Hollow

Author: Dark Star

Email: eternity_ds@hotmail.com

Website: Scribes of Angel

Summary: “Sex and death and love and pain - it's all the same damn thing to you.” (Buffy – ‘Conversations With Dead People.’)

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is creator and owner of all things Angel and Buffy

Timeline: Some future date, when Buffy and Angel finally decide to stay together.

Rating: R/NC 17 .

Pairing: B/A

Category: Dark.

Distribution: Just ask, please

Notes: It has been established that vampires have dark and sadistic natures. While Angel might fight against his nature, he is still a vampire, and I think that any long-term relationship would have to address this.

********

Buffy shivered while she waited for Angel to unlock the door to the room. It was just an ordinary room, one of the more remote areas of the Hyperion, but she hated that room. Angel had to keep the place clean and tidy, because Buffy refused to venture inside unless she had no other choice.

She heard the soft click of the key, saw Angel hesitate before he turned back to her. His expression when he faced her was unreadable, closed off and unyielding.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

Relief flooded her, as she understood that he was giving her a way out. But they both knew that she wouldn’t take it.

“You know that I do.”

Angel swallowed. “Buffy…”

“Don’t.” She said carefully. “It’s just for one night, Angel. I can do that.” Her voice trembled slightly when she remembered exactly what she was agreeing to. “Just one night.”

The dark eyes met hers, searching for assurance in her anxious gaze; she closed her eyes briefly, before saying strongly, “Let’s get it over with.”

Angel straightened and stepped back from her, allowing her to pass by and enter the room first.

Buffy walked into the room, standing quietly in the centre to wait for Angel. Fear made little goose bumps appear on her arms and she tried to shut down her over-active imagination and just wait for what would happen next.

She heard Angel come in behind her and close the door firmly. Her skin prickled at the sound, and her heart rate speeded up in dread anticipation. She finally turned to look at him, but there was no comfort to be found there in the face of the man she loved. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression controlled and hard.

Buffy took a deep breath. This was always hard for her to adjust to – when her Angel disappeared and he allowed the baser instincts of the demon to come forth.

They faced each other in tense silence, Buffy waiting to see if Angel would speak first. He stood completely still, his arms still folded and his dark eyes hooded as he observed her.

Buffy shivered; she knew what he was waiting for, and she knew that she couldn’t put the moment off any longer.

Slowly, nervously, her trembling fingers went to the buttons of her blouse as she carefully unfastened each one before moving on to the next. When the blouse hung limply from her shoulders, she slid it down her arms and dropped it to the floor. The clasp of her bra came next, and she peeled off the enticing scrap of fabric and dropped it carelessly on top of her silk blouse.

Buffy was deliberately taking as long as possible to get undressed, attempting to postpone the inevitable for as long as she could. Another time, she might have felt sexy taking her clothes off in front of her man, but this night wasn’t about sex, and she doubted that Angel would even fuck her tonight. This was about pain, and blood, and this night was Angel’s.

By now, she had removed her shoes and was in the process of wriggling out of her tight jeans, trying not to look at Angel because his silent assessment of her was unnerving to say the least. Finally, she reached her tiny white lace panties, and pulled off the skimpy garment to drop them on top of the pile of abandoned clothing.

She straightened up, feeling exposed and vulnerable; her emotions were all knotted and tangled, and she wasn’t certain what she felt. Fear, certainly. Anticipation and excitement, too. The fluttering in her stomach made her feel queasy with nerves, and when Angel slowly approached her naked form, her heart rate broke into a gallop.

An irrational wave of anger swept through her when she realised Angel could tell how she was feeling – could smell her fear and arousal – and her skin burned when he took her hand gently in his own.

She forced herself to look up at him, the brown eyes so sad that she had to fight the urge to run and hide. They held eye contact for a long time, Angel’s asking the silent question, ‘Are you sure?’

She broke eye contact and looked down. Angel’s hand squeezed hers and he led her over to the imposing four-poster bed that dominated the room. Walking round to the end of the bed, he positioned Buffy between the two posts before turning her to face it and raising her arms to place them against the polished wood.

Rings and chains had been fastened on the solid frame, and Angel selected the ones he wanted and chained Buffy’s wrists securely against the bedposts.

Angel let his fingers trail across her soft and inviting skin, his fingers barely touching the curve of her hip before moving back, and Buffy guessed that he was watching her. Why did he do that? Did he know that it worried her? Was he just enjoying the view or trying to decide what to do next?

Finally he moved away, going to the large chest in the corner of the room. Buffy’s breath caught as he went toward it, suddenly afraid because she knew that he kept his toys in there. Her stomach lurched and she pushed aside the urge to vomit. The things in that chest had caused her so much pain that she dreaded him going anywhere near it. She couldn’t even look at it without trepidation, and when he began pulling things out she looked away, not wanting to know what was in store for her.

While Angel sorted through the items in the chest, Buffy pulled gently on the chains to see if they were fixed securely. They were, of course. Angel knew his craft, and Buffy wondered how many people played with bondage and chains the way that they did. But she knew that it wasn’t - couldn’t - be the same. For them, it wasn’t a game.

Having selected several things from the chest, Angel stood up and returned to the bed, and placed them down on the sheet, his body deliberately blocking them from Buffy’s view.

Buffy really did not want to know, but a kind of morbid fascination made her look. She watched with an oddly dispassionate air as Angel brought each item into her line of vision and painstakingly laid each one neatly out on the bed, in readiness for use later on.

First, there were two leather whips – one with a single leather strand, and one with thin leather strips that Buffy knew stung like a bitch.

Next, Angel placed down a small ivory knife that had a very narrow - and very sharp - blade, and Buffy remembered the intimate touch of that very clearly indeed.

A long chain with tiny links went down next, and as Angel brought the final item - a soft leather roll, into her a view - Buffy’s blood turned to ice. She tensed as a chill crawled up her spine and travelled down her limbs, spreading goose bumps all over her body.

As if he could sense it, Angel looked up and stared directly at her.

Fear.

Buffy squirmed. Somehow, knowing that he could sense her alarm was worse than standing before him naked and exposed, and she flushed with shame.

He stood up and came over to her, his expression gentle as he threaded his hand in her hair and leant down to kiss her. The kiss was controlled and deep, but held none of Angel's normal passion. They both knew it was a gesture, a tiny straw to help her through her ordeal.

Finally the kiss ended, and with some regret Angel pulled away and stepped back. Her eyes were wide with apprehension but calm, and he returned to the bed to finish his task.

With the same meticulous care that he had used on the other items, Angel unhurriedly unrolled the leather parcel that contained his most vicious tools. Each metallic implement was cocooned in its own little pouch, and Buffy tried to turn her head away from the sight but found herself perversely captivated. Her stomach churned; the vile things Angel could do with that kit were indelibly printed on her memory and made her skin crawl. She forced herself to take a deep breath.

Calm. She told herself. Keep calm. She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing down her breathing. Angel would not use the nastier equipment to start with; he always started lightly and at first the pain would be bearable - but at some time during the night he would cross over into real pain. Angel was damn good at it too, and he could keep her simmering for hours at any level of pain that he chose to. It was a sobering thought to her that he was, quite probably, going easy on her.

Buffy had managed to calm her laboured breathing and opened her eyes to see Angel watching her intently. But she couldn’t help herself and her gaze drifted back to the objects spread out on the bed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel moving, and she turned her attention back to him.

In an attentive slow motion, she watched Angel unbuckle the belt of his jeans, drawing the soft leather back through the loops and pulling it away from his body. Without taking his eyes from her, he then folded the belt in half, holding the buckle in the palm of his hand and silently went to stand behind her. Buffy took another calming breath and tried to prepare herself for what would soon follow.

And so, it begins again…

******************

From his vantage point in the armchair, Angel watched the sleeping occupant of his bed. She looked peaceful now, but he couldn’t help remembering what had transpired just a short time ago. Would she hate him when she woke up? He had the same fear every time he put her through this. Would she still love him? Would she call him a perverted monster, and send him away? And she would be right, he was a monster, and he didn’t really understand why she let him do those appalling things to her.

A vampire woman would expect a relationship with pain, with violence and brutal sex. Buffy was not a vampire, her body was softer, and warmer, and it was much more receptive to his touch than that of the undead. If he was brutally honest about it, it was that very humanness that made torturing her so damn satisfying. It awed him that she had such total trust in him to endure the unbelievable pain that he would not hurt her in any other way; it was the reason he didn’t usually have sex with her - he couldn’t take that from her as well.

She sighed in her sleep, and the cover slipped back from her shoulder to reveal all the black and purple bruises that he had inflicted on her the night before. He tried not to, but he was mesmerized by the pattern made by the red wheals marring her skin, and heard again her screams and cries of distress. He closed his eyes, but the images just got stronger and he remembered the gorgeous curve of her back as she arched away from him, and the violent twisting of her body as she tried to escape the pain.

His human side recoiled in disgust, but the demon welcomed each picture, embracing every remembered torment with erotic pleasure and his body responded accordingly.

Buffy sighed again, and Angel’s gaze returned to her face to watch her wake up. Her eyelids fluttered, and when she opened them she blinked to orientate herself and then they locked on him.

Angel waited for her reaction to him. Waited for her anger and hatred; instead, the soft smile took his breath away, and he smiled guiltily back.

Buffy frowned, wriggling her hand from under the covers to stretch silently toward him. She couldn’t quite hide the wince of pain that the movement cost her, and Angel cringed with the thought that he had caused it.

He stood up and stepped toward her to take her outstretched hand. He knew she wanted him to join her, but he was afraid that his embrace would cause her even more pain and he hesitated.

“Angel,” she murmured, and he climbed on top of the covers and carefully took her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face, remorse in every tender move he made.

“Buffy…” he began, but she put her fingers against his lips to stop him and shook her head gently.

“I’m…” he tried again, but Buffy stopped him again.

“We’ve been through this, Angel,” she smiled tiredly at him. “It’s all right.”

“It isn’t,” he whispered. “Nothing about this is right, Buffy.”

“Sssh.” She drew his head down to her shoulder and waited for him to settle cautiously against her, using great care to make sure he didn’t hurt her any further. Her arms wrapped tightly round him and hugged him close to show that he was forgiven. He would not yet be able to forgive himself, and today he would deny her nothing; later, when she felt stronger, he would make love to her for hours, a desperate attempt to erase her memory of the previous night, and show her how much her sacrifice had meant to him.

Until it begins again…

End.

Note: This story now has a sequel which can be found here: It Begins Again

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