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Title: Intentions
Author: Evandar
Fandom: IT (2017)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror
Pairing: Pennywise/Bill Denbrough
Warnings: Underage, Pre-slash, Dub-con
Disclaimer: I do not own IT and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: He can still see Georgie in his mind’s eye: missing an arm and starting to rot, a sick puppet for the thing lurking in the water. But the illusion of his brother is gone now, and the clown doesn’t seem too interested in pursuing him. Not right now.
Actually, Pennywise seems to have different ideas entirely.
IT stops at the top of the basement stairs, staring at him from under the strands of wet copper hair plastered to IT’s forehead. IT’s lower lip seems to sag, heavy and wet, as IT’s mouth curves up into a smile revealing sharp teeth. As Bill watches, the amber in IT’s eyes fades to a bright, brilliant blue - an almost friendly colour.
He stands frozen, staring. His heart is hammering in his chest and he wants, so desperately to move, to run, but he couldn’t. His feet feel like they’re rooted to the floor; his fingers feel like they might as well be welded to the door handle.
He can still see Georgie in his mind’s eye: missing an arm and starting to rot, a sick puppet for the thing lurking in the water. But the illusion of his brother is gone now, and the clown doesn’t seem too interested in pursuing him. Not right now.
IT is just standing there, watching him. Looking at him like he’s somehow the most fascinating thing in the world, that eerie, sharp-toothed smile still stretching over IT’s features. The blue of IT’s eyes looks like distant stars, and Bill can feel his heart-rate slowing. Calming. He... He’s not afraid.
This is how IT does it, he realises. IT flips from terrifying to friendly to lure IT’s prey closer; IT goes from one extreme to the other so quickly that whoever happens to see it ends up entranced. This is how IT caught Georgie.
A black-clawed hand curls around his own, holding his fingers secure to the doorknob - as if he could have moved anyway. IT’s skin is cold against his own, still wet from the water in the basement, but under the damp it feels oddly like scales. Inhuman. Unnatural. This close, Bill can smell IT: blood and rot and cotton candy; sweet in a way that makes his skin crawl.
“Hiya Billy,” IT says. IT’s voice is soft and sweet, the complete opposite of what IT made Georgie sound like.
His breath catches in his throat. He tries to move and can’t. He’s stuck, trapped, still staring up at IT’s face and IT’s widening smile.
In the depths of IT’s eyes, he thinks he can see lights dancing; their movements in time with strange, fluting music that pipes just on the edge of his hearing. He knows something else, then: IT, the clown, the...whatever IT is, IT’s not human. IT’s never been human. IT isn’t some kind of ghost or spectre, nor even some kind of demon. IT is something beyond all of those: alien and remote.
And Bill still isn’t afraid. God, but he feels so very calm.
“W-what are yuh-you g-going t-to do to mmme?” he asks, and even though he knows he’s not afraid, he’s still a little surprised that his voice doesn’t break over the words. It should have done, he thinks.
He’s even more surprised that the clown doesn’t mock his stutter. Everyone else does, after all - even his friends (though they’re kind about it, mostly) and his family (especially his father). Even his teachers roll their eyes and sigh impatiently at him. But not IT. IT just tilts IT’s head and keeps smiling at him. There’s saliva beginning to pool in the stoop of IT’s lower lip. It makes the red glisten. Bill swallows. He tries to think of something, anything, that he might have done between being chased up the stairs and pausing at the doorway that might have caught IT’s attention like this, but he can’t. There’s nothing. So, despite his question, he knows he’s probably going to be IT’s dinner. But.
But.
IT leans down so that it isn’t looming over him quite so much. The lights in IT’s eyes flicker and glow, and the saliva spills over IT’s lips, dripping into the bedraggled ruff at IT’s throat. Behind IT’s teeth, Bill glimpses light.
The smile widens.
IT raises IT’s free hand to IT’s mouth and kisses IT’s fingers. The gesture makes a wet, slopping sound, and Bill feels his stomach twist as IT reaches out and presses wet fingers to the hollow of his throat.
All of a sudden, he’s afraid again. Not just afraid: terrified. He can feel a scream trying to escape him, but it can’t seem to get past the lump in his throat. His lungs aren’t working properly. Instead of screaming, all he can do is make a soft wheezing noise that sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet between them.
IT giggles, inhaling deeply, and vanishes. One second IT’s standing in front of him, smiling and laughing with IT’s saliva smeared on Bill’s neck and IT’s hand pinning his own in place; the next, IT’s gone. Even the water and spit that had been dripping onto the floor. IT’s gone.
Bill stares into the empty air, unmoving. Not even breathing. He can still feel the strength of IT’s fingers where they’d wrapped around his own. His throat is tingling slightly as IT’s saliva begins to cool and dry against his skin. It’s the only part of IT that still lingers.
His first breath, when his lungs begin to work, sounds more like a sob.
He thinks he preferred it when IT wanted to eat him.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: IT (2017)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror
Pairing: Pennywise/Bill Denbrough
Warnings: Underage, Pre-slash, Dub-con
Disclaimer: I do not own IT and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: He can still see Georgie in his mind’s eye: missing an arm and starting to rot, a sick puppet for the thing lurking in the water. But the illusion of his brother is gone now, and the clown doesn’t seem too interested in pursuing him. Not right now.
Actually, Pennywise seems to have different ideas entirely.
IT stops at the top of the basement stairs, staring at him from under the strands of wet copper hair plastered to IT’s forehead. IT’s lower lip seems to sag, heavy and wet, as IT’s mouth curves up into a smile revealing sharp teeth. As Bill watches, the amber in IT’s eyes fades to a bright, brilliant blue - an almost friendly colour.
He stands frozen, staring. His heart is hammering in his chest and he wants, so desperately to move, to run, but he couldn’t. His feet feel like they’re rooted to the floor; his fingers feel like they might as well be welded to the door handle.
He can still see Georgie in his mind’s eye: missing an arm and starting to rot, a sick puppet for the thing lurking in the water. But the illusion of his brother is gone now, and the clown doesn’t seem too interested in pursuing him. Not right now.
IT is just standing there, watching him. Looking at him like he’s somehow the most fascinating thing in the world, that eerie, sharp-toothed smile still stretching over IT’s features. The blue of IT’s eyes looks like distant stars, and Bill can feel his heart-rate slowing. Calming. He... He’s not afraid.
This is how IT does it, he realises. IT flips from terrifying to friendly to lure IT’s prey closer; IT goes from one extreme to the other so quickly that whoever happens to see it ends up entranced. This is how IT caught Georgie.
A black-clawed hand curls around his own, holding his fingers secure to the doorknob - as if he could have moved anyway. IT’s skin is cold against his own, still wet from the water in the basement, but under the damp it feels oddly like scales. Inhuman. Unnatural. This close, Bill can smell IT: blood and rot and cotton candy; sweet in a way that makes his skin crawl.
“Hiya Billy,” IT says. IT’s voice is soft and sweet, the complete opposite of what IT made Georgie sound like.
His breath catches in his throat. He tries to move and can’t. He’s stuck, trapped, still staring up at IT’s face and IT’s widening smile.
In the depths of IT’s eyes, he thinks he can see lights dancing; their movements in time with strange, fluting music that pipes just on the edge of his hearing. He knows something else, then: IT, the clown, the...whatever IT is, IT’s not human. IT’s never been human. IT isn’t some kind of ghost or spectre, nor even some kind of demon. IT is something beyond all of those: alien and remote.
And Bill still isn’t afraid. God, but he feels so very calm.
“W-what are yuh-you g-going t-to do to mmme?” he asks, and even though he knows he’s not afraid, he’s still a little surprised that his voice doesn’t break over the words. It should have done, he thinks.
He’s even more surprised that the clown doesn’t mock his stutter. Everyone else does, after all - even his friends (though they’re kind about it, mostly) and his family (especially his father). Even his teachers roll their eyes and sigh impatiently at him. But not IT. IT just tilts IT’s head and keeps smiling at him. There’s saliva beginning to pool in the stoop of IT’s lower lip. It makes the red glisten. Bill swallows. He tries to think of something, anything, that he might have done between being chased up the stairs and pausing at the doorway that might have caught IT’s attention like this, but he can’t. There’s nothing. So, despite his question, he knows he’s probably going to be IT’s dinner. But.
But.
IT leans down so that it isn’t looming over him quite so much. The lights in IT’s eyes flicker and glow, and the saliva spills over IT’s lips, dripping into the bedraggled ruff at IT’s throat. Behind IT’s teeth, Bill glimpses light.
The smile widens.
IT raises IT’s free hand to IT’s mouth and kisses IT’s fingers. The gesture makes a wet, slopping sound, and Bill feels his stomach twist as IT reaches out and presses wet fingers to the hollow of his throat.
All of a sudden, he’s afraid again. Not just afraid: terrified. He can feel a scream trying to escape him, but it can’t seem to get past the lump in his throat. His lungs aren’t working properly. Instead of screaming, all he can do is make a soft wheezing noise that sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet between them.
IT giggles, inhaling deeply, and vanishes. One second IT’s standing in front of him, smiling and laughing with IT’s saliva smeared on Bill’s neck and IT’s hand pinning his own in place; the next, IT’s gone. Even the water and spit that had been dripping onto the floor. IT’s gone.
Bill stares into the empty air, unmoving. Not even breathing. He can still feel the strength of IT’s fingers where they’d wrapped around his own. His throat is tingling slightly as IT’s saliva begins to cool and dry against his skin. It’s the only part of IT that still lingers.
His first breath, when his lungs begin to work, sounds more like a sob.
He thinks he preferred it when IT wanted to eat him.
