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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
For the next three days, Angelus abandoned the lessons of books and arts and papers to lesson Buffy in the pleasures of the flesh. She didn't resist. It was so much easier when she didn't resist. He wasn't cruel when she was pliant, wasn't hurtful or hateful when she yielded around him, yielded to him, gave him what they both desired. He continued to be brutally gentle, viciously tender when she stopped fighting him. And Buffy no longer had the strength to keep up the fight.
He fed her delectable poison in a variety of enticing dishes. She obediently consumed every one.
She no longer fought him…because she had to conserve her strength and bide her time. She could do nothing while trapped on the ship. Her only hope was to live long enough to reach a port of call, and try to escape from there. Reaching it in one piece without the bruises or broken bones Angelus was entirely capable of inflicting upon her if she angered him was probably a really good idea, too.
Given their ultimate destination, she expected that they would stop someplace in Hawaii. And they should be docking within a few days. She could put up with her captivity a few days longer. And he was no longer mistreating her. As far as abductions went, this one wouldn't be so bad…if only her body wasn't so damned receptive to his slightest touch.
He could make her wet with a look, a touch, a whisper. His voice caressed her like velvet, and his eyes could burn her like a flame. She had loved Angel, desiring him because of her love. But Angelus taught her to desire him for desire's sake. She couldn't call what she felt for him love. To Buffy, love was sacred; her love belonged always and only to Angel, never to the monster who had killed him and stolen his body. But that monster now lay claim to her own body, and she could not name the mixture of need and longing he instilled in her. Lust, she supposed, yet it lacked the objectivity of pure lust. Angelus wasn't simply a skilled body capable of giving her pleasure when it amused him to do so. He was an insidious evil invading not only her flesh but her spirit. Something in her, something beyond reason and will, beyond flesh and desire, thrilled to her position as his cherished consort, delighting in every look, every touch, every taste.
Since that part of her was the part that pleased him and ensured that he didn't mistreat her, Buffy allowed that part of herself free reign…even as she locked away the rebellion that would not leave her heart, waiting for the opportunity which must come.
Although, there were times when even the part that wanted to surrender was put to the test. Some lessons were more shocking than even his earlier ravishments had prepared her for.
She had taken a shower after waking up that afternoon. As she had suspected he might, he was gradually weaning her from a diurnal schedule to a nocturnal one. She had wrapped herself in one towel, her hair in another, and gone back into the cabin. Steam was rising from a large metal basin set on the nightstand by the bed. A large plastic bottle was sitting in the basin. She barely noticed, her attention drawn elsewhere. Angelus was lounging on the bed, waiting for her, unselfconsciously naked and blatantly aroused.
"Come here," he said softly, as if he were making a request it was in her power to refuse.
"Where else would I go?" she said quietly. His dark eyes flashed warningly. Buffy realized her mistake at once. Angelus did not appreciate her breaking the illusion that she was coming to him out of desire rather than compulsion. Then again, how deep did that illusion run? With a sigh, she walked forward, taking the hand he offered. He was all tender consideration, pulling her down to the bed and kissing her gently, before turning her, and making her sit with her back against the cool, strong wall of his chest. He lifted her hands to check the healing of her abraded wrists.
"Nearly all better," he noted, running his thumb caressingly over the almost completely smooth and flawless flesh. Buffy shivered at his touch. He smiled, enjoying her reaction. The exquisite mix of fear and desire was a combination that was intoxicating to a vampire. Angelus drew the towel from her hair, got her brush from the nightstand, and spent the next hour carefully working out the tangles, brushing her hair until it was dry and softly curling around her face.
If she were a cat, she might have purred. If she could forget that he was a demon toying with her, not a lover pleasing her, she might have sighed in contentment and smiled up at him. As it was, she simply accepted his touch.
Eventually, the last tangle was smoothed away and he put down the brush. Buffy made to get off the bed and dress herself. He pulled her back, instead. She looked at him questioningly. Angelus simply smiled and eased her over, so that she lay prone on her stomach. Tenderly, he removed the towel wrapping her, then pushed her freshly washed and brushed hair to the side, leaving her back and arms exposed. And it was in the center of her back that she felt the first warm drop of oil. She let out a little startled gasp, which quickly turned into a sigh of appreciation as his strong hands began to gently spread the oil over her skin, massaging the supple muscles of her back. He kneaded his way along her spine to her shoulders and neck, then back down again to the small of her back. She couldn't help but relax under his expert touch. Angelus grinned down at the motionless form beneath him. Not that he wanted her to remain too still. His hands traveled back up to her shoulders, then down each arm to her wrists and fingers. He used more warm oil when he needed it, and Buffy had to admit it felt wonderful. The scent was light, with just a hint of almond. A girl could get used to it. A girl could get used to a lot of things, apparently, her inner voice mocked her. She pushed the bitter thought away. There was nothing she could do about that yet. She sighed and wriggled back against Angelus' skilled hands. He chuckled, but after a few minutes, he stopped and she felt the mattress shift as he got up. He didn't go far, just to the end of the bed where he took one small, high arched foot into his hands. A few more drops of warm oil and Buffy groaned in pleasure. He chuckled again, at this further proof that his plan was going as perfectly as he could have wished. He moved slowly up her body, from her trim ankles to her shapely calves and thighs, until he got to the smooth, firm globes of her delectable ass. She didn't complain when he spread just a little more oil there, kneading the firm muscles. And she didn't fight him when his hands began to move slowly toward more delicate territory.
She never fought him, now. He was enjoying her docility while it lasted, knowing her too well to believe this was any more than a temporary state of affairs. Much as he loved her compliance, part of him was looking forward to her next rebellion. He had so many delicious ways to punish her, and she really hadn't given him an excuse to use any of them yet. Not that he really needed an excuse.
Angelus smiled as she wriggled against the oil-coated fingers he slipped between her thighs and traced lightly against the outer reaches of her femininity. He teased her for a few moments, his touch too feather light to satisfy her growing need. Perfect. Her responsiveness to his touch was so damned perfect. There were times when he never wanted the damned boat to land, when he wanted to stay forever secluded away from the world, alone with the most glorious prize the world had to offer.
His touch was always so perfect, so knowing, so arousing. Buffy sighed, wishing he would plunge his strong fingers inside her wet core. Sooner or later, he would give her the satisfaction she needed from him–but only after he had built her hunger to the point where she would believe herself dying for the lack of him, only after he had made her beg him for the completion only he could bring her.
There were legends of women seduced and betrayed by demon lovers, their souls dragged down to hell for the sake of tender kisses and soaring passion. That was where she was now, in a hell of desire and despair, a silken cage of longing.
But she would free herself from it. She had to. When it was time. Now, it was time for other things.
"Angelus," she whispered. "Please."
"Please what, my love?" he drawled.
"Please, come inside me. I need you so much." She could never have imagined herself begging him, even a few days before. But need made her shameless. That, and the understanding that she really had no choice. She was too weak to stop him from doing whatever he wanted, and she was too far from rescue to make an escape attempt possible. She might as well give him what he wanted.
But those weren't the only reasons. There was something amazingly freeing about her very captivity. She had nothing to lose. So, it didn't matter if she took pleasure in a demon's desire for her, didn't matter if they made love until they were too enervated, to drained by rapture, to move. She couldn't change things by resisting him, only make it that much more likely he would keep her too weak, watch her too closely, or hurt her too badly for her to seize the opportunity that docking would give her–had to give her–for escaping. She had given up wishing Angelus were Angel. He wasn't and never would be again. And yet, he had been part of Angel. There was no point in trying to sort out her tangled emotions. She accepted them and the consequences they brought: keeping her chained to Angelus' bed not simply by his will alone, but by her own desire.
Desire was spiraling through her now, evoked and heightened by his skilled hands.
"Please," she whispered again. He relented, swooping down to kiss the back of her neck tenderly. Buffy felt the cool flesh of his chest against her back, the brush of his strong thighs against her own. She sighed and started to turn over so that she could pull him down to her.
"No," he said, nipping lightly at her neck. She stopped moving. A moment later he shifted slightly, and his hands at her hips told her what he wanted. Buffy drew her knees under her, letting him pull her into a kneeling position, her head pillowed on her arms. He knelt behind her, covering her. She remembered this position from the first morning on the ship, remembered how deeply he had been able to fit inside her. She shivered in anticipation, wriggling as she spread her knees wider to accommodate him.
Angelus caught his breath at the sight of her wantonly spread for his delectation. With her plump, rounded bottom in the air, her lush, feminine core dewed with moisture from her arousal and glistening with the oil he had used on her, she was an exquisitely erotic sight. He reached for the bottle of massage oil, warming in its basin of hot water, and poured just a bit more into the palm of his hand. Buffy sighed appreciatively when he began to knead it into the firm globes of her delectable ass. She pulled away when his oiled fingers slid between the crevice and he began to massage the tight little opening to be found there, but he managed to sooth her enough that she held still after a moment, and let him amuse himself.
She didn't understand why he wanted to do that. Until one well oiled finger pushed into her vulnerable back passage. She gasped in shock as he eased in deeper, and she tried to pull her hips free of his grasp, to get away from the unwelcome invasion.
"Shhhh, lover," Angelus whispered into her ear, even as the hand restraining her hips tightened it's grasp and the intrusive finger slid fully inside. "Just relax and you'll find how much you'll like it."
"Please," she whimpered, instinctively tensing against him. "Don't do this."
"Oh, I'm going to do this, lover," Angelus said tenderly. "The only question is whether you receive pleasure or pain. You've been a good girl, and I really would prefer to give you pleasure. But then again, you're so delicious when I hurt you, and you haven't given me a reason to hurt you lately. Do you want to give me one now?"
Buffy couldn't help the tears she felt forming in her eyes.
"No," she whispered, deeply ashamed. "I don't want to give you a reason to hurt me."
"Then I won't, my love. Obey me, and it will be all right. I promise."
She might have laughed, a demon offering her a promise. As if their words were worth the breath it took to utter them. But she didn't dare laugh. He had just told her he was looking for a reason to hurt her, and she was very vulnerable to him, both emotionally and physically. So she gathered her courage and whispered softly, "What do you want?"
Angelus couldn't believe the thrill that went through him at those few softly spoken words. What did he want? Everything she could possibly give him, everything she was, everything she would ever be.
An image came to him. That first night, when he had brought her to the mansion, seducing her while she slept and dreamed of her Angel. When she had opened her eyes, and still not remembering, had smiled up at him…he wanted that from her, he realized. He wanted that depth of joy and need and longing to be centered on him, Angelus, and not that absent, useless soul.
"All of you, my love," he crooned to her. "All of you." He pressed a kiss to her temple soothing her even as he began to withdraw his finger from her. She shivered in reaction. He pushed the finger back in deep, hissing as her muscles clamped strongly down. Just thinking what it would be like when she did that to his cock was enough to make him want to replace his finger with his raging erection and pump into her for all he was worth. But she was entirely too inexperienced for such rough usage. If he wanted to take his pleasure with her this way in the future, it would be best if she were introduced to this act gently. If he raped her as he wanted to do, he would give her an aversion to it, and would always have to overcome her reluctance. Better to show her another path to pleasure. Later, when she was more accustomed to his desires, he could show her darker delights. He worked his finger slowly in and out of her, gauging her response. Her muscles were still tightly clenched, which could be problematic. He needed her to relax.
Angelus kissed his way from her temple down her neck to her shoulder. The hand on her hip slid around and down, until it found the nest of curls that protected her intimate flesh. His fingers began to play there, lovingly stroking her little hidden pearl.
"Let it go, baby," he whispered enticingly. "Don't fight me, love. Don't tense up. Just take a deep breath and relax."
Buffy fought for control. Her body wanted to stay tense. Despite the faint stirrings of arousal his busy fingers had begun to draw from her, she didn't like this. But she would like it a whole lot less if she angered him. So she did what he demanded. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on what his hand was doing to her femininity instead of what his finger was doing to her back passage. By an exercise of will, she relaxed her tense internal muscles.
Angelus smiled as he felt her yield. Time to up the ante. He dipped his head, lips pressed to her jugular, his tongue licking out to lave over her beating pulse. He could feel it begin to speed, even as he began to smell the heady scent of her arousal, which he was at last coaxing forth. He kept the movements of his finger slow and gentle, letting her get used to the odd sensation.
Soon, he felt the beginnings of her inevitable response. He could feel her lush wetness coating the fingers at play in her nest of curls, hear her breath begin to come in soft little hitches, feel the throb of her pulse race beneath her lips. His fingers moved from her clit to slip inside her drenching sheath. She keened his name. He could feel how pliant she was, how yielding. He pulled his finger free of her ass and grabbed for the bottle of oil. One hand still attending to her arousal, he used the other to pour a bit of warm oil on his erection. He set the bottle in its bowl, then spread the oil over his rampant cock, before positioning himself to enter her. Buffy tensed again. He waited, uttering more soothing words, dropping more kisses against her neck and shoulders and spine, until he felt her yield once more. Then he pushed the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle that no longer resisted him.
Buffy moaned as she felt him penetrate her. He was going slowly, his way eased by the oil and her own arousal. Her body easily accommodated him. Almost before she knew it, he had slid in to the hilt. The pressure and fullness were so close to what she felt when he was inside her properly. And yet, different. Then he began to move inside her, slowly and gently. She hated this…because he was right, and he was making her like it. Buffy's hips began to move in rhythm with his, letting him seat himself more fully, plunder her more deeply. He pulled his fingers from her soaking core, so that he could grip her hips and guide her movements. It didn't matter. Her body was as hungry for his in the performance of this act as it was in every other variation of lovemaking.
Lovemaking. Why did her mind keep insisting that was what this was? Not sex, not domination, not torture. Lovemaking. Buffy let the puzzle alone. For now she needed to press herself more fully against him, needed the feel of his pelvis hitting the cheeks of her ass, of his cock driving in to her, his flesh against hers.
She was so exquisitely tight around him, so seductively open for him. He pushed himself further, and she no longer resisted, she pushed back, offering him more, offering as much of herself as he could take. He could never take enough, he was greedy for her, his Slayer, his slave, his Buffy. His declared enemy and his destined mate. Ah, but that enmity sweetened the mating immeasurably. Angelus loved how much she hated him. If only he could make her love him, more… His mind had just enough focus to notice the disturbing, uncharacteristically tender thought before an instinctive roll of Buffy's hips heightened his pleasure and brought him back to more immediate concerns. Pulling her more securely against his body, Angelus sped up his thrusts. Keening, Buffy arched back into him, head thrown back as she met his pace. His hands traveled her body, caressing her soft, full curves, sweeping over her gorgeous breasts, savoring the weight of them in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples as his lips found their way once more to her neck.
He was so exquisitely full inside her, appeasing her hunger for him, if not sating it. She wondered if her hunger for him would ever be sated, or if she would always be ravenous for the feel of his flesh within hers. Part of her was appalled by what he was doing to her, but the sensual ecstasy he gave her overwhelmed her scruples. She needed him, needed to give herself to him, needed to be joined to him utterly and irrevocably.
He was evoking such amazing sensations from her body, building her rapture slowly and inevitably to something breathtaking and all consuming. She could feel herself approach the summit…and yet, something was missing. It wasn't until she felt the cool, sweet brush of his lips along her throat that she intuitively realized what. Eagerly, Buffy pressed back against him, panting. Her next words shocked them both.
"Bite me!" she demanded. He almost came from the sound of her voice , the need raw and powerful. His demon emerged instantly, and he buried his fangs in her neck, slamming his body into hers.
Impaled on his cock and his fangs, the unexpected violence of her own passion matched by his, Buffy exploded, screaming his name. As her muscles contracted strongly around him in her orgasm, she was amazed at how much more keenly she could feel him than when he made her come in the "normal" fashion. Helpless in her release, she shuddered and shook for him, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.
The minute she clamped down on him, Angelus surged into her, coming hard, pumping into her as violently as he had wanted. She was beyond caring, meeting his thrusts enthusiastically, the hot liquor of her blood flooding into his mouth. Growling against her neck, he moved a hand from her breast to her belly, then lower, plunging his fingers into her quaking center, intensifying what was already too intense. Her hips bucked against him, and she screamed into the pillow.
His orgasm seemed endless, he thought he might pour himself into her forever, that he might not ever stop, not until he was totally drained inside of her, until he was so deeply into her, they would never be separated again. She felt the cold spurt of his seed and whimpered, opening herself for more of him as pleasure racked them both, pleasure which went on and on, until it seemed that the world was reduced to this moment, and that this moment would be their last.
The moment stretched out forever, until even demonic flesh and Slayer endurance were pushed beyond their limits. Buffy collapsed beneath him, and he followed her down. He lay over her, loving the feel of her warm softness pillowing him. Buffy was dazed, nearly unconscious from a surfeit of rapture. He was still inside her, though no longer rampant. After a few minutes, what had been delicious, wanton pleasure began to be discomfort and pain. As if he sensed this, he withdrew, and lifted his weight away from her, then turned and pulled her into his arms., drawing the bedcovers over her trembling body.
Sighing, she burrowed into him, letting him hold her and keep her warm, letting him rain slow kisses over her temple and her hair. When he was like this, generous because she had pleased him, it was so easy to delude herself that she was safe, cherished in Angel's arms. Oh, Angelus cherished her, she no longer doubted that. But she knew she was anything but safe. And that her danger was growing.
No longer from him, alone. The true danger, she finally acknowledged, was in her own treacherous heart.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Silken Cage: Journey