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

Chapter List
- 1-The Silken Cage: Journey
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15a
- 16-Part 15b
- 17-Part 16
- 18-Part 17
- 19-Part 18
- 20-Part 19
- 21-Part 20
- 22-Part 21
- 23-Part 22a
- 24-Part 22b
- 25-Part 23
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- 23
Late afternoon sunlight sparkled on the water as they returned up river. Buffy lay back drowsily in the boat, her hand trailing in the warm water as she watched Mai steer them home. Or, to the secluded retreat that was passing for home during their island interlude. Despite the lateness of the hour, and a cooling breeze that had sprung up as dusk drew on, Buffy felt oddly warm; warmer than she’d felt on the beach beneath the blazing midday sun. Whatever liquor the berries had been steeping in had instantly spread through her veins, and from there, to every cell in her body. Buffy idly supposed that the liquor in question had a very high alcohol content. She felt ever so slightly tipsy. She giggled, imagining Angelus’ reaction to a slightly tipsy, sun-warmed Buffy. Remembering the delicious berries responsible for her state, she unconsciously licked her lips, as if to catch any least remaining taste. Mai, noticing the gesture, smiled.
"We’ll be there in just a few minutes," she said.
"Mmmm," Buffy murmured, agreeably. The hand not trailing in the water began to toy with the buttons of the silk shirt she had borrowed from Angelus to use as a beach coat. She couldn’t decide if the silk was making her even warmer, or if it was helping to protect her from the heat radiating through her skin. Sliding her hands over the soft material, Buffy decided it didn’t matter. The warmth wasn’t uncomfortable, and the caress of silk against her body was a delicious feeling. Even better, if she brought the material close to her face, and breathed in very deeply, she could catch the faintest scent of Angelus, himself: A masculine perfume of musk and desire. At the moment, she craved any sensate connection to him, however attenuated. Soon, she promised herself, she would have more.
Mai watched the girl, pleased at how quickly she was responding. Angelus would, she was sure, be completely delighted. She turned up the speed on the motor, and got them back to their landing a very few moments later. Robert was waiting, and helped Buffy out of the boat. Not surprisingly, the Slayer wasn’t perfectly steady on her feet.
"Go on ahead, my dear," Mai told her. "I’ll have your things cleaned and packed for you." Buffy barely acknowledged her, so focused was she on the stairs before her, stairs that led up to the lanai, and the apartment, and her demon lover, waiting within.
Buffy fairly flew up the stairs and through the door, kicking off her sandals to run lightly down the hall. She didn’t bother stopping at the bedroom: She could feel that he wasn’t there. She’d never intruded on someone in the privacy of a bathroom in her life, but she didn’t even think to knock, just impatiently pushed open the last barrier between herself and her desire. Well, almost the last barrier, but she would take care of that, too.
"You’re back early," Angelus said in some surprise. He was enjoying a relaxing soak in the pool-like tub, preparatory to dressing for the evening’s amusements. He’d intended to be ready by the time Buffy returned from the beach, just before sunset, as he’d instructed. Knowing the Slayer’s connection to sunlight, the atavistic need she had for it, despite–or perhaps because of–her connection to darkness, Angel had expected her to wait until the last possible moment before returning to him. He was delighted that she had not. Then he looked at her more closely, and his eyes narrowed.
"My love, what have you done?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild over the rage that had instantly sparked.
His words made no sense to Buffy, who barely registered them in any case. "Want you," was the only reply she could manage as she slid out of his shirt and began to pull off her bathing suit. Her mate was naked, relaxing in the water. She needed to join him. And then, she needed to join with him. Kicking the discarded clothing out of her way, she walked the few paces to the edge of the pool. Not bothering with the steps, which were too far away in any case, she simply entered the pool from the edge, and launched herself toward her lover.
Angelus found himself with an armful of warm, wanton Slayer, as Buffy immediately attacked his mouth with her own. He’d had little more than a glimpse of her, before her lips found his, but enough to see that her eyes were dilated until the black pupil almost obscured the lovely green of her iris. And her skin, even in the cooling water of his bath, burned against him.
He knew only one thing to which Buffy would have had access which could account for that. Ignoring his own arousal, fury warring with desire, Angelus broke the kiss.
"What have you done?" he demanded again, a bit more harshly. Buffy looked at him, confused, trying to make sense of his words.
"Done? I don’t . . .I need you," she breathed plaintively, closing her eyes and kissing him, reveling in his embrace. She was a temptation such as he had never known and his rage quickly transmuted to desire. Angelus kissed her back, fiercely, his lust for her increasing exponentially with every kiss, every brush of her heated, silken flesh against his cold skin. A moment later, her little hand was wrapping itself around his painfully hard manhood, and he decided that his questions could wait.
And, that whether she was fully healed or not, he was not going to deny himself the pleasure of her body.
Angelus dislodged her importunate little hand and stood, turning with her in his arms, then seating her on the oh-so-conveniently-placed shelf of the tub. Resisting her efforts to pull him back into her arms, he positioned her carefully, drew her knees apart, then sank to his own knees, hauling her forward until she was wantonly open before him, braced on the very edge of the shelf. Yes, that was perfect, he thought, rubbing his shaft against her gorgeous heat until she whimpered and clutched his shoulders. With a hiss of satisfaction, he pressed himself home, sinking into her scalding depths.
The scream Buffy gave as the water churned around her heaving body was not of pain. She was coming hard, with no preparation, from that single thrust. Her sweet sheath was clamping around him ferociously, and he had to hold on to every bit of willpower he’d ever had in order to keep himself from exploding right along with her. She was vise-tight and inferno-hot and he knew without doubt that she was going to give him the ride of his life.
Every nerve in Buffy’s body was suffused in feeling, focused on the splendid fullness, the icy delight of her lover’s cold flesh soothing the molten torment inside her. He was perfect for her, exactly what she needed, wanted, craved, desired. The wave of an intense orgasm rushed over her, and she lost herself in the tide.
Buffy fell limply against the edge of the tub, when it was over. Angelus continued to hold himself still, despite the demands of his body. He knew he wouldn’t have long to wait. Sure enough, in seconds, the drowsy look of contentment on her face changed to one of desperate need, once more, and she surged back against him, her arms twining around his neck as her legs wrapped around his hips, her little heels digging into his buttocks, urging him to move while she lifted her hips to bring him deeper inside.
"Please," she breathed, then kissed him, undulating beneath him in the cool water.
He was right: She was the ride of his life, and of his unlife and of any life that had existed without her at its core. Her mouth devoured his, her tongue battled with his own. When she needed to pull away to draw breath, she delivered erotic, nipping kisses to his shoulders and his throat, finally clamping blunt little teeth to his own jugular in the most sensuous imitation of a vampire’s bite Angelus had ever endured. He exploded inside her, hips pumping wildly, water churning around them, knowing he was bruising her, and not caring any more than, seemingly, she did herself. This time, it was feeling the spurt of his cold seed inside her that triggered her climax, and her body again gripped his in the most glorious embrace he’d ever known.
As before, the aftershocks of her release had no sooner ebbed away than she was panting in renewed desire. And even vampire stamina had its limits. Angelus pulled out of her and stood up, ignoring her protests.
"Angelus, please," she said, reaching for him, teardrops glinting on her lashes at the thought that he might refuse her.
"Don’t worry sweeting," he said, scooping her up and carrying her out of the bath as she wrapped her arms back around his neck, and pressed kisses to every part of him she could reach. "We just need to move this into the bedroom." He dipped his head and claimed her lips with his own, his kisses keeping her occupied for the few seconds it took him to get them down the hall and back to their room.
She was burning up in his arms, and Angelus grimly decided that Mai had a lot to answer for. Or, a lot to be thanked for, depending on just how she had managed to get Buffy to swallow a dose of lamia venom. And more importantly, why she had decided to do so.
That Buffy had indeed been given a dose of that aphrodisiacal substance was not even a question. Even if the symptoms weren’t obvious, Angelus could all but taste it on her skin. Once he bit her–and there was no possible way he would deny himself such a delicacy–the matter would be confirmed, but he had no doubt what was spicing her blood, and spiking her desire.
The hows and the whys could wait. Right now, he had other concerns. He gave a brief thought to the evening’s plans, now completely ruined. It didn’t matter. There would be another spectacular view of another magnificent sunset he would be able to share with her from some other lanai or balcony or veranda, while he introduced her to some other erotic pleasure they’d yet to explore together. Right now, there were plenty of things he could introduce her to, without the dramatic backdrop of the setting sun. He was going to fuck her, suck her, pleasure her in every way he could devise. In her current state, she not only wouldn’t object, she’d most likely beg for more.
Angelus gently deposited Buffy on the bed, and followed her down, never breaking their kiss. Buffy opened for him, trying to pull him inside her. He resisted, breaking the kiss, and kissing his way down her body, instead. He knew better than to tease, and quickly buried his head between her thighs, licking and sucking her to a series of intense, explosive climaxes.
Her lover’s cold tongue on her hot core felt wonderful, and the pleasure he was giving her was intoxicating, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
"Angelus," she wailed as another wave or ecstasy washed over her. "I need you . . .inside me . . .please."
"Shhhhhh, baby," he soothed her, knowing that he needed to pace himself for her. "Soon." He went back to tasting her little pearl, but slid a finger deep insider her, as well. She immediately hit another peak, screaming in delight as he greedily lapped up her flowing juices.
His face was wet with her, and she was more delicious than ever: Slayer sweetness leavened with the spice of lamia venom. It was an ambrosial combination, one which he alone of all vampire kind had ever been privileged to taste. The privilege was one he intended to guard very jealously; at least in so far as it concerned the venom-spiced blood of this particular Slayer. What some future vampire might manage with some future Slayer was no concern of his. But, then, he doubted any other vampire would ever match his prowess in capturing a Slayer, and he knew that no other Slayer would ever, in any way, match his Buffy. On that pleasant thought, Angelus slid a second finger inside his delectable mate, making her scream anew.
His first climax having done wonders for his patience, Angelus spent nearly an hour eating Buffy, making her climax endlessly as she begged him to take her more completely. He was achingly hard for her, and forcing himself to ignore her sweet pleas was a form of sensuous self-torture he had never expected to endure. Only the knowledge that it would be over too soon for both of them if he gave in allowed him to deny her. Eventually, he relented, kissing his way back up her body, and finally impaling her on his hard shaft.
She’d had so many climaxes by then that she barely whimpered as the latest one arrived, but he could tell by the delicious fluttering of her womanhood around him that she was as responsive as ever. Smiling, Angelus settled in for a long, hard ride.
He braced himself above her, staring down at her in fascination. She was so fucking gorgeous like this; replete, ecstatic, abandoned, and utterly submissive. No, not submissive, it wasn’t that simple. She wasn’t yielding herself to his appetites: She was embracing them, making them her own, adding her own cravings to his until there was no distinction between what she demanded and what he desired.
The look on her face wasn’t one of submission; it was of smoldering, sated, yet insatiable need.
And it was a look directed at him, thrilling him to the core of his unbeating heart.
Buffy opened slumberous eyes to see her mate hovering over her. He was inside her so deeply, but it wasn’t deep enough. She smiled, lifted her hips and pulled him down into her arms, enticing him to slide further within her, kissing him hungrily, needing as much of him as she could get.
Angelus shuddered in release, spending himself in her sweet wet heat, knowing that it was far from the last time he would experience such pleasure in her arms, this night.
Buffy gave him all he could desire, and more. Her nails raked down his back, drawing blood, intensifying his arousal. Her responses were every bit as brutal as his demands, and as he had thought, there was nothing he could ask of her, this night, that she would not willingly perform.
He brought her to climax by spanking her lush rear-end, by suckling on her lovely breasts, by tonguing the roseate opening of her ass, by puffing cool breaths across her too-sensitive clit, by letting her take his aching manhood into her mouth. And by indulging other, darker desires.
She came as he lashed her Venus mount oh so lightly with the braided whip.
She came as he gently, delicately, worked his entire fist inside her.
And she came from his bite, alone, her blood burning along his tongue, down into his belly and out along his dead veins with an unaccustomed fire. He gave fleeting thought to the faint hint of Mai he could taste, but he was too intoxicated by the end result to worry over much about it. In truth, Buffy tasted more delectable, more like Buffy, than ever, as if the lamian venom had not added a new flavor to the heady bouquet of her blood, so much as intensified the very essence of it. Angelus pushed aside his concerns about just how Mai had given her the venom, and why she had done so, and surrendered to the ecstasy of the present, which proved to be the second most erotic moment of his life.
The most erotic moment happened an hour later, when, impaled on his cock and his fangs, Buffy bit down once more on his jugular, coming hard around him, forcing his climax to burst from him like a nova exploding from a sun.
It was nearly midnight, and they had been making love for hours. Buffy was reaching orgasm after orgasm, the peaks never more than a moment or two apart. By now, she was in a perpetual swoon of bliss, almost continuously climaxing with every stroke of his hard shaft against her swollen, sensitive clit.
Her compromised Slayer strength and endurance had been pushed to the limits. With a final wail of release, Buffy slid beneath the surface of consciousness.
Spent and nearly exhausted himself, Angelus withdrew from her, collapsing at her side. He was sorely tempted to stay exactly where he was, and gather whatever rest he could. He suspected that the venom suffusing Buffy’s system wouldn’t let her sleep for very long; perhaps a half-hour, an hour at most. Then she’d awaken, her hunger for him renewed, and it would take perhaps another hour of making her scream in pleasure before her reserves of strength were depleted enough to force her to rest. The next interval of sleep would be longer, followed by an even shorter period of lusty wakefulness, until the last of the intoxicating venom had been dissipated, allowing her to find true slumber.
Most likely, that wouldn’t happen until dawn, and she’d sleep the clock around, thereafter. And, most likely, he’d be so worn out he’d be sleeping right along with her. Mai just might have to have both of them carried to the ship, if they were going to be aboard in time to sail out with the morning tide.
So, best to get the answers he needed, now. With a last regretful glance at Buffy, sprawled beside him in the most gorgeous pose of wanton abandon to ever entice a vampire into acts of carnal excess, Angelus forced himself out of the bed.
His hand found a robe before they came across his pants, and Angelus shrugged into it, fastening the belt as he walked. He was pounding on Mai’s door less than a minute after he’d left Buffy’s side.
Mai had known he would come.
"You subtle, treacherous, devious bitch," Angelus said with deadly softness, as he brushed Mr. Sung aside and stalked–there really was no other word that adequately described his gait when every step he took virtually screamed "predator"–toward her. He wasn’t quite in game face, but if anything, that made the rage displayed on his human features even more potent. His eyes flashed golden beneath the brown. Mai had to steel herself not to turn and flee, knowing that she would never survive if she showed a prey’s weakness before this consummate hunter. She shook off the foolish fear. His reaction was nothing less than she had known it would be, after all. Angelus looked ready to commit murder, but Mai had known exactly what she was doing then, and exactly what she should do now.
"My lord flatters me," she said sincerely, with a gracious inclination of her head. The results were all she had hoped: Angelus gave her one incredulous look, then threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Is that what I’m doing?" he drawled, but she noted with more relief than she thought she would feel, that his posture had relaxed and his eyes no longer glinted yellow with rage. He sprawled elegantly in the chair she indicated.
"If my lord is commenting on the assistance I have rendered his consort, then I am, of course, most highly flattered," Mai said carefully. "May I suggest a brandy?"
"You may suggest anything you please," Angelus said dryly, "so long as you understand that your suggestions may not be followed. That is what it was, Mai? A suggestion?" His tone suggested that the consequences of it being anything other than a suggestion would be most unpleasant.
She returned his regard calmly. "It could not be more," she said firmly, turning to the sideboard and pouring them each a brandy. "My lord’s pleasure is my own, in this and in all other matters."
"My pleasure would have been seen to, I assure you," Angelus said coolly.
"But not as thoroughly as you might have desired," Mai returned with unruffled calm, as she handed him his snifter and resumed her own seat on the divan. "It takes weeks for the drugs you’ve been using to leave a Slayer’s system, and, forgive me, my lord, but it is obvious that she has enjoyed such attentions from you as a normal woman would have taken quite a bit of time to recover from. Your vigor, while most delightful, cannot but have consequences for an untried girl. A Slayer at full strength would doubtless have recovered in a day or two. Compromised as her powers are, it would most likely have taken another week before Buffy would be able to partner you with. . .equal vigor, had I not intervened."
"And that’s why you tainted her?" he growled, thinking of the change he had detected in Buffy’s blood this evening. That he enjoyed the change was beside the point: Mai had no right to make it, without his permission. Seemingly, the demoness disagreed. Her brows rose at his choice of words.
"Tainted, my lord?" she said. "Surely not. Say, rather, ‘enhanced.’ You know the power of lamian blood: In sufficient quantity, it restores that which it murders. I but surrendered a few drops, to assure her instant recovery and your renewed pleasure."
"And the other effects of your blood? Her added strength? Had I wanted her stronger, I wouldn’t have fed her the damned drugs in the first place!" Angelus growled, tossing off the rest of his brandy.
"Surely my lord understands that, as he is feeding from her, his own strength will increase apace with hers?" Mai signaled Mr. Sung, still hovering in the background.
"You’re certain of that?" Angelus said, surrendering his snifter to Mr. Sung, who refilled it with brandy.
"My lord will retain his advantage," Mai said confidently, dismissing her servant, who bowed and left the room. "While the drugs remain in her system, she will never be your equal."
"And once I wean her from them?"
Mai inclined her head graciously. "My lord has fed from her, within hours of her receiving the infusion of my blood. Whatever virtue it has bestowed upon her, that virtue has now been bestowed upon you, as well. And it is a virtue both of you will enjoy, forever."
"I see," Angelus said, thoughtfully sipping his drink "So, I, too, will be just that much stronger. The balance of power between us remains unchanged, but I have more of an edge than ever against the rest of the world."
"So it is," Mai agreed.
"Delightful," Angelus said dryly, not nearly as delighted as, under other circumstances, he certainly would be. "But, tell me, Mai. Did you think I would be so pleased by that news that I would forgive you your trespass?"
And now it was time for the final gamble, Mai realized. She unhesitatingly set aside her own snifter, rose to her feet and immediately sank down into an artful court curtsey such as she would have used to greet the empress herself.
"If aught I have done has displeased my lord, then I am his to dispose of as he wills," she said boldly, knowing that under the terms of lamian law and vampiric custom, Angelus would be within his rights to kill her, now, if he chose. She was certain that he would not. Or, nearly certain. Shaking off the tiny doubt, she went on. "But I beg he will heed my words: I did not trespass. His mate took no hurt from me, nor any intrusion. I but sweetened the wine she drank with a few drops of my blood and my venom, that she might the sooner serve my lord as he desired to be served. In this, my lord, what harm?"
"In that, no harm, only rapture," Angelus conceded, setting aside his snifter, in turn. He reached forward, tangling his fist in Mai’s hair and brutally pulling her head up so that she was forced to look into his unyielding countenance. "But it will not end there, will it, Mai? Buffy has tasted lamia venom from the source, and lamian blood now runs within her own. I could taste it in her, spicing her sweetness. How long, Mai? How long before she dreams of a sky with crimson moons, and yearns for the touch of golden scales against her silken flesh?" Mai met his gaze unflinchingly.
"If such dreams come, my lord, they will be fleeting," Mai said firmly. "It was, as you said, a suggestion, not a demand. Not even, really, an invitation." Frowning, Angelus let her go.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"I gave her very little, not enough to induce the craving of which you speak. It may well be that she will never know the cravings you envision."
"But you can’t be certain," he said accusingly.
"My lord misunderstands," Mai said with a sigh, considering her next words carefully. "Eternity is long," she said finally, "and the lamia are forever. So too are our children, the vampires. You have declared this girl your bound mate. Sooner or later you will turn her, that she might walk the night at your side; your companion through the farthest reaches of time. But, forgive me, my lord, fidelity has never been the hallmark of our kind. The most devoted unions rarely remain monogamous past the first three centuries. Most often, between true mates, it is not a matter of unfaithfulness, so much as a matter of jointly inviting a lover, or perhaps more than one, to share between them. Should the time ever arrive, that you, my lord, desire variety, I merely wish to be called to mind."
Angelus knew that Mai was speaking nothing less than the truth, and the visions that her words brought were not entirely unappealing. . .save where they concerned anyone but himself in Buffy’s bed.
"I cannot imagine that, in a hundred years, or a thousand, I will ever share my mate."
"Then, in a hundred years, or a thousand, there will be nothing for Buffy to call to mind," Mai said evenly. "If there are dreams, my lord will attend her wants, and the dreams will fade. Truly, I have done nothing that will not ensure my lord’s greater pleasure and comfort."
"And you won’t mind at all if Buffy and I never take you up on your most delicately offered suggestion," Angelus chuckled, retrieving his drink. "No, the truth is, you don’t believe that’s very likely, do you?" he went on. "You think that I’ll eventually grow bored, or just restless, and that you’ll have what you want. Well, eternity is long. Maybe you’re right. But think of this, Mai: In all the millennia that have gone before us, all the eternal reaches of time recorded in the dull histories of your kind, or the tedious journals of the human Watchers, or even the sacred scrolls of vampire lore, there’s never been record of a vampire who has bound a Slayer to him as his mate, and there’s never been a Slayer to so enslave the senses of a vampire as my Buffy. Don’t judge us by what others have done, or failed to do. I may, indeed, take my pleasure with other women. But she is eternally mine, alone."
Mai found that she could say nothing to this. She might indeed have arranged her little stratagem for naught. But this was merely a seed carefully sewn against future reaping. There had never been any guarantee that it would bear fruit; merely a hope that it might. She tried not to feel too disappointed at Angelus’ conjecture that she had planted her crop in barren soil.
"My lord may rest assured that I have no desire to trespass upon what is his," she said formally.
"That’s all I really wanted to hear," Angelus said, smirking down at her. Satisfied that nothing had happened that need worry him–and that nothing worrying would happen in the future–he finished off his brandy, got to his feet and returned to his abandoned mate. He moved quickly, aware that Buffy would surely rouse soon, hungry and desirous of the devoted attention he was only too eager to lavish upon her.
Left to herself, Mai remained in her court curtsey, unmoving on the floor. Staring at the empty brandy snifter abandoned on the table top, she contemplated the exigencies of eternity.
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The Silken Cage: Journey