Disclaimer: I am not the owner of District 9. I am a depraved psycho who writes porn staring hermaphrodite aliens.

Warnings: Body horror, sexual content and lots of language.

A.N.: The only canon I'm fighting head on is that Wikus' transformation is a little bit further along than in the film and the moustache. That just has to go. Each chapter title will refer to a song that inspired it a little, but you don't have to listen to it if it isn't your cup of tea. This is mostly PWP at first, but it will deepen as we go along. The sentences in cursive are Wikus' body's reaction to what he's thinking until everything is just his body. I'm crap at writing speech patterns, so just bear with me. P.S.: Skirilla is pronounced Sky-riller.

Chapter One: Animal I Am Becoming (Animal I Have Become-Three Days Grace)

It reeks. I'm sick and I ache all over and deep inside and I'm in District 9 and it fooking reeks. It's hell. I'm in fooking hell. I spent the entire night puking up my own guts and peeling off my own flesh and this place reeks. This must be what it smells like to the prawns. And to me. The prawns and me. Oh, I don't want to think like that! They're ignoring me, just like they ignore everything until something goes wrong. Like someone turns into a fooking thing, half-way between what's alien to them and what's alien to us. 'Who's us?' Taunts a voice in the back of my mind, which sounds like a mixture of Koobus and that awful bully from middle school. God, I hated that boy. He had such an annoying voice.

Christopher has a nice voice. Deep, but suited for his language. A shudder runs down my entire body. No! Please, no, not again! I'm too far from Christopher's shack. I really shouldn't have wandered off, but his kid was getting on my bloody nerves. He's so fooking cheerful. I kind of expected Christopher to come after me, to try and follow me, but… Another shudder comes and my heartbeat speeds up. I stumble 'round the back of a hut, hiding behind a cardboard extension and a huge trashcan, readying myself for the pain. Pain that … didn't come.

What the fook? What happened to make me shiver? I was walking, to nowhere, just walking. And then I thought about Christopher. His voice. My breath comes faster as I shudder again. It almost has an undertone of something powerful, dominant. Making the part of me that's prawn squirm and submit. That place, that I've been trying to ignore since it formed, begs for my attention. It almost pulses along with my quickened heartbeat. I can hear someone routing around in the rubbish close by, but all I can think of is Christopher, touching, taking, dominating. I whimper shamelessly, as my dick pushes against the fabric around it, that hidden slit between my legs seeking friction.

A large prawn, brown with black flashes, rounds the corner of the shack, eyes growing confused as they fixed on me, then clouding over with a look I've never seen before. My body jerks slightly, moving toward him, the smell of him filling my head with a mindless kind of want, need, desire, my feelings coming out in a keen. He comes closer, growling in a way that makes my knees go weak and I have to lean up against the wall at my back. This can't be me, can it? I keen again, as he gets close enough for me to feel the heat coming of him. That sound, I know what it means. It means I'm begging for him to, to dominate me. I moan at the idea, prawn hand curling around his forearm.

I try and reason with my body, but it's working by itself, my human hand undoing the fly on my trousers. Wriggling out of them, I can feel the prawn watching me. The scent in my head gets impossibly thicker, headier, as he picks me up and supports me against the wall of the shack with one hand as the other strokes the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder, drawing another keen from me as I close my mismatched eyes. I wrap my legs around his thin hips as his binary arms come out to stroke the carapace that juts out of my torso. I can feel something, hard and warm, so close to where it should be but not quite there. When I try to wriggle towards it, the prawn's binary arms hold me up, away from it, making a smug noise at my reaction, his tentacled hand coming down to stroke right there, yes, don't stop, please, oh please, want, need, pleasepleaseplease…

And then it just gone and I slump quickly down the wall to land to the floor, landing painfully. I open my eyes in time to see him backing away from a figure stood in front of me, mandibles whirring and clicking too fast for me to understand. The figure turns as I'm trying to get to my feet, working through the pain and lust fogging up my mind. I suppress a keen as I see Christopher's face, his amber eyes staring down at me with a fire that burns me inside. I feel the blush spreading down my cheeks and my neck whilst he looks at me, my shirt open and my trousers forgotten on the floor as I prop myself against the wall, biting down on my lip to stop myself from making that embarrassing noise. "What are you doing?" Sharp clicks that cut into me, demanding an answer. "I-I don't know." I look away; trying to escape the lust and shame his gaze brings to me. "I-I'm sorry." I mutter, feeling the need to apologize for my behavior, even though I still don't know why it's his business, even though I still ache for some one to …

"Wikus, do you know why you did this? Why you let him touch you?" His eyes are searching my face, his body rigid as he stands just out of my reach. "I n-needed, I…" My slit pulses and I can smell my own arousal as I think of what I wanted, what attracted the first prawn to me. Christopher. Doing … things, beautiful things to my body with his. He reaches for me then, as I start to lose my focus. "It is your time, Wikus. Your cycle is upon you." His voice sounds concerned, but all I can concentrate on is him, touching me, close to me, supporting my weight. I trace my prawn hand down his chest plates, loving the way he reacts to it. "What does that mean, exactly?" My voice sounds flirtatious, sultry. "It means that your body is seeking a mate, a partner to create offspring with." Ok, slow down! "Offspring!" I demand, my mind still trying to regain control of my body, which was whole-heartedly enthusiastic about the concept of offspring with Christopher. He bends down and picks up my trousers, pulls them to my thighs until it registers that he's trying to get me dressed again. My mind agrees and I reach down to finish what he started, even as my body protests at the development.

I keen out again, I mean that's just embarrassing, as his arms wrap 'round me and pick me up, bridal style, holding me to his chest. "What the fook, man?" I exclaim. He looks down at me and I spot a gleam of emotion in his eyes. "Your state will excite the others. Although not all of them are as slow as they pretend to be, some have given over to their instincts. Act like you are mine." Shock, what, yes, please, yours… "Er… why?" I ask, as I try to struggle out of his hold. "If you were mine, they would not dare touch you."Heat flushes through me as I remember the times I'd seen a small group of prawns gathered around two others, the onlookers radiating jealousy as the couple in the centre did something that didn't come up much in polite conversation. As a human I thought of it as another reason the prawns were inferior, but now I realize just how mindless it is, how instinctual, primal even. I need so badly that it aches, deep inside.

I move closer to Christopher, putting my arms around his neck, as we travel through the outskirts of the district. I can almost feel the eyes of other prawns watching me, antennae twitching as they tasted the pheromones that my body is putting out. A few move forward to get a closer look, some coming out of their shacks, but all of them back off the minute they realize that I'm with Christopher. A grayish-brown prawn, still a teenager, but already taller than me (if I wasn't being carried around, that is), comes a little too close, his eyes glazed over. I expect Christopher to do something, but instead two older prawns come and pull him backwards into a hut. A fourth, similar to the teen in build and coloring, comes forward and bows his head to Christopher. "I apologize for my claxrictrrrr, Skirilla." Christopher just nods, not shocked at the amount of servitudein the prawn's voice.

When we reach his hut, he kicks the door open and dumps me onto the bundle of blankets he sleeps in. Oliver was sat on the floor, fiddling with some gadget or other. "Little one, go to Al-Ekrand's and stay there until I collect you." Oliver looked confused, but got up and walked toward the door. "Is Wikus sick again?" He asked over his shoulder. Christopher made a non-committal noise and shooed him out. As he approached me I could sense his desire, taste it almost. "Wikus, you must calm yourself." He got closer to the nest he dumped me in and I can't help but feel something as he stands over me.

I can feel my legs spreading without my consent, my human hand scrabbling at my trousers again, but I really don't care. I want to submit to him, he wants me and I want him and it would feel so good. "Christopher, please. I-I, oh, please!" A growl escapes Christopher as his gazes lowers from my face to my spread legs. "You do not know what you are asking for, Wikus." He sounds restrained, like he's having trouble holding back. "I don't care, Christopher, Skirilla." I imitate the clicks the prawn from earlier used to address him. It seems to push him over the edge; he hunkers down onto his haunches, then pulls me down so I'm under him. Batting away my fingers, which are still fumbling with the button, he somehow manages to get them undone whilst he's worshiping my exoskeleton shoulder with his mouth-parts. He pulls the trousers off my legs and I wriggle them all the way off, then kick them away.

One of his hands ghosts over my erection before reaching back and rubbing over that spot, right there, and I arch off the nest, keen for more and he growls and then he's there and, oh wow, right there, please, my Christopher, my Skirilla, more please, oh, oh, yes, oh God, right there,… and everything is just bliss and it felt so good. Christopher lets out a long, growled version of my name as I let out a choked whimper, feeling my orgasm rip through me. Christopher's face is the last thing I see before I give myself over to the abyss of sleep that loomed beneath me. I give him a feeble smile and a murmured "Thank you" just before it claims me.


Luv, Phe xxxxx