Taking a deep breath, Buffy entered the dungeons. It’d been a while – though she wasn’t sure just how long – since her last visit. But the dreams, and lack of sleep from them, prevented her from doing much of anything.
(You went to those balls. You studied what Angelus wanted you to. You walked with Drusilla. You made love with Angelus – you screwed him into the bed, fucked him blind, mated with him.)
The places his fangs had grazed her, those thin lines of drawn blood, where he’d bitten her – her breast, belly, thighs – tingled with need as she thought of what she’d done to and with Angelus. To her shame, and defiant need, Buffy wanted him again. This time, she had to ask herself…was it so terrible to want him? To need him? To admit that she did?
Nodding to the guard to open the door, Buffy squared her shoulders and entered. It was exactly as she remembered. Why she thought it’d be different, Buffy didn’t know, but it wasn’t. No one had moved, obviously, no one changed, nothing was…different.
Or maybe she was.
“Buffy!” Willow spotted her first and surged to her feet, all smiles and relief to see her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the slayer nodded, reassured to see happiness and not condemnation in her friend’s voice. In her eyes…eyes. They were darker than Buffy remembered, but that could have been the lack of light in the basement. But no, the power that she’d noticed on her first visit still streamed off Willow in waves of itchy need. What had happened to her friend?
“Been…a bit busy,” Buffy shrugged, knowing a lame excuse when she heard one. And that one was just pathetic.
“Yeah, screwing your demon.” Buffy looked at Xander, saw how he wasn’t looking at her but at the boring ceiling, and masked her hurt. She was, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she did what she had to do in order to see to their continued good health. Surely Giles explained that to them? Or Spike, he had to know what was truly happening.
But then why should they believe Spike, if he really had said anything. And Giles…? Buffy turned to him, but he refused to meet her eyes. Resentment bubbled over.
He was still alive, wasn’t he? They all were, weren’t they? Sure, locked away, but they were alive, fed, bathed, clothed. They had things to read and people to talk to – which was something Buffy would give anything to have. But all she had was Angelus, and he would never understand her need to appease her friends, to sacrifice herself for them, even if he capitalized on it.
And Drusilla, but that was a friendship – or whatever it was – that Buffy didn’t want to ponder. Too many strange emotions there, too many nuances she didn’t really understand.
Walking closer to Willow, Buffy shook those feelings away. They’d do her no good (Do you think killing yourself would make them love you more?)
“How’ve you been?” she asked for lack of anything else to say.
Giving her friend an odd look, Willow shrugged. “Thanks for the books, they…weren’t interesting, but anything’s better than sitting here all day bored and annoyed.”
“What’s annoying you?” Buffy asked, moving closer to the bars as their voices dropped.
“Not being able to do anything, Buffy!” Willow said, exasperated. “There’s a whole war out there that we’re not fighting; we’re just sitting here, prisoners.”
“You’re alive prisoners,” she reminded her quietly. “And the war you think is going on out there?” Buffy shook her head. “There is no war. Angelus…”
“What? Took everything over? Yeah, we got that.”
“I don’t think you do,” but her voice was still low. She was simply too tired to argue this point. Again. And again and again and again. It was old and rehashed, and there were no more arguments Buffy had.
“There is no war. It’s over, Will. I’m sure there are still those fighting, but the demons have overrun the planet. Can’t you feel them?” Buffy could, and whenever she focused on that, whenever she listened to the (demon/thing/mother/sister) inside her, she felt them all. All.
“What about you?” Willow lowered her voice again, not answering Buffy’s question about feeling them. She could; they crawled over her like ants, itchy and meant to be killed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m seeing,” Buffy sighed, moving away from her friend to her parents. “That you’re still alive to make this worthwhile.”
Willow wanted to argue more, Buffy could see that, but instead she walked back to the bars separating her and Oz’s cages. “Giles didn’t tell you?” she suddenly asked. “What it’s like out there?” But she knew he hadn’t, so decided to lay it all out and tell them exactly as it was. Whatever her former watcher said or didn’t, she wasn’t going to lie.
“There’s nothing left. Nothing. Only that which Angelus lets exist continues to. There’s nothing worth fighting for. Not anymore. Or,” and she smiled, sad, resigned, maybe a little fearful. “Not much, anyway.”
“There’s always something worth fighting for,” Willow insisted.
Nodding, Buffy said, “Something.” Turning to her dad, she
smiled at her parents. “Hey mom. Dad. How are you?”
~~~~~~~~~~
The visit hadn’t gone well, Buffy reflected as she walked along the torch lit
corridors, her guards surrounding her. In fact, if it had gone any worse…she
didn’t have an analogy to finish that thought, Buffy realized. Because hell was
here, the apocalypse had come and stayed, and it was so damn depressing, it was
a wonder she still woke in the mornings.
This was getting ridiculous. She was morose and sad all the time (except when you’re with Angelus. Then you’re fire to his cool, you’re heat to his passion, wanting, needing, taking.) The friends who didn’t want to associate with her anymore because of what she was doing for them. Parents who didn’t understand. A watcher who wouldn’t even meet her eyes.
And he should know best. He saw her, Buffy knew he had – at her worst, caught in the grip of the nightmares, terrified and clinging. Clinging…to Angelus. Was that it? Had he misinterpreted it?
Misinterpreted what, though? Her need of him? His response to her? His kindness, gentleness? Loving affection?
Maybe he hadn’t misinterpreted anything, but knew. And still didn’t like what he saw. That was probably it, Buffy admitted as she entered their suites, leaving the guards at the door. They knew better than to enter, would never even think of it.
Tugging her dress over her head, Buffy flung it onto a chair and her shoes – she was getting used to the heels, though sometimes the points pinched – into a corner close to her closet. So much for slayer aim. Eh, she was too tired now, anyway, to care.
Flopping face first onto the bed, clad only in barely-there panties, Buffy snuggled down. She hadn’t caught up on all her sleep and was still exhausted. In denial and exhausted. The demon (God, why? Why was there a demon within her? Why did You allow that? Why did You allow one of Your Children to be violated like this?) howled within her, waiting for its chance to be heard.
“I thought you were visiting with your friends, lover,” his smooth voice trailed over her like a caress all its own.
Yes, yes she was. And she’d cut it short of her own accord because of her uncomfortableness and the simple fact that she needed sleep. Ignoring the first reason, Buffy told him the second. “Tired, still,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at him.
“Is it possible for one of them to walk with me in the gardens?” Where the request came from, Buffy didn’t know, but now that she’d said it, desperately wanted it to happen. “One at a time, for a little while, that’s all. Drusilla’s always there, plus all those guards.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, cool hands trailing moving down her spine, over waist, hip, thighs. He removed her panties, a slight growl escaping at her covered treasures. “I’ll think about it.”
“And Willow and Oz,” she added, arching into his touch. “Can they share a…a-a cage?”
“Why do you ask, my darling?” His voice was muffled on her shoulder, lips kissing a soft path along her arm.
“Don’t know,” she admitted with a gasp. “Can they?”
He barely paused before answering. “Of course, love. Anything you desire…”
Flipping her over, his lips attacked hers, hard and demanding as he took what he wanted. Her arms came up to hold him closer, legs winding around his waist to bring him into her.
Breaking the kiss, Angelus looked into her silver eyes, “Have you studied your Acathlan history, Buffy?”
“What?” Damn him, he always did that. Worked her up until she could barely think, then sprung something like this on her. “Yes,” she answered, arching further into him, hot to cold, soft to hard. Woman to man.
“What have you learned, darling?”
Learned? “That you like to tease,” Buffy mumbled, biting his shoulder in frustration. It earned her a grunt, but she felt him harden even more against her and smiled.
Whenever she was near Angelus, her body hummed, nerve endings snapping with life and energy, skin tingling with awareness, everything about her was just ready. Alive, more than ever before. (Except with Angel, he made her feel things she’d never experienced before. He made her feel loved and worshipped, and grateful to have the love of such a powerful and good, strong and loving man in return.)
Catching his mouth with hers, Buffy kissed him, hoping to distract him from his stupid lessons. He caressed her as his mouth devoured her. Buffy wanted to explode from that alone. His kisses were addicting, magick and carnal, earthy and blissful.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, pulling back. Confused, she looked at him, wide eyes more sliver now than hazel. “Do it, lover,” he cajoled, “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
Angelus watched as Buffy did as he bade, closing her eyes even as her hands still clutched at him. He’d learned from previous experience, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from having a little fun.
“Bog, muirneach,” he purred, lips trailing across her jaw, down her throat.
Relax, darling.
He tied a soft silk scarf around her eyes, blackness hitting her in a depravation of sight. Immediately everything else jumped to life, sounds seemed suddenly magnified and touch burned her.
Buffy tried, (Relax, darling) but her senses were running wild. She wanted to break free from under Angelus, (ride him hard, bring herself to climax on his cool cock as he growled under her, her hands on her breasts, his on her hips…). She wanted to indulge in her senses, let them run wild and free (they fought side by side, anger and arousal heightening the experience against those few that still dared oppose him…oppose them).
She did none of that. Remaining still, she felt the bed dip again, knew he was close to her, that his body, cool and hard, was so very near. Senses on alert, she waited as he turned her over again, hands caressing her buttocks lips on her shoulder.
(She was chained to the Earth, but the demon wasn’t after her. No, it was too late for that; it was a part of her. And it howled with that knowledge, trapped as she was with a being she didn’t want or understand.)
“Now, then, my love,” Angelus said, but not from next to her. His voice carried from her right, and she felt him take an arm. He kissed the inside of her elbow before saying, “I won’t tie you down, but you mustn’t move, love.”
Buffy nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but thrilled and touched he wasn’t going to tie her again. It hadn’t gone well the last two times. “What,” he asked, “Have you learned about Acathla?”
“Acathla was a strong ruler,” she dutifully recited, doing her best to remember all she’d read. More than half was forgotten the moment she’d read the words, but a few key points stood out. Why she was doing this, why she allowed Angelus to do this, Buffy didn’t know. She made no protest, however, and continued with her answers.
What would happen if she didn’t? Yes, he’d done nothing when he found her asleep several days ago, been nothing but a dutiful and concerned lover when she had her nightmares, had held her and caressed her, and loved her. But if she hadn’t studied, if she hadn’t done her best to stay awake and learn what he’d wanted her to, then would he have taken it out on those below? Or would he have been as understanding as he was earlier?
Unwilling to take that chance, Buffy had studied. Through the nightmares that gave her little respite and the demon that was now awake within her, she’d studied.
And hated herself just a little bit more.
“When his seers predicted the end of the world, he chose to find a new home. Because he was so in tune with his world, the worse it got, the sicker he got.” Buffy paused, waited for something to happen. But Angelus didn’t do a thing, and she continued.
“Uh…When he got to Earth he searched for his successor…” Wait was she missing something?
The smack to her bottom took her by surprised, though it probably shouldn’t have. “Don’t shout out, love.” The same hand that hit her, now caressed her; light, barely there. “Shh, baby. Now, what do you sense?”
“Sense?” She asked, trying to move closer to him, to that soothing touch.
“You can’t see, my love,” he explained patiently, hands still insubstantial on her. “You can feel, you can hear, you can smell. What do you sense?”
“You,” Buffy answered immediately, “You’re behind me, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Your hands are on me, but just barely.”
“Good,” and she swore there was a smile in his voice. “Now, Acathla realized his world was dying,” Angelus said, and his hands were still barely touching her, driving her crazy to feel him. “Then what?”
“Uh…” She was supposed to think when he teased her like this? Bastard. “Prophecy. There was a prophecy that predicted the coming of an heir,” she said, and his hands continued to touch her, so softly, over her back, tracing each vertebra with light caresses. Back down, over the flare of her hips and thighs.
“Acathla searched for you,” there was another swat on her ass, and she blindly turned to look at her lover. Blackness greeted her; Buffy hadn’t been aware she’d closed her eyes, even behind the blindfold. “Hey! I know I’m right.”
“Ah-ah, lover,” his voice was right there, a breath of words tickling her ear. “There is no talking unless it’s to answer the questions.” His tongue darted out, teasing her lobe and causing her to shiver.
Abruptly taking his hands away, to her cry of distress, Angelus said, “Continue.”
Bereft of his touch, not entirely sure where his was, Buffy hesitated. When the smack came, stingingly hard on her ass, she cried out in shock. With the blindfold on, unaware what was happening to her, where Angelus was, what he was doing, the blow surprised her. More, it felt…harder. Buffy knew she could take a lot, but when he hit her, the pain was magnified.
Everything was magnified.
“Tell me.” This time it was a demand. Another blow, even harder than before, and suddenly his mouth was there, kissing the sting away. Whimpering, Buffy moved under his mouth, under his hands as they gripped her hips.
“Angelus,” she pleaded.
“Tell me, lover,” his voice was right there again, soft and seductive. “Tell me what Acathla did next.”
“He left his home dimension,” she said, breathless, hips thrusting backwards into his cool hands, and his cool tongue that traced the handprints on her body. “Traveled here and wandered the Earth.”
“Good, good.” His tongue dipped lover, tracing the tight ring of muscles of her ass. Scandalized, Buffy stiffened. Immediately, Angelus’ fingers dipped into her heat, pumping in and out as his tongue teased her. Confused at the sensations that assaulted her, Buffy thrust back, silently begging for more.
Once more, his hands withdrew. “What else?”
“Ac-Acathla, who didn’t need to breathe,” Buffy continued in a halted tone, trying to remember her reading – between short naps and absolute boredom. Her bottom was high in the air, and she couldn’t remember when that had happened. But Angelus’ hands were on her again, fingertips caressing her hips, tracing her ribs, lightly teasing her belly.
“He didn’t need to breathe,” Buffy continued, forcing herself to remember. “Not until he found his successor and transformed this world into his.”
“Good,” Angelus praised.
Cool lips glided down her back, fingers tugged hard on erect nipples. She could feel his cock, cold, hard, ready, behind her. Pushing herself up on unbound arms, Buffy tried to move back, into Angelus, onto him. Hands hard as steel circled her wrists, preventing her from moving, and with a frustrated cry, she threw her head back, shivering as her hair tickled her back and arms.
“You can feel it, can’t you, my love,” his voice was dark and seductive. “Sensations. The air on your skin, my hands.” As if to prove his point, he stopped touching her, waiting a moment, then another, and delicately ran his fingertips over her. Top to bottom, down her spine, over the tight rosette, down the back of one leg and up another. His mouth on her shoulder, sucking briefly on the pounding pulse point of her neck.
Draping himself over her, he continued. “When you can’t see, you feel all the more. When you feel, you experience things that are indescribable.” His fingers twined about hers, his mouth by her ear. “What else do you sense?”
“Th-the air is hot,” Buffy began, rocking against Angelus. “There’s a slight breeze that caresses my skin. It contrasts with you. You’re cool, refreshing.” She swallowed, still moving against him, “When I touch you, it’s like…like it’s burning me.”
“Burning?” Angelus whispered, withdrew for a moment. Bereft, Buffy waited. Her body hummed in anticipation. Her skin hurt from where he’d hit her, but that was fading quickly, much more so when he touched her immediately after, when he kissed the marks.
Curling her fingers into the sheets, Buffy tried to control her breathing. Her heart pounded, blood speeding through her. Her body, so accustomed to Angelus’, knew the moment he walked back into the room.
Kissing her shoulder blade, he scooted her higher up the bed, turning her over. Stretching her arms high over her head, Buffy wondered if he was going to tie her again, but no. He simply held them there. “Don’t move, lover.”
Buffy nodded, though she desperately wanted to move. To touch, to feel. Straining towards him, to see through the blindfold, she waited…waited in hunger, in arousal, and even in a little fear.
His mouth captured hers, devouring her with his own hunger, tasting her in a contrast of hot and cold, passion meeting and melding, and her fingers whitened on the sheets, desperate not to touch as he’d instructed. Breaking the kiss, he moved off her. “Angelus?”
Instead of answering, he spread her legs wide. Running his hands up her thighs, he thrust a lone finger into her clenching heat. “We’re not done the lesson yet, lover,” he purred.
She heard another sound, wondered if it was him tasting her, but then promptly forgot everything when his tongue entered her. “Ah!” She cried out, arching off the bed, legs winding about his head, forcing him closer. Harder. Into her.
“What did I say about shouting, baby?” He asked, but his fingers continued to softly rub her clit.
Wound tighter than she could stand, sure she was going to implode if he didn’t give her the release she craved, Buffy blindly nodded, “I’m sorry,” she said, voice breathless, body still arching into him. Seeking, begging.
“Is your skin on fire, my love? Can you feel everything I do to you? Can you feel the breath of my words?” She nodded, supersensitive, needing, needing, needing. “Can you feel my touch?” Sobbing in need, she again nodded as his hands, just barely there, floated over her breasts, over aching nipples begging for his touch, over quivering belly and wet heat.
“AH!” She screamed, surprised when he burned her. “Angelus? What-?”
“Cad déan mar a dhéanaimse tú mothú, muirneach?” His voice was soft, steady while her labored breathing burnt her lungs with every gasp. What do you feel, darling?
“You’re burning me!”
“Am I?” He wondered, tracing whatever he had over one taut nipple. She shivered, but didn’t answer. “Am I burning you?”
The object moved lower, swirled her bellybutton. “Wha- Ice?”
“Yes, cold, wouldn’t you agree?” Buffy nodded, “As cold as me?”
She paused, shocked to find her hips thrusting upwards in desperate search for release. “No, different,” she panted. “The ice is cold. Wet. You’re cool, hard…intense.”
“Intense?” he repeated, stilling the ice directly on her clit. “How so?”
“Angelus,” she begged, so close to release. “Please!”
“Tell me, lover,” he cajoled, and replaced the ice with his mouth, sucking hard on her clit, slipping one, two fingers in her.
“Different,” she managed. “Better.”
“That’s my girl,” and Buffy swore she felt him smile against her.
Without warning, he entered her. Shouting again, despite his warnings, Buffy sobbed in relief. Yes! This was what she wanted; this was what she’d craved. This contact, the touch. This release. Angelus.
Moving with him, Buffy tangled his fingers with hers. Harder, they moved harder against each other, Buffy still blindfolded, Angelus’ mouth hungrily taking hers. She growled, locking her legs over his hips, climbing higher, faster.
And then everything stopped. Brightness exploded behind her eyes, her mouth opened in a silent cry of release, body curving into his, inner walls securing him within her as they rode out her orgasm.
“Angelus,” she said, a cry of satisfaction, a cry, finally, of release.
Teeth clamped down on her neck, just breaking the skin as his own climax rushed through him, pleasure and contentment combining to burst out of him. Still moving wildly within her, he lapped the small trickle of blood, purring at the taste. She sighed into him, legs dropping from his waist, fingers limp around his.
“Buffy,” he sighed, mouth finding hers once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
She finally slept, exhausted from days of nightmares and the past few hours of
sexual intensity.
Crawling beneath the single sheet, he wrapped his arms about her, drawing her heated body against his cool one. She sighed in her sleep, a murmur of his name, and rested her head against his chest, long hair trailing over his arms. He kissed the top of her head, and focused.
“Sleep, love,” he whispered.
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