Chapter Thirteen: Blood and Bone

You're gone when I awaken, which is new to me. When I'd passed out, drunk on love and shivering from the gentle ministrations of your hands and lips and tongue upon me, you were right beside me. Purring. But now I am alone in this huge bed, and you're nowhere to be seen. Not in your corner, either. Could you have had a change of heart? Did what happened between us offend you to the point of needing to get away from me? I don't know. All I know is that I feel wonderful, and I can't wait to see you again.

I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and wander into the bathroom to brush my hair and get ready for the day. There's nothing I particularly need to do. No job to go to, no errands to run, no friends to see. Nothing to mend or clean. I guess I'll spend the day reading, the way Victorian ladies of leisure did a long time ago. After all, that seems to be what you intend for me. I get dressed in another of the dresses from the wardrobe, this one cream colored with a peach ruffle down one side. I stay barefoot though. My feet just feel nicer against the carpet. Sitting down at the little makeup table, I unzip the case in which I'd stuffed my cosmetics, and I begin to touch them on. A little clumsy at it, but I have all the time in the world and I want to look good for you.

I want to look good for my lover. My lover. Pennywise is my lover. Deimos, brother of Phobos, has taken a lover. It seems so alien to even think those words, so I say them aloud a few times as I brush on mascara.

"Deimos is my lover. I have a lover. It's Deimos, and he's not human."

"We haven't mated yet, Dream. If anything, I am simply a sick fascination that has become tangled in your webwork of insanity."

I whirl around, getting up from the low bench and running to you where you stand in the doorway. You're in your human form, just easing the sunglasses from your baleful red eyes. Aloof as always, you cradle me against your side for a moment before coming fully into the room.

"I've a surprise for you in the cellar, when you are ready. Take your time, there is no rush."

My whole countenance brightens.

"A surprise? For me? Deimos, thank you!"

"Save your gratitude until you have seen it. You may very well be displeased with the nature of my gift, but I do not know. The cat dropping a dead mouse at the feet of its mistress always expects praise."

"You…brought me a dead mouse?"

"Not exactly."

And suddenly, without even asking, I know what's down there. I know what's in the basement. Ice water floods my brains and my blood vessels. I drop my hands from your shoulders.)

"It's….it's Greta, isn't it."

"Yes."

"Is she dead?"

"Not yet. But she will be, very soon I believe. I wish you to speak with her first. To establish your dominance and to gloat over her impending demise. Are you so weak and afraid that you cannot face her even now?"

"N-no. It's just…..I hate seeing people in pain. Anything in pain. I know what pain feels like and I don't want anything else to feel it."

You sigh with annoyance, and for the first time I actually see you roll your eyes. A flash of red-gold, the black pupils dilated with the excitement of your activities in the basement. And wherever else you dragged my childhood arch enemy to during her torment.

"If it means so very much to you, I will not kill her in front of you."

"Or torture her?"

"Heart of the Void, Beverly. Do you mean to rob me of every delight?!"

"Please, Deimos! I can't see that! I can't handle it yet. I can't handle the way you feed. I love you, I love you with all my heart, but I can't watch and…and listen."

Form rippling up into the massive hulking shape of the Clown, you shake the ruff around your neck like a lion shaking its mane in agitation.

"I shall refrain from harming her further until you are upstairs again and out of ready earshot. I will even kill her swiftly, for me anyway. She won't see another sunset. Happy?"

No, dammit. Not happy at all. I feel queasy and scared. But I force a weak smile. Force it too hard, and it fades on my lips. Tears begin to fill my eyes. Shit, not now. I hastily turn to grab a tissue from the box and dab the wetness away before it smears my mascara.

"There was a poem. Or a story. Something I saw a cartoon of once. I don't know who it's by, I don't remember. But it was about a calf born during the night. A calf with two heads. The poem said that in the morning, the boys would come and take its body to the museum, because it would be dead. Creatures like that don't often live. But….but that for now, the wind was gentle in the trees, and its mother was standing nearby comfortingly, and the air was warm and perfect. And when it looked up to the sky, there were twice as many stars."

For a change, you are quiet and don't mock me for being so maudlin. Your head tilts to one side as you ponder the imagery. After a moment, you speak. And your voice is soft.

"I both like and hate that poem. It is very beautiful and at the same time horrid."

I let out a shaky breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"So you get it? You understand?"

"I fail to see what it has to do with Greta. She is an altogether different sort of monster. Not a freak of nature like the calf, and like myself I suppose. I dislike the thought of a monstrous calf with two heads having only one night to look at the stars. It deserved much more."

"Is that actual sorrow you're expressing for the suffering of a living thing?"

"I eat only fully sentient beings with complex emotions. Animals are too pure in their instincts and sensory intake of the world. I am fond of animals. There was a little cat I fed bits of human meat to down in the sewers with me early on in the summer before you and your friends made an attempt on my life."

That catches me even more off guard than anything else you've done so far. I blink.

"You had a pet?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

"What happened to it?"

"A boy killed it. So I lured him into the sewers and peeled his flesh from his bones. Patrick was his name, I believe. I was quite angry. Far more enraged than you have ever seen me."

"Oh! Oh my God, he was AWFUL! You did the whole town a service! I remember. Even his parents didn't seem to look for him very hard."

"Took him three days to die, strung upside down near my tower with bits of his flesh going missing every day. In the end I did not even eat him. I let the rats have him. And the very same motivation is why there is a haughty blond woman with a broken leg in my basement now. One does not simply harm the things of which I am fond and go on about their lives. There are consequences. Come now, this talk is only making me feel upset again. I wish to be done with this situation and dispatch your foe before nightfall. There is a little hill out beyond the edge of town past the Barrens that I would like to take you to. A good place from which to watch the Moon rise. I will be full and happy by then and it will be very romantic."

"I'm feeling pretty pissed off about your cat now too. Can't you bring things back to life? Like, dead things?"

"My dear morsel, no one can do that."

"But you could put all the atoms back together and the molecules, right? Rebuild something and make it live again?"

"Create life? No. I cannot create life. At least….I do not believe that I can. I have never tried. Why would I, when the universe has such an abundance of it for me to consume without putting forth much effort?"

Warmed and made a little braver with hatred and anger for Patrick, I'm walking with you now. Headed for the basement without hesitation. We descend the stairs together, the boards groaning under your weight. I chew on my lip, shaking my head.

"If you've never tried, then how do you know for sure? What happened to the body?"

"I ate it to make him a part of me. It was an exception to my rule. Just as I plan to eat you when you die, as we've established."

"I'd rather not think about that if we can avoid the subject."

"You asked a question. I provided an answer."

"So this cat…he's a part of you now then? Couldn't you take that part and bring it forward and put it together and breathe some kind of life into it? You don't just eat flesh and fear. When you showed me your.…your Light? I heard screaming. There were living souls trapped in there. You eat souls. You have to have a way to keep them somehow. Have you ever thought of giving one back, just to see if you can?"

We stop at the entrance to the basement stairs, your huge paw on the door. I have never seen you this deep in thought before. Your eyes flicker from crimson to gold, then to blue. A beautiful sky blue. Reflecting whatever secret thoughts are going through your mind right now. I wait with you, watching your pensive white face and your brow furrowed in concentration.

There's a moaning sound from downstairs, followed by a muffled scream for help. All at once the sick feeling returns to my stomach, but I swallow hard and fight it down. I won't have to watch her suffer. I won't have to watch her die. Just confront her, take my power back, and run up the stairs like a coward while you deal with the mess. I can do this. I have to do this. Your eyes immediately shift back to red, and you jerk open the door.

"I will need to ponder this, Beverly. Cat was not alive when I ate him. Cat's soul had gone on already. At least he died quickly, unlike his murderer. I should have liked to be there to cup his soul in my hands and take it into me and save it. It was such a simple, uncomplicated thing. I imagine that I could rebuild it, or at least approximate it. All things are energy. Energy coupled with matter, mightn't that equal life? If it were a very specific kind of energy? I do not know. And there is very little that I do not know in this universe, or about the limitations of my own powers. I wish to try, I think. But later. After this ordeal is at an end. Come."

The stairs creak as I descend them, and it's cold and dimly lit. A single bare bulb hanging over the stairs, and nothing else besides. From the darkness to my left, I can hear frightened panting. I glance behind me. You're not there. Of course you're not there. Undoubtedly you'll pop up when least expected to heighten the horror of this woman's last moments. I call out into the gloom.

"Greta?"

"Beverly?! Beverly! Oh my God you have to help me! HELP ME!"

I reach above me, feeling in the dimness for the string I thought I saw. After a few seconds of fumbling, I tug on another light, washing the dingy basement in stark white light. Greta is lying on her side, one leg grotesquely bent, filthy and bloody from head to toe. She's trying to blink blood out of her right eye, and her hair's a mess. Perfectly manicured fingernails now not so perfect, broken and dirty. I take a deep breath.

"I'm not going to help you, Greta. I…I'm the reason you're here."

"WHAT?!"

"You couldn't just leave it alone, could you. You couldn't leave ME alone. No. You just HAD to mock me yesterday when you saw me on the street. Things have changed, Greta. I'm not the little shit you used to torment."

She tries to drag herself upright, but her broken leg makes it impossible. With a strangled cry, she flops back onto her side again in the dirt. She's stunned. Shocked to the core. I feel sick to my stomach, but I hide it. Thinking fiercely of all the horrible things she and her friends ever did to me. The way she taunted me yesterday. The pettiness of her jibes and the sneering, mocking tone to her voice.

"Mike Hanlon and I were just talking about you the other day. He works at the library now, you know. And he was there when you were telling a friend of yours that you'd gotten pregnant. It was before you were married. You got pregnant before the dentist and the expensive Audi and the diamond earrings. What happened to the baby, Greta?"

"FUCK YOU! YOU PSYCHOPATH!"

"Whose baby was it? Surely not the dentist's, or you'd have kept it. Right? So who's the slut now, Greta? Is it you or me? I'm still a virgin. You're already on your first abortion at the age of eighteen. Wow."

"SOMEBODY HELP ME! THIS CRAZY BITCH IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"

I kneel down by her head and slap her across the face. A part of me hates myself for doing this. And a part of me, a cruel and dark part, takes satisfaction in the suffering of a fallen enemy. This must be how you felt when you killed Patrick. Justified and pleased with the suffering.

"Shut up! Do you remember how you got here?"

"A….a m-man in a clown suit….WHO THE HELL WAS HE?!"

"So many children and teenagers going missing in Derry, for so many years. You never wondered what happened to them?"

She manages to lift herself up on her forearms, attempting to crawl away from me in desperation. I grab her by the back of her torn, stained cashmere sweater and haul her back. She collapses with a scream.

Twice as many stars.

No, don't think about it Bevie. Shut that part of your brain down. You're going to have to learn how in order to be with Deimos. You HAVE to shut off the goddamn pity!

I fix my eyes on her again, and I give her a shake.

"You never WONDERED?! Answer me!"

"Kids…..run away all the time."

"Are you really that stupid?! Do you really think they ALL ran away?! Well you're wrong, Greta. So wrong." I lean even closer, and I hold her blue eyes with my blue eyes. My voice dropping to a whisper. "Something happened to them. Something terrible. The same thing that's about to happen to you."

"You're crazy! Just let me go! Look, I know I was rotten to you when we were kids! But that was five YEARS ago! I can give you money! Let me go and I'll pay you! Name your price!"

"I don't want your new husband's money, Greta. I don't even want your apology. And to be honest, I don't want you to die. But it's out of my hands now. See…you're not the only one with a new man in her life. And mine has a long memory, and a nasty temper."

There's a sound from the shadows in the corner, something that sounds like a dark, husky chuckle. You're here. You're watching. I strain my eyes trying to see you crouched there, but it takes me a moment to find you. You're not on the floor.

Theatrics are more fun.

I grab Greta's head and force her to look, to turn her blurry gaze to where you cling to the ceiling like an oversized bat. And slowly, you begin to crawl across the ceiling towards us. She lets out a blood curdling scream of purest terror. The fear you love, but a sound that cuts me to the bone. I back up until the wall hits my back, my hands over my mouth in horror.

"BEVERLY PLEASE! HELP ME! I'M SORRY!"

"I can't."

"BEVERLY!"

You drop to the ground three feet away from her, on all fours. Saliva dripping from your fangs, your eyes burning red with pleasure and hunger. Almost casually, you reach out and rip off her foot.

Her scream this time doesn't even sound human. I fall to my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Deimos! You promised!"

That red gaze shifts to me, and your teeth have grown so long that you cannot speak clearly around them. All that comes out is a single word.

"Go."

"She said she was sor-"

"GO."

"BEVERLY HELP ME!"

"Greta I…"

"PLEASE! PLEEEEEEASE!"

"I…..I'll pray for you."

And I turn, and flee up the stairs. Taking them two at a time. Sobbing, gagging, sickened and angry at myself and angry at Greta and angry at you. I stumble out into the kitchen and slam the door, but I can still hear the screaming. The snarling and snapping and the crisp gunshot crack of breaking bones. I run for the hallway, then the front door. And I throw myself against it, bursting out into the morning light, tripping over my own feet and the hem of my dressing gown. I keep running across the brown muddy field across the street, across the train tracks that haven't been used in fifty years, down a slick embankment. I run as fast as I can, wanting to scream too. Not even sure where I'm going. But I have to escape. I have to escape those terrible howls of pain and fear and death.

This, too is what it means to love you.

This is something I will have to handle, just like your size and your temper and your agelessness and your power and your hunger and your passion. Accept it all, or accept none of it. But you've already given me a chance to flee, and I turned it down. I am to be back every day by sundown, or you'll hunt for me. The fascination that I ignited in you is no small thing. I did this. I wanted this! Didn't I?!

Finally, I run out of energy and collapse onto the rain-wet leaves in the middle of the woods. Crying, heaving, and throwing up even though there's nothing in my stomach. On all fours like an animal. It's deadly silent, not even birds chattering to one another in the tree tops. Just silence, and cold sunlight, and solitude. I crawl to a fallen log and sit with my back against it, shivering. Weeping. I don't even know what to do. How can I gain control of myself?! After seeing and hearing THAT?! God, it's freezing out here. The thin slippers I'm wearing are caked with mud and a little blood from where I'd knelt by Greta. My summery Victorian dress provides very little protection from the autumn chill. And thanks to all this wallowing on the ground, it's wet and filthy now too.

Miserably, I put my head on my knees and sob until I can't cry anymore. Then I just sit still, my breaths hitched and my chest feeling completely desolate. I don't know how long I'm like this, out in the woods getting colder and colder as the sun rises higher in the sky. I'm hungry and thirsty, but I don't want to get up and make the long walk back to the house. Nor do I want to go to my house. I just want to stay right here and maybe sink into the soil and grow roots and forget I was ever a fragile, stupid human being with a crush on a monster.

The sun is overhead, and finally I am walking. Not back toward the house, but deeper into the woods. My feet picking out a trail in front of me. I cross a stream, but I'm not stupid enough to drink from it. That's a great way to get dysentery, right there. Nothing around here is clean. Not anymore. Not even me. I move through the dripping trees under a sky that becomes increasingly cloudy. The weather in northern Maine can be counted on to produce early frost and a lot of autumn and spring rains. There's nothing for it, I just hug myself and keep walking. A half hour more brings me to the Barrens, a place that I know very, very well. My feet splash through frigid water, ankle deep. Was it always this overgrown and wild here? My memory supplies me with an image of a green paradise, full of mystery and haunting beauty. But what my eyes see is just another forest. Garbage here and there, debris washed up on the shores of the shallow river that wends its way through the place. I move into the shelter of an oak tree when the rain begins. Slowly, I sink down to sit on an exposed root. Just watching the rain fall and shivering. I can't stay out here, I'll freeze. Maybe. I don't know how cold it has to be before you freeze. But I can see my breath and my fingers and toes and nose are all numb. I have to move, have to walk, have to go somewhere.

Out through the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, I walk aimlessly down paths my feet know even though my mind is a million miles away. Monster. Beautiful monster.

You look like you're carved from marble.

Thrashing in pleasure, screaming, beating at you. Being held. And now you are muzzle-deep in someone I went to school with. There was a time that Greta and I were friends, many years ago when we were six, seven years old. Playing with Barbie dolls in the yard, sharing their dresses, planning weddings, climbing trees. I loved her once, the way that children love children. Now her skin is shredding under your teeth. I pinch myself as hard as I can, and the pain makes me burst into tears. How much more must it HURT to be bitten and torn apart?! I hate you. I love you. I wish I knew how to feel.

It's impossible to tell the time, the sun is hidden behind nimbostratus clouds that cover the whole sky in a gray flannel curtain. I come at last to the edge of the Barrens, and I have run out of forest. Taking a stick into my hand, I write my name in the mud.

Beverly Marsh. After a pause, I write under it. 'Beverly Pennywise'. 'Beverly plus Deimos'. 'Beverly Denborough'. 'Beverly Hanscomb'.

'I'm sorry Greta.'

I drop the stick, feeling as though I am about to vomit. But I don't. I hold it together, and step out of the woods. My old apartment is only a few blocks away. I don't want to go there, but I have nowhere else I can really go. Not the library. Not back to Neibolt Street. So I walk to my old home, and I climb the steps wearily and lift the flower pot for the spare key. It's there. I slip it into the lock, and a few moments later I am enveloped in blessed warmth and I am out of the rain.

I take a long hot shower and change into pajamas from my bedroom drawer. And I climb under the covers of my narrow single bed, on my side in the fetal position. Crying myself to sleep as the rain pounds ever harder on the windows and the thunder grumbles hate, hate, hate in the distance. It is hours before I am aware of anything at all. But when I open my eyes, I know I am not alone.

"Go away."

"You know I will not."

Soft, gentle. Coming from behind me in the room somewhere. The light is dimmer now, it must be towards the end of the day. I don't even roll over.

"You didn't have to kill her."

"She would have died eventually, as all things do. At least her death held purpose."

"You made her suffer."

"Life is suffering."

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" I roll over and sit up, and naturally you are crouched in the corner of my bedroom. I grab the half empty water bottle from my night stand and hurl it at you. The plastic projectile bounces harmlessly off your shoulder, and you don't look even slightly perturbed. Your regalia is clean, not a speck of blood on you, and your white skin gleams in the dark. I love you. I hate you. You are beautiful. You are ugly. You are my universe.

There's silence for a few minutes, and then you rise to your feet and come to me. I don't fight you off when you sit on the edge of the bed, the springs in the mattress creaking dangerously under your weight. It was never meant to bear such a large creature. I fight you at first as you take me into your arms, but I'm exhausted and weak with emotion. I go limp, and you pull me into your lap, grooming the tears from my face with your long tongue. You aren't purring, at least. I could never forgive you if you were purring now.

"I am so mad at you, Deimos."

"I know. I can smell it."

"Can't you just eat steak and chicken?! Can't you…." I trail off.

"Stop being a monster for you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to."

Defeated, I rest my head on your massive shoulder and simply cry. And you let me. Tenderly, like a parent cradling a fussy child, you lie down with me and curl yourself around my shaking form and rub my back with your large clawed hand. I cling to you, sobbing until there's nothing left in me. My feet are sore from walking, I'm filthy and achy and my head hurts. You feel good. Solid. Real.

Real enough for Georgie.

"I don't want to love you."

"I do not want to feel tenderness towards you either. Yet here we are."

I have nothing to say to that, and so I fall silent. Simply being held by you. The rain tapers off. Begins again. The thunder gets farther away and then closer. Waves of storms outside as late afternoon turns to evening and evening to night. And still we persist in this silent, tense embrace.

When I reach up for your face in the dark, you do not snap at my fingers when I touch your cheek. Slowly, you lower your head and kiss me. My eyes close as the kiss deepens, our tongues touching. And then I am tugging at your clothing, wanting you to be naked with me again. You still my hands by placing one of yours on top of both of mine.

"No, little morsel. Not now. Not with death as a catalyst. You are upset, and I must soothe you."

This takes me aback, but I don't argue. Instead, I nestle closer to you.

"Can you…get us home without having to walk?"

"Close your eyes."

And again, the freezing cold and the nausea. The feeling of being violently yanked through time and space, the unsteadiness of not knowing where I am or whether I exist at all. When I open my eyes again, it is to oil lamp light and candles and the drowsy scent of apple wood logs on the fire. I rest my forehead on your chest, in turmoil and in pain.

"Bathe me, Deimos?"

"Of course."

Two hours later, I am clean and warm. My blistered feet bandaged, my tangled hair combed, my shivering body clad in soft warm flannel. I am sitting up in bed as your huge white hand spoon-feeds me beef broth. My head hurts, my body hurts, my heart and mind hurt. But your red eyes are on my face, and you say nothing as you feed me. When the bowl is empty, it simply vanishes along with the spoon. I don't even marvel at it, I am used to your abilities and nothing outlandish can disturb me. Especially not now. I lay back against the pillows, just looking at you. Large, white, flame-haired and crimson-eyed. The red markings on your face standing out starkly in the candlelight. My heart, by degrees, begins to soften.

When I reach out for you, you don't snarl or pull away. Instead, you lean towards me and allow me to touch your cheek. For a little while I am content with this, just stroking that red and white flesh and looking from eye to eye.

"You…did it for me. Right?"

"Partly. I was also hungry."

"Is she dead?"

"Yes."

"Did she suffer?"

"Not too terribly. I ended her life within ten minutes of your leave taking."

I'm quiet as I contemplate this. Then I sigh and reach for your hand, lifting it to my lips and kissing your palm.

"I'm sorry, Deimos. I'm sorry that I'm so weak."

You don't answer. Instead, a miracle happens. Your form shimmers, and you sink down into the tall human male I have seen twice now. Only your eyes don't change. Wordlessly, you rise to your feet and begin to disrobe. Unbuttoning your shirt, slipping it off to drop to the floor. Unbuckling your pants and letting them fall as well. When you are naked, you draw back the covers that pool around me and join me in bed.

As though responding to some unspoken command, I reach down and lift the hem of my night gown, pulling it off over my head and tossing it to the floor where it lies crumpled by your clothing. We are both naked now. I'm a virgin. I don't know what to do. You are a virgin. You hesitate, then ease me down onto my back and stroke the side of my face.

Not so long ago, you told me in no uncertain terms that if I wanted you, I would have to endure the physicality of the Clown. But it is a large human male who covers me with his body now. We don't know how to do this, how to move, how to make love. But there is no need to know these things now. It will come in time.

Not with death as a catalyst.

"Tonight, I will not be a monster."

"I'm not asking you for this, Deimos."

"I know. But it is the very least I can do after putting you through so much unrest."

"I want you. Deimos, I don't know what to do. How to….how to start this."

You sigh, looking down at me. Of the two of us, you at least have some idea about what mating is.

We are learning together now. I reach for you, touching the shaft of your member with trembling fingers, and it hardens at my caress. I am not weeping now. And I am not hesitant. Nor are you. But you have to be gentle because you are strong, far stronger than I will ever be, and you could damage or kill me easily in this moment of intimacy. Carefully, you reach down and position yourself against the entrance of my body. I look down with you as we watch this miracle about to take place.

"I will try not to hurt you, Dream."

"I….I know. I love you."

"This is truly what you wish?"

"Yes. Make love to me, Pennywise."

The use of the name by which your prey knows you is not accidental. It is an acknowledgement that you are a beast. You are the monster even under this illusion of humanity. And I am accepting that inner nature. That is what I love, that is who I desire. That you will take me for the first time in a body I can handle is not lost on me, either. It is your way of saying that you care for me, and that my pleasure and pain matter to you. I take a deep breath, watching as you slowly ease your hips forward.

When you enter me for the first time there is pain, but nothing like what lies in store for me. I know that I will one day have to encounter you in your purest and most favorite form. But suddenly, I don't fear it. I cry out against your shoulder when you tear through my hymen, the pain sharp and real and all-encompassing. You soothe me with your kiss, and then there is the steadiness of your breathing against my ear. The pounding of a heartbeat against my chest. I know that you have control over the positioning of your heart. The fact that you have moved it to lie in your chest now to mirror mine means everything. It means everything in the world.

I am trembling. I wrap my arms around your neck and lift my hips to meet yours in the ageless and wild dance of lovemaking. The pain ebbs after a little while, replaced by nothing but a deep and penetrative pleasure that lifts the hair on my arms. I whisper your names, all of them. You say nothing, merely pressing your lips to my throat. This is brand new for you. Hundreds of thousands of millions of years have passed since you came into being, ravenous and dark. But only now are you tasting the sweetest form of physical connection. The first time I hear you gasp, it brings me to the brink of a climax. I didn't expect you to give any outward sign of the sensations you're experiencing for the first time.

We are actually making love. It's real. It's happening. The beast and the child who tried to kill him. The predator and the prey. I've taken the devil to bed, and I don't care. I want you here. My legs move up to circle your waist, and you lift me from the bed and onto your lap, still deep inside me. Cradling me in your arms, kissing my throat. I can feel your teeth graze the place above my carotid artery, and I freeze.

"Relax," you whisper, "I will not consume you, curious little human. Tonight you are not my food. You are so very much more."

My hips rise to meet yours. I am crying, yes. Who wouldn't cry at a moment like this? When everything you have ever wanted is suddenly a reality and dawn is years away and there is only the language of skin on skin and breath mingling with breath and heartbeat with heartbeat and the sweet, painful, blissful intrusion of flesh into flesh? You are on top of me. Inside me. I am crying with my face buried in your neck, and you let me cry because you are well used to tears and you do not judge me for them. You do not mock them, as you would have at one time.

"Deimos….."

"I know, little one. I know it hurts. I will hold you."

And you do. Through the magic of our first coupling, you hold me against you and you do not let go. There is a rising pleasure between us, a fire that lights our nerves and moves through the both of us. A feeling that increases in power and does not subside. I cry out, and you growl against my lips.

"The Clown. Deimos…Deimos become the Clown. I can….I can handle it."

"No, Dream. You cannot. Hush. Take what I give you. Let it be enough for now. Soon." You kiss me. "Soon."

I can't even respond. I just close my eyes, and I give in fully to the crescendo that rises above us and groans to meet me. I scream.

You hold me tightly when the climax hits me. A moment later, you are glowing with light so bright that I have to avert my eyes. I FEEL the light inside me. Rippling through my cells, becoming one with me. My very atoms dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat. You have reached your crescendo as well, and the pleasure eclipses all other needs. Food. Sleep. Freedom. Air.

You snarl as the sensation pulses through you, and I feel heat fill my body and flood through my cervix into my very womb.

Spent, we lie in one another's arms. Minutes pass, collecting into an hour. Still, we do not move. You are inside me. I am clinging to you, my sobs tapering off into silence.

At long last, you lean up from me and gently withdraw from my body.

"Did I hurt you."

"No."

"I am glad. It was not my intent."

I touch your cheek, drawing you down to kiss me, and it is the most intense kiss we have shared yet.

"I love you."

"I believe that I love you as well, strange little Dream. You are not harmed?"

"No. No, I'm alright."

"Shall I bathe you?"

"I just want to sleep in your arms now. Please. No baths, no food. Just rest. Just this."

You are merciful to me in the aftermath of our loving, and you lie down beside me and draw me into your arms. Snuffling my hair and purring contentedly. I hold tight to you even as your form slides up into that of the Clown, and I am enveloped in arms suddenly twice the size they were a moment before. I look into your red-gold eyes.

"I'm your mate now?"

"Yes. You are my mate."

"Deimos, do you love me?"

Silence. But then, softly against my brow, holding me against your pale white chest under the covers, you whisper to me.

"Yes Beverly. I love you."