WARNING: NC-17, Slash (M/M), Xeno, Language
Disclaimer: I do not own District 9 or the characters mentioned in this story. I am not profitting from this in any way, other than my own sick pleasure :D
A/N: Due to the lovely response from my one-shot "Strange," I decided to do a multi-part fic based on the same time frame.
Part I -
It started as a tight clenching, like a calf muscle cramp. Panic began to bleed into the corners of his mind, making it so Wikus could not discern reality from pain-induced hysteria. He blindly groped in the semi-darkness for Christopher as the clenching increased to a stinging burn.
"Chris...topher!" he choked, hot tears streaming from his blue, human eye down his dirty face. The prawn eye dilated sharply like an eagle's, the gold of the iris glowing eerily in the dim light. His short, still forming antennae swiveled madly, searching for the older prawn.
A firm hand suddenly grasped his wrist and pulled him against its body. Wikus thrashed violently, trying to pry away from the hard grip.
"Wikus! Wikus, it's Christopher! Calm yourself, human!" The alien voice clicked and growled in his ear.
Wikus felt his pounding heart slow to a somewhat normal beat. He fell limp against the prawn's chest, resting his cheek against the warm exoskeleton. "My leg," he whimpered, "Help me, Christ'pher... just cut it off..."
Christopher reached for the small oil lantern and matchbook on the shelf above them. The smell of sulfur burned Wikus' sensitive new respiratory system. Light flooded the shanty.
"Quickly, let me see your leg, Wikus. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves," Christopher grunted.
"What's going on?" Oliver chirped.
"Quiet, child. Go back to sleep," Christopher snapped, ripping the leg of Wikus' trousers from hem to knee. Oliver grumbled and nestled back into the bedding.
Wikus hissed sharply between his teeth as Christopher's hand brushed the torn flesh of his leg.
"Your left leg is transforming. There is little I can do," Christopher sighed. Wikus groaned in pain.
"Just take it off, for fuck's sake! Please, god! Ngh..." Christopher massaged the Wikus' ankle in what he hoped was a soothing manner.
"I will not remove your leg, human. It will have completed it's change in a few days time. You must remain calm." Christopher eyed the mangled flesh of the human's thigh. He placed his palm over a particularly nasty looking wound. Wikus hissed in pain. The skin was hot to the touch. "Infection..." he murmured. He turned to Oliver's "sleeping" form. He touched the child's shoulder gently. "Son, I require a basin of clean water. Will you bring it to me?"
Oliver nodded, leaping up and trotting to the door.
"Be careful," Christopher warned, pulling Wikus' threadbare shirt over his head. He picked delicately at the button on the human's pants, before giving up and ripping the offending thing off.
"What are you doing?" Wikus mumbled.
Christopher slid the gray trousers over his thin hips and off of his legs. The nip in the evening air caused Wikus to shiver slightly. Christopher pulled the shabby blankets around him tighter.
"I must tend to your wounds, or the infection will spread to your blood. Then there will be no saving you, my friend."
Wikus closed his eyes weakly. "Just let me die, Christopher." Christopher clucked in reproach, tearing a corner from a mostly clean towel to use as a washcloth.
Oliver ducked back into the shanty with a pot of water from the pump. "Good," Christopher said, taking the large stainless steel saucepan, "Now hand me the fire pot. It should be by the door." Oliver found the little cauldron and lugged it over to his father.
"It's so heavy for something so small!" he clicked. Christopher nodded.
"It is made of a mineral called 'iron.' Sleep, now." After some protesting, Oliver finally settled down. Christopher took a few oily cloths and tossed them into the fire pot, dropping a lit match in as well. A small fire was soon crackling away in the hut. Oliver rolled over to watch the bright orange flame. Christopher held the pot over the cauldron by it's handle. Wikus moaned as another jolt of pain ran through his leg.
"Roll over onto your front side, human," Christopher said, resting the copper bottom of the pot on the lip of the cauldron. Wikus rolled over slowly, wincing and biting his lip. When the water began to bubble, Christopher sat the pot on the grubby wood plank floor, dipping the clean cloth in and ringing it out. He started at the human's ankle, wiping away the blood and grime with gentle swipes. Wikus sighed and rested his head on his human forearm. The prawn arm had it's fist clenched in the blankets.
Christopher could feel the hard muscle and exoskeleton forming under the thin skin of his calf. It would only be a matter of time before the fragile human skin split open, like a snake shedding. The flesh had already begun to peel back on his upper thigh, just under the buttock. Christopher placed his palm on the warm exoskeleton. It was the same color as the prawn arm, a dark, rich umber with a somewhat blue sheen. Very lovely and exotic. Not many of his kind varied from the dull chestnut of his own flesh.
Wikus shuddered under his touch. Christopher continued to bathe him, running the cloth over his back and shoulders, down his other leg and over the curve of his bottom.
"Roll onto your back, Wikus," He said, rinsing the cloth in the now murky water. Wikus rolled over, shyly attempting to hide his genitals with his hand.
"I care not for the human body nor human modesty, Wikus. Move your hand so I may sufficiently wash your wounds, " Christopher said shortly. Wikus moved his hand, grasping the blankets and closing his eyes tightly. Truth be told, Christopher was slightly curious about the human physique. Most of his people found the male human species to be incredibly amusing, what with their genitals lewdly hanging out for all to see. Biologically, it was not the most efficient means to protect one's future offspring.
Christopher eyed the organ in question. It was approximately five inches in length and uncircumsised. The rosy colored glans was peeking out from beneath the foreskin. Dark blonde curls and a plum-sized sac completed the ensemble. Overall, the average human penis.
Christopher continued to wash the human's neck and torso, gliding the cloth down his abdomen and over his inner thighs. Fresh blood was smeared around the crease of his groin.
"Part your legs, I believe there is a gash that requires attention," Christopher said. Wikus spread is thighs nervously. Sure enough, there was a deep wound in the soft tissue between his hip and thigh. Ordinarily, a cut such as this would require sutures, but considering his lower half was already beginning the transformation process...
Christopher reached for the plastic jug of medicinal alcohol that they had snatched from the back of an ambulance at some point or another, and doused the rag in it. He pressed it to the wound.
Wikus jerked like a live wire, a silent scream contorting his face. Christopher slapped his palm over the human's mouth should it be voiced. Wikus' body shook with sobs, his thighs instinctively clamped tight around Christopher's hand.
"Shhh, the pain will subside, Wikus." He tried to tug his hand back from between the human's legs. He could feel Wikus' flaccid member against his hand. Finally, Wikus released him, the sharp pain fading to a slow burn.
Christopher wiped around the wound, then pulled the blankets up around him. He stood to go dump the pot of dirty water outside.
A hand suddenly reached and grabbed him around his ankle, Wikus' prawn hand. "Thank you," Wikus whispered. Christopher's antennae twitched in embarrassment.
"Sleep, human," he gruffed. He couldn't help but smile as Oliver cuddled into Wikus, sighing happily.
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