This was meant to be a rosebud, but it got away from me.  Again.  Call it a double rosebud.  Again.


Author:  Jo

Feedback : Pretty please, whatever you thought of it.  It will feed my muse for the next story – honestly.  Send it to

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.  If they were, I’d look after them better.  No money will ever be made from this fic.

Distribution: The Angel Texts;  Dark Star’s Blood Roses Forum; The Angel Elders Mansion Scribes of Angel

You want it?  Really?  Gosh.  Just tell me where it’s going please.

Spoilers: None

Rating: NC17

Content: B/A.  Coming to terms with living with a vampire.  Not nice.



Summary: Dark Star wrote ‘Hollow’, which tackled the issue of a vampire’s darker desires and how they would affect a permanent relationship between Angel and Buffy.  She was then pressed to write the prequel ‘It Begins Again’.  In discussion of these stories on the Blood Roses Forum, it was suggested that, in the end, Buffy might finish up staking Angel because of these darker desires.


NO!  No staking!  I’ve snuck into Dark Star’s playground and played with her toys, to show that staking isn’t necessary.  You need to read her two stories first.






It was that time again: time for the room hidden away in the furthest corner of their home.  Buffy could tell easily now – Angel was increasingly jumpy around her, increasingly likely to avoid her company if he could.  It was the once a month time when the vampire came out to play.  It hadn’t taken long to work out that it was the scent of her blood that started him off, and even though they had tried the obvious course of action, it wasn’t enough.  The blood was only the beginning.  He needed much more.  He needed the room.  She looked her question at him – they didn’t need to put it into words any more, and he nodded, a touch of guilt in his expression.  He hated to put her through this.  He needed it.  He loved it.


His hand was gentle on hers as he led her to the room.  There was a time when she had hated this room, hated what happened in here: a time when he caused her so much pain in here that she refused to enter it except for the one night a month.  It was different now.


He hesitated, as he always did, with one hand holding hers, the other on the doorknob. 


“Are you sure?”


She nodded.  No time for words now.  Those big, gentle hands opened the door, shutting it again firmly behind her, and his arms folded her to him, his hands running up and down her back, soothing her.  They kissed, then broke apart and began to undress, each appraising the other as they did so.  Over the years that they had done this, they had reached unspoken consensus on many things – unspoken, because they never, ever discussed what went on in the room.  One of those unspoken agreements was nakedness for both of them.  No hiding behind clothes.


The chest of toys was still there, and another tacit consensus was that they would *agree* which ones were to be used.  Buffy’s breath caught in her chest as Angel picked out a selection that included a heavy bullwhip and his rarely used favourite – the little leather roll that held his cruellest instruments.  Rarely used, because its contents could cause so much pain.  She picked up the roll.


“Which ones?”  Her voice was hesitant.


His wasn’t.  “All of them.”


Of course.  It had been a hard month for both of them, but for Angel particularly.  The demon must be appeased.  She nodded her agreement, mentally flinching as she did so.


Chains hung from the ceiling now, as well as from the bedposts, and he indicated that, tonight, he preferred the ceiling chains.  It was going to be a very hard night indeed.  But, if this was the price of their marriage, of his control of the vampire, so be it. 


Gentle hands, fixing manacles around those elegant, expressive wrists.  Gentle hands, spreading those shapely feet apart and fastening shackles around the ankles.  Knowing hands, running over every swell and curve of flesh, feeling satin over steel, touching, arousing, leaving no inch of skin uncaressed.  This was how he liked it now.  Then the opening crack of the bullwhip, and that beautiful back, arching *into* the pain.  Not for long.




It was almost over now.  Almost, but not quite.  Angel got off so hard on this night’s activities that another unspoken agreement between them was that she was the one who chose whether he would get off at all.  Tonight, such a hard, cruel night, she’d gone with the flow and said no, with a simple shake of her head.  No words.  She wouldn’t even allow him anything except his own will power to hold back his release.  He’d managed, but only just.  She knew who to thank for that expertise.  Darla.


She flexed her tired muscles, readying herself for the night’s finale.  She lifted her head to meet his gaze, both of them tired and full of pain, pain that would now be overtaken by pleasure, for her, at least.  She hadn’t decided about him, yet.  She looked at his eyes again.  Pain, and love and lust, and her heart opened, just as it did every time she looked at him.


She walked over to him and ran her fingers over his bunched shoulder muscles, cramped by the tautness of the chains.  Her hands came away bloody, and she lifted them to his mouth so he could lick them clean.  Then, she grasped his shoulders again and, lithe as she had always been, lifted herself up until she could wrap her legs around his waist.  As she brushed against his manhood, he groaned, and she wondered whether to be merciful.  Slowly, she sank down onto him, and felt his entire body clench with the effort of preventing a release that she knew was aching, bursting, consuming his every thought.


She, too, was more ready for him than she was prepared to admit, excited by the pain she had brought to him.  Vampires and Slayers: too much alike, perhaps.  As the first tendrils of warmth began to spread from her womb, she brought her very human teeth down onto the side of his neck, biting down as hard as she could.  There was no holding back for him now, as she sucked just a few drops of blood from the wound that she had made.  Man, soul and demon cried out in the ecstatic agony of relief.  He came hard: so hard that as, still intimately joined with him, she unlocked the manacles around his wrists, he was still coming; as he wrapped his bloodied arms around her, and they sank to the floor together, he was still coming; and as he moved within her to bring her to completion again, he was still coming.


The demon had been appeased for another month.  So had the man and the soul.  Just occasionally, it would be her in the chains again, as it had been at the first.  Not often, though.  She had found that, Slayer though she was, she couldn’t bear it month in and month out.  So, they had twisted it around, and found that this worked almost as well, as he taught her everything he wanted her to know about the pleasure-pain continuum.  Twisted it might be, but it allowed him to live with his demon.  More importantly, it allowed his demon to live with her, too.  Happily ever after.



13 September 2004


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