Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2008-04-21 02:34 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2008-04-21 02:34 pm
Fic: Now and At The Hour of Our Death; Mary/James; Hard R
Title: Now and At The Hour of Our Death
Fandom: Silent Hill
Word Count: 1152
Pairing: Mary/James
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: Full Game and Rebirth ending
Warnings: Dark, violent, and disturbing imagery. Violence, Blood, Snuff.
Author's Notes: Seriously, listen to the warnings.
Summary: In Silent Hill, nothing came without a price.
Holy Mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death, amen...
There was no sound save for the lapping of the lake as it met the shore. The fog obscured everything, hanging heavy and thick. James knelt, hands on the damp ground, watching. All he could see was the dim outline of the stone alter and the slight swell that rested upon it.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. James heard himself panting, breathing heavily. He heard the waves on the shore. He heard the trees as they moaned and creaked. And something else. Some sort of tribal pounding, echoing in his mind…
The beating of his own heart.
What did I do wrong?
He’d done everything. What was taking so long? Had he made a mistake somewhere? Misunderstood the ritual?
No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been so careful…. He prayed to every god ever worshipped by mankind to make his will reality.
Finally. Movement. James gasped, lurching forward, desperation in every vein and nerve.
“James…”
“Mary!”
The fog parted and James scrambled to his feet, slipping on the wet earth. The figure on the altar stirred, moved, merged from a lifeless form into the silhouette of a woman seated.
“Mary…” he repeated, all the breath in his body rushing out in that single word. He could see her clearly now. She sat on the alter, the old sheet he’d wrapped her in pulled up over her breasts like a blushing virgin. Her hair was down - light brown, thick as it hadn’t been for years. The fog seemed to border her, making her seem illuminated.
Like an angel.
“It worked.”
Mary smiled. Her legs were bent. Her hand on the sheet was delicate, fingers curved. Perfection. Not a sex kitten parody, spawned from his darkest dreams, not a nightmare creature sent to punish him. Only his Mary, whole and healthy and his once more.
“You meant it,” she said, and James ached to hear her voice once more.
“Meant…what?”
“You’d do anything to be with me again.” She lowered her legs, the sheet slipping to expose her pale calves.
“Of course I meant it.” James stood now, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. His Mary. After all this, he had her again.
“I know.” She slid off the altar, the sheet falling away. James went to her, taking her in his arms.
She was so cold.
“Mary, I…”
“I know James.” Her arms twined around him. He kissed her hair and stroked her back and shuddered in the dim dank of the sacred island. Silent Hill had taken him, tested him, and he had been found worthy.
There was so much he wanted to say. But Mary was kissing his neck and he tilted her head to find her lips. How long had it been since he kissed her? Held her? Even here, amongst the ruins and monuments to old gods, he felt a stirring for her.
“Do you love me?”
“How can you ask me that?” Her hair smelled of earth and damp.
“Do you love me?” Her lips moved against his.
“Mary…” James buried his face in her shoulder. Her hands were moving over his body, touching him the way she had when they were first married.
“Do you love me?” Over and over she asked, drawing him back, slipping off his jacket, his shirt, his belt. She pushed him onto the altar, the stone cold and wet against his bare back. As cold as Mary.
She climbed on top of him. The fog swirled around them both and James reached for her. His hands ran along the sides of her waist, as if in a dream. Perhaps it was a dream.
“Do you love me?” she asked again.
“I love you,” he said. He had gone through hell and back to find her. Wasn’t that love? And she had forgiven him his sins. Wasn’t that love? Could any two people love each other as much as they?
“Would you do anything for me?”
Mary’s skin was cold but her eyes were fire. They burned. James gasped, her hands on his chest, sliding over his skin.
“I already have.”
“Would you do it again?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“For me, James?”
“Only for you.” She kissed him and it felt like fire. Her hair was soft. Her skin was soft (but so cold!). Her hands…
“Would you give your body to me, James? Surrender your flesh?”
“Here?” A fool’s question. They were naked, she was straddling him. His body was nearly hers.
“It has to be here.”
“Then take me.”
“Are you sure?” Mary smiled. Beautiful Mary. Sweet, loving, forgiving Mary… He reached between them, shifting her, raising his hips to join with her in body and soul. Mary sighed. This had to be a dream. Some sweet and beautiful dream. But it was real. Mary was real. He had brought her back. The old gods had granted his request, answered his prayer.
The old gods were as kind as they were cruel.
“I’m sure.” Even now, she was cold. But she moved on top of him, drawing him into her, and it was like it had never been before. Mary, back arched, breasts thrust forward, something wild within her. Her nails dug into his chest, drawing blood.
James gasped.
“James…” Mary bent, hair framing her face, burning eyes full of fire. Her lips at his neck. Her teeth. Scraping his skin. “The old gods demand it, James. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you…?”
He didn’t understand. Mary was riding him, teeth on his throat, speaking…
There was no stir of breath against his skin. There was no heartbeat echoing against his own.
Comprehension came too late. Teeth cut into James’ throat, tearing it. Hot blood replaced cold flesh and James’ body bucked in fear and pain. Wetness filled his mouth. Pain. Burning. Blood. Pouring out of his throat, onto the altar. Mary’s lips stained with it. Teeth on his chest. Blood. Mary’s teeth tore into him once more.
He tried to speak her name. No sound came. The fog grew darker, closing in. He could see her still, her mouth wet with his blood. It dripped down her skin, crimson splashes across her neck, her breasts, down her stomach to the place where their bodies were still joined. Her burning eyes met his and she looked away, a flash of sorrow.
“Forgive me, James,” she repeated, her fingers widening the wound in his chest. He could feel her reaching inside, reaching into his body. Inside of him. Flesh parted and ripped under her fingertips. His Mary…. “But you promised. You promised to pay the price.”
But he’d paid the price! He’d already run the gauntlet! He’d triumphed. This was his reward…. He’d found Mary. His beautiful Mary. His angel….
He reached for her, fingers brushing against her cheek before falling lifeless onto the stone.
He was dead before she tore out his heart and began to eat it.
Fandom: Silent Hill
Word Count: 1152
Pairing: Mary/James
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: Full Game and Rebirth ending
Warnings: Dark, violent, and disturbing imagery. Violence, Blood, Snuff.
Author's Notes: Seriously, listen to the warnings.
Summary: In Silent Hill, nothing came without a price.
Holy Mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death, amen...
There was no sound save for the lapping of the lake as it met the shore. The fog obscured everything, hanging heavy and thick. James knelt, hands on the damp ground, watching. All he could see was the dim outline of the stone alter and the slight swell that rested upon it.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. James heard himself panting, breathing heavily. He heard the waves on the shore. He heard the trees as they moaned and creaked. And something else. Some sort of tribal pounding, echoing in his mind…
The beating of his own heart.
What did I do wrong?
He’d done everything. What was taking so long? Had he made a mistake somewhere? Misunderstood the ritual?
No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been so careful…. He prayed to every god ever worshipped by mankind to make his will reality.
Finally. Movement. James gasped, lurching forward, desperation in every vein and nerve.
“James…”
“Mary!”
The fog parted and James scrambled to his feet, slipping on the wet earth. The figure on the altar stirred, moved, merged from a lifeless form into the silhouette of a woman seated.
“Mary…” he repeated, all the breath in his body rushing out in that single word. He could see her clearly now. She sat on the alter, the old sheet he’d wrapped her in pulled up over her breasts like a blushing virgin. Her hair was down - light brown, thick as it hadn’t been for years. The fog seemed to border her, making her seem illuminated.
Like an angel.
“It worked.”
Mary smiled. Her legs were bent. Her hand on the sheet was delicate, fingers curved. Perfection. Not a sex kitten parody, spawned from his darkest dreams, not a nightmare creature sent to punish him. Only his Mary, whole and healthy and his once more.
“You meant it,” she said, and James ached to hear her voice once more.
“Meant…what?”
“You’d do anything to be with me again.” She lowered her legs, the sheet slipping to expose her pale calves.
“Of course I meant it.” James stood now, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. His Mary. After all this, he had her again.
“I know.” She slid off the altar, the sheet falling away. James went to her, taking her in his arms.
She was so cold.
“Mary, I…”
“I know James.” Her arms twined around him. He kissed her hair and stroked her back and shuddered in the dim dank of the sacred island. Silent Hill had taken him, tested him, and he had been found worthy.
There was so much he wanted to say. But Mary was kissing his neck and he tilted her head to find her lips. How long had it been since he kissed her? Held her? Even here, amongst the ruins and monuments to old gods, he felt a stirring for her.
“Do you love me?”
“How can you ask me that?” Her hair smelled of earth and damp.
“Do you love me?” Her lips moved against his.
“Mary…” James buried his face in her shoulder. Her hands were moving over his body, touching him the way she had when they were first married.
“Do you love me?” Over and over she asked, drawing him back, slipping off his jacket, his shirt, his belt. She pushed him onto the altar, the stone cold and wet against his bare back. As cold as Mary.
She climbed on top of him. The fog swirled around them both and James reached for her. His hands ran along the sides of her waist, as if in a dream. Perhaps it was a dream.
“Do you love me?” she asked again.
“I love you,” he said. He had gone through hell and back to find her. Wasn’t that love? And she had forgiven him his sins. Wasn’t that love? Could any two people love each other as much as they?
“Would you do anything for me?”
Mary’s skin was cold but her eyes were fire. They burned. James gasped, her hands on his chest, sliding over his skin.
“I already have.”
“Would you do it again?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“For me, James?”
“Only for you.” She kissed him and it felt like fire. Her hair was soft. Her skin was soft (but so cold!). Her hands…
“Would you give your body to me, James? Surrender your flesh?”
“Here?” A fool’s question. They were naked, she was straddling him. His body was nearly hers.
“It has to be here.”
“Then take me.”
“Are you sure?” Mary smiled. Beautiful Mary. Sweet, loving, forgiving Mary… He reached between them, shifting her, raising his hips to join with her in body and soul. Mary sighed. This had to be a dream. Some sweet and beautiful dream. But it was real. Mary was real. He had brought her back. The old gods had granted his request, answered his prayer.
The old gods were as kind as they were cruel.
“I’m sure.” Even now, she was cold. But she moved on top of him, drawing him into her, and it was like it had never been before. Mary, back arched, breasts thrust forward, something wild within her. Her nails dug into his chest, drawing blood.
James gasped.
“James…” Mary bent, hair framing her face, burning eyes full of fire. Her lips at his neck. Her teeth. Scraping his skin. “The old gods demand it, James. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you…?”
He didn’t understand. Mary was riding him, teeth on his throat, speaking…
There was no stir of breath against his skin. There was no heartbeat echoing against his own.
Comprehension came too late. Teeth cut into James’ throat, tearing it. Hot blood replaced cold flesh and James’ body bucked in fear and pain. Wetness filled his mouth. Pain. Burning. Blood. Pouring out of his throat, onto the altar. Mary’s lips stained with it. Teeth on his chest. Blood. Mary’s teeth tore into him once more.
He tried to speak her name. No sound came. The fog grew darker, closing in. He could see her still, her mouth wet with his blood. It dripped down her skin, crimson splashes across her neck, her breasts, down her stomach to the place where their bodies were still joined. Her burning eyes met his and she looked away, a flash of sorrow.
“Forgive me, James,” she repeated, her fingers widening the wound in his chest. He could feel her reaching inside, reaching into his body. Inside of him. Flesh parted and ripped under her fingertips. His Mary…. “But you promised. You promised to pay the price.”
But he’d paid the price! He’d already run the gauntlet! He’d triumphed. This was his reward…. He’d found Mary. His beautiful Mary. His angel….
He reached for her, fingers brushing against her cheek before falling lifeless onto the stone.
He was dead before she tore out his heart and began to eat it.