When the Sun Never Rises
The room was pitch dark when Buffy woke and she had a few blissful moments of haziness where all she knew was that she was warm and comfortable. But reality intruded quickly and brutally. She sat bolt upright in bed. She wasn’t on her meager palette at the end of the bed, her body aching from the hard floor. She was in a decadently comfortable bed – Angelus’ bed. And the body wrapped around her own was no doubt the monster of the house, his body warmed with heat he had stolen from her.
Buffy licked her lips and grimaced. The sour taste of wine still lingered on her lips. Though she didn’t want to, she forced herself to think back to last night. The things she had done – the things she let Angelus do to her ... She shuddered. But even as she was horrified, she couldn’t help remembering how beautifully human he had looked, how gentle he had been. Her body tightened as she remembered the pleasure he had given her.
She had to get out of here. Trying not to disturb him, she scooted towards the side of the bed. She had no idea where her clothes were and she didn’t really care. If she could make it out of the room she could find a spare sheet or towel and fashion herself a makeshift toga to get her by. Her feet touched the floor and just as she moved to push herself completely out of bed, Angelus’ hand clamped like an iron manacle around her wrist. Before she could even yelp, he pulled her back into bed, flush against his body. His arms banded around her chest and he threw one leg over both of hers.
“Angelus,” she objected, trying to scoot away. One arm remained around her waist, holding her to him tightly, but without causing her any discomfort, except for mental anguish, of course.
“You will stay here,” he muttered groggily, pulling her fully against him and burying his nose in the nape of her neck.
“Stay?” She sputtered, eyes flying wide open in near panic. No matter what happened the night before or what evil doings Angelus had planned he never made her stay with him. She was always able to escape to her fellow Harkers right after they rose in the morning. Of course, normally she woke on her meager pallet on the cold stone floor at the foot of his giant, glorious bed, rather than in the bed. She wiggled in his embrace until she was able to turn over in bed and look at him. “Stay how long?” she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.
His eyes were closed and as she watched him, his vampire countenance melted away as it had the night before. Unable to help herself, she sucked in a breath and petted his beautiful face. His mouth still quirked with a little smile at her dismay and shock. She squealed as she quickly went from caressing his face to being beneath the great Lord Angelus with her legs spread to cradle his body, his lips rubbing softly against hers before he licked her lips, begging entrance to her sweet human mouth.
“You will stay until your cycle has ended,” he crooned, sliding down to feast on her breasts. He couldn’t help being annoyed with himself still that he felt the need to enflame her, to hear her breathy little cries when he touched her intimately. He told himself he was just doing what was necessary to have the Harker blood he wanted, but the truth haunted him. “You won’t be spending your time huddling in the back of the gypsy’s shop for the next couple of days. You will remain with me.”
“How did you know?” she asked, trying not to moan while his talented and now warm mouth sent streaks of pleasure through her body.
“Did you really think you were hiding?” he chuckled, nipping kisses along her rib cage. “Setting aside the sound of human female chatter can be pinpointed in only one place in the High Court, I could track a Harker for miles on smell alone.”
“But I never stopped you or came to get you?” he chuckled, sliding languidly down her body, “Your blood pumps faster when you’re sneaking around. Smells good, besides Janna feeds you. Can’t have you starving to death.”
“I’m starving to death now,” she complained half-heartedly. Something about Angelus’ touch was already becoming too comfortable. If they remained like this for the next three to five days, what would happen then? How would she feel about the most vicious creature the High Council had ever produced?
“So am I,” he growled. He licked his lips hungrily as he spread her legs wider for him and looked down at her lush, glistening entrance. His cock was rock hard and throbbing to enter that untouched place, but instead he traced her nether lips with his tongue. He needn’t be tempted by something he could never have.
As if to mock him, her stomach chose that very moment to rumble loudly. He could feel Buffy’s body heat with a blush that had nothing to do with his head buried between her legs. Frowning, he rested his head against her thigh, looking up at her even as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
“I’m hungry,” she repeated in a voice so small he could naught but cede to her plea.
In a fluid move, he pushed himself out of bed. Buffy watched in blatant fascination as he pulled on a pair of leather pants, not bothering to button them. Her eyes were drawn to the line of coarse hair that disappeared beneath the zipper.
She forced her eyes up and found him grinning at her in undisguised appreciation. With movements as seamless and deadly as a giant jungle cat, he returned to the bed, pulling the covers up under her chin. She stared into the most beautiful face she had ever seen and couldn’t prevent herself from once again reaching out and running her fingertips over his cheek. He smiled and pressed his lips against hers.
This time she didn’t even bother to fight. His lips were warm and soft. She opened her mouth and sighed as his tongue caressed against hers. When he finally broke the kiss, she was panting, flushed.
“Stay here,” he said.
As he turned away from her, she saw him slip back into his demonic mask. He glanced at her one last time before pulling the bedroom door shut behind himself. Buffy hadn’t slept well in months and by the time he returned, less than half an hour later, she was lightly dozing.
Her eyes fluttered open as he strode through the door. When he looked at her, his demonic visage once again receded. Before she could stop herself, she smiled at the sight. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he strode to the bed, a silver platter balanced on one hand. His body was nothing short of perfection, all perfectly flawless pale skin, chiseled muscles and those divine leather pants. Most humans were tired, underfed and overworked slaves, steeped in misery and filth. Never in Buffy’s life had she seen a male specimen so impressive. She hadn’t even dared to imagine they existed.
He noticed her perusal and approved heartily. He wanted Buffy to want him desperately. Why, he wasn’t exactly certain but he wasn’t in the habit of denying himself his desires. He settled the tray on the bed and stretched out along side Buffy.
Self-consciously, she tucked the covers around her breasts and propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing the tray with interest. The tray was covered with plates of food: fresh fruit, a variety of cheeses, sweet rolls hot from the oven. There were two carafes, one of fresh steaming coffee and the other for orange juice. The smell alone was making her mouth water. She blushed, unable to prevent herself from drawing a mental parallel between her own actions and what Angelus had said to her the previous night. Her stomach growled again loudly.
“Eat,” Angelus said.
Despite her discomfort at the gentle intimacy the moment implied, Buffy couldn’t help but obey. She sat up in bed, doing her best to protect her modesty as she used her fingers to stuff the food into her mouth in a most unladylike way. She had never eaten particularly well due to circumstances, but in the last few weeks she definitely hadn’t been consuming much. Her body seemed determined to make up for lost time.
Angelus poured her a cup off coffee and a glass of orange juice as she concentrated on the food. He watched while she took a bite of an icing covered roll, sighing in delight as the delicacy nearly melted in her mouth. He lay back, content to observe her actions. All of Buffy’s appetites intrigued him, even one so base as physical human hunger.
He wasn’t sure what was considered a normal appetite for humans, especially considering the small size of Buffy, but he was fairly certain she had eaten quite a bit. She devoured a number of the sweet rolls with their melted icing, which seemed to be her favorite, and more fruit and cheese than he would have imagined could be stored in such a slight frame. She fell back on the bed and groaned in happiness.
“My turn,” Lord Angelus crooned, easily setting the half empty tray on the side table before, tugging on the sheet until her breasts were again in full view. He inched down the sheet, slowly, baring the rest of her golden flesh before he positioned himself between her thighs and lapped at the intoxicating Harker blood that waited for him.
Buffy spent five days and nights in Angelus’ bed and when her cycle ended on the fifth day, she half expected him to boot her back to her meager palette on the cold, stone floor. As much as she thought she hated the fiend who kept her captive, but she couldn’t seem to summon the hatred she once had. On the fifth night when her menstruation had ended completely, she laid in the bed with Angelus and without a word, he curled around her body, buried his face in the nape of her neck and went to sleep.
In the morning – although there was never any daylight to announce its arrival - she rose from bed with Angelus and went to the bathroom to shower with him like she always had before. It was more than just his beautiful face that attracted her to him but she couldn’t quite figure out what. The absence of the demonic face seemed to change his behavior and instead of yelling and saying crude things to her, he whispered dirtier things in her ear.
Inside the shower, instead of snarling at her and pleasuring himself at her expense, he made her wash his body and then when she reached his arousal, he wrapped her hands around his and told her how it would feel if he were inside her rather than outside. She was embarrassed by his behavior and scandalized as much as before, but the strangest thing happened – she no longer had the urge to tell him no. Her body was hot and flushed from more than just the heat of the shower.
It was wrong. She knew that. And when he was in demonic form, forcing these things upon her, she had no doubt that she was nothing more than his victim. But now … He stood, but his body was relaxed, leaning back against the shower wall, his legs spread wide. His hands had long since fallen away, yet she still stroked him, still gave him pleasure - and in return gave herself pleasure. She found a sinful, decadent delight in the ability to make him moan, in the helpless little sounds he made when she touched him this way.
Her life, from the moment she was born, had been filled with nothing but misery and pain. Filth, starvation, sickness, these were the constants of her life - of every human living in this world. If humans weren't physically abused by a vampiric lord, then they faced death by exposure to the elements. It was the place of the human to suffer, to wallow in misery. Buffy knew these truths at the core of her being and yet she couldn't help but think that maybe there was another way. Maybe she wasn't meant to suffer every moment of her life. Maybe she was meant to know something beyond pain and death and horror.
In the greatest of all ironies, she had found reprieve from her human sentence here, as the possession of one of the Lords of the High Court. When it suited him, Angelus could be so gentle, treating her like the most highly prized Drakuhl consort and not a lowly human girl. In his bed, she found warmth and comfort. She found herself able to sleep soundly for the first time in her life, for though Lord Angelus was still largely a mystery, she knew without a doubt that he would protect her with the most lethal force. And to her eternal shame, she found she liked it.
She stroked him firmer, faster, pressing herself tightly against him so that his sex was rubbing against the soapy flesh of her stomach. His head banged back against the shower wall and she could hear his harsh, unnecessary breath coming in swift pants. His fingers bit into her shoulders and she stroked him even faster. With a growl, he came, spilling himself against her stomach.
Buffy ceased her motions, her own breath coming as fast as his. She was flushed, her legs trembling. The secret place between her legs ached with emptiness so sharp tears welled in her eyes. She looked down at her stomach, at his seed slowly sliding down her water-slicked skin. Without conscious thought, she ran her finger through it. Lifting it to her lips, she slowly licked the digit clean, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the tangy, musky taste of his pleasure.
Angelus' growl caused her head to shoot up and she met his gaze. His eyes were slitted, tinged with yellow. Though the planes of his face were smooth, his mouth was open in a pant and she could see his budding fangs. He grimaced and banged his head backwards against the shower wall again. "Leave," he commanded.
She stared at him, unable to move. "Angelus?" she asked softly.
"Get out of here, now," he snarled, "before I take you here and damn us both."
After finishing his shower, Angelus hadn't dared to return to the bedroom. He knew Buffy was there, curled in the bed they now shared, confused and hurt. He hated that he had hurt her. He hated that he hated that he hurt her. He roared, throwing a vase against one of the towering bookcases that lined the library.
A low, rumbling snarl carried easily in the quiet room. "Don't toy with me, human," Angelus growled. "I am not in the mood."
Giles cleared his throat with as much dignity as one could muster while sitting chained in a box. "Well, you are in a mood. Given that you're now in the library, it seems reasonable that you wished to do some sort of research. I dare say that I could be of a great deal of assistance if you allowed me."
Angelus growled again, baring his fangs. He didn't care that none of this was Giles' fault. "Once a year, the Harker under my protection is sacrificed," Angelus bit out.
"Yes, my lord," Giles concurred. "This is true."
"Why?" Angelus roared, striding purposefully across the room. "Why is it that it is always my Harker, or Willow's Harker? Can anyone even remember the last time it was the Harker belonging to one of the lesser Drakuhl of the High Court that was sacrificed?"
Giles took in Angelus' furious countenance. He had no idea what was going on, but he had never seen Angelus exhibit even the least amount of concern for the Harkers under his care. Why exactly this should become and issue was beyond him. "Power calls to power," Giles offered.
Angelus scowled. "Speak English or I will rip out your entrails with a toothpick."
"The ritual of St. Vigeous calls a great deal of power," Giles explained. "You and Willow are without a doubt the two most powerful Drakuhl in the High Council. The dark powers summoned forth by the ritual have no desire to dilute themselves. They run through your line and through Willow's line whenever available. It would go against the very nature of the ritual to utilize a less powerful member of the High Court."
Angelus growled and began pacing around the room. In approximately five months, Faith would be sacrificed before the High Court. Upon her death, the next sacrific would be chosen. It would be Buffy. Angelus knew that with a certainty that sickened him.
He roared again in impotent frustration. He refused to examine exactly why the prospect of Buffy's death angered him. He only knew that it did. With a snarl, he threw himself into one of the chairs, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger as if it could silence the thoughts screaming through his mind.
Dammit, why did she have to be so irresistible? He'd had hundreds of Harkers before her, and always, his treatment of them was the same. He took his pleasure in their fear, their pain, their humiliation. He reveled in their tears and soft sobs. He could get hard just thinking about the tears of shame steaming down a Harker's face as he glutted himself on her moon's blood.
But it was different with Buffy. Everything was different with Buffy. In all his centuries, he had never had a Harker respond to him as she did. He never imagined how absolutely tempting her supplication and pleasure could be. In the shower earlier, when Buffy had tasted his seed with such an expression of longing on her face, it was nearly his undoing. By whatever perversion of nature had cursed them both, she wanted him. And damn him if he didn't want her just as much.
Rising from his chair, Angelus snarled and turned to face the box that held the Watcher. With barely contained fury, he unlocked the cage and pulled out the middle-aged man by his tattered shirtfront and tossed him across the room. A low growl escaped his throat as he predatorily stalked toward the overturned chair where Giles lay.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Janna said curiously when Buffy walked into her shop. A blush immediately came to Buffy’s face and she fought to control it. After Angelus’ reaction to her in the shower that day, she was thoroughly confused and shadow descended over the desire she had felt before.
“I…uh…I couldn’t get away,” Buffy said, clearing her throat. “Lord Angelus has been somewhat difficult to escape lately.”
“Well, go on back,” Janna nodded, seeming to accept her explanation. “You must be starved.”
Buffy swiftly made her way to the back of the shop where the other Harkers huddled like convicts, nibbling on bits of stale bread and whatever else could be scrounged. She felt immediately guilty remembering the sweet rolls and fresh fruit Angelus had served her on a silver platter and the wonderful, nourishing meals that followed. Her gut clenched. He served her food on a silver platter while her friends and fellow humans hunkered in the dark with stale bread. Suddenly she felt like vomiting. She slid down along the wall to the floor in the corner and chewed on her lower lip, watching them.
“Hey,” Justine said, moving to sit next to her. She offered Buffy a piece of bread, but Buffy waved it away with tears filling her eyes. “Are you okay?” Justine asked. She took a big bite of the bread as she waited for Buffy’s answer, chomping hungrily on the meager fare.
“Are the Lords allowed to, you know, touch Harkers?” Buffy whispered. Justine was the only other member of their group that she even remotely trusted. She hoped her whisper hadn’t carried over across the room, but one glance around told her it had. All of the Harkers focused on her intently. After all, it was news to hear about the mysterious and vicious Lord Angelus. Everyone was afraid of him, even other members of the High Council.
“Touch us?” Justine repeated in a voice loud enough to make Buffy wince. “Has he beaten you?”
“Beaten?” Buffy echoed quietly, “NO! No. I’m just wondering. Can they touch us at all?”
“They can’t touch us at all,” Justine said, a defiant gleam in her eyes, “They can carry you from the High Council chambers but after that there should be no touching at all. One wrong move and we could be defiled. My Master hasn’t so much as brushed against me since I’ve been here and I’m the oldest Harker.”
Every pair of eyes was intent on Buffy’s now blushing face. Every pair except for Faith’s, that is. Buffy couldn’t help but notice that while every other girl looked at her in horror, Faith studiously avoided her gaze, hanging her head in ... shame?
“Buffy,” Justine said gently, laying her hand on Buffy’s arm, “has Lord Angelus done something to you?”
Buffy shook her head, scoffing like Justine’s suggestion was the most absurd notion in the universe. “No,” she said forcefully. “No. Never.”