Feels Like I'm Dying
folder
+S through Z › Silent Hill
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,843
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › Silent Hill
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,843
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Silent Hill, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
You Awful Me
Feels Like I’m Dying
By Parasomnia
You Awful Me
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“M…mom…”
The horrible, horrible rusty thing that Henry had been hitting him with hurt. Light shined brighter behind his fingers, before consuming them. He moved his hand a little before, his body cold and numb, the arm fell down, and with a final cringing sigh, his head dropped off to the side, bronze eyes dulling, wide open and unable to register the rumbling on the floor, and all of his dreams crumbling around him.
Walter Sullivan’s sins were hard to judge from any point of view. He was an abandoned little boy, who just wanted to see his mother beneath all of those atrocities, in the view of any normal religion. In his own, he was a strong holy man who tried his hardest to bring about a second coming. Perhaps in both, his failures were cancelled out by his attempts for good, and he would just stay in purgatory for the rest of eternity.
Henry and Eileen fled the scene, to wherever it is their legs could take them far, far away. Walter lie still, and the knocking on room 302’s door finally ceased, as the bruised angel crumpled to the floor. Valtiel sighed, and forced one hand out of Walter’s head, the slime upon his diseased, brown skin making his long, greasy blonde hair even dirtier. His head shaking and convulsing in surfaced as well, as he pulled himself out along the ground, until both shoulders and then both arms could find their way out. Wet hands slapped against the metal, as he pulled the rest of his torso out of the human’s body, tugging his legs out as well.
Turning around to stare down at his host for the past few decades, Valtiel sighed, and started to pull him off to his personal nowhere.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When he woke up, he had found that even though the places had changed, they would remain the same. Instead of smooth concrete it was metal grates, rusted until they were blackened and left a faint orange-red…and a darker red-brown in unexplainable puddles. He lay on his back, and stared down at his blackened reflection on the floor, before lifting one hand up to examine it again. His skin was now the same worn, ashen grey as eighteen of his predecessors. Only Henry, Eileen and he from the first time had come away looking normal. His clothes smelled like a breeze kicking up the wet dirt from an incoming storm – earthy, but not completely repellant…at least, he didn’t think so. Maybe, more likely, he’d gone through such a time smelling like a corpse that he didn’t mind it anymore. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and stared at the rest of the dark expanse of the subway station in South Ashfield.
He noticed a thick, warm wetness trailing down the side of his neck, and he absent-mindedly reached up to where he had thrust that spoon into his neck so many years ago. The edges of the wound felt crusted and scabby, but a blackened, bloody sludge oozed forth from it. Trails of it stayed connected to his palm, before drooping and finally breaking off into viscous segments, down onto the lap of his jacket’s front. It was shiny and contrasted on his pallid flesh, and he thought it was almost pretty. More of the black substance dripped down into his hand, making him frown softly. A bigger clump of it splat down right onto his thigh, long, mangled black hair matted down in it. It wasn’t his, so he looked up to see where it was coming from.
The first thing he saw was her gaping mouth, outlined by bloody lips and filled with slightly tainted teeth. Her fine nose’s tip was all he could see before the massive veil of tangled hair began to hang down, straight down along either side of her smooth jaw, before fanning out where it would have hung to maybe her chest if she was standing and not floating, parallel to the nightmarish floor, before intertwining back around to his arms, roughly caressing him. Familiar bloody cuts, outlined with dark purple bruises accentuated her light skin, as her constant moans of pain echoed at him from all around.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Cynthia stared hard at the man she loomed over, judging him as best she could with her clouded mind. She remembered a man from what seemed like so long ago, and a special favor she had promised. As she calmly choked on the thinning blood that trailed down her throat, her mouth gaping wider, she tried to see him a bit more clearly, leaning in close as tendrils of greasy hair clung all around them, her arms exploring the rough fabric of his dark, navy jacket. She owed a handsome man a special favor because of something hours ago…years ago…she couldn’t make the distinction between time or the man’s rugged face, but she had kept her lips opened to points as polar as they could become, in hopes of finding him and granting that special favor.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Walter should not have been a weak ghost, but he was clueless of what was happening, and the confusion made him hesitant to follow his instincts. He should have been fighting the woman as she floated over him, everywhere on every side, but he hesitated too long. Her hands roamed up to his neck, caressing his skin and smearing the bloody sludge, before starting to tug at his jacket collar. Soft strong locks of ebony clung around his shoulders and wrists, and touched his cheek.
He gasped with a shallow breath as she lurched forward, her gaping mouth pressing around the wound to suck at it for a moment, before she dragged the warm, wet touch down to the collar of his shirt, shearing at the thick fabric of the jacket. As one hand fought to unwrap him from the bothersome coat, another reached down, dragging fingernails up along his inner thigh, causing him to breathe quicker for a moment as she then pushed and rubbed at his pelvis through the waist of his pants.
His slight struggling caused him to fall to the dirty, bloody floor, the clinging hands on his jacket pulling it the opposite way. With a metallic-sounding squeal, the opposed pressure pulled it open, a few more strong tugs from Cynthia forcing the busted zipper to clatter across the floor. She descended onto him like a pall, wild black hair flowing around and on top of him, mouth crooning delicate sounds and giggles and cries, all while her body jerked and twitched, mangled hands reaching out to pull at his shirt and un-tuck it from his belt. Hands that could once expertly undo a belt buckle in the dark now fumbled and pulled at the metal plate and the strap of leather laced through it, before she finally pulled the troublesome article away with a triumphant coo, flinging it away as she moved on to have the same struggle with his button and fly.
Though he was momentarily scared at the violent pulling sensations at his hips, the soft though greasy caress of the hair had kept moving about him like living silk, pushing softly up his torso, feathered edges brushing his nipples as the active black mane sought out the most sensitive places to touch. She pulled a number of soft, echoing moans and whimpers from the back of his throat, as she finally ushered his pants down to his ankles, nuzzling the crook between his left thigh and his manhood, encompassing the bulge in his boxers in her ever-gaping mouth for a moment, making gruff noises in her throat as she moved up and down over him for a moment, as his breathing grew fast once more, this time keeping up with the lack of a pulse to race.
A thick purple tongue lolled out of her mouth as she trailed it up along his stomach, pulling the last barrier of clothing down about his feet, the cold of the subway floor either unaffecting to Walter or trivial compared to heat he was feeling. The hot wetness as her mouth trailed along his growing desire and the touch of her hair everywhere else where he needed to be felt, all while manicured nails softly raked along his stomach and thighs was turning purgatory into heaven. Her throat came down around him suddenly, blood-red lips pressing to the base of his erection. Walter started to pant, his fingers curling into the air around them as he lay his arms out at his sides, before he stretched them out to grip at the ground, as she tensed the back of her throat, tightening around him. Pulling back once, until only the head was in her mouth – finally closing enough so that all of her mouth could tough his skin – Cynthia mewled and sucked at him tenderly for a moment, before thrusting her head back down to bury her face between his legs, causing him to gasp childishly as he involuntarily jerked his hips up to meet her. He had no idea why – he just knew that there was a pressure building up down there, and his body was leading him through the motions necessary to relieve him of it.
Pushing her palms in even but erratic circles along his inner thighs, Cynthia pulled her head back and plunged back down again, more sure of the motion now. There came another low moan from Walter, writhing in obscene pleasure on the dirty, concrete floor. She pumped him in and out of her mouth a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, building up a steady rhythm as he cried out unintelligibly. Cynthia kept up that same pace, slow and steady, occasionally pounding him into her throat a bit harder than normal, before pulling herself up so far that he nearly exited her sweltering mouth only to shove him back into her heated depths. After a while of this, his body desperately seeking the ultimate height, Walter lost control; he had his head thrown back, cry after cry escaping his mouth, as he arched his hips up into her, keeping up with her frenzied dance as he thrust into her. Sensing his need, she moved her hands around to grip his hips, experienced fingertips pushing into his tender flesh, as she picked up her tempo, her head beginning to bob up and down upon his hips as her hair twitched from the speed.
Arching up with a pulled out, shameless yell, Walter forced his hips up one last time his whole body tensing as force that had been building between his legs forcedly released itself, shooting out into the eager throat of his partner as she continued to pump him between her lips, sucking him out to the last moment. From seeing white-hot sparks underneath his clenched eyelids, everything faded from red and slowly to black, his labored breath echoing out across the subway. Still licking at his limp dick, Cynthia sighed deeply, her special favor finally granted. She couldn’t help but think that somehow, when she granted the favor that she would be given some form of liberation from something. Crooning to the body below her as he drifted off, her hair slipping out from under his shirt and within his jacket, she moaned dejectedly, and drifted down the blackened tunnels of South Ashfield Subway Station, for the time being.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Notes: Yeah, I sort of decided to start soft in terms of what happens in the sex. Walter is most likely a virgin after all, so I don’t think he’d have the capacity to suddenly take over in a brilliant sweep of raging desire or what have you. Crystal came up with the brilliant idea of having Walter utilize one of Cynthia’s stab wounds for a…um…sexual orifice o_0 Yeah, that sounds classy! I recommend Clive Barker’s Damnation Game to her – wonderful story, with just such a scene! I haven’t gotten around to that in this story, though. >_< Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, next time, though. I hope that you all still enjoyed this for what it was; my first smut, so DON’T BE GENTLE. Tell me what I need to improve on!
By Parasomnia
You Awful Me
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“M…mom…”
The horrible, horrible rusty thing that Henry had been hitting him with hurt. Light shined brighter behind his fingers, before consuming them. He moved his hand a little before, his body cold and numb, the arm fell down, and with a final cringing sigh, his head dropped off to the side, bronze eyes dulling, wide open and unable to register the rumbling on the floor, and all of his dreams crumbling around him.
Walter Sullivan’s sins were hard to judge from any point of view. He was an abandoned little boy, who just wanted to see his mother beneath all of those atrocities, in the view of any normal religion. In his own, he was a strong holy man who tried his hardest to bring about a second coming. Perhaps in both, his failures were cancelled out by his attempts for good, and he would just stay in purgatory for the rest of eternity.
Henry and Eileen fled the scene, to wherever it is their legs could take them far, far away. Walter lie still, and the knocking on room 302’s door finally ceased, as the bruised angel crumpled to the floor. Valtiel sighed, and forced one hand out of Walter’s head, the slime upon his diseased, brown skin making his long, greasy blonde hair even dirtier. His head shaking and convulsing in surfaced as well, as he pulled himself out along the ground, until both shoulders and then both arms could find their way out. Wet hands slapped against the metal, as he pulled the rest of his torso out of the human’s body, tugging his legs out as well.
Turning around to stare down at his host for the past few decades, Valtiel sighed, and started to pull him off to his personal nowhere.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When he woke up, he had found that even though the places had changed, they would remain the same. Instead of smooth concrete it was metal grates, rusted until they were blackened and left a faint orange-red…and a darker red-brown in unexplainable puddles. He lay on his back, and stared down at his blackened reflection on the floor, before lifting one hand up to examine it again. His skin was now the same worn, ashen grey as eighteen of his predecessors. Only Henry, Eileen and he from the first time had come away looking normal. His clothes smelled like a breeze kicking up the wet dirt from an incoming storm – earthy, but not completely repellant…at least, he didn’t think so. Maybe, more likely, he’d gone through such a time smelling like a corpse that he didn’t mind it anymore. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and stared at the rest of the dark expanse of the subway station in South Ashfield.
He noticed a thick, warm wetness trailing down the side of his neck, and he absent-mindedly reached up to where he had thrust that spoon into his neck so many years ago. The edges of the wound felt crusted and scabby, but a blackened, bloody sludge oozed forth from it. Trails of it stayed connected to his palm, before drooping and finally breaking off into viscous segments, down onto the lap of his jacket’s front. It was shiny and contrasted on his pallid flesh, and he thought it was almost pretty. More of the black substance dripped down into his hand, making him frown softly. A bigger clump of it splat down right onto his thigh, long, mangled black hair matted down in it. It wasn’t his, so he looked up to see where it was coming from.
The first thing he saw was her gaping mouth, outlined by bloody lips and filled with slightly tainted teeth. Her fine nose’s tip was all he could see before the massive veil of tangled hair began to hang down, straight down along either side of her smooth jaw, before fanning out where it would have hung to maybe her chest if she was standing and not floating, parallel to the nightmarish floor, before intertwining back around to his arms, roughly caressing him. Familiar bloody cuts, outlined with dark purple bruises accentuated her light skin, as her constant moans of pain echoed at him from all around.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Cynthia stared hard at the man she loomed over, judging him as best she could with her clouded mind. She remembered a man from what seemed like so long ago, and a special favor she had promised. As she calmly choked on the thinning blood that trailed down her throat, her mouth gaping wider, she tried to see him a bit more clearly, leaning in close as tendrils of greasy hair clung all around them, her arms exploring the rough fabric of his dark, navy jacket. She owed a handsome man a special favor because of something hours ago…years ago…she couldn’t make the distinction between time or the man’s rugged face, but she had kept her lips opened to points as polar as they could become, in hopes of finding him and granting that special favor.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Walter should not have been a weak ghost, but he was clueless of what was happening, and the confusion made him hesitant to follow his instincts. He should have been fighting the woman as she floated over him, everywhere on every side, but he hesitated too long. Her hands roamed up to his neck, caressing his skin and smearing the bloody sludge, before starting to tug at his jacket collar. Soft strong locks of ebony clung around his shoulders and wrists, and touched his cheek.
He gasped with a shallow breath as she lurched forward, her gaping mouth pressing around the wound to suck at it for a moment, before she dragged the warm, wet touch down to the collar of his shirt, shearing at the thick fabric of the jacket. As one hand fought to unwrap him from the bothersome coat, another reached down, dragging fingernails up along his inner thigh, causing him to breathe quicker for a moment as she then pushed and rubbed at his pelvis through the waist of his pants.
His slight struggling caused him to fall to the dirty, bloody floor, the clinging hands on his jacket pulling it the opposite way. With a metallic-sounding squeal, the opposed pressure pulled it open, a few more strong tugs from Cynthia forcing the busted zipper to clatter across the floor. She descended onto him like a pall, wild black hair flowing around and on top of him, mouth crooning delicate sounds and giggles and cries, all while her body jerked and twitched, mangled hands reaching out to pull at his shirt and un-tuck it from his belt. Hands that could once expertly undo a belt buckle in the dark now fumbled and pulled at the metal plate and the strap of leather laced through it, before she finally pulled the troublesome article away with a triumphant coo, flinging it away as she moved on to have the same struggle with his button and fly.
Though he was momentarily scared at the violent pulling sensations at his hips, the soft though greasy caress of the hair had kept moving about him like living silk, pushing softly up his torso, feathered edges brushing his nipples as the active black mane sought out the most sensitive places to touch. She pulled a number of soft, echoing moans and whimpers from the back of his throat, as she finally ushered his pants down to his ankles, nuzzling the crook between his left thigh and his manhood, encompassing the bulge in his boxers in her ever-gaping mouth for a moment, making gruff noises in her throat as she moved up and down over him for a moment, as his breathing grew fast once more, this time keeping up with the lack of a pulse to race.
A thick purple tongue lolled out of her mouth as she trailed it up along his stomach, pulling the last barrier of clothing down about his feet, the cold of the subway floor either unaffecting to Walter or trivial compared to heat he was feeling. The hot wetness as her mouth trailed along his growing desire and the touch of her hair everywhere else where he needed to be felt, all while manicured nails softly raked along his stomach and thighs was turning purgatory into heaven. Her throat came down around him suddenly, blood-red lips pressing to the base of his erection. Walter started to pant, his fingers curling into the air around them as he lay his arms out at his sides, before he stretched them out to grip at the ground, as she tensed the back of her throat, tightening around him. Pulling back once, until only the head was in her mouth – finally closing enough so that all of her mouth could tough his skin – Cynthia mewled and sucked at him tenderly for a moment, before thrusting her head back down to bury her face between his legs, causing him to gasp childishly as he involuntarily jerked his hips up to meet her. He had no idea why – he just knew that there was a pressure building up down there, and his body was leading him through the motions necessary to relieve him of it.
Pushing her palms in even but erratic circles along his inner thighs, Cynthia pulled her head back and plunged back down again, more sure of the motion now. There came another low moan from Walter, writhing in obscene pleasure on the dirty, concrete floor. She pumped him in and out of her mouth a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, building up a steady rhythm as he cried out unintelligibly. Cynthia kept up that same pace, slow and steady, occasionally pounding him into her throat a bit harder than normal, before pulling herself up so far that he nearly exited her sweltering mouth only to shove him back into her heated depths. After a while of this, his body desperately seeking the ultimate height, Walter lost control; he had his head thrown back, cry after cry escaping his mouth, as he arched his hips up into her, keeping up with her frenzied dance as he thrust into her. Sensing his need, she moved her hands around to grip his hips, experienced fingertips pushing into his tender flesh, as she picked up her tempo, her head beginning to bob up and down upon his hips as her hair twitched from the speed.
Arching up with a pulled out, shameless yell, Walter forced his hips up one last time his whole body tensing as force that had been building between his legs forcedly released itself, shooting out into the eager throat of his partner as she continued to pump him between her lips, sucking him out to the last moment. From seeing white-hot sparks underneath his clenched eyelids, everything faded from red and slowly to black, his labored breath echoing out across the subway. Still licking at his limp dick, Cynthia sighed deeply, her special favor finally granted. She couldn’t help but think that somehow, when she granted the favor that she would be given some form of liberation from something. Crooning to the body below her as he drifted off, her hair slipping out from under his shirt and within his jacket, she moaned dejectedly, and drifted down the blackened tunnels of South Ashfield Subway Station, for the time being.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Notes: Yeah, I sort of decided to start soft in terms of what happens in the sex. Walter is most likely a virgin after all, so I don’t think he’d have the capacity to suddenly take over in a brilliant sweep of raging desire or what have you. Crystal came up with the brilliant idea of having Walter utilize one of Cynthia’s stab wounds for a…um…sexual orifice o_0 Yeah, that sounds classy! I recommend Clive Barker’s Damnation Game to her – wonderful story, with just such a scene! I haven’t gotten around to that in this story, though. >_< Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, next time, though. I hope that you all still enjoyed this for what it was; my first smut, so DON’T BE GENTLE. Tell me what I need to improve on!