When the Sun Never Rises
RATING: NC-17, WARNING: DARK
Buffy came to a dead stop just inside the door to the room she shared with Angelus. She was tired, exhausted from another day surrounded by her fellow Harkers. The time in Jenny’s store was beginning to feel less like a reprieve and more like a sentence every day. Her throat was tight with words unspoken, horrors unshared. She felt more alone than ever before.
That morning, Angelus had left her without a word. His always mercurial temper was even more unreadable than usual. After his actions the previous night, she would have expected, at the very least, for him to demand more physical favors from her. But he hadn’t. He’d left without a word.
She had followed quickly, sure to stay out of his home, and his sight for as long as possible. When Jenny closed her store for the day, Buffy was finally forced to return to her Master.
Buffy had no idea what to expect upon returning, but the sight before her was a complete shock. She watched the Renfield servant wrap her lips around Angelus’ cock. The girl’s neck was circled with an iron collar, the attached chain wound around Angelus’ hand as he forcefully guided her motions. He was far more violent with the servant than he had with Buffy and neither of them seemed to be enjoying it as much as he and Buffy had the previous night. A cold tremor shivered through Buffy’s body and she began to back out of the room.
“Halt,” Angelus growled, turning his head to stare at her. She watched as his demonic face faded away, but his expression did not soften. “Come here,” he commanded.
The Renfield glanced up at Buffy, horror written on her face. She was shaking badly, obviously terrified. Buffy perched on the end of the bed where Angelus directed her and sat there, watching with horror on her face as well.
Angelus abruptly yanked up on the chain and snarled at the servant. “Enough. On your hands and knees on the bed,” he demanded coldly. With little preamble, he slammed himself into the servant’s body and with the force of her scream, they all knew she was a virgin. Before she could stop it, Buffy cried out in terror as well. She had to grip the bed to keep herself from intervening or fleeing, both of which would only make the situation worse.
Buffy couldn’t keep her whole body from trembling or the tears from welling in her eyes. She wanted to beg him to stop, but she instinctively knew that he wanted her pain as much as his own. One look on his face told her he hated himself even more than he ever hated her.
The coupling was almost as violent as the ones she had seen with the Furies and Darla that first night and the Renfield screamed until her voice gave out. When he neared the end, he changed back into his demonic visage and bent to bite into the girl’s straining neck. Only then, did Buffy perform the begging he wanted of her.
She scrambled across the bed, making the few feet in record time and wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl, blocking her throat from his fangs. “Please,” Buffy begged, allowing her tears to fall, “Please don’t kill her.”
“You have no right!” he roared, raising his hand to knock her away, but he paused when the look on her face turned to not fear, but acceptance. She braced herself for the beating as if she deserved it. “Fuck!” he roared. Without completion, he pulled out of the girl and tossed her aside, dropping the chain to the floor with a loud clattering of the links. He pulled Buffy closer and held her tightly enough by the shoulders to leave bruises, but she didn’t so much as wince.
“What have you done to me?” he growled. He couldn’t stand to see her in pain. The idea of it was upsetting but the reality of it ate him up inside. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to kill more – himself or Buffy. He pushed her back on the bed, slipped into his leather pants and dug the keys to the chains out of his pocket. He roughly dragged the girl to him and ignored her pathetic cowering as he unlocked the iron from her neck.
“Leave,” he snarled, “And speak of this to no one or I will rip out the throat she saved. Understand?” She nodded quickly and stumbled toward the door as quickly as she could when he released her. Slowly, he turned on Buffy. He looked over her carefully, his demonic mask slipping away without his notice. For a long time, he said nothing, did nothing. He just looked at her. Then without a word, he strolled into the library. Fearing the worst, Buffy ran after him and watched as he unlocked the cage and dragged Giles out.
“Dear Lord,” Giles sputtered, gazing shockingly over Angelus’ human face, “I heard that this sort of transformation was possible among your kind but I’ve never seen it for myself. Remarkable.”
“Silence!” Angelus snarled. “You will take her,” he said, pointing at Buffy with a shaking hand, “and you will run. I’ll have a scout take you safely from the Council lands in chains. He will release you safely and you will take her far from this…place.”
“I don’t understand,” Giles said, “You won’t have me killed?”
“For fuck’s sake, shut up,” Angelus said. He took a deep unneeded breath and then spoke again, “She will not be sacrificed. I think we both understand what that means. If she dies, you follow her. I will take pleasure in torturing you for years until you are nothing but a human shell of pain and misery.”
“Why would you risk disobeying the High Court...”
“Take her!” Angelus roared. He crossed the room to where Buffy was watching them closely and dragged the two of them toward the door. He held Buffy close and kissed her hard on the lips. Looking into her worried hazel eyes, he said, “I never want to see you again.”
Buffy wasn’t crying. She couldn’t cry. She felt dead inside, completely numb. So many thoughts rushed through her mind, so many conflicting emotions buffeted her conscience that she was unable to focus on any of them.
She stumbled, catching herself before she tumbled to the ground. Both Giles and Angelus’ scout stopped, making sure she was all right. The scout frowned, walking the several paces back to her. “Maybe I should take those off,” he said, motioning to her chains.
Buffy shook her head. The scout was a high ranking Renfield named Gunn. He seemed rather nice. If any vampires stumbled across their small party, Gunn would never be able to adequately explain why she wasn’t chained. Buffy couldn’t risk his life that way. “I’m fine,” she said, holding her chin up.
They continued in silence for several more hours, tripping and stumbling over the uneven soil as they headed into the foothills that surrounded the city. They were far enough away from the lights now that it was difficult to make out their path, even with the moonlight.
“What will they do to him?”
Giles looked over his shoulder at Buffy. He frowned. “It’s difficult to say,” he hedged. “Lord Angelus is the Master’s prized lieutenant.”
“Don’t lie to me, Giles,” Buffy said severely.
Giles stopped walking, turning to face the Harker. He couldn’t even begin to understand the twisted and convoluted relationship this young girl had with the demon, but he couldn’t deny its existence, or strength. “He will be killed,” Giles replied soberly. “Angelus is not a fool. I doubt he will betray himself until it’s absolutely impossible to hide his actions. When you are called before the High Court on the feast of St. Vigeous, but do not show ... They will turn on him.”
Angelus took a swig of the whiskey bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze blurred as he looked around the room and roared in anger. Three dead bodies littered his bedroom floor – all female, all blonde, all petite. The one living human in the room cowered at the end of the bed and he dragged her up to his side, ignoring her flailing limbs.
“I didn’t mean to kill them,” he explained to her and pressed her head against his chest. “Just lie here. I won’t hurt you.”
She sobbed but didn’t speak. Desperately, she tried to hold in the sounds and the trembling she couldn’t control. She knew, as did the others, that one word from the lips of a Renfield would cause her death.
He stroked her hair and tried to pretend that it felt as silky and soft as Buffy’s, but none of the bitches were Buffy. That’s why he had to kill them. Every drop of blood that he swallowed made him hate himself a little more. He asked them not to speak. All he wanted was a moment to pretend she hadn’t left.
“Fucking bitch!” he sputtered, throwing his bottle against the wall with a snarl. The servant scrambled back to the bottom of the bed and cowered once more. She closed her eyes and gripped the bedpost with a white knuckled grip. A knock on the door sounded and Angelus snarled at it. “Go away or I’ll tear your fucking arms off.”
“Lord A-angelus,” a timid male voice stuttered, muffled through the wooden door. “I was sent to tell you that the ceremony is about to begin.”
Angelus crossed the room and tore the door open so quickly it splintered the hinges. “What ceremony?” he slurred. He towered over the frightened boy and watched him shake in terror. It caused him little joy.
“The Feast of St. Vigeous,” he whimpered. “It’s already started. The Master sent me to fetch you.”
Angelus stumbled back and sat on the edge of his bed. Had it really been four months since he lost her? He laughed mirthlessly. It felt like an eternity. Every day she was absent ate away more and more at him. But tonight ... Tonight things would finally come to an end. When the Master found out he lost his Harker, the retribution would be swift and final.
For four months, he had longed for Death and tonight, he would finally find it.
Angel strode into the room, not caring that his usually immaculate appearance was nothing of the sort. He hadn’t shaved or bathed in days. He knew he stank of booze and death and sex. He could have cared less.
The Master did raise an eyebrow at his favored lieutenant’s disheveled appearance, but he did not say anything. As Angelus took a seat, the Master rose to his feet. “Bring them in,” he bellowed.
Angelus watched dispassionately as the great doors swung open and the cowering Harkers were herded inside by Rack. He was still half drunk, but even through his haze, something seemed wrong. He sat forward in his chair, staring at the Harkers. Time seemed to stop as his gaze locked across the room with a set of luminous hazel eyes. “Buffy,” he gasped.
Angel watched Buffy being chained the pedestal as if he were watching his own death. She wouldn’t meet his eyes again and just as she had the year before, he could sense no fear coming off of her, only extreme sadness. His stomach tightened as the realization of what was happening struck him. She was there and everything he had been fighting for in the last months was fucking meaningless.
“I give you this year’s crop,” announced Rack in his proud, ceremonious voice.
“Lovely,” the Master agreed. Smiling, he leaned toward Angelus. “You are not the first to want to keep the warmth and companionship of your Chosen,” he whispered.
“Fuck you, Master,” Angelus growled. He gripped the arms of his chair and felt them breaking underneath his steel grip. “You know nothing of warmth.”
“I too remember the sun,” the Master intoned in warning, ignoring the insult. “It would do you a great service to remember it yourself.”
Rack began chanting to call forth the demon and the room filled with the intoxicating scent of the Harkers’ fear. It bled off them and spilled out into the room. Buffy took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the black smoke of the fiend shot straight towards her, not even pausing to wrap itself around the other girls. She screamed as it struck her, unprepared for its vicious bite. Angelus was already out of his chair and heading toward her when she slumped against her chains, knocked unconscious.
“It is done,” Rack announced, facing the Master.
Angelus took Buffy in his arms, carelessly snapping the chains from her dangling limbs. He caressed her face and whispered in her ear as the others watched. Even staggering and drunken, the High Court was perplexed by the way he touched the human, as if she had some value. His attentions on her were almost greedy.
Buffy’s eyes blinked open slowly and she gazed up at him. Being so close to him again was nearly intolerable and her eyes filled with tears. He nuzzled her neck, mindless of the people watching.
“You are the Chosen,” he whispered. She nodded and breaking the tradition of thousands of others over the years, she didn’t fight or cry out. She turned, baring her neck for him willingly, unflinching when he groaned at the sight. He leaned forward and kissed her bared throat, silently thanking her for the gift before gently easing his fangs into her throat.
The first pull of blood was soft, an urging, but her back bowed with unrestrained pleasure and much to Angelus surprise, she came in a silent scream, shuddering violently through her climax. The desire in her veins made it difficult to pull away, but he finally pulled free and lapped at the wound.
“The Chosen has been marked,” Angelus snarled. Without waiting for the ceremony to end, he held her clutched in his arms and stumbled out of the room.
Buffy woke at home. For that’s what this place was, home. She was in the bed she shared with Angelus, his body spooned around hers, his arms holding her gently, but securely. She looked up and saw Giles perched on the bed next to her, his brow knit with worry.
“Giles?” she choked. She hadn’t seen him since she had been captured nearly three months earlier.
“I prayed that you had escaped again,” he said softly, dabbing gently at the bite wound on her neck with an antiseptic soaked cloth. “I made my way back here, hiding for months. When I heard you were Chosen at the ceremony, I returned.”
Buffy’s eyes pricked with tears. She knew how precious Giles’ freedom was to him. For him to willingly return himself to Angelus’ service for her benefit was almost more than she could handle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head, looking down at her. “Don’t be,” he said. “Once I found out you were still alive, I knew I couldn’t abandon you.”
Buffy sniffled and Angelus shifted behind her, hugging her tighter as he propped himself up on one elbow. Giles jumped, skittering away from the bed. He hadn’t realized that Angelus was awake.
“What happened?” Angelus demanded gruffly. He glared at Giles. “I told you to protect her! How could you let this happen?”
Buffy rubbed his arm gently, craning her neck around to press a hard kiss against his jaw. It calmed him somewhat. “It isn’t Giles’ fault,” Buffy explained. “We were ambushed only a few weeks after you sent us away. I was captured.”
“By who?” Angelus questioned. “Who would keep you hidden until the ceremony?”
“Willow,” Buffy answered softly.
Angelus growled deep in his chest, holding her even tighter. “Did she hurt you?” he demanded in a rasping whisper.
Buffy shook her head violently. “No,” she said. “She didn’t touch me at all. She just kept saying that her revenge would be sweetest when you were forced to sacrifice me.”
Angelus groaned, burying his human countenance at the nape of her neck. He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about the fact that at the next Feast of St. Vigeous, he would be required to sacrifice her life or the sun would return.
Giles cleared his throat. When they both turned their attention to him, he said, “I’m afraid we have several other issues to deal with.”
“Such as?” Angelus snarled impatiently.
“Buffy’s bite, for one,” he replied sharply.
Buffy’s hand instinctively flew to the place where Angelus had fed from her. “What about it?” she asked, worried.
“It’s not the mark of a Chosen,” Giles explained.
Buffy’s brow furrowed. “But he bit me. I don’t understand.”
“Oh yes,” Giles said with mirthless laughter. “He most certainly did bite you. But the bite used at the Feast of St. Vigeous is a certain type. It’s called the Mark of the Chosen. The bite scars in a manner that lets all vampires know that the marked girl is the next Chosen and cannot be defiled. However, your mark is not the Mark of the Chosen.”
“But it’s deep,” Buffy said, twisting around to look at Angelus. “Surely it will scar.”
Angelus’ gaze flittered away and his expression was sheepish. “It will scar,” he said blandly.
Buffy turned back to Giles who was rolling his eyes in a manner that would get him killed if Angelus were paying more attention. “The mark that Lord Angelus gave you is a Mate Mark, Buffy,” he explained. “The resultant scar will tell others of his kind not that you are the next Chosen, but that you are his bonded consort.”
Her eyes went wide and she turned back to Angelus. “You married me?” she asked.
Angelus’ jaw clenched tightly and he looked up. Upon seeing Giles’ condescending face he roared, “Out, Watcher!”
Giles’ bravado faded in an instant and his instinct for survival kicked in, compelling him to flee for his life. Once Giles had left the room, Angelus turned toward Buffy and looked into her widened, surprised eyes.
“You married me?” she asked again, more quietly.
“I can save you,” he said softly. Pain was streaked across his face, his eyes were blood shot and he looked like he hadn’t slept in months.
“I asked Giles,” Buffy said, clutching his hand in hers. “If I’m not sacrificed, they’ll turn on you. They’ll kill you.”
“I’m second in command. I’ll be punished, but they won’t kill me. They won’t be able to.” The great Lord Angelus, who had spent a thousand years reigning fear and torment on the human population, a vampire who couldn’t even remember what it was like to be the species he used to find sickening, tried to lie convincingly to the human girl he had unwittingly fallen in love with. He kept his face honest, his eyes looking clearly into hers. He knew what came across – love. He loved her so much he hated himself for it, and yet, he couldn’t keep himself from the emotion. He could hardly bring his demon to the fore when she was in his presence, when before it had been so challenging to shed.
“They won’t kill you?” she questioned, searching his face. “We can both…we can be together?”
“If you’re not pure, they can’t sacrifice you,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. He forced himself to keep his voice from catching. It wasn’t such a big thing after all, trading his life for hers. He just wished he hadn’t given up the time they had left together when he sent her away. “Infusions of your blood,” he whispered against her throat, between cool, wet kisses, “will save me.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and her arms wound round his neck as her heart soared. They could truly find a way out of this nightmare. Buffy felt more adrift than ever, more confused as to what was right and what was wrong. The only thing she was certain of was her need for him. The long months as Willow's captive, she had ached for his gentle touch, ached to see his human face, the beautiful brown of his eyes, the gentle timber to his voice. She rooted for his lips, finding them and engaging him in a carnal, lusty kiss. She pulled back, panting. "Not pure," she repeated.
His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb gently tracing her cheekbone. He stared deep into her eyes. "You know what I mean, Buffy," he said huskily. "I will force nothing on you, but this will save your life, the lives of all your kind."
She touched him carefully, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, across his brow. "But my blood will keep you safe, right?" she asked, her voice trembling. "If the great star returns, you won't burn, not like the others."
He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "No," he lied. "I will be safe."
She laughed, a trembling, girlish giggle. "Then there's no question," she said. "I want to be with you."
He groaned, capturing her lips again in a searing kiss as he pressed her back into the pillows. He was drunk on her smell, her touch, her taste. Her delicate fingers playing over his body seemed like a fever dream. She was pliant beneath him, completely malleable in his touch not because she obeyed him or feared him but because she trusted and loved him. That distinction shook him to his very foundations and the cruel, heartless being that had been known as Lord Angelus ceased to exist.
He moved over her body, kissing her smooth, silky skin, tasting every inch without the fear he had before, of losing control, of starting to love. All that remained was his need for her. He cupped her breasts in his hands, forcing himself to take his time as he took one pebbled point into his mouth. She moaned, arching her back and squeezing her legs around him. He reached between her thighs and sank two fingers into her warmth, pressing the heel of his hand against her most sensitive place.
“Angelus,” she panted, writhing against him. Her silken depths contracted around him in pleasure and he lost all sense of patience. As gently as he could, he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing slowly inside her tight heat. Her eyes flew open at his invasion and she looked into his deep brown eyes.
“I love you, Buffy,” he groaned, feeling none of the torment or doubt that he thought he would. He needed this, needed her for as long as he was allowed. He covered her mouth with his and moved further inside her. His fingers manipulated her clit as he broke through her virginity and defiled The Chosen one.
Her muscles went taut at his invasion and she obviously felt pain, but she never once denied him. To the contrary, she egged him on with soft kisses and breathy moans. He moved inside her more forcefully, delighting in her gasps of pleasure, her fingernails biting into his flesh. His mouth found hers once again and her tongue snaked into his mouth.
With a groan, he snaked a hand between their bodies, using his fingers to manipulate her clit as he continued to stroke in and out of her body. Her breathing grew more erratic, her sheath fluttering around him as her face scrunched up adorably. With a harsh shout, her back corded and her internal muscles clamped down around his cock so tightly that Angelus released a grunt of his own, unable to hold off his climax.