“They live, Buffy, so long as you freely stay with me. In my bed, in my arms, as my willing Goddess, my Eternal Queen. Never refuse me, my love, for they’ll be the ones to suffer.” 

Buffy stared at him, silently, for several interminable minutes. Never refuse him, never refuse him. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him, but that wasn’t the point. She wanted Angelus almost as much as she wanted Angel (I miss you so much, Angel), but she could never give in. She wouldn’t give in… 

Giving into Angelus meant he won, and Buffy couldn’t allow that. But she couldn’t allow her family to die, either. 

She may have failed in saving the world, but she wouldn’t fail them as well. She couldn’t, she’d put them all through too much as it was (You know why I killed the Calendar bitch). No, she couldn’t fail them any more than she already had. Which meant giving into Angelus, following his rules, obeying his every whim. It was going to destroy her, Buffy thought, but at least everyone else would live. 

That was what she’d focused on, that was what she’d picture. Not the way Angelus’ cool body felt against hers, not the way his hands sparked something within her that felt magickal and insanely addicting at the same time. Not the way his kisses felt, the way her body just fit with his. 

Lowering her to the bed, Angelus followed her down, covering her body with his, pressing her into the mattress as his mouth found hers again. (Never refuse him.) Slowly, Buffy opened her mouth to his tongue, earning a growl of approval from Angelus who was patiently licking her closed lips, waiting for just that. She lay there, letting his tongue sweep the insides of her mouth, as her brain tried hard, so hard, to figure it all out. 

Thought was impossible, however, and Buffy gave up on that. She couldn’t think, not with Angelus’ hands exploring her body, molding her breasts through the dress, his erection cradled between thighs she didn’t remember opening to him. She couldn’t think past ‘I can’t let them die,’ and didn’t want to, afraid of what else she’d realize if she did. 

(You’re mine, lover, body, soul, blood, and heart.) 

Buffy was desperately afraid that she was. 

A tear leaked out of her closed eyes. 

Angelus moved from the neck he was tasting, to her cheek, kissing that tear and all the others that fell, away, savoring the sorrow, the helplessness, the anger, and yes, even the desire, in those tears. 

Smiling, he kissed her again, murmuring, “So beautiful,” and Buffy wasn’t sure if he meant her or her emotions, her tears. 

His hands lifted her from the bed, unzipping the dress and letting it fall to the floor in a forgotten heap. Drusilla insisted on no underwear, and while Buffy was decidedly uncomfortable with that, she hadn’t put up a fight. What did she care if she wore a bra and panties or not? If her legs were covered by the sheerest silk stockings? Buffy didn’t, though now she wished she’d insisted on some covering…she was bare before her greatest enemy (dearest lover), open to his gaze, his touch, his body, and she felt more vulnerable than she did fighting a gang of vamps with only one stake. 

Those cool lips she loved on Angel, and refused to admit her fascination with on Angelus, trailed down her throat, suckling on her pounding pulse. In a move Buffy was unaware of doing, her neck arched, allowing him greater access to her skin. Still, the tears came, and still, Buffy did nothing to stop him. Her body heated under his, craving the feel of him, the completion he could bring her. 

His blunt teeth scraped over her hardening nipples, and Buffy gasped, her hands tightening in the sheets to prevent her from reaching out to him, to prevent her from holding him closer. But she couldn’t prevent her body from arching further into his touch, her stomach rubbing against the softness of his shirt, her inner thighs feeling the soft leather of his pants. Angelus growled his approval again, tasting his way down Buffy’s stomach and to the treasure hidden by her curls. 

Breathing deeply, he looked up at her and smiled at the tears that glistened her cheeks, at the conflict on her face. Want and need battling with anger and revulsion. Nevertheless, Buffy stayed still, willing her body not to respond to Angelus’ expert manipulations. She hadn’t a chance, and they both knew it. 

His tongue found her clit, and Angelus tasted the hidden nerves again and again, smiling as Buffy’s breathing accelerated and her blood pumped in calling to him. Her legs spread wider, and her hands twisted tighter into the sheets, and the tears didn’t stop. Standing, the grin turning predatory when her soft whimper of need echoed around the room at the loss of his body, Angelus stripped. 

Blanketing her again, he thrust into her in one smooth push, a deep sound of male satisfaction rumbled through him at Buffy’s cry. She was still wet, so very hot and wet, for him, all for him. Poised on the very edge of completion, a completion he wasn’t yet sure he’d allow her. Not for the months of denying him, not for the rejection of his gifts, not for driving him crazy with her presence in his mind and (heart) blood. She was his now, totally and completely as it was always meant to be. 

She whimpered again when he hadn’t moved, using all his two hundred and fifty years of patience. And still the tears came. Angelus moved then, not the slowness of her first time (damn Angel for that) but with even, pounding strokes that hitched her breath. This, this was her first time; this was the only first that counted. Because he was there, because anything before him didn’t count, and because after him, no one else would ever, ever touch her. 

Her eyes were screwed closed and her lips opened in voiceless pants, hands still twisted in the sheets, but her body met his. Buffy met him thrust for thrust as if they’d done this a hundred times before, as if her body knew everything about his, and he of hers; and there were no secrets and nothing separating them. 

It was sweet torture, it was exquisite pleasure. It was everything she wanted and nothing she ever admitted to. Buffy couldn’t accept this, it was wrong, and yet…she could not deny it, either. Couldn’t deny the way he made her feel, the way her body responded to his. Was it because of the many centuries of experience Angelus possessed? Or was it him. His body, his touch, his kiss? 

Would this have been the same with Angel? Her darling Angel? Or was it only with Angelus, the demon who held nothing back? Buffy didn’t know. She couldn’t know – she’d killed Angel with her love. This was all she deserved. 

Accepting that, Buffy opened her eyes and looked into Angelus’ swirling ones, the reds and blues mixing with his normal brown. 

Buffy didn’t call out, she didn’t beg or plead or cry his name, but Angelus was a patient demon. He’d waited this long for what he wanted, after all. And he’d have that from her, he’d have her screaming his name, (there is no more Angel; your boyfriend is dead, baby) begging him for more, pleading with him to make her climax. 

Oh, the things he’d teach her; Angelus could barely wait. 

And he’d have it because Buffy was his, no matter what she thought. Her body already knew it, her blood called to him in the sweetest, most provocative song Angelus had ever heard. Oh, yes, his slayer goddess was already his. But he’d have such joy in drilling that point home again and again. 

His own orgasm was approaching, and Angelus didn’t wonder where his vaulted patience went. With Buffy, it seemed to desert him at every turn. And still he was undecided on whether to allow her to come or not. He had just decided no, she needed to learn her place, needed to learn who was in charge – him – when Buffy opened her eyes. 

Large wet pools of green looked right into his demonic eyes, swirls of colors that weren’t there before, and she didn’t flinch. Instead, she silently wrapped her legs higher and tighter around his slim waist, drawing him deeper into her. She hadn’t uttered a word, but Angelus didn’t need her verbal conformation, anyway. The tears that hadn’t abated said everything.

Kissing her again, smiling around fangs when she met his tongue with her own, Angelus snaked a hand between their bodies, long fingers manipulating her clit in time with his thrusts. The salty tears tasted delicious, filled with passion and need, laced with anger, shame, and hatred. But Buffy didn’t stop. And when she did fall over the edge of orgasm, it was with a silent cry, her entire body bowing upwards into his, all but wrapping around him. 

Angelus let himself go then, mouth going to the side of her neck but fangs not piercing the skin. Not yet, it was too soon. He kissed the soft skin there, sucking hard on it to leave a faint bruise, but not marking her. Not yet, not yet. 

Wanting to collapse on her, wanting simply to revel in the entire experience, Angelus forced his arms to hold himself above Buffy, his eyes slipping back to their dark brown as he watched her. She was beautiful, so very beautiful in her post-orgasmic state, her breathing just now slowing, her skin peppered with perspiration and tears. 

Slowly, slowly she once more opened her eyes and met his. She could still fell him within her, and her body responded; her hips moved against his, unhurriedly, once, twice.

“I agree,” she said, and her hands tightened again in the sheets. She would not touch him, would not hold him, would not give into him more than necessary. More than she already had. All she wanted to do was sleep, but knew she couldn’t – Angelus wouldn’t allow her to, Buffy knew, until she answered him. 

“To what, my love?” His voice was misleadingly soft. When she didn’t answer right away, Angelus reiterated, “You remember the terms, I presume?” Buffy nodded, her eyes staying focused on his, her body held rigidly still. “Any deviation from them, and someone down there dies. There are no second chances. There are no pleas.” 

“Whatever you say goes,” she told him flatly, her eyes and those tears that finally stopped falling but still scented the air telling him what her voice did not. Round one to Angelus. 

“I do everything willingly, no matter what you ask. If you wish me naked, I’m to be so, no matter what; if you wish me at some party, I’ll be there on my best behavior. I’m never to betray you and always to play the perfect…” Buffy wasn’t sure what he wanted her to be. Whore? Play thing? 

Drusilla said something about mummy, but she was nuts. Angelus had told Cordelia that she was his goddess and queen, but Buffy thought that just made Angelus nuts. What was she supposed to be to him? 

“The perfect whatever you want me to be. I do all that, and you let my family and friends live.” Buffy licked her lips and immediately regretted it. She could still taste Angelus there and noted the darkening of his eyes as he followed the movement. “Will I get the chance to see them?” 

“Of course,” he conceded, already hardening within her. Her body wasn’t as still as she might have wished, and Buffy still moved against him in soft little movements. “Once a day, for two hours a day. Only if,” he warned again, already planning to shorten that time gradually, “You’re good. You’re good in bed, you’re good against the wall, you’re good wherever I want you.” His words quickened something inside Buffy, brought forth mental images she’d rather not dwell on, but it was too late, Angelus realized it and smirked down at her. “Remember, lover,” he advised, leaning down to nip her bottom lip, “To be good in all you do for me.” 

Buffy nodded, feeling him within her, hating that her body responded to him. And when he began moving within her, pumping in and out as those disconcerting swirling eyes watched her, Buffy couldn’t stop her body from moving with him. He felt so good, (just like Angel) and knew exactly what to do to her (Angel learned about her sexual reactions from nights spent ‘patrolling’; Angelus learned by stalking her and taunting her these last months) to get the response he wanted. 

Arching into him, holding him close with her thighs wrapped around him, Buffy met his hard, powerful thrusts as her own climax grew. 

Angelus had no intention of allowing her release, determined to tame the wild woman beneath him no matter what. His orgasm rushed through him in one last forceful plunge and he roared aloud. This time slipping from her still primed body before he had a chance to rethink his move (his body shuddered in passion and need as never before when her tight walls clenched around him as she came, and Angelus thought that there was no better place in any world than within her) and she had a chance to protest. Buffy whimpered, a pleading sound Angelus knew he could grow used to. 

“When you learn your place, lover,” he whispered in her ear, breaking the lock her legs had around him, “Then you’ll get your orgasm.” 

“What…?” Buffy had no idea what he was talking about, she did what he’d said, agreed to his terms, and willingly laid there while he…used her. She’d enjoyed it, wanted more of it, and hated that, hated it so much she could hardly admit to it.

“But I agreed!” She said, her body begging for more, for him. Her heart raced, and she wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to explode from the need that coursed through her. He’d barely touched her, and she wanted him more than anything at that moment. Buffy didn’t want to think what would happen when he took the time to seduce her body. 

“I agreed to everything you said!” She cried, already hating herself for the words. For begging with him, for needing him. 

“Yes,” Angelus accepted. “Yes you did, my love. You agreed, and I let you come once for that, did I not?” She glared at him, and he smirked back. The air was scented with the richness of her arousal, beckoning him to continue his game. Her body literally hummed with need, shaking in aborted release; and Angelus could all but taste her frustration. Her willingness to do anything, anything for that release. He couldn’t wait until she did. 

But lessons were not learned that way, and Angelus intended Buffy to learn this lesson well. 

“When you learn to actually participate, Buffy, then we’ll see. Until then, you’ll live in a constantly aroused state.” 

His eyes hardened and his voice cooled, but she could still hear the passion there. It was as if he suddenly realized something and didn’t want her thinking it, too. “If I find out you’ve masturbated, you’ll be punished. If I find out you actually let someone else touch you, they’ll die, one of your dear little friends will die, and you’ll be severely punished. If I find you aren’t completely ready for me when I send for you again, you’ll be punished. Understand?” 

No, no Buffy didn’t. She didn’t understand; she didn’t understand any of it. Sure, a day ago her life sucked, but not to this extent. She wasn’t literally in hell then. The slayer had discovered that it could, indeed, get worse. Still, she nodded her agreement, angry green fire shooting from her eyes as she forced her body to lie perfectly still. She’d do whatever Angelus wanted to ensure her mother and her friends lived; even if she enjoyed everything Angelus did to her. 

(Want/need/passion/lust) flowed through her, but she tried her best to ignore it. 

She would not beg. She would not plead. She would not let Angelus see how he affected her. 

“Understand?” Angelus growled, fisting a hand in her hair and yanking her upwards. Her hands released the sheet, going automatically to his shoulders to steady herself. Her small warm hands gripped his cool muscles, convulsing on his broad shoulders. Smooth legs wrapped around his waist, automatically seeking the completion she knew he could give. She hated that her body begged for his, hated that he made her feel this way and that she hadn’t a choice in it. 

“Yes,” she said as involuntary tears sprung to her eyes from the force of his pulling. “Yes, Angelus,” she said in a stronger voice, all the venom she could muster coating his name. “I understand.” 

Releasing her and letting that same hand pet down her hair in a soothing gesture, Angelus smiled, kissed her once, hard and possessively on the lips, and stood, again breaking free of her, breaking free from the body that still called to his. The music was unbearably erotic, beautiful to the point of otherworldly. But Angelus resisted listening to more of it, choosing instead to let Buffy wallow, for just a little while. 

“Good,” he said and dressed in fresh clothes, leaving without a backwards glance. Before he changed his mind. 

The door closed, and that heavy sound resonated throughout the room causing Buffy to shiver, though she didn’t know why. Curling onto her side, the slayer wrapped herself in the sheet and cried. The combined scent, hers and Angelus, made her cry harder, for it reminded her so very much of her night with Angel. 

This was a betrayal of everything she shared with Angel (everything she killed when she released Angelus). 

Buffy didn’t even move when Drusilla entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed with her, gently stroking her hair and cooing nonsense words to sooth the distraught girl.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Dru!” Angelus called as he left their room, knowing his childe would answer immediately. She did, walking instantly out from one of the many rooms in the mansion. 

“Yes, my Angel?” She asked, smiling up at him in that way she had, all deceptive innocence and hunger. 

“I want you to watch Buffy, she’s not to leave the room until I return. I’m paying a visit to Spike, is there anything you’d like me to tell him?” The grin Angelus sent her was more a baring of teeth than anything else, and Drusilla knew her Sire was anticipating teaching her Spike a lesson. 

She hadn’t made it down to play with the dollies, there were other ones waiting for her, and Dru was sidetracked. The other dollies brought her news of the outside world; news she needed to share with Angelus, and Drusilla knew he’d be angry with her if she didn’t listen to them.

So she forwent her tea party with Miss Edith and the dollies, and did as her daddy wanted. Maybe the slayer wanted to have tea with her and Miss Edith? That would be lovely; it was long past time for the two to meet, anyway. 

“Tell him I understand why he did it, my Angel; you do understand, don’t you?” Dru looked intently into Angelus’ dark eyes, seeing only the brown of the orbs there and not the swirling colors that came with his power. She knew they lurked there, knew those powers were just beneath the surface, but couldn’t see them, not yet, not until it was time. “You understand he wanted his family back, right, daddy? My Spike, he was worried that you’d leave us again.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Dru,” Angelus said but brushed a gentle hand down her hair in a rare sign of affection. “He deliberately went against my orders, behind my back, and tried to destroy me. He put Buffy in danger, and that is unacceptable. Plus, he could have ruined all our plans.” 

“But daddy,” Dru said and stopped with Angelus’ hand fisted in her hair, roughly pulling her head back. “Yes, daddy. I know he did,” she conceded with a sob. “He wants his family back, but he was very foolish in his ways.” 

“Watch Buffy, Dru, I don’t want her wandering alone.” Angelus ordered and leaned down to accept the kiss Dru bestowed on him. She was his favorite childe, he adored her as much as he could another, and yet her touch felt empty next to Buffy’s. 

(Everything paled in comparison to Buffy; she was everything that mattered to him. She was the only thing that mattered to him. Angelus could accept that, but what he couldn’t accept was Buffy’s refusal to submit. To accept that, herself. To accept that she was Angelus’, not that weakling Angel’s. To accept his love and devotion.)

Scowling, Angelus turned and continued down the hallway, intent on teaching Spike a lesson.

Dru frowned at Angelus’ retreating back and went into his room, the scent of Buffy’s tears calling to her. The slayer was curled on her side, weeping her heart out, the beautiful fragrance of sex in the air, and the strong scent of arousal coming from the girl on the bed. 

“Ooh,” Dru smiled, “Daddy didn’t let the slayer finish,” the vampiress murmured, but Buffy didn’t hear her. Walking slowly forward, Drusilla sighed a the ambrosia that lay before her, and wanted a taste of that sweet arousal that clung to the sheets and hung heavy all around. 

But she didn’t, knowing Angelus’ punishments and knowing that they’d both suffer if Dru touched the slayer in that way. Sitting on the bed, Drusilla carefully stroked the blonde hair off Buffy’s face, whispering soft words to her. The tiny girl seemed inconsolable, so Drusilla lay on the bed and wrapped her arms around Buffy, drawing her warm and aroused body closer, and cooing words of comfort to her. 

“Why?” Buffy asked eventually. 

“Why what, my little star?” Dru asked. 

“Why is Angelus doing this? What does he want from me? Why are you being nice to me? Why aren’t you killing me?” This sudden change in Drusilla’s behavior was too much on top of everything else; the world going to hell – literally, Angelus’ giving her her friend’s lives in exchange for her cooperation, Dru not killing her but soothing her, and Buffy couldn’t deal. 

“You’re my bright star,” Dru said with a smile at the ceiling. “Daddy wants you, he’s always wanted you, and I know you, my little slayer. I know what’s in your heart, what it calls for, what it needs.”

Buffy turned around, just then realizing that she was in Drusilla’s arms. She scooted away, not taking her eyes off the crazy woman, and noted the look of disappointment on Dru’s face when she moved out of her arms. Drusilla just stayed there, however, saying nothing, doing nothing, showing nothing but that beatific smile on her pretty porcelain face. 

“What do you know about me?” Buffy murmured, “What could you possibly know about me?” 

“I know, my shining star,” Dru said, and didn’t elaborate, simply leaned towards Buffy and took a deep breath next to the slayer’s neck, where Angelus’ mark would soon lay. Her smile never abated. 

“I know what you were, and what you are; I know what you want and need and can’t bring yourself to say. I know that you’re scared, and that’s simply delicious, and I know that you feel, oh, you feel so much! You love and hate, and you want, and feel you can’t have, but you can, my pet, you can because the world has changed for you and daddy made it so.”

Drusilla stood then, and changed her tone, gone was the insightful words of the seer, and in her place was the happy, willing to please voice of the childe Angelus created more than a century ago. “Let’s get you dressed again, my darling, and something to eat, okay?” 

The sudden change threw Buffy, and the slayer found herself nodding in agreement before Drusilla’s words registered. What twisted and bizarre world had she awoken in, Buffy wondered as Dru picked up the crumpled dress and shook her head in what looked to be very real distress, tossing it over a chair in the far corner with unerring accuracy from her position by the bed. Dru went to the closet, one that Buffy only now noticed was there and absolutely…huge, and picked out another dress. 

“I’ll ring for dinner, my little slayer,” Dru said as she went to do just that, and then took Buffy’s hand and lifted her off the bed in one smooth motion. 

“I think I’m in the rabbit hole,” Buffy mumbled and knew, in that moment, just what Alice was feeling. Though maybe if she had whatever Carroll was smoking when he wrote the book that would do her better.

”No, no, my beautiful little slayer,” Dru said vehemently as she tore the sheet off Buffy, openly looking at the naked woman, appreciation clear in her eyes. “Angelus made this for you, you are the reason this wonderful new world was created!” 

The news did nothing to soothe Buffy, and when the knock on the door came moments later, announcing the arrival of her food, Buffy wondered if her stomach could handle it.

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