Warnings: Sex between an alien and a human in later chapters. Xenophilia and mild violence. Body horror I suppose? I think that goes with the D9 territory. Again if you wish, you may skip down to the 'o' divider, as the top section consists mostly of Wikus changing and a brief encounter with Christopher.
Disclaimer: I do not own District 9. All characters are property of their respective copyright holders and I am making no profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: Just one tiny note. Due to FF restrictions(read: the freaking website eats the words), one short bit of internal dialogue(you'll know it when you see it) has dashes inserted between the words rather than having them just listed in a connected string. Guess FF doesn't believe in non-traditional formatting. I dread to think what would happen if Marianne Wiggins ever tried to post anything here; she'd be lucky if half her document showed up.
o
Wikus didn't try to speculate how long he'd been in the room. Once a creature came and left a bowl of meat on the floor. Raw.
Ignoring it, he hunched in the corner and tried to block out the crawling feel, real or imagined, of his body shifting, the pain of exoskeletal nodes forcing their way through skin a constant dull ache.
Movement, twitching in the region of his abdomen, clawing against the cloth of his shirt.
He thought of Christopher's small vestigial limbs and pulled his coat tighter around him.
Don't think.
He waited.
.,.
He tried to suck in a breath and found his throat blocked. Panicked, he clawed at his coat collar, ripping it open. His chest heaved.
Skin parted beneath his grasping fingers and he gulped in his first breath through new delicate gills.
He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords had already dissolved and he could only produce hoarse grunts.
.,.
When his upper lip split into long labra, curling and writhing like snakes, he smashed the lamp.
.,.
His left eye ached, despite the darkness.
.,.
He wished that Tania would speak to him, but even his ghosts were silent; his harsh breathing the only sound.
.,.
Light, sudden and sharp; he cowered away, little desperate grunts bubbling out of him. Sharp clicking and then blessed darkness.
Touch on his arm; he jerked in shock.
"Wikus?"
He went still.
Christopher?
Nonsense grunts and clicks; his own voice, he realized. His throat was different, his tongue unrecognizable.
"Hush," a gentle hand touched his forehead, brushing back sweat slick hair that hadn't yet fallen out, "Your temperature is elevated."
His hand came up to grasp Christopher's arm. The number of fingers confused him; too few, was this his alien hand? Left? Right? He couldn't remember.
The alien pulled him up onto his lap. Blind, Wikus burrowed, pressing close to Christopher's abdomen. Small pincer claws explored his face by feel, touching against labra, sliding into his mouth to test the deep beds where his molars had dropped out.
"Wikus? I need to get a better look at you."
Wikus shook his head in silent denial.
"It's necessary; I must make sure there are no complications. The lamp is not bright."
A soft click, he squeezed his eyes shut and let the alien stretch him out. His coat was removed and his arms arranged by his sides. Christopher's hands moved over him, pulling away ripped clothing where his changing frame had burst through seams, delicate, efficient and clinical.
Like he was preparing a body.
The alien was tugging down the remains of his trousers when the back of a plated hand brushed something that sent an electric shock through his body. He spasmed and new mouthparts rasped together. His eyes flew open.
Christopher was crouched between his legs, frozen. His eyes jerked up to meet Wikus'.
"I apologize—" he began and tried to scramble away. Panicked, Wikus grabbed for the alien, unintelligible clicks spilling from him as he tried to form words.
Don't leave!
Christopher struggled to extricate himself from the grip of two alien hands, "Wikus…" he clicked.
What's wrong? He tried to ask and wanted to shriek in frustration at his forced silence. Christopher's breathing was rapid and he could feel small tremors beneath the hands, his hands.
Realization hit him like a half brick to the skull.
Now's not really the time, is it?
With an expression that spoke of embarrassment Christopher removed one of Wikus' hands from his shoulders and pushed it down between Wikus' legs. Fingers curled beneath his penis and he touched something warm and wet.
Well, that was new.
He lifted his hand. The plates gleamed in the light, slick with fluid.
Christopher twitched and leaned away from his hand, antennae waving.
Of course, James would have berated him if he wasn't dead and buried: pheromones.
The recognition was surprisingly painful. Just biology, instinct.
Who in their right mind would want the twisted wreck that his body had become?
Wikus dropped his hand and pulled away.
"Wikus? I'm sorry if I, if I offended you. I realize this isn't appropriate right now and we don't have to…" Christopher was shaking, off balance, the closest to babbling that Wikus had ever heard him.
Wikus managed a noncommittal grunt, but Christopher was still speaking.
"…I would never press of course, that goes without saying, it's only that," Christopher's clicks were dwindling, subdued, "you're very desirable."
Wikus paused; an incredulous look.
You're serious?
"You think I would lie?"
Wikus could only stare.
Christopher made a pointed study of the floor.
Heart pounding, Wikus shifted, bending his legs, longer than he remembered and strangely jointed, opening them.
Offering.
Christopher was on him in an instant, pushing inside and a cry rasped from his throat at the not quite pain, stretch and fullness and Christopher thrust and he suddenly knew why the alien cried out when he did this.
Wikus gripped Christopher's shoulders and clung on as they coupled. The musky scent of arousal left him dizzy and his body twitched in confusion as alien nerves were excited, but some deep part of his brain responded to the primal nature of the their contact. Christopher had him pinned to the floor, the sensation of his organ stabbing into him strange and exhilarating. It felt like lust, like impulse.
It felt right.
He bucked and squirmed, trying to encourage his mate without words. Christopher let out an extended chirp and pressed close, labra twining with his own. The alien's body was smothering, breath damp in the space between them.
Liberated by the knowledge that his tongue wouldn't betray him, Wikus threw his head back and shouted; wordless grunts and clicks.
Yes-yes-yes-want-you-so-much-oh-damnit-love-you-fuck-me-fuck-me-fuck-me.
Then Christopher reached down, fumbling between them and stroked his penis and he was coming, shaking with pain and pleasure until he was sure he'd come apart.
Wikus sagged against the floor, barely aware as Christopher bucked into him, the heat and wetness a foreign sensation still. Breathing hard, the alien disengaged and flopped to the ground beside him.
They lay in silence for a few moments before Christopher roused. Groping about the floor, the alien retrieved a scrap of Wikus' shirt and scooted over to the water bucket. Soaking his makeshift rag, he bent to the task of wiping Wikus down.
"This was likely not the best idea while you're feverish." he clicked.
Wikus squirmed in pleasure at the sensation of the cool rag on heated skin and plates before reaching out to cuff the alien.
Stuff it.
Christopher gave his equivalent of a long-suffering sigh and set aside the rag. Dipping up some water from the bucket in a small metal bowl, he offered it to Wikus.
His new hands were still clumsy, liquid spilled over Wikus' front as he tried to drink. Catching the bowl before it could overturn; Christopher pulled him up into his lap, propping him up so he could tilt the bowl without spilling. The water was chill and coolness spread throughout his body.
A warm cocoon of exhaustion wrapped around Wikus. Christopher eased him to the floor and covered him with his coat, the only bit of his clothing which remained undamaged.
A gentle touch on his head, "I must leave," Christopher clicked, "Rest for now; you'll only be here one more night."
Despite the reassuring tone to his words, something nagged at Wikus. He tried to catch the thought, but weariness snatched it from him and he sank into the grey fog between sleep and waking.
o
Wikus was nearly asleep when the metal door creaked open, casting a wedge of light across him. He shut his eyes and curled beneath the coat; probably a guard.
A moment of silence, "So," clicked a voice, "it is true."
Wikus' eyes flew open. His fingers clutched his coat convulsively.
The alien leader loomed over him, a shadow stark against the light from the door, head cocked as it examined Wikus.
Long legs bent as the creature squatted near him. "I couldn't believe it when Gxarha told me," it clicked. Reaching out, it tugged at the coat covering Wikus' body.
Wikus flinched at the touch of large claws and tried to pull away.
"Be still," the creature snapped, clicks harsh and grating. Wikus cowered and went limp.
The leader made a thoughtful sound, "Kkrokpe did say you were capable of understanding our speech," it clicked, pulling the coat off and tossing it aside, "I wonder then if you can understand exactly what your self-proclaimed mate is sacrificing for you."
Despite being pinned beneath the sharp gaze, Wikus' heart jumped. He groped at the creature's arm, trying to speak and silently cursing at the garbled mess that spilled from his mouth.
The creature ignored his pawing and began to examine him instead, lifting up limbs and separating digits, prodding at exoskeletal plates with curious claws.
"The technicians have informed me that the ship which responded to your distress signal has left the star system," it clicked, "if your intention was to be rescued, that time has passed."
The creature continued to move down his body, poking and prodding. Wikus held as still as he could, trying not to tremble, but when the alien reached the vulnerable area between his legs he couldn't hold back a soft sound of distress.
The creature glanced at him. It didn't stop its explorations, but a low rumble rose from its throat, the same toneless register that Christopher used when he sang to his son.
Despite himself, Wikus found his breath slowing, his body responding automatically to the soothing sound.
Sharp eyes focused on Wikus, "I admit I have been hasty; I know nothing of your society and I should not expect you to understand ours." it clicked, "We are born into our roles: workers support, soldiers protect, leaders guide. But there can never be more than one leader."
The creature rose from his side and began to pace the room "I had great hopes for Kkrokpe," it clicked, as though to itself, "He and his son were to be proof. Proof to my counterparts that drones can integrate; that our lives are determined by more than our birth. Instead he wastes my efforts in a fruitless Challenge."
Challenge? What does he mean by…?
'You are foreign, other. If he learns that you have drawn more of your kind here, he will eliminate you.'
Oh Christopher, what did you do?
"There can never be more than one leader," the creature clicked "but that does not mean that new leaders are not born," It shook its head in agitation, grunting in disgust "My counterparts are blinded by fear. They view drones as agents of anarchy and exterminate them in infancy. They do not see the potential. Kkrokpe is a valuable member of my hive, stronger than a worker and more intelligent than a soldier."
The leader rounded on him "And now this potential will be wasted; destroyed by my own hands! Do you understand, creature? Understand what Kkrokpe sacrifices to protect you?"
Wikus' eyes widened.
Challenge. A death match. Oh, fok.
"Of course after this incident it would hardly be wise to allow his hatchling to grow to maturity," the creature clicked, leaning over him, cruel, deliberate, "The risk that he too is a drone is also great."
Panic swelled in his chest at the thought of Deyi; his claws scrabbled against the floor.
"Interesting," the creature clicked as it watched him "The youngling is not yours, yet you fear for him. Perhaps Kkrokpe's devotion is not one-sided?"
Wikus froze, caught.
They stared at each other.
The creature blew a breath through its gills. It was silent for a few moments, and then spoke again.
"If I offered you aid; reversed the change and gifted you with a ship to return in, would you?"
Shock jolted through Wikus. Go back to Earth?
The creature continued to watch him, waiting for his answer.
Wikus forced himself to think, to look at the reality of returning to his planet beyond the sharp longing for how things used to be. What was left for him there? A dead wife, a failed mission, broken dreams of finding glory among the stars.
What waited for him here? A new mate and child. Love, whatever strange guise it took. A home.
'I can't offer you a way back, but I promise you have a place with me and my son, for however long you will stay'
His chest ached at the thought of Christopher.
Slowly, Wikus shook his head, praying that his response was the right one.
The leader gave a low grunt, seeming satisfied, and turned to leave.
"With your ship gone the danger to the Hive may have passed, but a Challenge, once made, must be carried through," the creature clicked as it passed through the door, "however, as Kkrokpe reminded me, my first duty is the protection of my people," the creature paused, looking back at him, "all of them."
The door clanged shut and Wikus was left in the dark.
