Wheee, celebrate chapter 9 with me! It's appropriate for this fandom. Sorry this chapter took so long; I have been reading Stephen King's Tommyknockers (Which, incidentally, is one of the freakiest things I've read since Mothman Prophecies—the BOOK, not the movie!) and I haven't been able to get onto the computer due to college being a time-suck. Also, one of my kitty-cats is extremely ill ): So I have been full up, but I think you lovers of prawn-porn (teehee) will appreciate the second half of this one. *wink wink* Anyway, heer you arr, me pretties! Reviews are deliciously nutritious!

Wikus paced anxiously for nearly half an hour in the small adjoining room, trying to simultaneously explain and banish the sensations he should definitely not be having, the(oh god)the stirring he'd felt when he saw the intensity of Christopher's eyes. His shoulder had begun to throb, a welcome distraction for once. He thought about the bag of goods in the other room. He thought of what had been done to get them. He ground his teeth.

"Fucking stupid pr—"

"Mister Wikus?"

"Huh?" He spun around and saw Oliver in the doorway, a worried expression in his blue eyes. "Sorry, I was, uhhh…what's up?"

"Father says you need to rest, or even just sit down for a while. Also you should eat something."

"Right…" He was hungry, at any rate. He nervously ran a hand down the back of his neck and was annoyed with himself for it. "Uh, what's he doing? Is he still resting like I told him to?"

"Yes. He's very, very tired but he's trying to stay awake. He does that sometimes," the kid said frankly.

"Uh-huh. Well," Wikus leaned down and spoke conspiratorially, "How 'bout I take a turn keeping an eye on him, and you can go work on the ship?"

Oliver nodded and trilled enthusiastically. He loved working on all kinds of fiddly electrical things, just like his father. Wikus patted him on the head.

"Go on, then."

He waited another two minutes after Oliver had disappeared before sticking his head into the main room.

Christopher lay on the pallet, eyes closed, hands curled into fists under his chin (if it could really be called a chin). His throat moved in and out in short, shallow jabs. Wikus sat on the corner of the table and tore open the package of biltong as quietly as he could. It was mesquite-flavored, and he wondered if the prawn had just grabbed it randomly or had somehow known it was the human's favorite. He cleared his throat and spoke softly.

"Hey. You awake?"

There was no response, so he bit into the sausage in his hands and chewed slowly, savoring the taste as he glanced around at the computers on the wall. A prawn wandered by the window, stumbling past the door and away, probably in a cat food stupor. Wikus marveled again at the difference between Christopher and his people. Alike but not alike, alone in—what had he called it?—a city of refugees.

A sound of pain brought him back to the moment. He looked down to see that the injured creature had curled on his side, the blanket falling off his shoulders. His feet twitched like a cat dreaming. His antennae rattled against the floor as he struggled for air. Wikus set the biltong down and approached him. Crouching, the human placed a hand on Christopher's shoulder and whispered in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"Hey, man. Hey, it's okay, you're gonna be fine, you're alright, yeah, you're alright. Dammit… I'm not angry, really, it's okay. Shh…" He was babbling nonsense now, part of him panicking as he saw a spray of blood fly from the alien's fluctuating mouthparts. "No, shhh, just keep breathing, you're gonna be fine, you can't die 'cause I'm crap at taking care of kids, really, I- I'll let him stay up too late and feed him junk food and, uh, you can't die, you hear me? Don't you fucking dare, you fucking prawn. Don't you dare leave me alone." He was gripping Christopher's shoulder tightly, the plates of his carapace sliding against each other.

Christopher shivered, drawing his legs up against his chest and curling in on himself as if to ward off a blow. He muttered under his breath, high speed clattering sounds that Wikus couldn't understand. The human vaguely wondered if he might be praying to some prawn-god or simply making noises to dilute the pain. The battered form gave one last shudder and coughed another lungful of blood, then was still. For a terrifying moment, Wikus thought he had died, but when he looked into the prawn's face, he saw that those large, expressive eyes were open and looking up at him.

"Uhh," he said intelligently.

"Wikus," Christopher spoke slowly, his pebble voice weak and strained, "You are squeezing my shoulder…somewhat painfully. If you could--?"

"Oh, god, right, of course." He pulled his hand away and sat back a little, face reddening against his will.

Christopher looked around the hovel, his breathing labored and his eyes glazed with the effort. "Where…is…"

"He's down below, mucking about with the ship," Wikus said automatically. "He's fine. How are you feeling?"

"My…condition… seems to have… worsened."

"Shit." The human rocked worriedly on his heels. "Shit. Fuck."

"However, it is… a good sign… that I have… survived this long. It's always… the worst… before it gets better. It is a … human saying, yes?"

"Yeah. It is," Wikus croaked. "So you're better? Or you're gonna get better?"

"I hope…so."

"That's good. That's real good. I mean, hope is a great thing for healing, right?"

Christopher looked at him. He ran his fingers lightly down Wikus' alien arm. "If that were true, you would be human again." He said it gently, even jokingly, but somehow it stung.

Wikus grimaced and shoved him back, snarling, "Don't touch me, prawn."

"I'm sorry." Christopher said quickly, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry, I should not have… I didn't mean to…"

The human sighed and looked away. It was nearly impossible to stay angry at the prawn for some reason. "Whatever," he muttered, rubbing his arm. "It's… whatever. Never mind."

You're too fucking gentle, too fucking kind. Scream at me, hate me for what I've done to you, stop being so goddamn understanding.

He turned and bent down next to Christopher so suddenly that the creature flinched. "Let me take a look at your injuries," he said quietly.

Christopher plucked nervously at the blanket around his hips. "That isn't necessary. I can… look after myself. I am… still worried about… your transformation. How is the… wound on you chest? And do you… have any others?"

"I'm fine. My hand hurts, but that's what happens when you chop your own finger off."

The alien made a concerned sound and reached for his arm, then hesitated, wary of Wikus' temper. The human held his arm out for Christopher to examine. The prawn's hands were careful, skittering around the wounded area, squeezing his wrist lightly testing his dexterity and flexibility. Wikus had always seen prawns as somewhat clumsy with their hands, and his own new arm certainly hadn't helped him much in that area, but Christopher's hands were small, even delicate. They moved with agility and precision, a kind of grace that singled him out even when he wasn't moving.

"Well, the area isn't infected, which is excellent." The prawn's voice was thoughtful, his breathing a little easier, it seemed. "However, I have some bad news."

Wikus tensed, wondering what had gone wrong, what else could possibly happen to him.

Christopher looked at him seriously. "You will no longer be able to play the piano."

It took a second to register in his mind that Christopher had made a joke. The laughter that burst out of him seemed to surprise them both. It died just as quickly when Wikus realized how close their faces had somehow gotten. He pulled back with a cough.

"Okay, you got to play doctor, now it's my turn."

Before the alien could protest, Wikus yanked the blanket away and had to bite back a gasp. He hadn't gotten a really good look at the extent of the damage before, and it was even worse than he'd imagined. Black, mottled bruises were visible under the hard exoskeleton, which was chipped and dented, even cracked in some places. There was a defined boot-print on his jutting hip, tiny cracks spiderwebbing away from it like broken glass. Two of the narrow plates on his back were crooked, their angles catching on the floorboards and making Christopher wince every time he moved. Some blood still leaked from someplace under the scrapped-together vest the prawn wore.

Wikus reached up and began to carefully tug at the duct tape clasp of the garment, and Christopher looked up in alarm.

"What are you doing?"

"I gotta get this off you so I can see what you got goin' on under there." As the words left his mouth, Wikus realized how lecherous they sounded, and hoped that the alien wouldn't understand the implication. The tape peeled loose and he pulled the vest off of the prawn's form. It came away sticky with blood. "Aww, hell."

There was another crack in the plating on Christopher's back, this one still bleeding down onto the bony spine.

"Shit, man, why didn't you say something?"

"I… don't like to complain."

"Fuckin' A…" Wikus muttered, swabbing at the damage. "'Don't like to complain,' can say that again."

He tore off a hank of worn cotton bandage and did his best to wrap it around Christopher's wide chest and shoulders. "Well, at least your breathing sounds a little better. You think you can make it through the night?"

"Yes."

"Good." He strode over to the sublevel hatch, opened it, and called down to the kid. "Hey in there, bedtime!"

Oliver gave a disappointed chirp but climbed out and headed for the pallet. Wikus watched the boy snuggle in with his father, then turned and unfolded a second blanket a few feet away for himself.

Christopher glanced over as the human settled down separately. "You, uh…" His antennae twitched nervously. He looked down, then back up at Wikus. "You don't need to sleep over there- it's warmer when you- I mean… I don't mind if you…" He trailed off, feeling shy and ridiculous.

Wikus pulled the blanket over himself and rested his head on a balled-up shirt. He had the distinct feeling that more closeness was really not a good idea at the time. "Nah, I'm just gonna crash over here tonight. Thanks."

For a moment Christopher looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he lowered his head, eyes shutting. Wikus remained awake for a while, watching until he was sure that the prawn was breathing steadily before allowing himself to sleep.

Some time around one in the morning, Wikus rolled over to find that Christopher had migrated onto the human's cot, pressing back against back.

"Uhh… Christopher?" He whispered, jostling the sleeping form. Christopher awoke with a start.

"Oh!" He sat up, looking around in embarrassment. "Oh- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It—it's okay, I just-" Wikus glanced in the direction of the prawn's bed and was surprised to see it was empty. "Where's your kid gone?"

"He went to sleep in the other room." Christopher started to scuttle away backwards, pushing himself with his legs. "I'm sorry, I really wasn't trying to… I'll just—"

"No!" Wikus grabbed one of the prawn's arms on impulse. "No, I don't mind. Lie down."

Christopher complied, flattening out on his back, arms held at his sides. For a full ten agonizing minutes, Wikus lay next to the alien in awkward silence, a heated debate raging in his mind. Finally, a decision was reached. With a quiet grunt, he stretched his uneven arms above his head, surreptitiously wiggling closer to Christopher's body, and when his arms came down, the left one landed squarely on the prawn's chest. He felt Christopher tense instantly.

So he's not asleep either, Wikus mused, but he may think that I am.

Deciding to take advantage of this and push his luck a little further, the human heaved a huge, dramatic yawn and twisted until he lay fully spread across the prawn. His chin nestled against the overlapping plates of the neck, he could feel the creature's breathing, a rapid, rising pattern almost like the rhythm of a song. Poor Christopher was nearly having conniptions, but he hadn't pushed Wikus away yet: a good sign in the semi-human's mind. He waited for Christopher's muscles to slowly unclench, then drew a breath and gave a careful thrust of his hips.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Christopher's head smacked the floor as he threw it back; his legs skittered across the wooden boards; his hands clenched fistfuls of blanket. He made a shocked, desperate sound unlike any prawn noise Wikus had ever heard, almost-but-not-quite a human vocalization, nearly a moan. He trembled. Wikus risked a glance up and caught Christopher's eye. He sat back, straddling the alien's hips, shuddering as he felt his erection press against Christopher's. He started to say something, opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find anything that would explain this, so instead he busied himself working at the ragged clothing the prawn wore, busied his mouth by leaning down and biting softly at Christopher's neck. Again the creature shivered, and Wikus groaned at the sensation, the little shockwaves it sent through him. It felt like he hadn't been with someone in years, like all the frustration and lust that had built up was about to escape.

Christopher was silent beneath him, eyes tightly closed as he panted, his hands balled into fists as if he was making a point of not touching the human. Wikus wanted to see him lose control, wanted to hear that sound again. He recalled a training video the MNU had shown:

(--"If forced to confront a prawn in hand-to-hand combat," the instructor's flat voice droned, "attempt to cause damage to one or more antennae, as these have been found to be sensitive."

"Like a chick's tits, eh?" One man in the audience joked, earning a laugh from the group--)

Wikus reached up and, as if he were touching an icy surface, ran his fingers down Christopher's antenna. At the same time, he used his prawn hand to rub the bulge in the alien's trousers.

Christopher's tawny eyes flew open. His back arched, lifting the human, as he let out a long, shaky cry of pleasure. Wikus grinned victoriously. The prawn's hands finally came up to grip the man's hips with bruising force and Wikus gasped, grinding against him. Christopher bucked up, grunting and murmuring and shouting and begging.

"Oh—Wikus—oh, oh… please… ahhWikus!"

Wikus slammed them together again and again, lost in sensory overload. He let out a strangled scream when Christopher leaned up and traced patterns across his chest with soft mouthparts, whispered endearments against his bare skin.

"Wikus, so good… don't stop, please, feels so-ohhhh…"

The human ran his hand down the prawn's antenna again, eliciting more gasps and pleas. He was close… they both were, he could tell—

"More, please, don't stop, Wikus, harder!"

A sudden thought struck Wikus.

"Hang on," he panted, still riding the prawn, "You're speaking English."

"Am I?" Christopher looked surprised. "I guess this must be a dream, then."

Wikus bolted awake, drenched in sweat, alone in his pallet. He was painfully hard. He looked over at Christopher, sleeping peacefully a few feet away.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered.