“What are you?” you asked without a shred of fear. But you were no less delicious.

The sound of your voice, so lovely, so fascinating. Pennywise's voice was small, distant and wavering as it replied, “a clown.”

“I see that. But what else?”

Oh, clever human. Your question snapped it to its senses with a jingle of its head. “Why, I'm a dancing clown.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

The smile that crossed your lips was contagious. Pennywise mirrored your expression, unable to blink. Unwilling to blink. 

“Well,” you said, eyes briefly darting to the clown's chin,  where a trickle of drool dripped from its lower lip and slid down its alabaster skin, “Are you going to dance for me?”

 Silence stretched between the two of you as it drank you in, mesmerized by your smile, your eyes, and the delicious sensation of hungering.

“Hm?” it grunted as it realized you were waiting for a response, “Oh! Yes. Yes! After all, I am Pennywise the Dancing Clown.”

“Pennywise? Cute.”

It chuckled and stood, bowing before you, eyes still glued to yours. 

Pennywise loved to dance. Dancing disarmed, made it easier to attract prey. Or it horrified; movements unsettling and inhuman, far too flexible and far too tireless. 

But you… you weren’t frightened nor naive. You sat on the rocks with the water kissing your toes, vaguely amused by the performance. But Pennywise could practically see your mind whirring. 

You were trying to figure it out, just as it was trying to understand you.

And oh, just being beside you, dancing for you, talking to you filled the pit inside it in such a comforting and addictive manner, it knew it wouldn’t ever be able to let you go. It wouldn’t make you float, no no, you were much too special for that.

But it would make you stay. 

Perhaps long enough to hold it through the long rest. The thought of that made it ache. 

It came to you each night after that, lurking outside your window, beneath your bed, sometimes climbing beneath the covers while you slept, your arms winding their way around its waist like they knew where they belonged. 

And such dreams it gave you, delving into your curious mind to steer you toward the path it wanted. Pennywise had never even considered giving someone pleasant dreams before, but it shared them with you. 

Dreams of the circus, flying on the trapeze, light and agile, spinning and gliding through the air like an angel. The crowd cheered as Pennywise the Dancing Clown caught you in its arms and it basked in the adoring glow of your smile. Just the two of you beneath the glittering spotlight.

Like starlight.

There again was that fullness, only more. A tingling in its chest and deep in its core, that it found itself leaning into, a need to be closer, so close. Deep deep down inside you where the edges blurred into one.

And you, you were feeling it too. A feast of sensation; that boiling, tingling, tickling feeling of your arousal. It could taste your desire, feel your need flooding through its veins and filling its bottomless stomach. 

Your fingers caressed its cheek, up around the shell of its ear and into its hair, sending shivers down its spine. 

“What are you?” you asked in the dream, the circus crowd long gone. The smell of popcorn and peanuts had faded, and the air was scented heavy and sweet, thick with longing.

“A clown," it replied.

You smiled, your hand drifting down its chest, over ruffles and pom poms, and down down down to press against that ache. “And what else?”

Heat flooded through it at your touch, such a lovely, sudden, shocking feeling it pulled Pennywise from your dream and back into your bed. And you were there with it, just as close, eyes only half awake, your hand cupped between its thighs as Pennywise rocked its hips back and forth, rutting against your palm.

“What else?” you asked again, lips so close to his it could smell your flesh and the blood beneath. 

How it longed to bite and feast and consume. Its jaws ached with longing for your taste.

But it was your touch that sated its hunger, carving away the bristling edge. It felt that lovely tickle low low low down in its belly. 

“Oh…” such a soft gasp that escaped your lips when your hand dipped beneath its clothes and between its thighs, finding only a smooth mound.

Just like the moment you met; initial shock quickly making way for curiosity. 

Pennywise was used to the sensation of struggle, of hands pointlessly trying to fight back, to push it away. But never had it been pulled closer. Never touched so eagerly.

Never, in all the eons it had lived and feasted and torn worlds asunder, had it felt anything like that caress. And once it tasted that tingling touch of yours, it needed more, more. 

The clown's eyes rolled back as its slit opened for you at the front of its mound, inviting your curious fingers to wander. 

You slipped your fingertip along its opening, coating it in the slick drooling from within. That touch was more than it could bear, gloved fingers grasping for purchase on the bedsheets as you smiled and murmured against its cherry red lips, “God, you're so wet, Penny.”

Rivers of slick trickled down between its thighs and spat on its frantically undulating belly. You pushed deeper, pressing and probing, exploring and watching for its reactions. The intensity left it breathless, limbs trembling and hands shaking as they reached for you.

“Do you like it?” it asked. “Like this or… I can change it. However you'd like.”

You shook your head and pressed your fingertips against something deep inside. And oh, the wave that came; pleasure, the burning, consuming, wave of ecstasy that lifted Pennywise's hips from the bed. Its eyes rolled, tears streaming as it came undone, pulled apart at the seams by you. 

“That's it,” you said, ever-so-softly, your voice warm and gentle against its ear. “I feel you cumming… squeezing my fingers. Feels good, doesn't it?”

A choked cry crawled from Pennywise's throat, its hands holding onto you for dear life as you watched it unravel. And all the while your fingers stroked that spot deep inside, tickling and tormenting it, forcing it to pulse and tingle and rendering Pennywise to a sobbing, trembling ruin. 

“Let me hear you,” you said. “Doesn't it feel good?”

“Yes. Yes! Good, good, good, good…” it chanted, words carried on shivering breaths. “Keep… playing with me.”

It had always been gluttonous, only now that insatiable hunger was for your touch and the pleasure you brought. 

Night after night it spent with you between its thighs, rutting against each other, coming apart over and over. The taste of flesh was nothing compared to the sensation of your touch.

It loved the slippery soft touch of your sex grinding against its own, and the way you held it down and brought yourself pleasure. Over and over, just as greedy as it was. 

“What are you?” you asked, breathless in the aftermath, spent and tucked tightly against Pennywise's chest.

And though you never found the true answer to your question– not that you could even comprehend the answer anyway– you had discovered more about what Pennywise was than even it knew.