumingly passionate. She knew he wanted to draw out their joining, and she wanted him to do so.
But, there wasn’t enough time.
She wanted sweet and slow and forever, but forever was being denied her. And because it was being denied her, she needed hot and fast and now. As ever, her needs were his own. His gentle strokes became more powerful, his tenderness yielded to the force of his passion, and in moments they were writhing together in a tempest born of the fire in their blood and the love in their hearts and the desperate knowledge that that sun would soon be rising.
He was deeply inside her, angling for the sensitive tissues and delicate nerves that would ensure her continued pleasure. Buffy lifted herself, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips, trying to get him ever deeper, harder, faster . . . Angel slid his hand between their bodies and caressed her clit as she moaned against his mouth and raked her nails down his back. Buffy didn’t fight the sweet rapture building in her veins, simply accepted it, rode it, crested with it. She used her body to worship him, to make manifest the love she had for him, and accepted his own cresting pleasure as a tribute of his love, in return. And when they reached their peak, together, they held onto it, and onto each other, for as long as they could.
Neither Slayer stamina nor vampire endurance was illimitable. Eventually, the tempest spent itself, leaving them wrapped together in each other’s arms, warm, sated, and at peace. Buffy wanted to hold on to Angel, to fall asleep in his arms, and to wake up with him once more.
But, there wasn’t enough time.
Their bodies still joined, Angel turned his head toward the door, sighed sadly, then turned back to her.
"Be strong, my love," he whispered against her lips, fading from her grasp, even as she tried to cling to him. "Everything has a purpose. Remember . . ."
"Don’t leave!" Buffy whimpered, sitting up in the bed. Her eyes blinked furiously as she adjusted to the dark of the room she shared with Angelus.
"Actually, I was just getting back," her demon lover drawled, flicking on the light. Buffy put her arm over her eyes, trying to adjust once more. Angelus sniffed the air appreciatively. Buffy blushed, realizing that her body was still damp with the aftermath of the climaxes induced by her dream of Angel–and the nightmare of Angelus–and that Angelus could smell it. "My, my. Just what have you been getting up to while I was away?" There was a slight edge to his voice, and it didn’t take her long to understand what put it there. She’d climaxed, and he hadn’t been the cause. At least, not physically. She understood instantly the danger if he figured out that she’d been dreaming of Angel which, by his tone of voice, he seemed to suspect.
Buffy dropped her arm. Everything has a purpose. She could almost believe Angel whispered the reminder in her ear. Buffy looked into Angelus’ eyes as she had, in her dream, looked into Angel’s.
It was an age-old saying, that the eyes were the window to the soul. She never gave much thought to the phrase until her relationship with Angel/Angelus taught her just how much truth there was in those few words. Looking into Angelus’ eyes, she saw the utter lack of Angel’s soul.
But she also saw all the things the demon had in common with the man. She realized Angelus had been right: she’d tried to separate him from Angel as she would pepper from salt, but the relationship between the two men who were both her one true love was nothing so simple. Whatever else he was or was not, Angelus was a part of Angel. The part she could have right now.
Buffy allowed her mouth to turn up in a pouting smile. "I was dreaming of you," she said. It was, after all, nothing more than the truth. "It was going along nicely until you left me to meet with Dru and Mai.
Heat flared in Angelus eyes as he stalked closer to the bed. She wasn’t sure if he believed her completely, but he certainly seemed to like the idea that dreaming of him had aroused her . . .and that she was just a bit jealous of his former lovers.
"And, while it was going along nicely? Just what did you dream?" he demanded, one hand reaching out to stroke her hair. Buffy shivered, remembering when he had done the same thing in her dream. But she remembered how Angel had done so, as well. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, all the while her mind racing to think up what to tell him. Then she remembered the words he had said to her in her dream, and decided to turn them back on him.
"I dreamt that you ravished me until I clawed your back bloody and screamed my throat hoarse from the force of pleasure you brought me," she said huskily, rising up on her knees to wind her arms around his neck and bring his face down for her kiss. He crushed her body against his, returning the kiss with as much hunger as she herself suddenly felt.
"How, exactly," Angelus said between kisses, "did I ravish you?"
"Thoroughly," she replied, kissing him back. As their lips met and their tongues dueled, she felt a growl rumbling in his chest, telling her that he was very turned on by her insinuation. A moment later, his hand slipped between her thighs. Buffy spread her knees apart, granting him access, whimpering as one of his long, strong fingers gently caressed her clit. She rubbed her breasts against the silk of his shirt, and the finger plunged deep inside her.
She’d forgotten her lingering discomfort, and couldn’t suppress a yelp of pain at even so modest an intrusion. Angelus broke their kiss, swore softly, and eased his finger out of her.
"You’re not quite ready for me to ravish," he said dryly, then flashed her another wicked grin. "Which probably explains the dream."
"You’re better than the dream," she pouted. And, given that he had just denied his own pleasure out of consideration for her pain, that was certainly no lie.
"My darling girl," he purred, "tomorrow night–ah, make that tonight, since it’s already tomorrow–we’ll have to see if you’re healed enough for me to make some of those dreams a reality. Would you like that?"
She tilted her head as if considering the offer. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Angelus to make that particular dream of him a reality. Her dream of Angel was another matter, though, and it was Angel, himself, who had given her is blessing in that regard.
For the first time in a week, Buffy felt the weight of her responsibilities lift from her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel like a failure for letting Angelus capture her: she was supposed to be captured. She didn’t have to wrack her brains or risk her life in a futile attempt at escape: she was supposed to stay where she was. And, she didn’t have to feel guilty about the pleasure she took in the bed of her demon lover, or berate herself for betraying her true love: her true love had told her that she was supposed to be there, and that she was supposed to be taking her pleasure.
With the removal of her shame, a breathtaking vista of erotic possibility opened up before her. She smiled as she contemplated Angelus’ offer.
"Do you mean, I could tell you what I dreamed, and then we’d do it?" she asked thoughtfully. He gave her a positively wolfish grin in response.
"Babe, I wanna know exactly what I was doing, that just dreaming about me doing it got you off. ‘Cause I can damned well guarantee that the reality is going to get you off even harder." The caressing note in his voice caused a torrent of moisture to seep from between her thighs as the arousal she’d experienced in her dreams was renewed a thousand fold.
"You’re on," she purred back.
Angelus flicked the light switch off again.
"Get some sleep, my little temptress. Because you are absolutely going to need to be rested up for tonight."
Smiling at the thought, Buffy lay back down, closed her eyes, and snuggled under her blankets.
She had to work through the message Angel had given her, try to figure out what purpose there was in her captivity, what mission she had to accomplish, and why she had seemingly been Chosen, not to slay all vampires, but to enslave just one. That puzzle could take years to solve and she was too tired to think beyond the moment.
One thing was sure, she decided as she drifted back to sleep. This was shaping up to be a very promising day.
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The Silken Cage: Journey