Hollow
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Illustration by Dark Star Author: Dark Star Email: eternity_ds@hotmail.com Website: Dark Star's
Portal 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: Adult . 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 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.
Part Two ~ It Begins Again
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