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Another hole to jump through, and then another. James descends further into darkness, dreading whatever’s coming next. After everything, he’s almost become used to the sensation of falling. Almost.
When he comes to, he finds himself on the filthy floor of a chilly room. James can still feel bugs crawling on his skin, like the slightest touches of fingertips. They’re everywhere.
The first thing he sees when getting up are the legs of many tables and benches. As he stands up, he realizes that he’s in a cafeteria. He scans his surroundings for any imminent threat, then notices a body – frozen in time, blood splatter all around his head that’s resting on the table. It should alarm James that he’s not alarmed at all by this. Has he become used to such sights by now? He notices little icicles hanging from the edge of the table. Something’s not right here.
“Ain’t no big deal,” a familiar voice says, coming from just ahead of James. The flashlight in his breast pocket illuminates the owner of the voice. It’s Eddie. “Just put the gun to their head and… pow!” The gun in his hand, now held to his temple, shines in the light menacingly as he mimics shooting himself in the head.
“Eddie?” James asks as he steps closer with hesitant movements.
“Oh, uh. Hi, James.” Eddie gets up. The man’s voice sounds eerie. His eyes look haunted, yet empty at the same time. They look cold.
James has seen his fair share of dead bodies ever since he arrived at Silent Hill, however, they had never felt this… fresh. Especially the blood, which is a bright red instead of dark brown or even black. “What happened here? Who was that?” James asks.
“I don’t know,” Eddie answers a little too quickly, gesturing towards the dead body. “He just came at me!”
Well. This is getting weird.
“Okay…” James starts carefully. “So he attacked you? And you shot him?”
“Yeah… Yeah, that’s right! He made me do it!” Eddie says and suddenly sounds agitated, like he’s reliving the moment when it happened – or something else, something similar. His dead eyes are fixed on the corpse to the right of him.
James needs to try and defuse the situation, though it’s not something he’s particularly skilled at. People have often told him in the past that he had no people skills. She often got mad at him – at least in the end.
Back to the task at hand, James makes his voice sound as gentle as he can, tries to placate the other man. “Okay, calm down, Eddie,” he says. “Any idea why he would do that?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Eddie says. “He came outta nowhere. Tried sneaking up on me in the dark. I heard footsteps, so I turned back, and he was right there.” He’s gesturing with the gun in his hand still, movements now more animated.
This is getting dangerous. James tries to keep a cool head. “And you could tell he wanted to hurt you?” he asks, careful not to get closer to Eddie, or let him get close.
“Well, yeah. I mean… The way he looked at me… I just had to do it.”
“He looked at you? I thought you said he came at you.”
“Yeah, I mean... I could see it in his eyes.”
James must admit to himself that Eddie’s eyes are scaring the hell out of him right now.
“His eyes?” James asks, though has no idea why. This conversation has gone on long enough, and it’s going nowhere. Eddie is clearly not telling him the truth.
But Eddie is eager to keep defending himself. “He kept looking at me. Making fun of me. I told him not to, but uh, he didn’t listen,” he says, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Eddie, you can’t j-” James starts, but then Eddie suddenly points his revolver at him.
Watch your mouth, James, it tells him.
James raises his hands in defense but tries to tell Eddie how he feels despite everything. "You can't just kill someone ‘cause of the way they looked at you.” Or because of the things they said to you, or because they were in your way, James thinks but doesn’t say, unsure where those thoughts came from. They would add nothing to the conversation. Eddie clearly said it’s all about the way he was looked at.
"Oh yeah?" Eddie says, agitation clear in his voice and his movements. He stares right at James with his bright blue eyes, so bright you can barely notice anything but his dark pupils. It reminds James of someone else he knows. So far, Eddie has been sounding like he’s far away from this place and time, completely dissociated from himself, like he’s somewhere else. But now, after what James said to him, he’s apparently coming back to the situation at hand, and it doesn’t seem to be a good thing.
There’s a long pause, and Eddie looks like he’s contemplating something. His gun is still pointed in James’ direction. "I gotta say I don't like the way you’ve been looking at me either." Eddie cocks the gun, lining up a bullet that feels like it’s got James’ name etched into it.
On instinct, James raises his fists, then punches Eddie square in the jaw with his right one. It causes Eddie to fall down as his gun falls as well and skids away, out of reach. For a moment, Eddie just lies there while staring into nothingness, like he’s contemplating his next move. The gun is lying a few feet away from him, and James wonders if he could shoot Eddie with his own before he gets to it. His hands are trembling. In a town like this, James obviously didn’t expect the other people he met to be particularly friendly – but Eddie? Of course, he knew that he’s disturbed, but he didn’t expect this.
With his only sense of security taken away, Eddie unfortunately doesn’t calm down at all like James had hoped he would. Why he thought to punch him instead of talking to him more, he doesn’t know. In that moment, it seemed to James that Eddie was beyond hope. Like violence was the only answer.
Just when James considers taking his gun out before the other man can try to kill him, Eddie slowly gets up, his movements deliberate. The gun lies forgotten under one of the tables. Eddie, now facing James once more, has a wetness in his eyes that is new to him.
Caught off guard, he lets the man step closer to him ever so slowly. “I’m sorry, James,” he says with regret in his voice, suddenly so close that James doesn’t anticipate the other’s hands on him. Then, a darkness in his usually bright eyes, and a malignant smile.
Eddie grabs James by the collar, and he can't react in time at all. He feels frozen all of a sudden, like the autonomy over his body has been robbed from him.
Before he knows it, he's spun around by strong hands on his arms and shoved towards one of the tables where he’s pressed down on it. The frost bites at the skin of his stomach even through the layers of his clothes. James has no idea how this happened, or how he let it happen.
One of Eddie’s demanding hands pushes down on James’ neck, forcing his cheek to meet the table as he turns his head just in time to avoid his nose colliding with it painfully. It’s already been broken once before, and James isn’t keen on experiencing that again. Eddie’s other hand is now on his back, pressing, wandering.
When James finally finds his voice, it cracks. “Eddie,” he gasps. “What is this? What are you doing?”
From behind him, he simply hears a low laugh. “I think you know,” Eddie says.
The air is robbed from James’ lungs when Eddie moves in closer to press himself against him. The overwhelming feeling of his body so close to his is nauseating.
Soon, Eddie starts groping James, lets his hands explore under James' jacket and shirt, exposing his back to the cold air. It doesn’t burn where Eddie touches him, no, it’s freezing. In their wake, Eddie’s fingers cause James’ skin to feel like it’s going to blacken and die. All the while, Eddie’s rubbing his crotch against his ass, making it known what it is exactly that he wants.
This must be a nightmare. Can’t be anything else, James thinks. When he jumped down those deep, dark holes again and again, when he plunged into the darkness… he was not just falling, maybe he was falling asleep. Perhaps he’ll be waking up again soon, somewhere else. But then again, will that somewhere else be any better than this? If he’ll be someone else then, will he be better?
Instead of waking up, he’s forced to keep listening to Eddie’s heavy breathing as the incessant rubbing and touching doesn’t stop. Eddie’s hands roam freely all over his body as if he belongs to him, and James still can’t move a muscle. Every now and then, James gasps and moans in disgust at the sensations, and Eddie replies with content hums. Icy fingers move under him to unceremoniously and carelessly unbutton his dress shirt, then toy with his chest. His nipples ache and grow numb with the touches. After a while, Eddie seems to grow bored of just that, and he wants more.
After he swiftly unbuckles James’ belt, pulls his pants down, and is close to unbuttoning his own, James finally finds his voice again.
“Eddie,” he cries in the same hurt tone as before, “you don't want to do this.” James looks back and watches as Eddie opens his shorts and fumbles to get his dick out, which is still mostly flaccid. “You-you're not even hard!”
That gives Eddie pause. James hopes that maybe, just maybe, Eddie will realize that he doesn’t even want to do this. But then again, James might be wrong about that.
Maybe instead, this is all Eddie ever wanted.
Maybe James is the only one of them who’s forced into things he hates.
“Are you making fun of me, James? It's just cold in here!” Eddie retorts after a while as he tries to stroke himself to hardness.
So he can feel it too?
James isn’t quite sure if it’s just cold in here, or if it’s Eddie. He recalls the icicles, and the man on the table being frozen solid.
Then, looking back at Eddie, he notices for the first time that not only is his breath visible now, but James remembers it has been during their past encounters too – as if it’s freezing cold everywhere for Eddie. As if this is his personal hell, somehow. It must be.
Eddie now strokes himself more urgently, slowly becomes hard.
“Maybe you should just warm me up…” he mumbles so quietly that James almost can’t hear it. But what he does hear very clearly is the sound of Eddie gathering spit in his mouth before he uses his thumbs to spread James’ cheeks, then spits right in the middle of them. James can feel Eddie’s saliva drip down his hole, all the way to his perineum. Before he can try to say anything once more, or beg for Eddie to stop, the man puts his half-hard dick where his spit just landed to rub it between his cheeks.
“I'll show you…” Eddie breathes heavily as his dick grows ever harder and leaks precum onto James’ hole, wetting it further.
“You're just like everybody else, James. I've noticed the way you look at me. You think I'm a fat, useless piece of shit. You probably think I'm a faggot too, huh? Well if that's what you think, then-” Eddie pauses his tirade and breathes in deep as if to ready himself.
“No, I don't-” James starts, but is unable to finish his sentence as Eddie finally decides to push inside mercilessly. No preparation whatsoever, nothing to aid his entrance aside from the spit and his precum, nothing inside of James to make the slide easier.
The pain is indescribable. James feels something tear within him, like old wounds being reopened. This is different from being beaten, from his torso being slashed open by the nurses’ knives or even the relentless choking he had to endure by the hands of that red pyramid thing. It’s different from flesh wounds that need to be stitched up, from cuts and bruises and black eyes. This is on the inside. James can’t remember the last time he wanted to throw up this bad. It’s like Eddie’s dick is somehow pushing his insides further up into his throat, like he’s being choked by his own intestines.
“You think you're so much better than me, with your pretty face, and those pouty lips, and-” Eddie mumbles, but his words are cut off by a deep groan. “Oh fuck, this tight ass of yours. James…” His movements stutter, and he pushes as far inside of James as he can.
Eddie seems to lose himself in the sensation then, mindlessly fucking James' hole as if it were his first time inside of someone, which it probably is.
Perhaps this is what James deserves, somehow. Perhaps he could’ve been a kinder person, and Eddie is just taking what he owes from him.
James’ hands, clenched into fists, lie near his head on the table, unable to do anything. If he were stronger, he might’ve been able to defend himself. Or maybe deep inside, he knows he deserves this, so he lets it happen. And he has to accept it.
Eddie cums inside of James soon enough with a relieved moan. It takes him a while to recover while he’s breathing even more heavily than before. Even his seed inside of James doesn’t feel as hot as James is used to. Something in his mind snaps, and he becomes aware of memories that have been long buried. Then, his mood shifts, as if his body suddenly knows what it has to do, and James’ consciousness is only along for the ride.
James wants to tease Eddie, wants to ask, “Is that all you got?” just to make him keep going, but he quickly realizes he doesn't have to. Eddie's thick cock is still raring to go, and he’s starting to move inside him once again.
Eddie grabs James’ cock then, realizes it’s not hard at all. “Is my dick not big enough for you, James? Does it not satisfy you?” he asks in a mocking way while also being self-deprecating. “Are you used to something bigger?”
James hides hid face in shame at that, and his body starts to shake. He has no answer to give.
To James' surprise, Eddie’s cock actually grows bigger inside him, as if he wasn’t entirely hard before. It fills up, filling James’ insides further. And then, as Eddie adjusts his position to hover over his body with his palms resting flat on the table beside James, the angle of his thrusts changes. Somehow, this feels more animalistic than when he was fucking into James while grabbing his hips to steady himself.
Now, he’s hitting James’ prostrate on almost every thrust, and while they’re too shallow and fast for James’ liking, he’s starting to enjoy this. His dick fills out, his moans are starting to sound less pained – despite there still being pain – and his breathing eases. As Eddie’s fucking him harder and now easier too with the aid of his cum, what’s being done to James is slowly becoming more and more pleasant.
When he moans, clearly in pleasure, Eddie laughs in reply. “Fucking take it, you little pussy…” he groans as his thrusts become harder and deeper, and James can’t help but make pathetic whines with every hit of his prostrate, can’t stop himself from drooling on the table. He feels tears running down one side of his face and the bridge of his nose.
When Eddie notices, he laughs yet again. “You’re crying like a little bitch, huh? Well, that’s what you are. My little bitch,” he says before moaning loudly when one of his thrusts hits particularly deep.
James can sense malice in his words, as if Eddie hates him for being so weak – or maybe it’s someone else he hates. Instead of thinking too hard about it, James tries to focus on what his body is feeling. But Eddie speaks up again to humiliate him further.
“Are you going to cum, James?” Eddie pants in between thrusts. “Is someone as disgusting as me going to make you cum? I bet you’ll regret that, James. I bet you’ll hate yourself for this.”
Eddie is right. He is close to finishing, but even more so, he’s going to hate himself thoroughly after this, though not because of who did this to him.
When Eddie spits in his hand and starts stroking James’ aching cock, it doesn’t take much longer for him to finish all over his knuckles with a sob.
It’s the first time he’s had an orgasm in so long, so it feels like it goes on forever. His vision whites out, and he can’t breathe at all for a long moment. By the end of it, when he regains the feeling in his body, he realizes that he's weeping.
“Deep down, you know you deserve this,” Eddie adds right before he finishes inside of him a second time, utterly making a mess of him while he thrusts his cum deeper and deeper into him.
When he’s caught his breath, Eddie slides out of him too suddenly, causing James to flinch. It leaves behind an empty feeling, among many others. Eddie buttons up his pants and leaves with fast steps through the only door there is, nothing more to say.
James lies there for a long time, not moving an inch – unable to forgive himself for liking this, and for causing it.