Chapter Text
There was a heavy thud followed by a clattering of tiny jingle bells as Bob Gray, performing in his Pennywise get-up, pretended to trip over a teddy bear that had been tossed onto the stage.
He looked at the laughing crowd of children and adults, then at the teddy bear, and back. The clown feigned a pout for a moment before picking up the bear and dusting it off. Holding the bear aloft for all to see, he then cooed and aww’d at it, petting the furry little head before pulling it into a hug.
A little girl in the audience cried, “Pennywise, Pennywise!” Her tiny hand waved at him near the edge of the stage. “Pennywise, that’s MY bear, you have to give him back!”
Bob looked at her, and then back at the bear. He shook his head no and pulled the bear closer to himself while sticking his tongue out at her. “Pthbbt!”
“What!” she wailed in despair.
Her brother, the one who had thrown the teddy in the first place, hooted beside her. “Yeah! Go Pennywise, keep that stupid bear!”
The girl started to blubber and pout, and just before she was about to cry real tears, Bob knelt and passed the bear off to her with a little pat to both their heads. Little boys in the crowd, including the girl’s brother, playfully booed, but everyone else hollered their appreciation at the adorable scene.
“What a sweet clown!” one lady had said.
Bob hemmed and hawed, feigning bashfulness. He trotted around the stage a little more before settling onto the left side. The clown was about to begin one of his flower acts, but something - or someone, rather – near the edge of the crowd caught his attention and stopped him in his tracks.
A man, tall and unassuming, with the strings of several brightly colored balloons in his grasp, stood off to the outside of the crowd, just near enough for Bob to see his features. And oh, what features they were. He’d seen many a handsome man, but never any like this, and never with eyes so… striking. Almost hypnotizing. He’d never seen golden eyes before, and he’d been all over the country and seen so many kinds of people. No one ever stopped him in his place like this. No one had ever had him staring, mouth agape and blushing under his paint like a girl with her first crush.
His mind was suddenly a whirlwind of thoughts, ranging anywhere from simple handholding to full on riding the stranger’s lap, and dear God above where had that come from?
A hushed exhale escaped him in a rush.
An awkward cough from his stagehand had him snapping back to reality. Bob blinked. He could hear the crowd begin to murmur in confusion, and he didn’t dare look at them, but he could see them begin to bustle in the corner of his eye.
Oh God. He’d been caught staring at another man. Oh Jesus, oh fuck- in front of all these people…! His eyes stayed put in their stare, but his mind darted for an escape, and all previous thoughts vanished in an instant. His heart was thudding in his chest, and beads of sweat began to prick at his skin beneath the grease paint.
What could he do? If they even thought for a second that he was gazing at another man in that kind of way, they’d haul him off this stage and rip him apart regardless of how many children were in the audience. How’d that be for a show, huh? String him up or beat him to death right there in the dirt like a clown-shaped piñata, oh boy, he could just see it now.
Absently, he noted the strange look passing over the balloon man’s handsome face. If he didn’t know any better, the man almost looked excited, intensely hungry. Predatory, even. He felt like prey.
The stagehand cleared his throat again and hoarsely whispered, “You, uh... you havin’ some kinda medical episode up there, Bobby?”
How to get out of this, what to do, what to do, what to-
Improvise.
Slowly, his gloved hands rose up to his face as his jaw began to drop. The crowd quieted down and watched as the clown placed one hand on his cheek and pointed the other in an exaggeratedly shaky motion at the man with the balloons, before bouncing with giddiness.
“Pennywise wants a balloon!” one little boy said helpfully.
Bob nodded eagerly and clapped his hands, then hopped off the stage and waded his way through the crowd until he was facing the balloon man.
Oh, dear lord, it was even worse up close. It was a good thing Pennywise didn’t speak, because Bob’s throat was dry as the Midwest. He smiled at the other man, his heart fluttering in his chest when the gesture was returned, albeit with a little drool glistening at the corner of his mouth. Odd. Nevertheless, Bob performed his grand bow and then straightened. He waved excitedly with one hand, and while the balloon man was watching that, he reached behind him with the other and tapped his shoulder. Immediately, the children giggled while the adults snickered, all catching on to the trick. The balloon man turned to look behind himself, and while he was distracted, Bob snatched one of the red balloons and hurried back to the stage. He performed a victory dance, and the crowd whooped for him.
His heart still thudded in his chest, but more so now from the exhilaration of having saved himself from his own idiocy. He was damn good at what he did, that’s for sure.
Continuing to play it up, he looked back towards the balloon man, who continued to stare back and smile, and did another big bow for him. As if on cue, the red balloon suddenly burst, startling both Bob and the crowd.
There was a pause. Bob looked between the balloon man, the crowd, and the empty space where the balloon had just been, and he decided to go along with it.
With a heavy ‘thunk’ to the wood of the stage, he sagged to his knees, threw his hands up at the sky, and pretended to sob. He mourned that little balloon for all he was worth, and all the children pretended to mourn with him. They giggled in-between their fake cries, and the parents couldn’t help but smile and shake their heads at the display.
After a moment, someone in the crowd yelled, “I know what will make you feel better, Pennywise!”
He stopped ‘crying’ and perked up, head tilted inquisitively.
“DANCE!”
The crowd showed their enthusiastic agreement, hollering a chant of “Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!”
Pennywise played thoughtful about it for a second before springing up to his feet. He began to dance for them, and oh how they cheered.
“Pennywise, Pennywise!”
Within moments, the children swarmed the stage and began to dance and play alongside him. He stopped kicking his legs so he wouldn’t take out a random kid, then improvised a few more silly dance moves before he gave the crowd a little jazz-handed wave and snuck off the stage.
~~~
It was almost peaceful out here, back behind the furthest tents and away from most of the noise and bright lights of the innermost parts of the carnival. It was dark and chilly, and the light mist gave an eeriness to the surroundings, but Bob was glad for the lonely seclusion of it all. He needed a goddamn break, away from all the gawking eyes and screaming children. He needed a break away from all those eyes he thought were judging him with silent suspicion and curiosity…
Bob leaned against the fence post and shuddered as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. God, he’d needed that. Today’s show had been particularly taxing, both physically and mentally. It’s not every day you nearly out yourself as some sort of queer to a big fat audience of backwoods Mainers.
Bob scowled at himself and sniffed. “Idiot. You idiot.” He opened his flask and took a swig, hissing at the bite from the cheap whiskey. His knuckles smudged his face paint, but he didn’t care; he was off shift and tired, wig resting on the fence post and the upper half of his suit undone and slumped around his waist. If a kid saw him and got disillusioned, then so what? Big deal. He wasn’t Santa Claus. Little brats shouldn’t be this far outside of the carnival grounds anyway.
The clown took another burning swig and rasped out a sigh. He stared down at the flask with an empty feeling of longing. He knew it was wrong, but he wished he could have gotten a closer, longer look at the handsome stranger from earlier this evening. He’d wanted a better look at those eyes; were they truly so gold, or was it a trick of the evening’s light? And that smile… there was something intimidating about it, unsettling, even. But maybe that was because, even after all these years, Bob still had trouble navigating certain truths about himself. Like how much he enjoyed the way that strange man smiled at him.
He wondered if the man would smile at him outside of Pennywise, if he would smile that way at regular ol’ Bob Gray.
Bob Gray, with his tired, average features, rapidly receding hairline, exhausted eyes, and his burgeoning alcoholism. What a gem, he thought miserably.
Bob was so busy wallowing in his self-deprecation that he didn’t hear the footsteps in the grass behind him.
“The children seem drawn to you,” said a pleasant voice in the dark.
Bob yelped and dropped both his flask and cigarette, the former emptying itself, and the latter extinguishing in the damp grass. He swore at the loss, then whipped around to face his intruder, back to the fence and hands clutching his heaving chest. The fact that it was the handsome stranger from earlier didn’t settle his nerves any, in fact it only served to agitate them worse.
“Jesus jumped-up Christ, man!” he barked. It took him a moment to even register what the other man had said. He shook his head, dumbfounded. “And sorry, but no shit they are, I’m a damn clown!”
The man – now noticeably lacking his balloons – didn’t seem offended by Bob’s irritated outburst towards him. He only smiled, head tilting slightly. Bob couldn’t see him all that well as the lights from the carnival were at his back, but the amusement was obvious.
“What, you think that’s funny? Scaring me like that?” Bob fidgeted. He was embarrassed, but he was also quickly growing nervous. Why would the other man approach him out here like this, catching him alone and vulnerable? Had he realized what the staring from earlier meant? Had it… had it angered him? Was he here to hurt Bob, or worse? Did he have buddies hiding in the shadows waiting for the right chance to jump?
He felt his heartbeat as it continued to thud against his chest, and he tried not to let his eyes dart too suspiciously as one hand slowly slid down to where his back pocket would be - if he were wearing his regular trousers.
Shit. That’s right, he’s in the damn clown get-up! His switchblade is in his other pants, and he’s got nothing to defend himself with!
“Are you afraid of me?” the man asked. He almost sounded pleased.
“No!” Bob answered quickly. “S-should I be?”
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the other man shook his head.
“Well? What do you want? Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you back there, it’s just, the kids think that kinda shit’s funny, and, well-.”
“You.”
“Huh?”
The stranger took a few steps forward and closed the gap between them, leaving only a scant few inches between their chests.
Bob shrunk back against the fence, the old wood protesting under his weight. He had nowhere to go, and though he was big, he wasn’t much of a fighter. Besides, this guy was just about the same size, and with his hands stuffed in his pockets, Bob couldn’t get a read on whether they were gonna touch, throttle, or stab him.
The man looked him over with those golden eyes, so radiant Bob could see the yellow rings clear as day out here in the dark, and he felt like he was a rabbit being sized up by a fox. The sniffing didn’t help. The stranger hovered closer and took in Bob’s scent with slow inhales, huffing near his neck, and then his shoulders, and finally his sweaty mop of hair. Bob didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t if he tried – a memory had him frozen in place.
Bobby is 14. A skinny little thing trying to make a name for himself in the circus world, but all he’s good for at his age is assisting the clowns and cleaning up behind the scenes. He hasn’t even figured out the ‘face’ for his budding clown persona yet.
He wants to be different. He wants to stand out. He wants the crowd to remember him long after they’ve left the stands and gone home to their beds, and most of all he wants his coworkers to look at him in awe. Bobby sure as hell isn’t gonna get that by assisting some dumb old clowns or doing laundry or shoveling elephant shit.
He thinks a good way to start would be by testing his nerve with something crazy and bold. If he can face a lion head-on, he can face a huge crowd of staring strangers!
It makes perfect sense in his young, naïve mind.
Bobby slips past the entrance to Fabrizio the Lion Tamer’s quarters. It’s the middle of the night, and everyone else is either drunk, asleep, or getting frisky with each other, and he’s certain Fabrizio is at least the second of the three. He thinks he’s so clever sneaking into this tent, thinks how cool he’s being, and just how impressed all the other young guys are gonna be when they hear about what he’ll accomplish tonight.
“Bobby, you went into the Lion’s Den? You’re a maniac! You’re crazy! You’re amazing!” they’ll all say. And then word will get ‘round to the older fellas, and everyone will be so impressed with him and finally give him his chance. “You’re ready now, Bobby. Get on out there and give it a shot!” The clowns will say. And he will, he’ll go out there and give it his best and finally prove to them what he’s been right about this whole time. He’s brave, and he’ll be a great performer, and he can do this!
A shiver of excitement runs through him. Yes, he is doing this to prove himself, but he can’t lie; he’s always wanted to get up close and personal with the big cats. He only ever gets to view them from a distance or through the bars of their cages, but maybe tonight he’ll get to touch a tiger’s tail or pet a lion’s mane. Golly, how amazing would it be if he brought back a lion’s hair? Or better yet, one of the claw pieces they sometimes shed? The other boys will lose their minds.
There’s a strong smell all around inside the tent, a deep one that almost burns his nostrils with each inhale. It’s a foul blend of carnivore waste, warm meat, and pure animal scent, and it thickens the further he goes in. He covers his mouth to stifle the cough he feels brewing and tries not to inhale too deeply. He knew the meat-eaters stunk, but man, in one condensed area like this it was really bad. He should have known it’d be rank when it often clung to Fabrizio himself, even out in the open.
A growl rumbles softly from somewhere off to his left, startling him into standing still. He relaxes as he realizes it’s just one of the beasts snoring away in its cage, and when another cat off to his right rolls over with a soft thump, it doesn’t faze him. It’s okay, all the animals are asleep, and if they wake up, well, they’re locked away in their cages. He just has to be careful not to get pulled through the bars.
What he doesn’t realize is that Fabrizio always sleeps with his favorite lion, Toro, outside of his cage and out on a single chain staked into the ground, trusting the animal to keep watch over him and all his other beasts.
The growl from Toro is different than all the previous quiet sounds Bobby has been hearing, and the noticeable threat in that deep rumbling has the boy instantly freezing up again, his heart dropping into his stomach. He whimpers, nearly sobs, when a blunt nose and rough muzzle press to his chest and begin to sniff nearly every inch of him. As the lion takes him in, Bobby’s brief life flashes in his mind’s eye, and he’s certain he’s gonna die right here, right now, and when the crew finds him in the morning, all that will be left of him will be bits of meat and a pool of blood. A new scent tinges the air, and it’s then that he realizes he’s wet himself. Wet himself! Christ, the guys were right. He’s not brave, he’s weak, he’s a coward, he’s stupid, he doesn’t even have a clown name of his own!
Toro opens his mouth, and even in the darkness Bobby knows because he can feel the hot, foul breath blasting over his face, and he understands that he’s got maybe one more second before those massive teeth sink into the sides of his face and crush his little skull...
There’s a rattling of the chain and a sharp click of a tongue, then a “Back! Get back, Toro, down!” is hissed. The behemoth cat obeys, and Bobby doesn’t waste another moment before he’s running out of the Lion’s Den as fast as his scrawny legs will carry him.
He barely remembers the bruises he earns and the harsh names he’s called after the beating from Fabrizio and others for being so stupid and disobedient. He doesn’t remember his tears, the way the other boys tease him for weeks, the way he can’t look Fabrizio in his disappointed eyes.
No. What will always stick with him most are golden eyes in the dark, and those drawn-out breaths as they take in his scent, sizing him up as prey.
That’s exactly what it felt like now. Prey to an apex predator, though he wasn’t exactly sure why he felt that way. This was just a man, not a 600-lb lion.
Throughout his career, he’d had several encounters where people had gotten in his space: a belligerent father angry that his precious child had been teased by a clown, a drunken crewman pissed about losing at cards, several horny carnival goers who didn’t know the meaning of personal space... He felt uncomfortable with each and every one of those and more, of course, but never afraid. Not like he did now.
And, shamefully, he also felt a tinge of arousal.
Who the hell was this man, and why the hell was he having this effect on Bob?
“Look, I’m- I’m sorry for yelling at you, but you really scared me a second ago, and, um. Well,” He looked past the stranger’s shoulders, and though he couldn’t see anyone else coming towards them, he still felt nervous having another man this close to him. What if someone saw? He chanced a light shove, but the other man didn’t budge. “Hey, come on, back up, would ya?”
The man leaned in until his lips brushed against the shell of Bob’s ear. “I saw you.”
Bob froze. “What...?”
He repeated, “I saw you.” Bob swore he felt the man’s tongue dart out. The sensation had his knees buckling. “I saw you staring at me, with your dirty little thoughts.”
Bob gasped, face blanching as white as the paint on his skin. He pulled back and looked at the man with wide, wet eyes and shook his head. “N-no, no, I swear, I wasn’t! It was just for the show, see, the-the balloons and all-!”
The man smiled. He shook his head, too. “No.”
The clown began to shake. He lifted his hands submissively, pleading, “Please. Please, sir, I’m sorry, I am. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, honest, I was just- I dunno, I dunno what I was thinking, but please, I’m sorry!”
The stranger said nothing, just stared back at Bob with blown pupils wrapped in shiny golden rings. His throat clicked, and a soft panting sound came out of spit-slicked lips.
Bob was expecting a blow to the face or a knife to the gut, certainly not the clumsy kiss that collided with his mouth and split his bottom lip open. His yelp was muffled, and he nearly tumbled backwards over the fence, but the stranger caught him in strong hands.
He’d never been kissed by a man before, not really. He’d had a few scary back-alley blow jobs, and an awkward, drunken hand job with a carnie back in the day, but he’d never gotten a kiss from another man before and he’d often daydreamed what his first might be like. It was strange. Toothier than he’d ever imagined it might be, and there was a strong taste of blood that he wasn’t sure if it was coming from his split lip or the stranger’s own mouth.
Not to mention, there was also the risk of them doing this out here in the open where anyone could see them, and it had him positively terrified... but he was also harder than he’d ever been in his life. His hands shot out and clutched at the stranger’s arms with embarrassing desperation, pulling him closer and whining into his mouth. He greedily kissed back, eager for contact, careless to the sharp brushing of jagged teeth against his tongue.
A long minute passed before Bob pulled away with a soft gasp, panting against the other’s paint-smudged lips, “What’s... what’s your name? Tell me your name.”
The man hummed and closed his eyes for a moment as if thinking. Finally, he said, “James. Or Jim. Either or, I really don’t care.”
Bob nodded, testing the name out on his tongue. “James,” he repeated. “Or Jim. Okay. And I’m Bob Gray, sometimes ‘Pennywise’. Heh.” He leaned forward for another kiss but stopped. Bob swallowed a thick lump in his throat and huffed, “Look, Jim, I... I really, really wanna keep doing this, and more, but it’s too dangerous. Someone’s gonna see us, and I don’t even wanna think about what’ll happen then.”
He peered over Jim’s shoulder to look back at the distant carnival. As far as he could tell, there was still no one else around, and there was a small possibility that it could be safe out here in the dark, but he just wasn’t willing to risk it. Any one of those people could come out here for a piss or smoke, or bored teenagers might want to explore the field or sneak a beer.
No. No, he just couldn’t do it.
Bob pecked a clumsy kiss to the corner of Jim’s mouth. “’M sorry.” He adjusted the front of his pants, grabbed his flask and wig, then stepped around Jim and started heading back for the carnival.
Jim’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist with firmness, stopping him in his tracks. “Your wagon, then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Are you crazy?” Bob asked, looking nearly frantic at the mere suggestion. “Right in the middle of other people? Someone will hear us! Or see us, even!”
Jim shrugged. “Then you’ll need to be quiet, won’t you? Pennywise doesn’t talk much, neither should you.” The man giggled and patted Bob’s cheek.
How could he be so confident? How could he be so sure that they’d be safe? Had he done this sort of thing before?
Bob fidgeted. He looked back and forth between Jim and the carnival grounds, chewing his lip before he finally sighed in resignation. “I guess... We just hafta be real careful, alright?”
They slunk off in the direction of Bob’s wagon, Jim staying a careful distance behind the performer the entire time. When the coast was clear, they climbed into the wagon, locked the door, and slammed the curtains shut. By the time the two of them had made it to safety, Bob was a jittery bundle of nerves feeling ready to burst at the seams. He tossed his belongings aside and rubbed his face hard, careless of the makeup’s worsened smudging. “Ohhh,” he moaned. “I can’t believe I snuck another man into my trailer! I mean, the guys bring girls into theirs all the time, but no, not me, I-”
Jim silenced Bob’s whining by undoing the remaining buttons on his suit and yanking the material down to his ankles, leaving the clown standing in just his underwear and shirt.
Bob’s hands flew from his face, and he slammed back against the locked door, wide eyes gazing down at Jim’s own. Jim was down on his knees, and his hands were gripping Bob’s thighs. There was drool at the corner of his lips, and faint traces of Bob’s grease paint were still smeared in places.
Bob groaned at the sight, and the erection he’d had earlier came back with a vengeance. Jim, bizarre and intimidating as he was, was beautiful, and Bob wondered how he got so damn lucky to have this chance with such a man.
“Please,” he said. His voice and his hands trembled alike.
Jim shining eyes burned holes through Bob as he leaned forward with an open mouth, tongue darting out to lap against the tip of Bob’s erection as it strained against his underwear. Bob’s knees buckled, and he had to grasp at some shelving to keep his ass from hitting the floor.
“Christ-!”
Jim nudged Bob back into position and continued the teasing with his tongue. His warm breath dampened the cotton, and he lathered a layer of drool, making the surface glisten. Jim worked his mouth, lips and tongue pressing against the bulge, and not once did he take his eyes away from Bob’s, watching as the clown’s own began to roll backwards and his breath began to quicken into heated panting.
“Jim,” Bob whispered. When the other man didn’t respond, he gently nudged at his shoulders, trying to push him away. “Jim, wait, ‘monna cum, stop-.”
A low growling sound rumbled in Jim’s throat, and he shrugged Bob’s hands away. Ignoring the needy pleas above him, Jim tucked his thumbs under the waistband of Bob’s underwear and yanked them down to his thighs, delighting in the way his cock sprang forth and dribbled pre-come to the floorboards. Jim gripped Bob’s thighs and tucked his head into Bob’s lap, inhaling deeply at the junction of his groin. His eyes fluttered shut, and he hissed an exhaling breath. Muscled thighs shook beneath his palms, and he rubbed along the bare skin and then gripped them tighter. Pre-come dripped onto his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care, too busy taking in the scent of Bob’s sweat and sex. He pressed a flat tongue to Bob’s lower belly and lapped up some of the fresh and drying sweat mingled there, then pulled back to let the taste mull around in his mouth. He looked like he was in ecstasy.
Bob watched, almost as fascinated as he was aroused. He hadn’t had very many sexual encounters but never had any of his partners ever interacted with him like this. He’d never seen someone revel in his taste and smell, nor had he in theirs, and he honestly didn’t know what to think of it. It was... flattering? And strange. Certainly arousing.
He almost felt like a piece of meat on display. He would have laughed had he not suddenly become aware of the very faint scent of animal musk, carnivore breath, and urine. There was a pang of fear deep in his gut, small and quiet, but it was there, and he reactively pressed harder against the door. His eyes darted. He listened close for something, anything, anyone, that could be making him feel this sudden discomfort.
Maybe someone was listening, maybe- maybe someone saw the two of them go into the wagon and now they were waiting outside, waiting to grab them, waiting to-
He could hear them.
He swore he could hear them, a whole crowd beginning to gather, waiting to snatch them up and take them away, ready to break the door down and march their way in. Wait- was that the creaking of a step? Was that someone coming up now? They were, he could hear them whispering to each other, discussing their plans. Christ above, the two of them were done for!
Bob’s chest heaved and his eyes were bulging in their sockets. His fingernails dug into the wood of the door.
“Something wrong, Bobby?” Jim asked, breaking the spell.
Suddenly, the cacophonous building of voices vanished into silence, and the only scents in the wagon were that of sweat, sex, grease paint, and cum.
Confused, Bob looked down at Jim and saw the other man languidly licking streaks of said cum off his fingers. Was that Jim’s own? He glanced down and saw that, while Jim had a prominent erection going, his pants were neither unbuckled nor undone, and that instead, the tip of his own cock was smeared with foamy spit and spend. When did that happen? He hadn’t even felt himself release! Bob frowned. He was disappointed and embarrassed with himself. He had one chance to be with another man tonight, a beautiful man, and he ruined it by letting his stupid fears distract him. He was such a fool. There were no phantom lions, there were no phantom mobs... there had only been himself and Jim, alone in his little wagon, and he wasn’t sure how much longer that would be for, especially after this disaster.
“Jim, I’m sorry, I panicked, I thought I heard something. I hope I didn’t offend you?”
Jim grunted and rolled his eyes. He didn’t speak until the last drop of cum was licked from his hand and off his lips. “I don’t really care about that.”
“...Oh.”
“Mhm. You did fffine,” he purred. He used Bob’s hips as a support and stood so he was face-to-face with the clown.
Bob blushed a little at the compliment. “Really? I thought I mighta made a right fool of myself, heh.”
Jim shook his head. “No. You tasted perfect.”
Bob squeaked an awkward laugh, suddenly shy at such a lovely, filthy remark. He turned his head to look away with his bashfulness, but Jim gripped his jaw and wrenched his attention back. The aggression in the action startled him.
“Look at me, Bobby.”
Bob did. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands and placed them on Jim’s wrist, giving it a squeeze. The grip on his jaw was beginning to hurt, and he almost sighed when it finally softened its grasp.
A calloused thumb pressed against his bottom lip and played with the red paint, smearing it into the white in bloody streaks. Much better. Bob’s lashes fluttered over hazy blue eyes. He couldn’t get hard again, not just yet, but sparks of arousal were striking his belly and warming his blood.
“What would you do for me?” Jim asked, voice a hushed rasp. His eyes flickered along Bob’s features and took in every detail, particularly those of his wet, red mouth.
“Anything,” Bob moaned. He was pliant putty in those strong hands. “Whatever you want, just tell me.”
Jim smiled in a way that made Bob’s stomach flip with warning bells and his heart thud with longing. “Knees, no clothes,” he said, and then he pulled away and took a few steps back until he was at the opposite end of the wagon.
Bob shyly removed the rest of his clothes, and then he sunk to his knees just as Jim had told him to.
A little shame washed over his cheeks as he did so; he made a fool out of himself all the time when he was Pennywise, sure, but down here, naked and on his knees with only the paint smeared on his face, he couldn’t help feeling exposed and vulnerable like this, even if it was only Jim in the wagon with him and all the curtains were drawn tight. He also felt off about the fact that he’d just willingly gone and obeyed Jim’s command without so much as a question.
But then Jim held his arms out and beckoned with his hands, and Bob instantly forgot his hesitation. As if under a spell, he set his palms down to the floor and felt himself melting as he crawled on all fours over to his new lover. A visible shudder ran through him as he watched Jim watching him, and once again he realized no one had ever made him feel like this before. He didn’t think he’d ever do this for anyone else.
He supposed he could maybe spare a little of his dignity for James. He wanted to. Absently, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he saw an image of himself doing this for Jim, but on a stage and in front of a huge audience. That image both frightened and excited him. A sharp breath left his lips as a wave of heat rolled through his belly.
Bob stopped at Jim’s feet, and he looked up at him with his big doe eyes. He was being watched with heated gold, the other man silent as a grave although his chest heaved with clear anticipation. As he’d never been on the giving side of this sort of situation, it took Bob a moment to gather his nerves, but then he was lifting his hands and undoing the suspender snaps and then the buttons on Jim’s pants. His fingers were awkward, trembling a little as he popped the last button free, and they almost felt numb when he finally got the other man’s pants pulled down to his thighs. Bob blushed at seeing there was no underwear there, just Jim’s erection bouncing free from its confines and nearly smacking into his jaw.
“I just,” he swallowed. “I just want you to know, I’ve never done this before. But I’ll try my best, okay?”
Jim continued to stare down at him, silently waiting.
‘C’mon, Bobby, he’s not here to chat with you, get on with it before he walks out!’
“Okay,” he exhaled, and his hands gripped his knees, his fingers flexing against bare skin. With no more delay, he took Jim’s cock halfway into his mouth and moaned softly around it. The feeling of it was foreign to him, but it was something he thought he could get used to. The taste of the pre-come, though, that made him wince – strong in its flavor, salty, and with a deep coppery tang almost like rare meat or blood. It was awful. His own wasn’t great, but it didn’t taste like that. Then again, he supposed every man tasted differently, and maybe he could get used to Jim’s flavor, too. He’d really like to.
Jim jerked his hips impatiently and caused Bob to gag a little.
Bob coughed and blinked the wet glaze from his eyes. He took the hint and started to move his head, ignoring the off-putting taste on his tongue. He sighed when he felt Jim’s long fingers slip behind his head and sink into his hair. The digits stroked sweetly at first and then they started to tug a bit. It stung, but not too bad, just enough to encourage him. He pulled back a little, brushing his tongue along the underside and hollowing his cheeks some to get a bit of suction going. Was he doing okay? He couldn’t quite remember everything those other guys did with him; he just knew he liked it, and he was trying his best to imitate that, but he was getting little to no reaction from Jim. Maybe he was just one of those men who were silent during? He’d heard one of the trapeze guys talking about how his girlfriend complained that he never moaned enough for her but ‘he just wasn’t noisy’, so perhaps it was like that?
Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious and uncomfortable.
Bob took a deep breath and slowly began to push forward, trying to take as much of Jim into his throat as he could. There was a muffled cough, and his eyes began to water again, but he kept at it, blinking the tears way as he glanced up at the other man. He didn’t know how he looked - probably foolish - but he hoped it was at least pleasing enough for this handsome stranger.
When Jim smiled and his hands shifted to cradle the sides of Bob’s head, the performer nearly gasped a sob around the length in his mouth. The little dose of attention felt like praise, and he continued to take Jim in until his nose was brushing against wiry curls and a flat stomach. He choked a little, groaning around the base. Even though it made him see stars to hear Jim growl above him, he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, and his throat and jaw were starting to ache with the strain. Slowly, he started to pull back but was promptly shoved forward and held in place by Jim’s strong hands burying painfully into his thin locks.
“Mghph-!”
Bob struggled against the hold and smacked his palms against Jim’s thighs; his temples started to throb, and his heart punched against his chest in panic while his lungs burned.
Just as he was beginning to see blackness fraying along the edges of his vision, Bob was shoved back from Jim's dick with a harsh tug of his hair. He pulled in a loud, ragged gasp, coughing and panting as he gathered his breath back. “Jim, what the fuck?!” He cried.
Jim simply admired the view for a moment, then clucked his tongue and scolded, “Ah, ah, ah, you’re being too loud, Bobby. You’re gonna get us caught.”
Bob immediately wilted. He spoke again, softer, but still with the tinge of panic in his voice, “I’m- I’m sorry, s’just - I couldn’t breathe, Jimmy! I was blackin’ out!”
The other man tittered his apologies as he untangled his fingers from Bob’s hair and began to stroke the greasy strands. “I thought you did very well, you know.”
“...You think so?”
“Yes. I wanna see you do it again.”
Bob swallowed hard against the fingers that ran a spider trail up along the column of his throat. His shoulders drew in on himself, and he fidgeted with the hem of Jim’s trousers. “Oh, well, Jim, I dunno...”
Jim frowned. “I thought you were supposed to be a good showman. A real A+ performer, hm?”
Bob frowned right back at him and scoffed. “Shut up, I didn't hear you complaining just a minute ago.”
The other man shrugged and glanced elsewhere. “Maybe. But it wasn’t your best work.”
Bob felt his stomach sink a little. He didn’t know Jim well enough to know if the guy was just teasing him or if he was really picking on him. Either way, he didn’t think he liked it. He was already feeling less than confident about his lack of skills and experience in this regard, and Jim’s ribbing, whether it was actually mean-spirited or not, wasn’t helping.
“Jim, c’mon, I’m trying here.”
Jim’s palms cupped Bob’s face, keeping him held in place as he met his eyes again. The irises were still that shining gold, but there was something cold and steely within the pupils, something that made Bob shiver and want to shrink back a bit. The hold on his face did little to comfort him; it was a light firmness against his face, just enough to keep him still, but there was a tension in the fingers that seemed to whisper their own little warning into his skin.
“Then prove it to me, Bobby. I wanna see.”
The clown stared at him, desperately trying to read Jim’s eyes, but he just couldn’t seem to make sense of those blown-out, empty black pools. He prided himself on being good at reading people, at using it to improve and play up his performances as Pennywise, but right now any talent he had for that seemed to have disappeared. It alarmed him if he was honest with himself. But he didn’t want to be honest, because he really liked Jim, didn’t he? And this might be his only chance to have something nice with someone, even if it was only for a night, and he didn’t think he could risk letting that chance slip away.
Hesitantly, he nodded against Jim’s hands and shuffled forward, his mouth opening and his tongue sliding out against shiny red lips in invitation.
“Good boy,” Jim purred, low and mean, and Bob’s thighs twitched at the words. Without further ado, Jim shoved his length back into the warm, wet heat of Bob’s mouth, and when Bob gagged, Jim gripped his jaw more firmly to keep him from snapping it closed. He hissed, “Yes, like this, good, good, wonderful.”
Bob’s fingers curled into the top of Jim’s pants and dug into the material. His knuckles began to whiten with the grip as Jim started to thrust into his mouth, and tears stung at his eyes. Drool began to spill from his stretched lips as his gorge rose with each jerk against his face, and his stomach lurched hard. With each retraction, he tried to catch his breath in weak little gasps, but every thrust began to plow deeper, harder, into his throat, and soon he was completely breathless. His chest was burning. His face was sore where Jim clutched it, and he absently wondered if he’d have bruises to show for it tomorrow morning. The friction caused the seam in his lip from their first kiss to reopen and spurt a little burst of blood that quickly blended with the other fluids.
He looked up at Jim, his big, glossy eyes pleading silently for the other man to slow down, to let him catch his breath, to loosen his grip, anything, but Jim appeared to be completely immune to the supplication.
When he felt the tell-tale twitching of Jim’s cock and his balls tightening, a few more tears streamed from Bob’s eyes, and he didn’t know if it was from the poor gag reflex or relief that this was nearly over. He was happy to be with someone, finally, and someone he thought he might genuinely like, but this sort of brutishness, especially this quickly into... whatever it was they had going on, sparked a tiny flame of discomfort and fright in his gut.
Frantically, his mind tried to grasp for an excuse, because maybe... well, maybe Jim was just a little over-eager to be getting sex after who-knows-how-long? Bob couldn’t really blame him there, especially when intimacy with a man wasn’t exactly readily available in a place like this. And hey, maybe Jim just had more experience with rougher types, and that was what he liked best. So far, Bob wasn’t exactly keen on something like that, but he was sure he could adapt. He’d adapt for James if it meant he could ‘keep’ him.
A burst of liquid heat in his throat made him cough hard, and he sputtered around Jim’s dick, feeling the other man’s release fill his mouth and dribble messily to the floor. He wheezed in a deep, rattling breath as Jim pulled back, his hand trembling as it lifted to cup the mess slipping down his chin. The taste was overwhelming, and he nearly vomited.
Jim’s hands released their claw-like grasp on Bob’s skull and began to stroke the sore cheeks and jaw, smearing the residual paint with tears and spit and traces of spend.
“Such a good boy, Bobby,” he cooed. “You were perfect, so perfect. How lucky am I?”
Bob nuzzled into the comforting touch as it rubbed away his aches and tears. His breath hitched with a weak sob. Reluctantly, he swallowed and licked up what he could of the cum despite the foul taste, but God, he wanted to keep hearing that praise. He looked up at Jim, his eyes shiny and bloodshot, and he sucked the last traces of slime off his fingertips.
It hurt to swallow. His jaw ached terribly. “So, you liked that, right?” His voice was raw and strained, and he spoke quietly.
Jim tucked his hands under Bob’s armpits and hefted him easily to his feet, his strength surprising as he effortlessly tossed the performer to the bed. The old wood creaked with the sudden weight, and Bob hoped it wouldn’t collapse right then and there.
Jim looked down at Bob sprawled on the unmade sheets, eyeing him like a wolf does a fawn. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I loved it.” Loved the little pangs of fear that bounced around your belly like bugs. Loved the way you pleaded with me again and again as I wrecked your delicate throat. Loved the fear in your eyes as the air disappeared from your lungs breath by stinking breath.
A shaky smile spread across Bob’s face. He was sore, and somewhere in the back of his mind there was something primal pecking away at his nerves, but the answer made him happy. Despite the aches and humiliation, it felt good to know that someone like Jim was showing him approval.
“Good. Good, ‘m glad.” He glanced down at a loose thread in his quilt and began to pluck at it. “So, what now? I could make us some tea, or maybe coffee, or-” Bob gave a little yelp as Jim, suddenly naked, climbed onto the bed with him and trapped him against the mattress with palms and knees caged around his sides. His heart fluttered in his chest. Jim wanted to stay with him longer? Did he want to cuddle, or did he want to screw around a little more? Either way, the clown was excited, and his previous upset had started to disappear. Damn, it felt good to be wanted.
He slid his arms around Jim’s neck and leaned up for a kiss. The other man jerked back, and Bob instantly deflated, embarrassment burning into his cheeks as his good mood started to wither. “Oh, ‘m sorry, I just thought, because y’know, earlier we did that.” He looked away. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Jim eyed him for a long moment before ducking down and pressing his mouth to Bob’s own. The kiss was uncoordinated, but not as frenzied as the one from earlier, and Bob melted into the sheets with it. His hands slid up against Jim’s head and thread fingers through dark hair, pulling the strange man closer. He sighed. His lashes fluttered, and he closed his eyes, while above him Jim rolled his own.
You’re falling for me, aren’t you, Bobby? Silly, stupid little Bobby. Would you still love me if I ripped your jaw right off its hinges? If I pulled you out of this bed and threw you to the wolves out there, let them swarm you once they saw you for what you truly are – what you fear they’ll find out?
Would you fall even harder for me after that? Would you drop to your knees again and beg me to love you back?
Jim chuckled against Bob’s mouth and sucked once at the split in his lip, delighting in the coppery taste.
Bob parted from him, just a little, and he smiled. There was a dopey lust in his gaze. He thumbed at the hair above Jim’s ear and said, “I think ‘m ready for more.”
Jim looked him up and down for a long moment before setting a palm against Bob’s chest and pressing him down against the sheets. “If you insist, Bobby-boy,” he purred. “Lie back and let me work.”
And Bob did. He settled into the sheets with his heart gently thump-thump-thumping in his chest and his fingers flexing amongst the folds of the quilt. He stared up at the lamplight shadows playing on the ceiling, not yet brave enough to look down between his thighs at what was happening, but he could feel it well enough if not more-so than he would if he was seeing everything. He felt those calloused hands spread his legs apart, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from protesting the reveal of such a private place. He’d never shown that to anybody, not even those back-alley guys, but somehow, he felt ready and trusting enough to allow this random mystery man to see him bared and vulnerable.
There was just something about James; it was almost entrancing, whatever it was, and it had Bob by the throat.
He jolted when something warm and wet touched the tight ring of muscle, and he got up on his elbows and finally chanced a glance down between his thighs to see Jim’s head there, mouth hidden and yellow eyes peering up at him from beneath dark lashes. His stomach flipped in an odd blend of shame and excitement, and his cock throbbed against his stomach. A tiny drop of pre spurted onto his belly at the sight, and he bit his lip almost hard enough to bleed again.
“Jim, you-!”
Jim silenced him with another, drawn-out drag of his tongue, this one ending in a swirling motion that has Bob’s lashes fluttering and his toes curling. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. Something that seemed so filthy, so outside of the normal, but so goddamn erotic was happening in his own bed, to him! He’d seen it done in dirty magazines; most often, it was a woman being eaten out in the normal fashion, but there were the occasional images and stories where a man or woman would have someone’s tongue at their ass instead. It always seemed so crude but incredibly intriguing, and he’d sometimes wondered what something like that might feel like, but it always had him blushing hard and feeling awkward. Could something like that really be done, and could it really feel that pleasurable? Yes, and yes, he quickly found out.
“Oh, Jim,” he huffed. He rolled his hips up against Jim’s mouth and moaned, soft and shaky into the dimly-lit room.
Jim suckled and nipped at the puckered flesh, and Bob’s chest rose quickly with his panting. He released one hand’s grip on the quilt and buried his fingers in the dark smooth hair of the other man, gently pulling him forward with a palm against the back of his head. Jim’s chuckle against his hole was muffled, and the little vibrations made goosebumps rise along Bob’s skin. That tongue flickered against him and slickened the way with drool before prodding gently, then insistently, and thrusting its way past the tight barrier.
Bob gasped and bucked his hips again, riding the other man’s tongue as his thighs began to tremble.
“Jesus, Jim, ‘monna-!”
There was a crunch of boots in the dirt outside his wagon, close to the window near his bed, and what sounded like the quiet murmurs of a secret conversation going on. Bob immediately went dead quiet, his body tense and rigid as he stilled – all but the shaky hand still clutching at Jim’s hair.
“Jim. Jim, wait, wait,” he whispered, so quiet it was barely more than just his lips mouthing the words. His wide eyes flickered around the room, and he listened intently, trying to hear over the incredible pounding of his heart and the soft wet noises coming from between his thighs. “James, please.”
Jim either didn’t hear the outside noises, or he simply didn’t care. Bob’s terror of being caught didn’t seem to bother him much, either, in fact, the other man seemed to be completely enraptured by his task, and his eyes still stayed glued to the horrified face of the clown.
He even uttered a quiet groan as he gripped Bob’s hips and pulled him closer, seeming to go impossibly deeper with his tongue.
Despite his nerves, Bob’s erection hadn’t waned in the slightest. How could it with the way Jim was working him open? When those teeth grazed his hole, and it felt like the tongue flickered something wonderful deep inside of him, he almost cried out and had to clamp a sweaty hand over his mouth to keep silent. He stared wide-eyed and scared at the window, still covered by the little curtain, and listened to the muffled sounds of talking going on behind it.
'Please, please, please, just let us be…’ He begged to any god that would listen.
With a stifled cry, he was coming hard onto his taut belly and chest, the white ropes spilling despite the fear he was feeling. Jim was on it in a second, his mouth latching onto the sweat-slicked skin to lap up every drop of seed it could get. The man was ravenous, nearly purring his happy sounds as he cleaned the mess there.
And just like that, the conversation from outside was done, like the wind had magically carried it away. Gone as if it had never existed in the first place. There were no more muffled words, no more chuckles, no more crunching of the earth as footsteps walked away. It was just as silent around the wagon as it was when they had climbed into bed.
Bob’s brows furrowed and his hand slowly slipped from his mouth. “But…?”
He shook his head and grunted, annoyed at himself all over again. Nice one, Bob, you let your stupid fucking fears get the best of you all over again. You’re ruining your one and only night with this guy, you know that, right?
Whatever. At least this time he was mentally present for his orgasm.
He looked down to see Jim finishing up with the mess on his torso, the man looking pleased as punch.
“Fear looks and tastes awful good on you, Bobby.” Jim grinned up at him, teeth gleaming in the lamplight.
Bob fidgeted and scoffed. “Glad you enjoyed that, at least. I was really scared for a second back there, y’know, I mean, c’mon, you didn’t hear any of that?”
“Hard to hear with your thighs hugging my ears.”
Bob blushed. “Well. Okay, yeah, I’ll give ya that.” He quieted down for a moment, mulling over Jim’s earlier words. Shyly, he picked at the quilt and asked, “So, you think I look good? And, uh. Taste good, apparently?” That one was funny to him. Jim seemed big on taste. Might have been one of those fetishes he’d read about or something?
Jim sat up and crawled across the length of Bob’s body until he had him pressed back into the sheets and caged between his arms. He looked down at him, his gaze intense with something akin to a deep hunger. “Oh yes, Bob Gray. There’s truly no one like you. No one.”
No one whose fear, even in such little doses as these, has ever tasted so rich, so savory, and makes my mouth water like the flood just thinking about the way you quiver and whimper. I want so badly to rip you open upon this very bed and eat you, bones and guts and all. I want to see your big, wet eyes stare with dread as I pluck and pull you apart bit by delicious bit. I want to see and taste your fear forever.
Bob reveled in the praise. Something in the intensity of Jim’s gaze struck an unnerved chord deep within him, but those words left him basking, unable to think past that. He was dazed and practically saw stars.
“You, too, Jim. I’m happy I met you.”
Jim ignored the comment and ducked his head down to the crook of Bob’s neck where he took in a deep inhale, shuddering his exhale with a soft hiss.
“I’m going to fuck you now.” He said simply.
Bob startled.
He tried to look at Jim, but the other man was still nestled firmly under his jaw, seemingly unphased by his own straightforward comment. Bob chuckled awkwardly and tried, “Aw, Jim, I don’t know, I mean, I’ve never done that before, and-” He was cut off by the blunt end of a fingertip jabbing at his spit-slicked hole, and he yelped when it slid its way right down to the base.
“Jim!”
The muffled snicker against his collarbone summoned goosebumps along his skin. Before he could protest further, the invading finger began to thrust in and out in slow, deep movements.
Bob wanted to pull away but instead dug his own digits into the quilt and laid himself back against the pillow, his eyes watching the shadows dance along the lamplight still playing on the ceiling. It wasn’t comfortable at the moment, but if Jim kept this pace, then maybe it’d get better.
After some prodding, the pad of Jim’s finger brushed feather-light against that lovely spot deep inside of him, and Bob’s lashes fluttered against the grease paint on his cheeks while he moaned. Okay. Okay, that was good. That was nice. He could handle that. Just as he was settling into it, Jim wriggled a second finger in without warning and started scissoring and thrusting before Bob could even catch a proper breath.
In some of those dirty magazines and booklets, they’d mentioned lots of careful prep was necessary, as well as lots of lubricant, for something like anal sex. Hell, even some of the girls he’d overheard gossiping had said that ‘normal’ intercourse could be uncomfortable or even painful. So far, this was uncomfortable and awkward, different than the times he did it to himself, but he supposed his own hands tended to show a little more patience and self-control than Jim’s seemed to be doing right now. Yes, it hurt, but he figured he should be flattered that the other man was so aroused by him, so desperate to get inside of him even if that meant not listening to Bob’s requests. Bob couldn’t remember the last time someone was even attracted to him, at least, that he was aware of, so he tried his best to keep his complaints to a minimum.
He also thanked whatever lucky stars he had left that Jim was at least considerate enough to have somewhat prepped the way with his mouth first.
The painful stretch of a third finger had him second-guessing himself.
“Ngh, Jim, c’mon,” he grunted, wincing as those fingers went deep and opened him a little more harshly than he himself would have done. “Be careful, man, ‘m not gonna break, but I’m still... y’know...” He blushed a little under the red already adorning his cheeks. It felt weird, as a grown man, to whine to another about being a virgin.
Jim muttered something against Bob’s shoulder, and Bob couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d said something like, “So sweet, so fresh for me, then.”
Whatever that meant.
He winced again as those prying fingers were withdrawn, and Jim was shifting back between his quivering thighs. He latched a hand onto Jim’s shoulder, clutching, and looked up at him with a pleading expression to ask, “Gently? Please?”
Jim stared back down at him with amber eyes that reflected the flame of the lamplight, and something in those yellow rings both warmed and chilled Bob deep at his core and sent electric jolts verging on painful all along his spine. Still, he couldn’t look away from them, and when a hand lifted to caress his cheek, he nuzzled into it, grateful for the sweet contact.
He pressed a kiss to the palm at first, but then his lips drew back, and his teeth sunk into the flesh as Jim suddenly thrust into him without a word and none of the gentleness he’d
asked for. He tasted the copper tang of blood as his teeth dug in, and he growled a pained moan against the pad of fat clamped between his teeth.
Jim flinched only a little, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. He kept it held up against Bob’s mouth and let him take out his pain there and watched with a grin as the clown gnashed and groaned around the flesh in his mouth.
“So good for me, Bobby, that’s it.”
“It hurts!”
Jim’s stare darted over every line of pain etched in Bob’s features and gleefully indulged in the sight of fresh tears and sweat as they began to trickle down to the pillow. His hips shook with barely-there restraint as he felt Bob trying his hardest not to clamp down and tighten around his dick. He felt the sting of Bob’s nails digging into his shoulder and the faint hint of blood following it, and he pressed into the bruising hold, eyes snapping to watch as that arm trembled. Bob’s discomfort was beautiful, and though he could feel and see the man’s pain beginning to dull an ache, he reveled in it while it lasted.
“Beautiful. So beautiful. So delicious.”
Bob panted as he forced himself to adjust. The words struck another of those chords within him, and though that chord was beginning to fray, it still rang true and gave him the little burst of encouragement he needed. He could do this. He wanted to be good for Jim, desperately wanted the other man to like him, and, maybe, just maybe, give him more intimacy like this. It was rougher than he was expecting, but he honestly didn’t think he could give up the warmth of the other man’s skin on his own or that look of desire and need he was getting. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one had ever touched him like this before or made him feel these things. He needed this. Yes, it hurt, but he was gonna get through it and he was gonna be good. After all, he did say he’d do anything for Jim, didn’t he?
He pried his jaws free from Jim’s hand and blinked a few tears from his eyes. His lips and teeth were smeared with blood, blending with the last traces of his red Pennywise paint, and smudging into the white.
The sight of it made Jim’s stomach flip, and he snarled. He thrust once, a hard snap of his hips that had Bob gritting his bloody teeth and hissing through them.
“I want you.” I want to eat you. Bury my face in your guts and consume you from the inside out. I want your blood on my teeth. I want your fear on my tongue.
Bob smiled at that, crooked and strained, but it was genuine. Christ, it felt good to be wanted. He was so glad his whining hadn’t driven the other man away. Hesitantly, he spread his thighs wider and rolled his own hips and thrust back at Jim’s, wincing a little as he did so, but it didn’t hurt like he was expecting. There was still a deep ache, but it was
beginning to feel good, and the praise he was receiving warmed his insides and stiffened his length. He moaned.
“James,” he said, rolling his hips again. “’M good. ‘M good now.”
Needing no further permission, Jim planted his hands on either side of Bob’s head and buried them in the down-filled pillow as he began to thrust hard and fast against him. Some of the pain came back, and Bob wasn’t sure if the sudden slide of lubricant was from blood or pre-come, but under the sharp bites of discomfort there were little bursts of pleasure that started to erase the worry from his mind.
The head of Jim’s cock brushed once, twice, against his prostate and he gasped, his back arching sharply off the mattress. “O-ohh!”
Jim grinned at the response. He ducked his head as Bob pulled him closer with clumsy hands, and he lapped at the sweat beading on the other man’s chest. Under the flat of his tongue, he could feel Bob’s pulse racing, and he could feel the salt of excitement tinging those little droplets of sweat. It was lovely, tasty, but still bland. He needed more, and he’d get it soon enough. He tilted his head to the left and took Bob’s nipple into his mouth, suckling, pinching it with jagged teeth, just enough to make the other man keen up at the ceiling. Shaky hands buried in his hair and pulled him closer, and the arc of Bob’s torso pressed up against his chest.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” Bob muttered, the words spilling out of his mouth in a slurred moan. He was beginning to see stars, and while the ache was still there, it had blended with the pleasure into something he was quickly becoming addicted to. He was so proud that he’d hung in there and that he hadn't given up. He was right to trust Jim. He knew Jim would take care of him, even if it had hurt at first. He whined as this next thrust had him driving his hips up in a way that rubbed his erection along the front of Jim’s stomach.
“Fuck, Jim-!” He cried. Just as soon as he’d uttered it, his eyes went wide and, despite the wonderful feelings going on in and around him, Bob couldn’t help but realize just how loud he’d suddenly been, how loud he’d probably been this whole time, and oh fucking hell, was the wagon shaking with their movements? He slapped a hand down over his mouth to stifle the next shaky moan, and with his other hand he reached out to Jim to pat at his shoulder and catch his attention.
Jim grunted in what probably came off as annoyance, but the rabbit-quick pace of that heartbeat and the new flavor tinging that sweat had him grinning. He pried his mouth away from Bob’s chest and looked up at him, licking his lips as he asked, “Yes?”
Bob moved his hand away just enough to hiss, “We’re being too loud!”
Jim snorted. “You’re too loud. I’ve been quiet as a church mouse.”
Bob ignored him, still fretting. His eyes darted from each covered window and the door, listening intently for the crunch and creak of footsteps or the hushed whispers of angry carnival folk. “God, what if they already-” He yelped as he was unceremoniously flipped and manhandled onto his stomach from his back, his face planting into the bloodstained pillow as the wind was knocked from his lungs.
“Then hush yourself, why don’t you,” Jim said pleasantly, one hand pinned on Bob’s lower back while the other had a grip in his messy hair.
Bob barely had a moment to catch his breath before Jim was shoving his face against the pillow and thrusting back into him. He flinched at the intrusion and clutched at the quilt beneath him. Still, he raised his hips off the mattress as best he could and let Jim continue fucking into him. Jim struck true against his prostate, and his sharp whine was swallowed by the pillow. He could barely breathe like this, and the rough hands hurt his back and pulled his hair, but he couldn’t help bucking back at the other man’s hard rutting. Despite his increasing fear, he was growing so close to his climax, and he didn’t know if the darkening around his vision was from this building orgasm or the lack of air reaching his lungs.
Above him, Jim panted, grunting and huffing unintelligible words of praise and maybe something akin to cruel mocking; he wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell amongst what sounded like a growing ruckus outside and the crude slap of skin against skin.
From the corner of his eye, there was what looked like the flickering of light and shadows playing behind the cloth of his window curtains, like something you’d see in a fire, and it came and went with the sounds that seemed to surround the wagon. What could that be? Torches? And every time he caught a breath, he’d swear there were the faint whiffs of animal musk and rotting meat, the sour sting of urine breaching his nose. Then he heard it - the sharp creak and groan of wood, like heavy boots on his front steps, and the biting jabs of whispers and jeers with nasty words like ‘sinners’ and ‘faggots’ and ‘not like us’ that seemed to blend with rumbling feline growls. The wagon itself appeared to rock more, as if multiple hands were beginning to push and pull at the structure to tip it, to drive out the filthy, sinning men inside.
Bob’s heart sank into his gut, and a cold sweat broke out all over his flushed skin. He tried to thrash free from underneath Jim, but the other man held him down and seemed careless to the goings-on outside, still pounding away at him, faster, harder, whispering under his breath to himself as if lost in his own pleasure.
The clown's eyes shut tight and squeezed fresh tears out over his cheeks. Jim’s cock was still driving away at his spot, bringing him ever closer to the edge, but God he was terrified, and he just knew those furious, hateful people outside were going to break down the door and grab them both before he could finish, before he could have this one last little thing, and then they’d be tortured and strung up all because he couldn’t help himself.
There was a pounding at the door then, almost violent enough to splinter the barrier off its hinges, and Bob sobbed into the pillow because of it. His grip in the quilt was white-knuckled as he pulled it to his aching chest, and Christ, any moment now they’d be bursting through in a hideous wave, but he was almost there, he was so close, and the greediest part of him tore through the terror to have him clumsily thrust back at Jim’s hips until finally, finally, he was coming hard against the bed and his own stomach. There was little of his cum left to give, he was truly spent and at his limit, but he gave all he had just for Jim. He tightened all around the length inside of him and heard Jim grind his teeth and snarl before something hot filled his insides, and he milked it for all he was worth. If he was going to die, he wanted every spent drop. He wanted Jim to claim him.
And just like that, it was silent, save the pounding of blood in Bob’s ears, and their panting and the wet slide of Jim’s last, lazy thrusts.
Bob slowly opened his eyes and glanced towards his windows. There were no dancing shadows there. A shaky inhale filled his lungs, but there were no scents from the Lion’s Den, only those of the stale wagon air and sex. He tuned his ears to any sounds other than the men's own, and there were none. No other voices, no hands beating against wood, no stomping footfalls. The wagon itself was as still as when they first entered it.
His lashes fluttered shut again as a soft sob of relief escaped him. Just his dumb, childish imagination again...
A hand slipped beneath him and made his stomach flip as it pawed against his skin and the sheets for a moment before withdrawing, and when he heard slurping and pleased groans, he knew Jim was cleaning up what little mess he could find, just as he had earlier.
Bob, still jittery from both his orgasm and nerves, attempted a little humor and croaked out, “Wow, you really like the taste of me, huh?”
Jim purred his agreement and pressed his chest against Bob’s sweaty back, trapping him against the bed. He nuzzled the clown and nipped a little sharply at the shell of his ear, huskily saying, “Oh yes. Verrry, very tasty. I could eat you all day and night.”
Bob chuckled at the silly words, but he shivered at what they implied, and once again, he was reveling in how good it felt to be desired. He sighed. “I’m glad.”
They lay there in the warm quiet of the wagon for a little while, neither one saying anything else during that time, until finally Jim brushed Bob’s ear with his lips and murmured, “Bobby?”
“Mh?” Bob was just on the precipice of sleep, but Jim dragged him back a few inches into wakefulness.
“Do you love me?”
Bob blinked, slow and heavy. He thought he might have to think hard on something like that, but he really didn’t have to think at all. “Yes.” He felt a smile against his ear.
“Good. You’re so good.”
A smile of Bob’s own graced his lips, sleepy and content.
“And you’d do anything for me?”
---
“How much further? My legs are tired.” The little girl complained again, but her grip in his gloved hand was as firm as it had been when they first started walking.
“Ohh, just a little bit more. We’re nearly there!” Bob answered in a voice that had a friendly goofiness but was just barely holding it together. He kept stealing glances back over his shoulder, eyes darting all around to see if they were being followed. But no, it was only them, alone on the little path in the woods, the lights of the carnival fading with each step they took.
“What kinds of balloons does your friend have?” The girl, Samantha, asked. She was a young, tiny thing, couldn’t have been more than six, and she’d eagerly followed Bob when he’d asked her if she wanted a couple of free balloons. After all, what child could resist the colorful siren song of a free balloon? Especially when it was coming from Pennywise the Dancing Clown, himself. How exciting! Her friends were going to be so jealous.
Bob swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t like this at all. He didn’t understand why Jim needed a kid, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good. Best case scenario, the guy wanted to ‘adopt’ a random child and runaway together with Bob as a family, but even that was a huge, and still very illegal, stretch. He tried to convince himself that if anything weird was going to happen, then he was going to put a stop to it, promise or no promise. It didn’t matter how much he liked - loved - Jim.
The girl jostled his hand. “Pennywise! I said, what kinds of balloons?”
He shook his head, jingling the tiny bells of his costume. “Uhm. All kinds! So many colors, and so many shapes.”
“Even stars?”
“Yes, even stars.” Bob could see the silhouette of Jim at the end of the trail. He could see those gold eyes glimmering even in the pure dark, and something in the pit of his stomach clawed at him with cold dread, clawed until it dug into his spine and made its way up to the base of his skull where it gnawed at him, hissing to leave, leave now, take her and turn back to the carnival, go!
But his legs kept moving forward, stiff and trembling. He didn’t understand why; he’d never been scared of Jim like this in the short time he’d known him, but something felt wrong. Very, very wrong.
“Ow! Pennywise, you’re holding my hand too tightly!” The girl said, tugging her arm.
Bob immediately released her, stammering an apology. “Sorry! Just- I didn’t want you getting lost!” He giggled, but there was no mirth in it.
The girl paid him no mind. She rubbed her little hand and squinted at the shadowy figure standing a few yards away from them. “Hello?” She nervously asked, “Are you Mr. Pennywise’s friend?”
A light suddenly flickered on, though Bob couldn’t tell from where, and it illuminated Jim’s face as it held a sweet and inviting smile. Balloons of all colors and shapes, just like Bob had promised, bobbed and swayed behind him, and the little girl squealed in delight upon seeing them.
“Oh! You DO have stars!”
“Of course I do, dear,” Jim said. He reached behind his shoulder without looking and plucked a star-shaped balloon from the bunch floating above his head, then held it out towards her.
“Wait-!” Jim yelped, but the girl was already running to Jim’s outstretched hand. With glee, she snatched up the silvery string and bounced on her heels, showing off her prize to both men.
“Look, look, it’s so pretty! I’ve never seen a star balloon before!” She reeled the balloon down until it was floating before her face, and she stared at it in wonderment. Bob softened a little at the sight, and some of the dread he’d been feeling began to ebb away. He felt a little guilty about his initial assumptions that Jim had something sinister in mind, but seeing the little girl, happy and clutching at the balloon she’d been promised made his heart melt and-
The star balloon burst in her face, startlingly loud, and the girl jumped back with a surprised shriek. Both her and Bob stared at the empty air where the balloon had just been, shocked, and then she started to cry.
“M-my balloon!” She wailed.
Bob looked to Jim and frowned when he saw the other man grinning like a cat, golden eyes almost wide as he snickered behind his teeth. “That’s not funny, Jim, give her another balloon.” He spoke normally, with Pennywise no longer in his voice.
Jim glanced up at him, the grin still wide, and said, “Sure thing, Bobby, you bet.” He passed two balloons to her this time, one in the shape of a heart and another in the shape of an elephant.
Samantha sniffled and blinked away a few tears. “Really?” She reached for the replacement balloons, only for those two to burst as well, just as loud and frightening as the first one. She stamped her foot and sobbed, shaking her head. “I don’t like these balloons!”
Bob stomped over to the two of them, scowling at Jim and jabbing a finger at his face. “Enough! You’re scaring her!”
Jim laughed and shrugged. “That’s kind of the point, Bob. They just don’t taste the same without it.”
Bob’s defensive posture faltered. “What are you talking about?”
The other man rolled his eyes. “You’re not very bright, are you? Maybe I’ll explain it to you when I’m not so hungry.” Jim suddenly snatched up the girl’s arm and yanked her towards himself, ignorant to her startled cries of pain and fright.
“What are you doing?!” Bob gasped. He lunged forward to grab Samantha, but Jim’s free hand shot out and clutched his throat in a vice-like grip that barely left him any air. He began to claw and pull at the other man’s wrist, but the smooth material of his gloves had his fingers slipping.
Jim’s eyes, bright and glowing, stared hard into Bob’s own tearful ones, and drool poured from his mouth. “Thank you, Bobby,” He slurred, teeth sharp and tongue lolling. “I couldn’t have done this without you. You’re so very, very good.”
With horror, Bob watched as Jim’s mouth spread into red, glistening gums and yellow, jagged teeth, and the man he’d fallen hard for became something his mind simply couldn’t - didn’t want – to comprehend.