This story is the result of several prompts from the District 9 threads on /coq/ that I threw together. If you like this story, please write one of your own. I'm starved for D9 smut!
Wikus was in a foul mood. Not that it was any surprise. He was turning into an alien creature and stuck living in a slum. His teeth and nails were falling out, and his hair had decided today that it also wanted to join in the fun of abandoning him and further stripping him of dignity. He had woken up this morning to find a huge clump of it nestled like some sort of fur-bearing vermin on his mangled, cat urine scented pillow. Upon finding it, he had screamed in horror, and darted out of the shack, intent upon finding some sort of mirror-like object he could use to inspect the damage.
"Fookin' Prawns," he muttered, pain from his aching, nail-less fingertips making his anger and frustration flare higher as he rooted through mounds of trash, searching for that elusive bit of shiny material that could show him the pathetic state into which he had descended. "Fookin' black Prawn shit in a can that's turning me into a fookin' Prawn..." He wasn't sure exactly what sort of latent masochism it was that prompted his urgent need to behold himself when he knew that his appearance had been getting steadily worse by the day. Perhaps it was the fact that the search for a mirror was a desperately needed distraction, something upon which to focus his attention so he didn't need to think about what he would see when he finally found something that would be suitable for showing his reflection.
The faint hope that Christopher had offered - that he could potentially be turned human again when they had collected enough fuel to make up what had been lost when the cannister sprayed him in the face - was damped down almost to non-existence by the fact that it would take THREE years for the Prawn to return and make good on his promise. Three fucking years AFTER they had found enough fluid, when it had taken Christopher and his friend Paul over 20 to assemble what they had. It was yet another reason for him to grumble as he fumed and baked under the hot, African sun, rummaging through the endless morass of stinking refuse that comprised his new life in District 9.
Being angry, of course, took a lot more energy than staying calm, and before long the heat, coupled with the exertion of growling and throwing things had left Wikus nauseated and faint, and, consequently, in even worse humour than when he had started. He slumped to his knees amidst the garbage and bowed his head, feeling at once furious and immensely sorry for himself.
"What are you doing, sweetie man?" a shrill voice clicked in a way that could be called cheerful.
Wikus groaned aloud, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he lifted his head, seeing Christopher's son, Oliver, staring at him out of huge yellow eyes. "Go away," he hissed, too tired and drained to fill the words with as much venom as he would have liked.
"Are you looking for some of our technology like father does sometimes?" the youngster piped, undeterred by the cool welcome he was receiving.
The former MNU agent's head ached, and all he really wanted to do was be left alone with his misery, but subtlety was lost on the fucking kid, and apparently so was bluntness. "I said GO AWAY!" He didn't make the conscious decision to do it, but instinctively sought out a means to communicate his wishes to the child, as well as vent his fury, and that was to pitch a piece of scrap in the little one's general direction.
But that day Wikus was blessed, or perhaps cursed, with a better aim than he had ever intended, and the projectile connected with Oliver's armoured forehead with a sickening crack in a blow that would have seriously harmed him had he been human. As it was the Prawn child's legs gave out in surprise, and he collapsed onto his scrawny bug backside, gazing at Wikus with such a magnitude of hurt that the other had to look away for a moment.
Wikus' fury melted away, replaced by shame. He had never intended for this to happen. Sure he had thrown things at Oliver before, but only to chase him off. It had almost been playful, almost been a game. He had never actually wanted to hurt the little guy... had he? "Oliver..." he began. "I didn't mean..."
But before he could apologize the kid was on his feet and scrambling away as fast as his little grasshopper legs could carry him, off towards home to tell his father, no doubt. Christopher would probably be angry, probably very angry - as any parent in their right mind would be, for Prawns were not the careless, negligent parents that MNU would have people believe - but the thought did not fill Wikus with fear as it might once have. Instead, a twisted thread of hope, much stronger than the hope of salvation, slithered its way through his tormented soul: perhaps Christopher would be angry enough to kill him.
With this in mind he did not try to hide or flee, he did not try to go back to the shack he shared with the two Prawns, trying to apologize, he simply remained where he was, amidst the trash and filth. After all, it was where he belonged.
It took a long time, much longer than Wikus would have expected, for Christopher to come and retrieve him, and when the red-vested Prawn finally did arrive, it was with a far calmer demeanor than Wikus was sure he would have had if their circumstances were reversed. The tall Prawn stood looking down at his uninvited houseguest in inscrutable silence for several tense, uncomfortable minutes before he finally spoke. "Come with me."
Shakily, Wikus got to his feet, confused, and more than a little unnerved by Christopher's calmness. He had expected, had hoped, to be ripped to shreds by now, his body in little pieces scattered to fester amidst the junk, but instead he was being told to follow. And follow he did. For all that he did not know what was going to happen, for all that he might be a prisoner being led by his executioner to the place of death, he followed.
There was no sign of Oliver as they approached the shack, Christopher holding the door open and following Wikus inside, blocking any avenue of escape.
"Is Oliver alright?" Wikus asked, worriedly.
"He is fine," Christopher replied, although as Wikus let out a sigh of relief he amended his statement. "Physically, at least, but he is very hurt that you would try to injure him like that. He thinks you are his friend."
Wikus looked down at his feet, feeling his shame deepen. He half-heartedly began an explanation, despite knowing that nothing he could possibly say would make what he had done alright. "I..."
"Do not speak," the alien interrupted with stridulent clicks of angry disapproval, but his wide yellow eyes held only deep disappointment. "You've made your feelings abundantly clear."
Now that was a bit unfair. Perhaps it had looked like he didn't care, but the truth was a far different thing. He had tried to save them, hadn't he? Had risked his life with Christopher to retrieve the fluid from MNU. He had just been a little... cranky lately. "But..." he tried again, but again was cut off by the Prawn.
"Quiet." Christopher clicked the command tersely and held up a hand for silence, fixing Wikus with a stern, unyielding look. "You have said enough. It is my turn to speak now. I know what you are going through isn't easy, and the thought of losing everything you have ever known must be very frightening for you. But that does not excuse the way you have been behaving towards me and my son. You have been behaving like a spoiled child who has never been taught manners, and I have been trying to be patient with you as I would with Oliver, but patience alone does not seem to be working. Your irrational behaviour could jeopardize everything I have worked for, as well as the future I promised you, but you do not seem to even consider that in your selfishness. No, you cannot even behave in a civilized manner to save yourself. But I have been doing some research on the Internet, and I believe I have found something to help you." Christopher turned around and began rummaging through a cupboard. "Take off your pants."
"My... my pants?!" Wikus sputtered in shock and confusion.
"And your undergarments as well." Christopher continued rummaging. "No doubt the procedure is familiar to you."
"Procedure? What? Fook!" There weren't many 'procedures' he knew of that involved taking off his pants and underwear, and none he could think of that were possible at this moment sounded particularly pleasant. His eyes, one human and one Prawn, both practically bugged out of his head in horror. "I'm not letting you fookin' rape me!"
"I'm not going to rape you," Christopher said, calmly, turning around, what looked like an old leather belt folded in his hand. "I'm going to give you a spanking."
Wikus stared, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out, certain that he was hallucinating because there was no other possible explanation for the surreal situation in which he found himself. "S-s-spanking?" He winced inwardly at his suddenly wavering tone, but it couldn't be helped. Death was sounding better and better.
The prawn fixed him with an inscrutable look, one clawlike finger rubbing the worn leather thoughtfully, gingerly, almost as if it were a snake he expected would bite if provoked. "When I read about the practice, I was horrified that anyone could do something so brutal and barbaric to their children, but now I think I'm beginning to understand why it is done. Some human parents seem to feel it is acceptable to inflict some temporary pain if they believe it will prevent worse suffering for their children in the future. And you have definitely been behaving childishly enough, and with little enough sense of self-preservation, to warrant this sort of intervention."
"I'm not childish! And you're not my father!" Wikus shouted childishly. "Or my mother! Or both, or neither! Fookin' hermaphrodites!" he added as an afterthought.
"Maybe not," said Christopher patiently. "But I am responsible for your well-being. You are living under my protection. Unless you would like to leave?"
Wikus felt helpless tears starting in his eyes and wiped them away angrily with his good hand, shamed by the way his emotions were reeling. On the one hand, he felt terrible about what had happened with Oliver. On the other hand, he had his pride to think about, but even at its most inflated his pride would not allow him to think he could survive a day on his own in District 9. "I have nowhere else to go."