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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: 21218 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
The darkness she had fallen into was deep and all-enveloping. No dreams came, no nightmares. There was only blessed nothingness, balm for her bruised body and exhausted soul. She drifted in its embrace for hours before mundane physical need forced her awake once more.
Buffy opened her eyes. She could barely tell the difference. It was full dark, no light at all leaking through the curtains over the portholes. Angelus lay motionless beside her and she wondered if he were truly asleep or if this were just another game. After all, night was his natural milieu. Then again, he had been pretty active during the past few days; first driving from Sunnydale to San Francisco, then spending all that time on her "lessons." She shuddered. Doubtless, he had more lessons in store. Also, doubtless, they would both soon be attuned to the nocturnal rhythms that ruled vampire life. Waking at evening would become normal to her, as would falling asleep at dawn.
Unless she could get away.
Until I can get away, she corrected herself. Worrying about that now was pointless. She began to pull herself free of Angelus. If he had been sleeping before, he was awake now.
"Going somewhere, pet?" he drawled.
"To the bathroom," she said tartly. "Unless you want to sleep in a really wet spot?" He chuckled and let her go, even switching on the light so that she wouldn't have to stumble around in the darkened cabin. She got out of the bed and stomped off with as much dignity as sore muscles and bound hands would allow.
Buffy felt like hell. That was worrisome. Her bruises hadn't been that bad to begin with. The few hours sleep she'd had should have restored her. Had Angelus drained so much blood from her that her natural healing abilities weren't able to compensate? She had no way of knowing. When the Master had drunk from her, he'd taken little more than a ritual draught; she had been killed by drowning, not blood loss. When Angel had drunk from her, he'd raced her to the hospital and seen that she'd received transfusions before her situation became dangerous. But Angelus had drained her far more than the Master, if not as thoroughly as Angel had done. Without Giles to research Watcher diaries, Willow to surf the net or the tools to do research on her own, Buffy didn't know what side effects she might have to endure from the blood loss.
Of course, she was probably going to learn all about it at first hand. Not a comforting thought. She didn't dwell on it.
Buffy made quick work of using the facilities, then cleaned up as best she could at the small basin. She hadn't had a chance to brush her teeth earlier and corrected the oversight now. While she went through the routine ablutions, her mind was working.
Apparently her blood had not only enhanced Angelus' vampiric strength, it had also sharpened his other senses. How else had he heard her pick up the damned chopstick? And how else had he known the instant she struck for the kill if not by hearing the slight disturbance of air as she moved? Taking him out was going to be hard…and it was only going to get harder the longer she was his prisoner. Because he would continue to feed from her, continue to reinforce his growing strength while keeping her from regaining her own…and because the longer she was prey to his sensual demands, the harder it would be for her to force herself to kill him.
Buffy frowned into her own eyes in the mirror. She wasn't too pleased with her reflection. The cut on her cheek was all but gone, while the cuts to her lips had completely vanished. But those lips were still bruised and swollen from his kisses, and the marks from his feeding hadn't faded away. Her hair was hanging around her shoulders in a tangled cloud, her eyes were heavy-lidded from exhaustion…but she didn't look exhausted. She looked…voluptuous. Wanton. Like a woman roused from her lover's bed…which, if she were honest with herself, was exactly what she was.
Her lover. Not Angel: Angelus. Angel was gone, and because of her own foolishness. Not entirely, she realized suddenly. If I had done what he wanted for real, the same damned thing would have happened. Like Doyle said…sooner or later it was inevitable. If I want someone to blame, I can blame whichever of the gypsy elders thought up that freaking curse. The thought eased a little of her guilt. And that made it easier to think.
Angelus had proved to her that she wanted him no matter what, that he could make her respond to him as if he were her true beloved, her lost Angel.
But he had carefully, even angrily avoided one question: why?
Oh, she understood why a demon would take delight in repeatedly ravishing the Slayer who had defeated him before. She understood the concept of his wanting to train her to be the perfect consort. She even understood his wanting her to climax while he was hurting her. But not the other times. As long as his own gratification was assured, what did it matter to him what she felt?
…unless in some deeply buried part of Angelus, on some subconscious level that he would never admit existed, he was jealous of Angel…because he wanted the one thing Angel had that he didn't: Buffy's love.
She was stunned by the concept. That can't be it, was her first reaction. He hates me! But the thought didn't go away. Deep inside she knew; if all Angelus felt for her were hatred, her drained body would be lying on her mother's living room floor. If all he felt were lust, her own fulfillment would have been unimportant to him. Or, he would have turned her by now, so that he could have a vampiric mate to share his darker passions. She remembered his anger when she had called Angel's name when he was making her come. His words about her beauty. Even the way he held her against his body when they slept. The more she thought about it, the more it all fit. And the more it fit, the better her chances of survival. Because if he wanted her to love him back, he was unlikely to turn her, and even less likely to kill her out right. So, I might live through this. And if I can turn at least one of the weapons he uses against me to my own advantage, I might even win. The concept had dozens of ramifications she could barely grasp. But before she could pursue any of them, there was an impatient knock on the door.
"What the hell is taking you so long?"
Buffy couldn't help a grin. Hmmm. More evidence. With nowhere to escape to on the cargo boat, she couldn't go two feet away from him without his needing to reassure himself that she was still there.
"I was brushing my--" The unlockable door burst open.
"--teeth," she finished mildly, her grin gone so as not to arouse his suspicions.
"And brushing your teeth takes 20 minutes?" he snarled, coming closer.
"Well, no. But I was also washing my face and, um, cleaning up." Buffy deliberately widened her eyes, looking up at him limpidly, as if confused by his anger.
He was angry, though not in game face. But his dark brown eyes flashed dangerously and he was stalking her again. She held her ground warily, sure that defiance would only exacerbate his current anger, but not willing to be too submissive. She couldn’t help a little yelp as his hands closed around her upper arms with bruising force.
"Sure you weren't looking for where that chopstick got to?" he growled.
"I think you proved to me that finding it…wouldn't be wise," she said levelly, not letting her gaze drop before his own. Her words mollified him. His mouth turned up in a smirk, and though he didn't let go of her arms, his grip was no longer as forceful.
"You always were a quick study, Buff," he said and pulled her in for another demanding kiss. Relieved that his anger had been deflected --and rather easily at that-- Buffy responded to his kiss.
She wasn't fighting him, he realized. Her lips were soft beneath his, her body pliant instead of tense. She wasn't trying to turn her head or wriggle free. And slowly, sweetly, she was kissing him back. He forced her mouth open, drinking down her sweetness, plundering the silken cavern with his tongue. She sighed softly and molded herself to him, her warm, firm breasts pressing into his lower chest. She was such a tiny thing, he would have to lift her so that their chests could meet properly. Later, he thought. For now, he had other plans. He broke the kiss.
"You wanted to clean up?" he asked.
"Um, yeah," she said warily. He grinned and, keeping hold of her with one hand, turned. The room was tiny and he was large. He simply had to reach over to open the door to the shower stall and turn the knobs to adjust the water.
"You want me to take a shower?" Buffy said. Actually, she had given up on the idea of foregoing them until he untied her, and had planned on taking one when she got up for the day. But surely it was a long way before dawn. "Now?"
"Actually, lover, I thought I'd scrub your back," he drawled glancing at her over his shoulder as he fiddled with the knobs and tested the spray coming from the shower head. She looked at him in disbelief, then canted her gaze at the shower.
"That space is just a little too small for us both, don't you think?"
"Oh, it'll be a tight fit," he agreed. Satisfied with the water temperature, he turned back to her. His eyes picked up heat as they met hers. "But then, when it comes to you, Buff, the tighter the fit, the better I like it."
She was amazed that after all he had done to her, he could still make her blush, but so it seemed to be. She could feel heat flood her cheeks, but she knew better than to argue. He stepped back from the shower door and, taking the hint, she entered the tiny space. The spray hitting her body was exactly the right temperature and exactly the right pressure. She gave a sigh of pleasure as she leaned into it. He came in behind her, forcing her forward under the spray as he pulled the door closed behind them.
She was flush up against him, and she could feel his erection against the top of her buttocks and the small of her back. The contrast of the warm water and his cool flesh made her shiver, but only for a moment. The water cascading over her fell onto him, and leant a spurious warmth to his cold body. He pulled her closer, and she realized he had brought the wash cloth in with him. He held it in one hand, and reached for a bar of soap with the other. He worked up a lather.
"Close your eyes," he said, voice low. She obeyed without hesitation, and felt the warm, soapy cloth pressed against her brow. He was very careful, washing her face gently scrupulously keeping the soap from getting into her eyes or nose. When he was done, he cupped a hand under the shower and washed the soap away just as gently. When all traces of it were gone, he slid the cloth over the column of her throat, then pressed it against her shoulder, working it in a firm circular motion that felt unbelievably good. Buffy gave a sigh of pleasure, leaning back against him, eyes still closed.
He caressed her through the cloth, massaging tight muscles as he scrubbed her clean. His hands moved slowly over her body, from her shoulders to her arms and down her torso, lingering over her breasts. He pushed her slightly forward to get to her back, easing knots out of her that he himself was responsible for creating. Then, he pulled her against his own body once more, as his hands moved lower, and she found herself widening her stance, allowing his hands to soap her womanhood gently, then pour warm water over her to rinse her clean. But it was when he knelt down to reach her legs that he surprised her. The position was subservient, and she knew that Angelus would never, ever put himself in a subservient position. Yet, he did so now, drawing the washcloth down her thighs, over her knees, and calves and ankles, lifting one small foot and sweeping the cloth over her high arches and her toes. Buffy moaned softly in sensual response. She was surprised when she heard an answering baritone rumble from deep in his chest, something halfway between a growl and a purr. He was enjoying this as much as she was. More evidence, if she needed it. Buffy smiled to herself as he moved back up her body, soaping her buttocks. Then he did something unexpected, parting the firm cheeks of her ass and soaping her intimately. Oddly, this made her feel uncomfortable in a way that his touching her womanhood had not. It was somehow more intimate. She tried to wriggle away, but there was nowhere to go, and he gave just a slight warning growl to indicate he wasn't pleased with her attempt to deny him. Wisely she held still. The movements of his hand were stroking, soothing. And they began to feel very good. In a moment, though, he finished, and sluiced more warm water over her flesh. A moment more, and he was standing once again. She thought he might soap the cloth and demand that she clean him, but instead he reached for a bottle that was held on a shelf by the soap. He pressed down the top and squeezed some of the contents into his large palm. The fragrance of almonds reached her. Angelus put down the bottle and rubbed his palm over the top of her head, massaging the shampoo into her scalp. It felt as good as everything else he had done. He took his time, hands moving through her hair and along her head to make sure that every strand of hair was thoroughly soaped and scrubbed. Satisfied at last, he pushed her forward again under the streaming water until all the shampoo was rinsed away.
Then he turned her to face him. Buffy opened her eyes.
He wasn't smiling. And he wasn't Angel. She was reminded of their first battle, in the mall when she had just blown the Judge to pieces, and had set off the sprinkler system. They had both been soaking wet, then, too. And Angelus was looking down at her as he had then, almost as if he hated her.
That's it, she understood suddenly. He does love me. And he hates me for it! And with that realization, came another. She was in more danger than even she had believed. But she let nothing of her new understanding show in her eyes. Angelus was mercurial and unstable, a creature of whim and impulse unlike her steady, reliable Angel. She didn't know what might set him off. She decided to play it meek for the moment. Wordlessly, she reached for the discarded washcloth. Keeping her eyes demurely downcast, she lathered it as best she could, and then, standing on tip toes, she gazed at him through lowered lashes, and reached slowly to wash his face.
She knew better than to ask him to close his eyes, not wanting to remind of the last time she had made that particular request, which had ended with a sword in his chest and a trip to Hell. Instead, as carefully as he had, she washed his face, and moved down to the strong column of his neck. Over his wide shoulders and broad chest, down his washboard tight abs and over his narrow hips. As he had, she knelt to do his legs, and found herself confronted with his rampant masculinity. She drew a deep breath and took things slowly, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. But she couldn't draw out the task of washing even his firmly muscled thighs and calves indefinitely. Finished with that task, she lathered the cloth again, and slowly moved to the final task. She didn't have to look up at his face to know he was watching her intently, the weight of his gaze an almost tangible thing against her flesh. She reached for him slowly, cupping first the heavy sacs beneath his iron hard manhood. She soaped them gently, feeling the heavy weight of them in her bound hands, noticing that they tightened in her grasp, and noticing that his manhood seemed to leap toward her when she cupped them. Another rumbling growl sounded above her. Seemingly, Angelus liked it when she touched him. She had better touch him again. Delicately, she explored, her soap covered hands moving leisurely between his thighs. When she pressed against the small area between his balls and his anus, the growl rumbled louder. Seemingly, he liked this a lot. Buffy didn't dare smile, but kept up the steady pressure of her fingers against his flesh.
Which Angelus didn't have the patience to endure.
In a moment he hauled her to her feet, the washcloth falling from her hands as he lifted her higher, so that she was on her toes and he could ravish her lips once more.
Water still sluicing over them both, she opened for him, letting him draw her tongue into his own mouth, and join battle there. Warm, he tasted warm, the water imparting its heat to his chill flesh. It made things different, she realized. And then she realized how different as he bent slightly, grasping her around her hips, and then straightened, lifting her. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his waist for purchase and she felt him slide into her wet heat.
This time, he was as hot as she was. Angelus turned slightly, bracing her back against the wall of the shower. The stall was a very small space and there was almost no room to move. But he didn't need much, just enough to pull out slightly and drive back hard. Buffy whimpered as he began to thrust into her with a slow, steady rhythm. She lifted her bound hands, pulling away from the kiss to slip her hands over his head, needing to cling to him, needing the support of his strong body. He growled again and kissed her once more, possessively, devouringly, hungrily. She needed that, too, she realized, kissing him back.
She was hot and wet and tight around him and he was burning up inside her, burning himself into her, burning for her. He loved both her virginal shyness and her instinctive wantonness and he loved the way her tiny body fit so perfectly around his throbbing hardness.
They shouldn't fit. Everything about them was wrong. Not merely vampire and slayer, but her fragile smallness with his brutal, oversized strength, her vibrant youth and life with his ancient unlife. His thrusts inside her should be ripping her apart, not making her gasp in pleasure, and he should hate having her cling to him, not relish every breathy cry, every sweet caress. They shouldn't fit. But they did. And he reveled in it.
Her silken walls were contracting around him, shuddering and clinging. It made him thrust harder. She was whimpering against his mouth, writhing in his embrace, her hips meeting his thrusts, riding him, pressing her swollen clit against his pubic bone grinding herself against him as she sought her own completion.
He loved it when she came on his cock, so he gave her the pressure she wanted, making her peak, holding her close as she wailed her satisfaction into his mouth and broke around him in long, shuddering waves. He couldn't resist the pressure and the heat and the sweetness, and he poured himself into her welcoming flesh, his own release answering hers. He thrust more deeply, touching the mouth of her womb, making her own release that much sweeter, that much more intense. His lover clinging to him, completing him, Angelus emptied himself into her heated depths, until every last drop of his essence had been given up to her, and spent, he leaned against her, both of them braced by the wall at her back.
She didn't want to move. Lovely warm water was pouring over her, Angelus was a heated presence inside her body, if no longer as rampant has he had been, and she was too boneless with satisfaction to stand on her own. But the water soon began to cool, and Angelus pulled himself free of the tender prison of her flesh. She thought he would set her on her own feet, but he continued to hold her braced against the wall with his body, while he reached one hand for the faucets and turned the shower off. Still holding her, he pushed open the shower door, quickly pulled down a towel to drape over her, then carried her out of the stall, through the bathroom and back to the bed.
They were both still wet and the sheets were going to be soaked, she realized. He didn't seem to care.
And he was growing hard again.
Buffy didn't have the experience to know that such a short refraction period was very unusual in human males, and relatively uncommon in vampires as well. Angelus was disturbingly aware that no other female had ever been able to make him respond so quickly after having sated him. But he chose not to examine why Buffy could. Instead, he kissed her soundly, then moved his mouth down her body until he was once more between her thighs. He could smell his own lust on her, his own musk from where he had poured himself into her scant moments earlier. Mine, he thought possessively, again not examining the thought too closely. This time, though, he turned so that he was kneeling over her, his mouth plastered over her femininity, but his own hardness within reach of her. Buffy understood what was being demanded of her. She sat up slightly, reaching for him with her hands, caressing his heavy sacs, then stroking upward along his thick shaft. His rumbling growl vibrated along her clit and she whimpered as her own feminine moisture surged once more. Hesitantly, she pressed her lips against the velvet head of his cock. He held still, not forcing the issue, but his tongue delved deeply into her plump folds. Pleasure swamped her again. She opened her mouth over him, licking out with her little tongue.
Delicious. No one had ever told her that an act so intimate and appalling could taste and feel so good. Buffy settled back against the pillows, and his hips moved with her. She licked down his shaft, then back upward, circling the head with her tongue. His hips began to thrust toward her and his tongue began to move in tandem with her own movements. She wanted his tongue to go deeper and harder. She sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.
Buffy got what she wanted. Not only did Angelus suck her clit into his mouth, he thrust a finger into her tight sheath, working it in and out, probing inside her to find the most sensitive spots. Mewling, she thrust her hips against his talented mouth, and sucked his large cock a little more deeply into the wet warm cave of her mouth.
He wanted to thrust all the way down into her throat, but she would never be able to handle that now. Time. He needed time to teach her. But oh, the lessons were a delight. He sucked her honeyed sweetness into his mouth, and thrust another finger inside her. Primed by her recent orgasm, she began to peak again, and that made her more eager on his cock. She opened her mouth wider, instinctively moving her head so that her throat was more open, sliding him in deeper. With a groan he sank into her, his fingers speeding up their thrusting. Buffy's hips bucked into his and she screamed against his cock, all the while sucking him deeper as if the deeper she could get him, the stronger her orgasm would be. He worked to make it so, losing himself in the mindless rapture offered by her soft flesh and willing response. He felt himself let go, pumping down her throat, and she eagerly took him, swallowing his cum, sucking him dry as he was sucking her. And all the while, the siren song of her thrumming blood sang beneath the surface of her skin.
It was too much. He had been holding himself back for over twenty-four hours. Angelus felt himself vamp out. Deliberately, he scraped his fangs against her tender clit, drawing the faintest swell of blood. She went crazy, doing what he would not have believed possible, and sucking him all the way down to the root. He spasmed into her, giving up the last cool drops of his cum as she hit yet another orgasm, clenching around his fingers and pulsing into his mouth.
Sweet, sweet. Blood like wine and the most delicious cunt he had ever devoured. There had never been a woman like her before and he would never find her like again. That was the reason he intended to turn her, he told himself as he came back to himself and eased her down from her peak. Because she was the best fuck he had ever had in two hundred and forty-three years, and there was no sense letting that go to waste.
Not because her hazel eyes followed him in his dreams and the scent of her skin seemed always to linger in the air around him. Not because his arms felt empty when he wasn't holding her. And never, ever because he loved her. Never that, at all.
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The Silken Cage: Journey