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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
"Mai, my dear, I trust you've made suitable arrangements?" Angelus said, settling comfortably into the limo.
The woman smiled and inclined her head. She extended one flawlessly manicured hand to her companion, who hastened to put a champagne flute into it. The liquid filling the glass was not champagne.
"I believe they will find favor with you, my lord," she said as she handed Angelus the glass.
"Medieval much?" Buffy said lightly, eyeing the glass disdainfully before flashing Mai a brittle smile. "What's with the 'my lord' jazz?"
"I told you before Buff, I wasn't born a peasant," Angelus drawled.
"Such an outspoken child," Mai said with deadly sweetness. "It is easy to see why my lord is amused."
"Buffy is…most amusing," Angelus agreed. He reached for Buffy's beringed hand and lifted it to his lips. He had done it not with his right hand, but with his own left hand. Buffy shifted uneasily, aware that he was deliberately drawing attention to their claddagh. She could feel Mai's eyes–large, liquid, and black as unforgiven sin–on her.
"So it would seem," Mai said slowly. Her smooth brow was marred by the faintest suggestion of a frown. Buffy knew something was going on which she did not understand. But she did know this: the woman sitting opposite her wasn't a woman, although she was decidedly female. Neither was she a vampire, and if she were a demon, it was of a breed that could pass for human. Whatever she was, something radiated from her like heat off a grill; something that had all of Buffy's Slayer senses, compromised though they were by the drugs Angelus had been feeding her, screaming in alarm.
Angelus could feel the tension in the girl beside him. It wasn't surprising, really. Lamia, half-serpent blood-drinkers remembered principally in certain obscure myths and the poetry of the Romantic Movement, were the very breed of demon from which vampires had been created. It had been a Lamia who had mingled his blood with that of a human and created the first of the living dead just as the demons abandoned this dimension to the human interlopers uncounted millennia before. Angelus would bet that Buffy's Slayer senses were reacting to Mai almost as strongly as they would to a true vampire, and that she was going crazy not knowing why. Buffy could hardly have encountered this breed of demon before. They rarely walked the earth anymore, preferring their status as rulers in the demon dimension of Hell. Mai was, however, one of the youngest of her kind--little older than Angelus himself--and still a bit restless. He would have to explain things to Buffy, later. For now, he just enjoyed keeping her off balance. Smiling, he raised the champagne glass to his lips and took a deep draught.
As soon as it hit his tongue, he understood that he was in trouble. Mai not only owed him a personal debt, she accorded him the respect he had earned as the Scourge of Europe. She would never, ever offer him blood that wasn't of the first quality, freshly obtained. If he spat out the foulness in his mouth, she would be deeply insulted. Debt or no, that would create the kind of war he had neither the time nor the inclination to wage at the moment. He swallowed the blood without comment, masking his distaste, and smiling politely. Mai smiled as politely in return, but something flickered in her eyes. He knew he had not fooled her, but she would approach him privately and he would explain. If he did not shame her by finding fault with her gift before others, Mai would take no insult. And with her occult knowledge, she might be able to help him understand why he was suddenly unable to tolerate the very blood that sustained him. A rather daunting possibility was occurring to him and it would be useful to have someone of her expertise with whom to discuss the ramifications.
They had driven away from the docks and out of the more populated areas, and were now on a broad highway with towering lava cliffs on one side and a twenty foot drop to the ocean on the other. The views out of both windows were magnificent. Buffy was too nervous to enjoy either of them.
"My lord specified privacy, and I think you will be pleased with what I've arranged," Mai said as they drove into the deepening twilight. "A cottage on a secluded estate. Very popular as a honeymoon retreat, in fact."
"Suitable for those who don't wish to be disturbed," Angelus chuckled.
"Precisely," Mai beamed. "There is access to a private beach, and the staff are most discrete. You will not even see them. And I myself will perform the other…service…you requested."
"Servants of the invisible-–and silent–variety will be much appreciated. But you do me too much honor by taking on my service yourself." Buffy would have rolled her eyes in exasperation at this convoluted conversation with its archaic formalities were her Slayer senses not on overload. As it was, she was left to wonder uneasily what service Angelus could require which the creature before her seemed willing to perform.
"I have not forgotten the debt between us, my lord. I would perform the service for that, alone. Beyond that, you are the Scourge of Europe and have done honor to our house and line," Mai said. "It is my privilege to earn your appreciation," she concluded with a slight bow of her head. These oblique comment gave Buffy quite a bit more to wonder about, but all speculation was quickly pushed to the back of her mind as they exited the highway and, shortly thereafter, turned down a private access road.
Lush jungle overhung the road, trailing vines and palm fronds brushing lightly against the car windows like a lover's tentative caress. They drove deeper into the verdant growth, so surrounded by burgeoning greenery it seemed as if they were in a primal paradise that had never known the trespass of Man. A silly fancy, as the clearing they finally reached proved.
Man had more than trespassed here: he had conquered and suborned. Save for a few shading palm trees, the jungle had been carefully cut back from a wooden cottage, leaving vast stretches of grass and a number of aesthetically placed ornamental shrubs to form a lawn. A large pond, its surface thick with lotus plants, had been dug in the center of the lawn. As if that weren't enough, a river flowed along the far end of the property, and Buffy could see a small motorboat tied up at a dock. The cottage itself was a spacious two stories. The roof extended well over the veranda surrounding the second floor, shading it and, incidentally, ensuring that no direct sunlight would inconvenience Angelus during their stay. High noon on that veranda, Buffy realized, would be as safe for him as a midnight tryst. All in all, the place was the sort of lushly romantic site honeymooning couples dreamed of; a private Shangri La secluded away from the world. Angelus, she knew, would take added pleasure in perverting a lover's retreat into her luxurious prison.
"Mai, you have chosen very well," he said now.
Mai smiled. "My lord's pleasure is my own," she said. Buffy grit her teeth.
The chauffeur followed the road around the edge of the lawn and into a carport on the side of the cottage. Mai and her minion got out of the car along with Buffy and Angelus. Buffy watched as Mai exited the limo with a kind of boneless grace that confirmed Buffy in her opinion that, whatever Mai was, she wasn't human.
"There are apartments on the first floor," Mai said. "Mr. Sung, Robert and I shall take those. We will be available should you need us. The second floor is entirely self-contained. You should have all the privacy you require." She handed Angelus a set of keys.
"Perfect," Angelus said, taking them. "If the rest proves to be all you say, you may regard your debt to me as discharged."
Mai's eyes widened slightly. "My lord is generous."
"My lord is well pleased," Angelus corrected. She acknowledged the difference with a slight inclination of her head, then walked to the first floor entrance with Mr. Sung, while Robert, the chauffeur, collected the bags from the car. Angelus led Buffy toward a flight of stairs that ran up the side of the cottage onto the veranda at the second floor. Robert followed behind. Angelus used the keys to unlock the door of the cottage. He pushed it wide but did not cross the threshold. Once again he startled Buffy by turning and lifting her into his arms, carrying her into the cottage. As before, her arms went instinctively around his neck. The similarity of his action to the traditional role of a bridegroom was not lost on Buffy. The newly placed claddagh fairly burned on her finger. Robert set their bags just inside the door, then wordlessly pulled it shut, leaving them alone.
They were in a cozy living room with a wicker couch and two wicker chairs arranged around a glass-topped coffee table. To their left was a kitchenette, with a full sized refrigerator, stove, and sink. Ahead of them was a short hallway terminating in the open door of a bathroom. Other doorways along the hallway led to bedrooms and closets. The furnishings were casual and comfortable rather than formal and elegant. Again, something wonderfully suited for honeymooners.
She was still in Angelus' arms, still being held as tenderly as a new bride by her adoring groom…held exactly the way Angel would have held her if he had been allowed to make her his. Taken together with being forced to wear Angelus' claddagh and the honeymoon-like atmosphere of the cottage itself, Buffy found herself overwhelmed with grief and anger. Angelus might want her, and he might even love her…as much as a demon was capable of love. But that was not and could never be anything more than a pale and wretched imitation of the unbounded, deathless love Angel had felt for her. And what Angelus had done--forcing her to wear the ring, bringing her here, carrying her over the threshold--was a mockery of the one pure, precious thing in Buffy's life.
"How very lover-like," she said scathingly.
"Well, Buff, that is what we are, isn't it?" His smile as he gazed down at her was gloating. She hated it, hated how sure he was of her, of how right he was to be so sure. Because the damnable thing was, though he was not Angel, it felt so right to be in his arms. She ought to be thinking of escape, of how to turn their isolation to her advantage. Instead, she was keenly aware of how tenderly he held her, how secure she felt in his embrace…the embrace of a murdering, soulless fiend. She had to fight this, fight his seduction and her own willingness to be seduced. His very confidence that she was his provoked her always-independent spirit to rebellion.
"Lovers?" she said bitterly, meeting his gaze. "No, Angelus. We're not lovers. I'm your prisoner, and I have to do what you want. That's all."
Angelus was pleased with her response. Her spirit was one of the things he loved most about her, making the challenge of conquering her so much sweeter. That sweetness beckoned now. One eyebrow raised sardonically, and he chuckled.
"Really? We're not lovers?" he drawled as he strode down the hallway to the bedroom, heading for the king-size bed. "Keep telling yourself that, little girl," he said as he lowered her to the mattress. He followed her down, his lips capturing hers in a demanding kiss, his body pressed to hers, pinning her to the bed. Her body reacted, knowing its mate. She was soon returning his kisses as heat seared through her, and she felt herself growing wet for him, needing him closer, without the barrier of clothing between them, fight as she would against the desire coursing through her blood like liquid fire. Angelus delighted in her reaction, loving the way her mouth opened for him, her tongue darting out to mate with his. He loved the feel of her body beneath his, the taste of her on his mouth, the scent of her arousal perfuming the air. He even loved the way she hated loving him. He couldn't resist taunting her with that, now.
"We're not lovers," he told her between kisses. "When you are begging me to come into you," he said as he moved from her lips to her jaw to the lovely, tempting column of her neck," when you are wrapping your legs around my waist," he kissed the rapidly beating pulse at her throat, "and screaming my name as you come on my cock," he nipped lightly at her shoulder, "keep telling yourself that you are only doing what I want you to do, and not what you want at all." He pressed more kisses to the tops of her breasts, above the neckline of her dress, making her gasp softly in reaction.
Buffy realized she was close to letting him win, close to giving in to the need he created so effortlessly in her traitorous flesh. She called upon all her willpower to renew her struggle, tearing her mouth away from his demanding kisses, using his surprise to push him away and roll free, scrambling off the bed, and standing to look down at him.
"No," she said. "No. This has to stop." Angelus laughed, rolling onto his back and crossing his arms beneath his head, looking up at her, totally relaxed and at his ease. His pose almost dared her to make a run for the door…which she did.
He caught her before she had gone a dozen steps, hauling her back into his arms, turning her to face him.
"This will never stop, Buff," Angelus growled, nipping at her lips. "You belong to me. You always have. You always will."
"I don't," she said defiantly, pulling away from his kisses. "I belong to myself. I never belonged to you." To give point to her words, she tore at her claddagh intending to throw the ring in his face.
It wouldn’t budge.
Buffy whimpered, tugging harder.
"Give it up, lover," Angelus said. He released her, and dropped into a chair near the dresser, a few feet away from where she stood. "Did you think I would overlook something like that when I had your ring made?"
"What…what do you mean?" she said, still trying to pull the bit of metal from her hand.
"I mean that the ring you are wearing is for keeps. It won't come off as long as you belong to me. Which will be always. You and I could be dead and dust and that ring would surround the ashes, my love. I put it on you. Only I can ever take it off. And I never will."
She could feel the truth of his words, and she hated the gloating, possessive way he looked at her.
"You think that matters to me?" she said, giving up the useless attempt to remove the ensorcelled ring. "It doesn't change anything, Angelus. You could force me to wear a thousand rings and it would be meaningless. Because one thing would still be true: I gave myself to Angel. You had to take me by force."
She expected her words to enrage him. She was not prepared for his laughter. Buffy stood staring uncertainly down at him, bewildered by his humor.
"Oh, lover, you never did understand. You keep telling yourself that Angel and I have nothing to do with each other, even though we share the same body."
"That's exactly how it is," she retorted. "Angel wasn't born a demon--"
"And he wasn't born a saint," Angelus snarled before she could go on. His patience was wearing thin, and he began to seem less amused. He stood back up, stalking over toward her. "You're so damned innocent, Buff. You never could see the evil inside men for the good you wanted to be there. Even with me. Especially with me. You would never let yourself believe that the blood on Angel's hands had anything to do with his own inclinations. You separated demon from man like pepper from salt. Well, here's a clue, precious: Angel wanted everything I wanted. He wanted to do the things I did. He was just too weak to take what he desired for himself."
Buffy regarded him coldly, refusing to back away from him, even though he was looming over her.
"Nothing you can say will make me believe that."
"And if what you believe mattered, maybe I'd care. But it doesn't. Because it can't change the truth." Angelus calmed again, smirking down at her. "Haven't you yet realized it, lover? You were never meant for Angel, at all."
"What are you talking about?" she said, truly amazed that he could say such a thing. For some reason, his utter calmness and assurance frightened her, and she wondered if she really wanted to hear what he was going to say. Angelus noted the uncertainty in her expression, and relished it. His poor darling was going to be utterly crushed by what he had to tell her…and she was always so delectably vulnerable, so yielding and pliant when she was hurting. Oh, yes, this would be sweet.
"You said it yourself," he taunted her, "What you wanted from him, you could never have. You can only have it with me, and you will have it, endlessly."
"What would you know about what I wanted from him?" she demanded bitterly. "What could you possibly understand about it?"
"Everything, my love. Everything. Haven't you ever wondered about the inevitability of it all?" he said, circling around her, bending to whisper in her ear from behind. "The sheer poetry of it? He took one look at you and fell in love." He continued to circle her, stalking her. "Okay. That happens. But I saw you through his eyes at the same moment, and I wanted you as well."
"No," she whispered, but she was trembling.
"He decided to make something of himself, to become someone, for your sake. And I was there, drawn in, wanting you every bit as badly as he did." He was behind her again, his words a sibilant whisper in her ear once more. "That first time he kissed you? When the demon slipped free? What do you think that was but my own hunger, pushing to the surface and breaking his hold on me?"
"That isn't true," she said, as he stood in front of her once again, but he knew it was more to convince herself than to convince him. He reached for her, and she resisted, but he pulled her struggling body close and dipped his head to capture her mouth in another possessive kiss.
"Mine, Buffy, you were always mine," Angelus insisted between demanding kisses, kisses that were sapping her will to defy him. "He fought against his desire, knowing he was wrong for you, but I encouraged that desire every step of the way. So, you see, my love, he would never have been with you at all if I hadn't pushed him into your oh-so-willing arms."
"Liar," she said, but tears coursed down her cheeks and he knew that she felt the truth in his words.
"Let's not forget the exquisite irony of it all; you a Slayer, by your intrinsic nature destined to destroy vampires, and Angel the vampire, by his intrinsic nature destined to destroy all humans, and most especially Slayers. But you fell in love…."
"Don't," she choked, his lips trailing fire along her flesh even as his terrible words burned into her wounded heart.
"It was inevitable. From the moment he saw you, it could only end one way. And from the moment you saw him, fell for him, you could only let it end that way. And so, my love–my love–it was inevitable that you would set me free."
"No," Buffy denied, weeping openly, shaking her head as if she could shake off his words. With a smirk, he slid his arms around her and lifted her once more into his arms.
"When he stood on the docks that night, and placed the claddagh on your finger, I was triumphant, because I knew that sooner or later he would take you…and that I would have you, then." He walked the few steps to the bed and lowered her once more to the mattress. "Because, my darling girl, it was indeed a wedding ring and you married yourself to us, to man and demon who are, whatever you believe, different parts of one whole. When you exchanged claddagh with Angel, you became mine, forever."
Forever. The word echoed in her mind as Angelus once more claimed her mouth, forcing her own mouth open until his tongue swept inside, drawing hers out to duel with his. He kissed her until she was breathless, kissed her until she had to pull away to gasp in air. And then he continued his tormenting words.
"Mine, Buffy. Inevitably. From the moment you met him. Sooner or later, you would set me free, sending him back to the aether where he belonged. And you did. Not once, but twice. Because you were never meant to belong to that weak, guilt-ridden fool. You were meant for me, made for me, born for me…mine." The last word was snarled out, and he released her at last, but only so that he could set his hands into the neckline of her dress and rip the cotton apart, baring her body to his hungry gaze, his devouring kisses, his possessive touch.
Buffy was devastated. His words were frightening, appalling. The concept that her love for Angel was in some way predestined only so that she would belong to Angelus shocked her deeply…
…because part of her could so easily believe it to be true.
Overwhelmed by what he had said, Buffy didn't have the strength or the will to fight him. She stopped her useless struggles. If she didn't fight him, she didn't have to think, didn't have to hurt….
She was every bit as pliant as he had hoped his revelations would make her, and he wanted her more than ever. Angelus sat up, and quickly pulled the remnants of her dress free of her body. Her undergarments went the way of the dress, torn into scraps in his impatience to bare her flesh, his own clothing faring little better. In scant moments they were naked, and he savored the warmth of her, the softness of her as he covered her, entering her in one sure thrust.
She was weeping, but she was wet for him, gasping softly and arching up into him as he slid home, her arms twining about his neck. He kissed her ruthlessly, hungry for her as if he had not sated his need less than two hours before, as if he had not slaked his thirst for her repeatedly in the week since he had captured her back in Sunnydale.
Because that hunger could never be sated, that thirst could never be slaked. The fire that burned inside him for Buffy Summers would never be quenched. And he would never let her escape her own hunger and thirst, her own unquenchable need.
He plundered her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside to caress and conquer, to duel with her own tongue. His hands slid along the silk of her skin, awakening the sensitive nerves there, making her tremble and arch into him. He growled his satisfaction against her mouth, as he began a slow, steady thrust inside her, burying himself within her delicious wet heat, angling to reach the places inside her that were most responsive, most tender and vulnerable to his touch.
He was filling her, making her complete in the way only he could, making her body sing in rapture despite her will. Proving to her that whatever had been between herself and Angel, there was some truth to Angelus' claim that she was his.
At this moment, being his was all she wanted to be.
She had loved Angel for so long, for nearly three years. And they had only had that one night, a night for which they had paid in so much pain and torment. She had spent three years longing for him, unable to have him. Instead, she had the demon, wearing his face, his body, and seemingly, his love for her. Not Angel. But achingly close. And in the past week, he had claimed her body in all the ways she had desperately longed for Angel to do.
The way he was claiming her right now. Buffy yielded to his demanding kisses, rose to his possessive touch, answered the thrust of his hips and the demands of his body with the demands of her own.
The truth was, she was starved for him, years of want unsated by a mere week of sustenance. Moaning softly, Buffy gave in to her longing.
Her sugared walls fluttered around him, an intimate caress. Angelus hissed in pleasure. She was so seductively tight, despite how thoroughly he had claimed her over the past week. And she was so enchantingly yielding. He lifted himself a bit, insinuating his hand between their bodies, stroking gently in her nest of curls, teasing the tiny bit of flesh that ruled her passions. She gave a soft cry against his mouth. Pleased, he drove harder into her aching core, touching the mouth of her womb.
Buffy writhed against him, raising her knees to take him deeper yet. Growling, he shifted slightly, grabbing a pillow to lift her hips to an even more convenient angle before he resumed stroking her swollen clit with his knowing fingers. He could feel in her quivering flesh how close she was to the edge. She broke their kiss, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she approached her crisis. Just a little further….
Buffy screamed, her body surging against his, the tight nipples of her soft breasts burning into his own chill flesh, her sweet sheath clenching around his manhood. Triumphant, he pressed harder, drawing out her pleasure, keeping her at the peak as long as she could endure.
Buffy clutched Angelus to her, needing him to anchor her in the rocking waves of sheer sensation that crashed over her. Cool skin soothed her heated flesh, skilled hands eased her burning, a demanding mouth pressed fiery kisses to her eyes and cheeks and jaw, and a strong body rocked her, held her, made her his own.
When the last bit of ecstasy had been drawn from her melting body, and the world that had been spinning out of control slowed and steadied around her, she realized that he was still hard inside her, still moving slowly, easily.
And fires that had just been banked stirred to life once more.
Buffy sobbed, feeling him go unbearably deeper inside her, feeling herself open impossibly more. It was almost too much, pleasure almost becoming pain. She became frenzied, her nails scraping down his back, drawing blood. He growled, kissing her brutally, kneeling up to change the angle of his penetration into her. Angelus grabbed her legs, wrapping them around his waist, lifting her hips further, as he sped up his thrusts, driving into her with almost brutal power.
She was so damned tight and so damned responsive, meeting his passions, fueling them. He loved the way she fought him, loved the way she yielded, loved her human heat and tender passions. He lost himself inside her, in the fires of her flesh, the wonders of her body, her silken sheath fluttering around him as he forced her closer to the edge one more time, stroking up inside her to the most delicate, sensitive, responsive secrets her body held, judging by her breathy cries, her tiniest movements, what felt good to her and what felt infinitely better. He shifted slightly, and she clenched around him like a vise, and he almost purred in masculine satisfaction at her passionate reaction. Oh, yes. That was the good spot. He drew out and slammed back hard, making her hips buck and her body writhe against him. Pleased, he did it again.
So deep, so hard, so full. She keened his name, over and over, climax once more sweeping over her, making her lose control. This time, he snarled and vamped out, then buried his head in her throat, taking her blood as she hit her peak, his own climax hitting with the rush of her hot, sweet blood on his tongue and the uncontrolled, rhythmic clasping of her hot, sweet core on his cock. Angelus pumped into her, his cold seed spurting into her as his own pleasure swept through him. He slammed into her ruthlessly, repeatedly, both of them caught up in rapture, until even his vampiric strength reached its limits, and he collapsed over her shaking, exhausted body.
A moment later, Angelus gently retracted his fangs, delicately licking away the last trickles of blood. She regarded him calmly. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were huge gray pools of sorrow, and he knew that she had taken what he had told her to heart. He smiled, satisfied, and dropped a kiss on her brow, before he fussed with the coverlet, drawing it out from beneath their sweat-dampened bodies, to cover them both. He turned on his side and pulled Buffy into his arms, smiling as she sighed and burrowed into his chest.
"You belong to me, my love," he said softly, stroking her hair gently and letting his hand run soothingly along her back. She didn't protest either his deeds or his words. His smile widened, triumph filling him.
"Forever," he added. "That's the whole point."
- 8
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The Silken Cage: Journey