Yup, they were outnumbered, all right. 

Seriously, seriously outnumbered.

Riley looked at his crew, the men and women who had fought with him against those who had once led this fight. The irony wasn’t lost on him; oh no it was there, standing right before him, mocking him. They had lost, but if Cordelia was to be believed then it was inevitable.

Buffy and Angelus were too well organized, knew the layout and their positions and controlled too many demons and too much land. They had done this before and more than once, both in the past and in their grand new endeavor. And they had a rather large grudge against both he and Cordelia. 

He wondered, for a very brief moment, why they hadn’t gone after them before. If, s Cordelia suggested, they were both possessive over the other, than why had they waited so many months before cornering them. The fact that whatever he and Buffy had was over long ago and Cordelia and Angel never really had anything entered his mind, but grudges like this, it seemed, never went away. 

If he had thought about it, Riley would have realized that it was the psychological aspect that appealed to the two; give them the belief that they have a fighting chance, allow them to take out the slower, lesser demons to make it seem as if they really were doing something…then take it all away as easily as if it were a day in the park. 

In one swift stroke they managed to accomplish just that.

Riley suspected that if they had attacked from outside the city limits, that if they hadn’t tried to take them from the inside (not that they had, it was more trying to stay alive, but still he needed to believe something…), they might have had a shot. But that wasn’t to be, the main reason being that there was no way any of them could leave the city. 

It was guarded, heavily, no one entered or left without Angelus and Buffy knowing, human or otherwise. For the moment they considered most humans nothing more than food, if they wanted to leave, who cared? There were more coming in every day and still no one really knew what had happened to the city. 

The perfect plan.

He had tried to get the most severely wounded out, but the few guards he had sent with them to the city limits…never returned. He didn’t know what had happened to them, the guards, the wounded, or their doctors, but he knew that it probably hadn’t been pretty. If Buffy and Angelus tortured them then word hadn’t spread; Cordelia suspected and Riley had to agree that since they were wounded and low on the totem pole, they had been given to whomever had caught them.

He hadn’t been able to get the images out of his mind since then and those images had somehow overridden the ones from the slaughter he had just lost.

It was all his fault, he thought now, with some small portion of his mind not completely occupied with the task of brooding their current situation. He had a great many things to brood about at the moment: His wife, Sam, the loss of his unit in South America, Buffy’s death…no, Buffy’s turning, the fact that he was sleeping with yet another woman who had been Angel’s lover (his mind wasn’t exactly in the best of shapes and tended to flit from topic to topic) and the fact that he had failed not only his unit but their cause.

The fact that he was currently chained to several dozen other survivors (where had the rest come from, anyway? Riley hadn’t thought that many survived but they could have been taken off the streets for all he knew.) Though that term was used loosely, he supposed that that’s what they could be called. 

He doubted that there would be even this many left come sunrise. 

They were all in a line, single file, that stretched down the deserted road, a cool night breeze chilling him in his – and indeed everyone’s – complete state of undress. For late spring – or was it early summer? Riley couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a calendar – it was mighty chilly in LA. Maybe they had a weather witch.

Apparently degradation as well as dishonor were on the list of things his former lover and her mate had in mind for them. And wasn’t that just wonderful, Riley thought as they were sprayed down with freezing cold water for several long – cold – minutes, the wind still whipping around them, the chains chaffing into wrists and ankles and waist.

They were led through a magickal barrier, up a long winding concrete drive, and presented in a single file at the base of gleaming marble steps.

He felt like a slave being present at auction, a feeling that was further enhanced when The Family, as they were being called on the streets and how very ‘Godfather’-like of them, walked onto those steps.

There were eleven of them, Riley counted, though not all were recognizable. Buffy and Angelus, of course, and Willow, black hair and all. She was with a tall man that Riley assumed was her lover from the way they stood near each other; it wasn’t that they did anything to proclaim that fact, merely the way they were that spoke of their relationship.

Giles was there with a woman, vampiress no doubt but she was still beautiful, and Spike with…he knew her name, but Riley couldn’t remember it at the moment. Cordelia hissed it out, venom-coated despite the fact that her teeth were chattering. “Drusilla, that crazy bitch; I’d hoped she was dusted long ago.”

Ah, yes, Riley had heard of her, but not much. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Cordelia that Buffy rarely talked about her life before she met him.

Another dark-haired woman that Cordelia recognized but seemed somewhat happy to see as a mindless slave, for she was literally kneeling in front of Buffy and Angelus, her clothing, what there was of it, all but insubstantial.  She was wearing a thin silver collar that was attached to a delicate looking silver chain Angelus casually passed to a waiting minion, and, despite the chains, she didn’t seem to have any need to escape her captors. 

Cordelia’s words were along the lines of, “Just what I always wanted for you, Lilah, dear. I hope you enjoy your new status, bitch.”

Faith, he knew Faith, but this…being before him was an animal. Wild and unfettered, she looked the part in leather pants and a tight corseted top that had to make breathing difficult. Her eyes were wild, a perpetual snarl graced her wide mouth, and a constant growl emitted from her throat, scaring even the minions who surrounded her, chained still as she was. 

So this is what…who had been the whirlwind of death and destruction that wielded a knife and a smile, hacking into everything and everyone within reach, chains clinking but not hindering. What had she become? What had they turned her into?

And Dawn, poor sweet Dawn was standing next to Drusilla like the vampiress was some kind of saint, a soft smile on her face that chilled Riley to the bone, more so than the wind and cold water ever could.

There was nothing in that smile, nothing that was the Dawn he knew, nothing that was…human at all, actually. It was more than a little scary to see a strong-willed young woman replaced by what they wanted to be there…made him wonder what they had in mind for him.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Did you really think you could win?” Angelus asked, his strong voice booming around them in the night air. 

He stood as if he were a god atop an ancient mountain, commanding and dominating everything in his sight. Hair just brushing his shoulders whipping wildly behind him, eyes sweeping over the group of humans as if they were less than slaves, stance arrogant and strong. Buffy stood to his right, her own unbound hair flowing down her back, making her look like an ancient goddess, righteous in her fury and swift in her punishment.

They made a striking couple.

“Did you really think that a handful of paltry humans had a hope of ever defeating us?” His gaze, dark as the evening was, glowed blood red in anger and power and triumph, and pierced each survivor in turn.

Buffy sauntered down the stairs, a minion following her as if she were the goddess he had just thought her to be. A ring flashed on her left hand, sparkling in the floodlights that illuminated them, and proclaiming her ‘taken’ for all to see. Her top was a leather tank, leaving her midriff bare and a hint of a jewel encrusted chain shone through, the leather of her outfit was well worn, but even Riley knew it was quality. 

And perhaps, Riley thought his eyes glued to his ex, to them she was a goddess. A slayer who had been turned, the first one ever according to Cordelia, powerful before the change, at least twice so now, she was mated to Angelus and he wasn’t exactly a weakling himself.

He watched as she ran a hand over the torsos of several of his crew, choosing or discarding them in turn as if they were indeed slaves to be bought and sold at her whim. When she came to Cordelia, Buffy smiled, her own eyes glowing a golden crimson, fangs flashing for a brief moment before reforming into her beautiful human features. 

“Cordy, dear, love the look. Just couldn’t stay in Russia, could you? Had to come back and try to save the day. I don’t know why,” Buffy sneered as the minion unlocked Cordelia’s manacles from the rest, dragging her across the driveway, “You aren’t exactly a champion of the people, you know.” 

Buffy continued to calmly and methodically taunt her about returning to America as she moved around the other woman. Cordelia shivered, her hair plastered to her face and neck, her nipples puckered with the cold, her skin dirty from the battle and wrinkled and slightly blue from the freezing water. 

“So this is the great seer, the vaulted link to the Powers That Be. I have to say, I always wondered how that happened. I mean, really, how many visions did you get that you didn’t bother to tell Angel about? Always wondered about that, frankly. No wonder they were killing you. 

“But,” she continued as she moved back up the steps to her lover, a hand quickly and gently brushing his hand in a gesture of love and affection Riley never thought vampires were capable of showing. The both of them smirking, eyes gleaming in anticipation of the days, and the tortures, ahead, “It really doesn’t matter any more.”

Nodding to the guards holding the chains of the rest of the prisoners, Angelus waited until they were almost out of earshot before finishing Buffy’s sentence. Ruling through control was all about fear. It only took one to hear the words before the message traveled to the rest. 

“I know you think you have an idea what we’re going to do to you, Cordelia, but really, you don’t. Every inch of your skin will be set on fire; your hair will be shaved, your mind torn down to be replaced by what you see before you. And that is only the beginning. If you think you experienced pain with those pathetic visions, you were sadly mistaken.” 

Cordelia shivered; both in reaction to his words and from the cold. She knew this was coming, why had she stayed? Because she thought she could help? Because she was delusional in thinking that what she did made a difference? She always believed that one person made a difference, but obviously not that much. 

And Cordelia knew, through first hand knowledge that one just did not mess with Angelus. And Buffy…? She wasn’t exactly inadequate when it came to kicking ass, either. 

Maybe she should have stayed in Russia.
~~~~~~~~~~
Riley was taken through a grand house, two stories and a couple of wings from what he could see. Large floor to ceiling windows opened into the bright night sky, polished hardwood and marble floors gleamed throughout the house, tapestries and paintings hung from several walls each depicting various scenes of death, destruction, and hell.

Welcome to my hell, he thought as he, along with everyone else, was pushed down the steps. They landed in an undignified heap on the cold stone floor, bruises and cuts adding themselves to the mass each individual already had. As they struggled to get off the floor, chains tangled and whips flaying naked and sensitive skin, Riley wondered why he had ever decided to fight demons for a living.

Riley looked up just then, he couldn’t have said why, but he looked up the stairs to the top and saw Buffy.

She was standing there, smirking down at him, regal and haughty. Power streamed off her, encasing her, and evil, it could be seen in her eyes, flat and cold as they looked down at him. The look in her eyes told him just how little she felt for what was about to happen to him, how truly gone she was, there was nothing left of the sweet innocent girl  he had once known. 

He never realized, as they were, en masse, dragged into the wine cellar and chained along all four walls, that she had lost whatever innocence she had ever possessed long before she had met him. 

Turning to her mate, Buffy dismissed Riley with a flick of her long hair. “Baby?” 

Angelus looked away from the spot his mate’s former lover was, a scowl still on his face. He really hated that guy. Hated the fact that Buffy had ever touched him, ever wanted to touch him, that Riley ever knew how she felt, coming around him, that he knew the feel of her body, the softness of her touch.

When he didn’t answer she cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her, “Angelus, love?” 

Snapping his eyes to hers, gripping her upper arms in a bone crushing hold, Angelus looked at the reality before him. Her eyes held nothing but disdain for the boy in their basement and nothing but love and passion for him. It went a ways to easing his anger at the situation in general, but that was about it. 

“Come on, baby, we have things to do first. Riley can wait, indefinitely as far as I’m concerned. I never wanted him, anyway.” She leaned up to kiss his still scowling lips and dropped her voice. It wasn’t anyone else’s business what she said to her lover. “He was merely a means to try and forget the terrible loneliness that your leaving caused. And about getting back at you, a way to throw in your face that I could move on without you.” 

She pouted and bit his lower lip gently, “You were never supposed to fall for it. I want only you; I love only you, I always have.” 

His kissed her then, hard and fast, pouring everything he felt, the passion and the jealously, into the gesture. “For now, my love, for now,” he answered her unspoken statement. Only for now would he concentrate on Cordelia, later… 

Buffy smiled in anticipation. “You think you’re getting out of this that easily?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Cordelia was still standing in the middle of the driveway, still shivering, and still naked. 

She thought, briefly, of running but doubted her ability to make it very far; however, she had to try. She was naked but desperate times and all that. She was also barefooted, but her feet were willing to take their chances on the hard ground. She was still chained, but the manacles were loose enough for her to walk easily, they should be okay for running.

Ready to make her break, Cordelia shifted slightly onto the balls of her feet. Everyone had gone inside with the exception of the one minion set to guard her. There would be a cold day in hell when the day came that Cordelia Chase couldn’t outrun a lowly minion. She had been doing it for years and they were all mostly stupid, anyway. 

Today that happened. 

She was all set, thinking frantically on where she could go and wondering if the surrounding houses – mansions – would offer any sanctuary. The second she was sure she and the underling were alone, Cordelia turned on her heel, ignoring the scraping the cement caused, and raced for the gate. She made it half way down the driveway, magickal barrier flickering in the all too far distance. 

The minion, Frank, had been given two choices when he deserted his weak master in favor of Angelus and Buffy. He had heard, as had most of the world, how she was the strongest slayer ever and Angelus had been formidable even with a soul and a conscious. His choices were simple: Join us with the Blood Oath and pledge your allegiance solely to us…or don’t. 

The ‘don’t’ they didn’t bother to elaborate on; another minion had who had witnessed what happened when people said no to them had filled Frank in. They had given Frank two minutes to decide – apparently they had been in a generous mood that day – and it was then he learned that his ‘no’ answer had included giving him to the witch. 

She’d drain him of his life energy but, since he was a vampire, he’d still live. Then, apparently the real torture would begin. 

So Frank raced after the woman, not caring about his own life; when faced with failure in a task his masters had assigned him, it was all moot, anyway.

He caught her, knocked her out as swiftly as he could without doing any real harm to her, and flung her over his shoulder. By the time he walked back to the marble steps, she was already coming around. He set her on her bloody feet, doing his best to ignore the smell of her fresh blood, and waited for his masters to return.

Cordelia didn’t say anything; there was no witty comeback waiting on her tongue for the situation in which she found herself. So she sat on the cold ground, barely noticing it, and hoped for a quick death. Even she knew it was a hopeless wish. 

They made her wait. And wait some more. It was almost two hours later and the sun was just beginning to rise, when they had her brought inside, still not bothering to show their faces. Not that it mattered, not to her, Cordelia knew her fate but she got their point. 

They were in charge, absolutely. What they said went and no one was stupid enough to go against them. Yeah, she got that. 

Buffy lounged in the large throne, one of the two velvet and jeweled encrusted chairs that adorned the far end of the ballroom. A leg was thrown over the arm in a careless gesture that said how little she considered the seer a threat. Not that Cordelia blamed her; the match between them was far from even. Her clothes were tight and if she hadn’t been so weary and defeated, Cordelia might have made a sarcastic comment about the sluttiness of the outfit. 

A small crowd of retainers surrounded her, obviously waiting to heed her every wish and command. Willow was there, as were Drusilla and that other vampiress that had stood next to Giles. They encircled her like ladies in waiting to their queen. Angelus was no where to be seen and for some reason Cordelia found that made her all the more uneasy. 

“So, Cordy, Russia not to your liking?” Buffy asked, still lounging indolently, her leg swinging back and forth. A glass of liquid was in her hand, red, blood red, and Cordelia hoped it was wine, not blood. 

“It’s cold there,” she answered, vowing not to break any more than necessary (a futile hope, but she needed something) before people she once considered friends and allies.

“I imagine so,” Buffy commented, standing in one fluid movement, “Then again, it’s also safer. We probably wouldn’t have gotten to you for…months at least. Honestly, what made you travel all the way to California? You obviously knew what had happened, what did you expect to accomplish?” 

“Wanted a change in scenery, missed my old stomping grounds, the old homestead, you know.” 

“Hmm, yes,” the vampiress finished her glass, holding it out for someone to take. To Cordelia’s unsurprised gaze, a minion ran up to her, taking the glass – without touching her hand of course – before more than two seconds had passed.

”Still, you of all people should know that you wouldn’t be safe here. Did you go to Sunnydale first?” Buffy knew that she had, but she enjoyed the woman’s discomfort and wanted to prolong it. 

“Well, naturally,” Cordelia admitted, knowing Buffy probably already knew. “Had to see the old Hellmouth, a trip to California just isn’t the same without that picturesque stop on the tour.” 

“Could have stayed there, too,” she said, eyes again gleaming a crimson gold, “Even the Hellmouth was safer for you than LA.” 

With a glance to her side at Drusilla, Buffy allowed her mate’s childe to walk forward, holding Cordelia’s arms behind her back, her wrists, still bound in front of her, stretching tight against her abdomen. 

“Willow…” she said, and the witch raised her hands, creating a small ball of blue fire in her palm. “Saffir…” The older vampiress walked forward, holding a jar of that looked like little squirmy things and a small tray of scissors, knives and needles. 

Saffir didn’t know the woman before her, but was always interested in a little torture. And Buffy certainly had a unique taste for it. She honestly liked the younger vampiress; she was witty and smart, powerful enough to command Saffir’s respect and respected enough by both Paul and Giles, the only two beings in the world whose opinion Saffir valued, to make Saffir listen to what she said. 

“Now then, what should we start with first?” Buffy asked, not really expecting an answer as she walked around the naked and still shivering seer. “What do you think, Willow, the hair?” 

“Of course, no matter how much she claimed to changed, Cordelia Chase will always be a vainglorious bitch who cares nothing for anyone else.” 

Saffir handed the scissors to Buffy, smiling as Dru hummed a lullaby under her breath, licking Cordelia’s face as she did so. Buffy took the offered implement and snipped close to the scalp, careful not to shave her head, just make a mess out of the long (once again) dark locks that hung around Cordelia’s face. 

“What a sloppy job I’ve done; too bad, I guess you’re just have to get used to the new look. Now then, Dru dear, step back, I wouldn’t want you to burn.” 

Not that she could, Willow’s magick fire burned hot but didn’t hurt vampires, but there was no need to take chances. Did a hell of a lot of damage to human flesh, though, and that was what Buffy was after. With one smooth throw, as if she had done it a thousand times before, Willow let loose the ball of energy directly into Cordelia’s stomach. 

The scream that pierced the house could be heard clear into the basement. 

The prisoners there trembled in fear and Riley couldn’t help but wonder if he should have listened to Cordelia. She had stressed the fact that with what they currently had they couldn’t defeat Angelus and Buffy. Maybe they should have gotten out of Dodge sooner. Too late now, he acknowledged as the screaming went on and one with barely a breath between. 

It burned, oh, God, it HURT! Her flesh was being turned into a charcoaled mess, the skin flaking off, floating around her in a wind that flowed over her only because Willow wished it. Hot, oh, it was hot and it burned and it was all consuming and in that moment Cordelia Chase realized that she wasn’t as strong as she believed because her inner strength had never truly been tested.

The pain from the visions was nothing compared to this, the fact that she had survived those meant nothing to her as the burning went on and on and on and oh, please make it stop! But it didn’t and it wouldn’t, not until Buffy wished it to stop. But that wasn’t the worst. 

No, the worst part was that Cordelia knew this was only the beginning. 

Stop, suddenly it stopped. As quickly as it had begun the fire burned out and Cordelia fell to her knees, sobbing in pain, even her tears hurting though her faces hadn’t been touched with the flame. She hadn’t heard Buffy tell Willow to extinguish the fire, but could only be grateful…until new pain intruded upon the old throbbing one. What was that? And how the hell could she feel it if her skin was burnt off, the nerves on overload and ready to fire themselves out? 

Buffy smirked, once again sitting in her throne, surrounded by her women. It was truly a sight to see, Cordelia writhing in pain as the magickal force-field contained both her and the fire ants. Drusilla danced in a small circle, laughing, Saffir looked on in satisfaction as she took a glass of wine for herself. Willow…Willow was glad that she could finally see the so called high and mighty Cordy being brought so low. 

Turning to the doorway, she smiled as Angelus sauntered in a moment later, glancing briefly at his former lover as he did so. He had been seeing to the rest of the prisoners, double checking a few messages that arrived while they had been out, and talking with Paul about the other’s concerns over a new venture they had…acquired. 

He leaned down to capture her lips for a moment before taking his own seat, a glass of wine appearing at his side the moment he did so. The minions were far from stupid when it came to pleasing their masters. 

“Enjoying yourself, my love?” He asked, sipping from the flute. It was wine laced with human blood and he found himself grimacing at the taste. He had sampled too much of his lover’s rich nectar over the months to be able to stomach more than the occasional human’s bland blood. Still, he drank the liquid, knowing that the night ahead was going to be filled with tastes from his mate and a satiation of his hunger. 

“Tell me, Angelus,” Buffy asked, turning from the more than satisfying sight of Cordelia screaming hoarsely in pain as the fire ants probed her scorched flesh and covered her untouched face. “Don’t you much prefer her this way?” 

“Frankly, I’ve never really preferred her, but she does look better when you can’t see her body, especially her face. Can we do something about her voice? I love a good pained scream the same as the next, love, but her voice is just plain annoying.” 

Buffy laughed at that, agreeing. “Willow…?” With a slight gesture and a few muttered words, Willow sewed Cordelia’s mouth closed. Yes, much better all around. 

Buffy soon tired of the ants and Willow placed them back in the jar with a flick of her wrist. 

Cordelia didn’t move she doubted, in the very small part of her mind that wasn’t consumed by absolute pain, that she could. Continuing to whimper, though she was unaware of that, too, Cordelia cried out as her hands made contact with the polished wood of the floor. 

Hurt, pain, throbbing ache, it was all so much…please make it end… 

Buffy stood, walking down the two steps that raised the platform she and Angelus sat upon. Pulling the few wisps that remained of her hair, Buffy yanked Cordelia’s head back so her eyes, glazed as they were, could meet Buffy’s golden ones. 

“You’re pain has just begun, my dear, don’t ever think otherwise.” 

She dropped her and Cordelia fell forward, crying out once again as her torso came in contact with the hard floor. Her body shut down, unable to take any more sensation, and she lost consciousness. Buffy scoffed at her, kicking her once in the ribs before turning back to the dais. 

“Toga’sha, stake her out front, please.” Buffy asked the seven foot bodyguard. He nodded, the large double bladed axe bumping slightly against his broad back as he moved forward. 

She didn’t ask things of him often, preferring to let him do his own thing as he had already pledged his allegiance solely to her, but the sun had risen and he was the only one she trusted who could go both into the daylight – though he preferred not to – and who could carryout the order. 

They watched from the tinted windows of the ballroom as Toga’sha placed the burnt body of Cordelia in the center of the grass oval just opposite the marble steps. He pulled her arms tight over her head, driving a stake through the chains before stretching her legs out as far as the chains allowed and doing the same there. 

She had yet to move or make a sound, so he doused her with cold water, not to help the burns that covered her body, but to ensure that the heat of the sun baked her crispy skin all the more. 

Toga’sha appreciated the fact that Buffy looked after her own, that she punished those who had betrayed her and that she rewarded those who pleased her. It wasn’t just her power that he pledged to, it was also her mind. It was swift and calculating, one that a fellow warrior could respect. 

Buffy turned away from the window, ignoring the sight of the woman on the grass. Her fun with Cordelia was only beginning, but the seer needed time to adjust to her new situation. For now her attention was focused on her mate. 

Knowing that their part in the torturing of Cordelia was finished, Willow walked to the study in the back of their house in search of Paul, Drusilla and Saffir heading upstairs to their own lovers. The minions waited until dismissed before seeking their beds. 

“Come, lover,” Buffy said, already planning what she was going to do to Angelus for ever sleeping with the brunette woman. 

Angelus smiled, knowing that his day was about to get much more interesting. 

Sure enough, the moment they closed the door behind them, Buffy used all her combined slayer and vampire strength to knock him across the room. Neither ever let their punishment affect their duties, but the moment their time was their own…all bets were off. 

Crashing into the far wall, Angelus immediately jumped up, vamp face to the fore, tongue probing the bloodied cut on his lip. Buffy was on him in a second, growling, “Did I give you permission, lover, to move?” 

Hitting him again, she aimed him into their playroom, chaining him to the wall in record time. He didn’t complain, knowing that whatever she did to him he’d enjoy…plus he had his own plans for Riley. He’d get back at her; it was only a matter of time. 

It started with the whip, expertly flicked to tear the silk shirt off him in three hard strokes. The leather pants were harder, but Buffy aimed carefully and broke the snap with her whip, causing a groan of desire to escape her lover. 

“Did I say you could speak, Angelus?” She purred, taking a silk scarf out of the closet and gagging him with it, “Now then, Cordelia. Let’s talk about her, shall we?” 

She stripped his pants down, undoing one ankle manacle at a time to divest him of the clothing. He wasn’t wearing any underwear; Buffy couldn’t remember the last time either had done so. Once he was deliciously naked before her she continued.

Taking a knife off the tray from the large closet, Buffy debated for a moment before dipping it into Holy Water. Leaning into his chest, she allowed her lips to brush his cheek, jaw, the scar on his neck, before cutting into his skin. 

“Couldn’t you have done better? Sure, I get that you…Angel was lonely, that companionship was needed to prevent absolute craziness from taking over, but really, lover, Cordelia? She had no class; she gripes with her woe is me attitude, thinking that she’s had it ever so difficult. She knows nothing of that, but I guess you know that already.” 

Pulling back from his ear where she had whispered the words to look at her handiwork, Buffy smiled. “Hmm, shame it’s going to fade in a few hours. It looks mighty good there. Maybe you should get another tattoo, baby; I find I prefer you with my brand on you.” 

“Now, yes, I do realize that we belong to each other, but Cordelia? It just boggles the mind.” 

And that was when she dropped her ranting on her former friend and concentrated on making Angelus feel as much pain as possible. Buffy knew he got off on it, hell, she did as well. But it was so fun to see how far she could push him before his restraint broke. It was a test, a game between them. 

She had carved a large, ornate ‘B’ into his chest, licking the blood away and relishing the slight sting of Holy Water on her tongue. She whipped him, taking a riding crop to his twitching cock, making it twitch in need, almost purple with lack of release. 

Her cool mouth on his abused member, swirling her tongue over and over the tip, stopping when it became clear that he was about to climax. She didn’t want that, not yet. Back to the riding crop until she bored of that as well. 

Small bits here and there, tasting his passion laced blood, his need and love for her, his delight at the torture and his desire for release. Teasing his cock with that release only to work back up his cool bloody flesh to start again. 

Stripping her clothes to tease him all the more, the large emerald he had given her hanging heavy between her breasts, the gold and ruby chain encircling her waist, all things proclaiming her his. Pleasuring herself, bringing herself to climax numerous times as he could do nothing but helplessly watch, unable to feel her walls clench around him, taste her juices flow out of her, feel her body hum from his own. 

This went on for hours, but Buffy found that her own orgasms lacked something when her lover wasn’t inside her, pounding into her with his own need. Still, she hurt him, taunted him with gentle caresses that may have promised but did not deliver.

Finally, when he was mindless from the pain and pleasure, desperate for release, frantic to pound into his mate’s body, Buffy lowered him, still chained, to the ground. Whoever he had hired to design the mechanics of this room had done an excellent job. Now on his back, no closer to orgasm than he had been, Angelus growled, whimpered, pleaded with his mate. Buffy had long ago removed the gag, preferring to taste his mouth over and over again. 

“Buffy…” his voice was quiet; pained from the hours she had spent on him. “Baby, I need you…” 

“Shhh,” she soothed, running a hand over his vampiric features, kissing him again. “I know, but you have to understand, I’ve never truly liked Cordelia. And this is all about you fucking her.” 

Scoffing laughter escaped him. “It wasn’t that good, love, hardly worth it. I was thinking of you the entire time.” 

“You should have just come looking for me, baby,” she whispered before impaling herself on his rigid cock. 

Angelus’ roar of satisfaction echoed throughout the entire wing. 

It was a hard violent ride, but Buffy enjoyed it just as much as her lover. Just as her own climax was nearing, she clamped onto his dead jugular and gulped down his heady blood, holding his head close to allow him to do the same. 

Finally they lay exhausted on the floor, Angelus’ blood still flowing from his chest. 

Eventually Buffy moved to unlock the manacles, pausing to lick a rivulet of blood before kissing him. His chest still burned where she had carved her initial into him, his joints ached from being stretched for so long. But he was weak, not only from the amount of blood Buffy had taken, but from the amount she had shed, also. 

“Just remember, my love,” Buffy said as she curled onto his chest, his arms wrapping around her small body to keep her close. “You belong to me.” 

“Always, Buffy,” he answered, placing a kiss on her crown. “It was always you…and you are mine.”

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