an Invader Zim nasty slash ficlet
by J. Random Lurker
Why do I do this? Because I CAN.
I need no other reason.
Tallest, this place disgusts me. The reek of human dooky is omnipresent. A cloying scent I can't identify attempts to cover it- maybe for inadequate human senses it fulfulls its purpose and is effective, but to my advanced senses it reeks of chemical irritants. I wish they would keep it to one atrocious scent at a time; the stink in here makes my skin want to crack and peel off.
The walls are no better, grimy and smeared, as if the very paint itself is so revulsed by the stink that it's begun to sweat. Everything is like this in this stupid building. If it's not decaying, it's disgusting. I don't know how these pigs can wallow in their own filth like this.
They call it a 'bath-room', which is exceptionally stupid given I see no horrible water-showers here, no bathing implements. But then that makes about as much sense as anything else this ridiculous race has come up with, I suppose.
Dirty, stupid, swampy bog of a place. Being in here is an effort in self-control.
That's why it's perfect for this.
The human sees me, I think. There is a long mirror with cracked edges that he looks at. It runs the length of the room from the door to the far wall. He watches me enter. His eyes appear tired behind his glasses, reddish. His skin is waxen under the blinking flourescent overhead lights. I would guess that he's suffering some illness or another. Sleep deprivation, perhaps. Or maybe one of those lame Earth 'viruses'. Heh. A ploy for sympathy? Feeble thing. You of all your kind deserve no 'mercy' from me. I have no such thing to give.
The bell indicating feeding-break-time rings dully in the background. Children's voices can be faintly heard, feet trampling the halls outside. The little pigs go running to their trough.
His hand rests on the edge of the sink. Water runs from the faucet into the drain, unused. I see him look at the water and then at me and back to the water again. He wants to attack. Knows it wouldn't be of any use. I beat the water weakness a long time back; in fact, for this, I just put on a fresh coat of paste this morning.
Can't risk letting him burn my skin, now can I?
He takes off his glasses, runs his fingers through the water and splashes himself in the face. It must be cold; he blinks several times. He gags slightly, as if to be choking back rising vomit. His hands he wipes off on his pant legs. He puts his glasses on, and turns the water off.
I move behind him.
"Leave me alone."
I am well within my rights to strike him for those words. I am not to be denied, ever, at any time. I thought that was understood. I thought I had him better trained than that by now. But, perhaps he wants to anger me today. Yes, that's always possible.
I lock my hand on the back of his neck and grip my fingers in tightly. I put my other hand flat at the base of his spine. Using my superior strength, I turn him away from the sink, and push him into one of the metal walled toilet-cubicles. I let go of his neck, lock my elbow under the back of his skull and jam him up on his stomach against a side-wall, then I use my free hand to close the door behind us. And lock it.
There. Now nothing will get in the way. I dislike interruptions.
He makes no sound, gives no cry, save for labored breathy-noises. Which is good. I'm pleased he hasn't completely ignored my previous disciplines. He knows I will hurt him severely if he makes a sound. I know many, many ways to hurt him that leave no evidence. He also knows if he makes a sound we may be discovered. I know he doesn't want that to happen either. It just works out well.
Sexual reactions are not part of Irken biology. That belongs to races unfortunate enough to still have distinct biological genders and who suffer the inevitable indignities of all that comes with such a package. Thank the Tallest we bred that nonsense out of our kind millenia ago. I would pity the human race for being afflicted with it if I didn't hate them so utterly. I dislike touching him- let me make that perfectly clear. There is no thing like desire in me anywhere for this human. If I could keep my control in some other, less putridly squishy way I would. His skin is uncomfortably moist and soft, like a smeets', and he smells even worse than he looks.
But it does feel nice to feel him squirm and struggle not to make noises against all his primate instincts. It delights my brain. I hold him closely, an arm around his waist from behind, so I don't have to look at his face. His smell is overwhelming. Salt and fear and sickness. At least the clothes block some of it.
Taking my time, I undo his belt and pull down the fastener of his pants.
He makes no sound, but his head tilts back against my shoulder.
I lick the side of his neck with my dry tongue, revelling in his disgust. I know exactly how much he loathes it by the shudders that travel down his back and the twitching of his arms. His skin is hot, his face angry red. He wants to throw me off but doesn't dare. That is a small victory in and of itself. He fears me now.
I turn him to face the toilet so my hands have room to work.
He knows better than to resist.
Why do I do this? Because I CAN.
I need no other reason.
A/N: Yes, it's slash. Not very NICE slash. Written as an experiment; I wanted to see if I could create the most horribly UNsexual imagery imaginable, a scene of complete filth and degradation, and I wanted to try writing in Zim's hostile POV instead of Dib's more rounded and sympathetic one for once.
Originally written 3/5/03