Title: A Stay in Bedlam
Pairing: Walter/Henry
Prompt: Walter/Henry. "I'm always watching you..." Either mind fuck (Henry goes out of his mind) or rape-not-really.
Words: 1442 words
Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill, it's the property of Konami and Team Silent and a whole bunch of other people. I am only borrowing the characters and such and am in no way associated with them; because if this is an indicator... yeah, let's not go there.

A Stay in Bedlam

The words appeared on the mirror of his bathroom shortly after he found that he was trapped in his apartment, glaring at him whenever he walked in. There simply was no way to ignore them.

I'm always watching you.

Henry wasn't sure if whoever left that message was responsible for the chains over his door or how he couldn't leave, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Whereas before that feeling of being watched hadn't been very obvious, now he could feel it whenever he woke up, whenever he went to bed, whenever he used the bathroom out of habit. It always felt as though someone was watching him with all too keen eyes.

Was that feeling of being watched related at all to the weird goings on that he was being subjected to? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was creepy and oddly comforting at the same time. He wasn't sure if that should scare him or not; he'd always known that he was messed up, but not this much. Or maybe he was just going crazy? That was always a possibility.

The nightmares and... dreams... they kept getting more and more strange.

He could recall the nightmares with vivid clarity; they were always the same. His apartment was there, unrecognizable, covered in blood and rust lit by candlelight before a disturbing creature clawed its way out of the wall. But the dreams... those were harder to remember.

Just... something lurking on the edge of his mind; just faint recollections of touch and taste and feelings that always escaped him as soon as he woke up. It was like he was grasping at air.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of it he could take before he snapped.

– –

Snapping up, the lingering feel of hands on him was carved into Henry's mind. He was panting, chest feeling tight and his lungs burning. For the first time, he could acutely remember the feel of those hands ghosting down his sides towards his hips and cupping him through his pants.

He could remember arching into the touch, biting down on his lip to keep from begging for more – no one had ever touched him like that before – and that hand moving to slip past the waist of his pants to grasp his cock properly. The feel of lips against his neck as teeth left their mark...

Everything. He could remember all of it.

A quick glance down at himself revealed that the dream had a definite physical effect on him; his cock was straining against the front of his pants. That wasn't what concerned him though.

His pants were dishevelled and undone.

For several long moments, Henry just stared. Had it been real? It couldn't have been – it was just a dream, wasn't it? Even right then, sitting in the safety of his apartment he couldn't tell if maybe the lines between that twisted dream world he'd found himself in and what reality was. Hell, he wasn't sure if he even knew what that was any more.

It wasn't important right then; he could worry about that later when he could actually think clearly and when those memories weren't burned into his mind and his cock throbbed painfully between his legs.

No matter what image or train of thought Henry tried to concentrate on to make it go down, his erection was stubborn and those images and sensations kept tormenting him from the edges of his mind. The sensations of rough, callused fingers touching him in ways that no one else had – hands that seemed to know what he wanted and needed better than even he himself did.

Biting his lip, Henry reached down and pulled the zipper of his pants down the rest of the way. Bright green eyes sparkling with lust and amusement and something else that he couldn't name from behind a mane of unruly blond hair danced at the edges of his mind. He brutally crushed the fantasy before it was even fully formed.

Taking himself in hand, Henry came with three strokes.

– –

As time slipped past, it got much more difficult for Henry to differentiate between what was reality and what made up the sick and twisted world he kept getting lost in. The lines were starting to blur together more heavily than before.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to find his way out in the end.

Even with Eileen there to help him focus, to remind him of what he needed to figure out, it was difficult. Her injuries were a constant reminder of what could happen to him if he wasn't careful; he'd already racked up a small inventory of minor injuries. Each one stung and burned as he moved, but they were easier to ignore in the adrenaline rush that accompanied every plunge into the twisted world he was exploring.

And he'd finally been able to put a face to those green eyes that kept haunting him inside of his head.

Those eyes could pierce through him easily, make him feel fear and attraction and lust – all things that he never though he would feel (well, except for fear; he had felt plenty of that). It was hard to accept that the man might... might be a threat. He, to Henry at least, didn't seem like one – he seemed tired and determined and broken.

Henry wasn't sure what it meant; he couldn't find the right words to describe how he felt about the other; just that, for whatever reason, he wanted to help and take some of that pain and loneliness in those green eyes away; even if just for a little while.

One thing that he was sure of, that feeling of arousal – that feeling of want, need – that burning wasn't going to go away anytime soon. It just seemed to be getting stronger. He can feel eyes on him all the time now.

He isn't sure how much of this tension he can take before he snaps.

– –

When he's shoved up against the wall, stunned and winded, he isn't sure what to think. Whatever he should be feeling – anger, outrage, hate, despair – is pushed aside quickly enough. He can't say just how much he's wanted this.

Lips are covering his before he can catch his breath and he feels incredibly light-headed as he pushed against the wall harder. His hands are pinned on either side of his head, but he can't find it in himself to care; it doesn't matter anymore, he's been caught and it doesn't matter.

He's right where he wants to be.

Henry lets his eyes close, his vision is swimming anyway and he already knows exactly what he's going to see. Right then, he just wants to enjoy himself – bask in the other's attention and touch and forget the world around him.

Once the blond is sure that Henry isn't going anywhere, he releases his hands and smirks against the other's lips. Henry knows he's been caught and there's no escape now and he doesn't care; they both know this. The tension building between them isn't going to go away, it's been building to a breaking point and they've already snapped it.

There is no turning back after this.

Henry hasn't wanted anything so much before in his entire life.

Death is calling to him, whispering to him from the corners of his mind – he knows that it isn't going to be long now.

And he doesn't care. He'll embrace it.

He surrenders to it. He'll gladly give in, do anything, just so long as this ecstasy never stops. Underneath the blond's hands, Henry's pants come undone with ease and a warm hand darts in to grasp his half-hard cock in a firm and knowing grasp, stroking it just right.

Henry gasps and arches up against the other; his head is thrown back just a little and he's panting in seconds, hands scrambling for purchase on the wall. When he finds none, he reaches out and grasps the other's shoulders, a small moan slipping past his lips.

He knows that he can't hold on much longer and he's right.

He comes in seconds, gasping and panting and muttering nonsensically as he does.

Still lost in the hazy world of his orgasm, Henry misses the smirk playing on the other's lips along with the words he speaks quietly into the near silence of the room.

"Now you're ready... my dear Receiver of Wisdom."


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