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Title: Long Live the Queen
Rating: NC-17 (for brief sex)
Pairing: Various Prawns/Semi-Human Wikus
Warning(s): Gang-bang and hilarity
Summary: And as their “Queen Prawn,” it was his duty to give his subjects a fresh supply of intelligent Prawns to lead the community. For this to occur, he needed to get pregnant.
That’s what they had told him, before they backed him into a shack and proceeded to rip off his clothes.”
It wasn’t that the sex was unpleasant, per se. Wikus had experienced worse sex before, and had woken up to some rather unfortunate bed-partners once or twice in his college days. No, it wasn’t the quality of the sex.
It was the amount that bothered him.
By his estimation, he had been having sex non-stop for nearly six hours, and the mob of Prawns outside his shack’s door suggested that this would not stop anytime soon. They were convinced that he was their queen—a revolting thought; he had his masculine pride to think of.
And as their “Queen Prawn,” it was his duty to give his subjects a fresh supply of intelligent Prawns to lead the community. For this to occur, he needed to get pregnant.
That’s what they had told him, before they backed him into a shack and proceeded to rip off his clothes.
Really, though, he should have seen this coming. They had been acting strange around him for a while. He would wander by a group of them and he would notice that they stood up straighter, and—unless he was imagining it—they would suck in their stomachs, as well.
It didn’t stop there. The bigger Prawns would knock the smaller ones out of the way to grab the metal flowers he left around. They would lift tires and scrap metal, showing off their considerable strength. They would pose suggestively in doorways. They would flex. It was terrifying.
Flattering, but terrifying.
Still, it had come as a bit of a surprise when they’d cornered him. Not being quite done with his transformation, he had no chance of getting away; he was too weak, and he was much too overwhelmed to stop them from laying him on the ground and spreading his legs and...and…
He didn’t want to think about it.
He didn’t want to think about the assault of clawed hands and tentacles over his mouth and throat and neck. He didn’t want to think about the heat of the surrounding bodies, and the strength of the arms that held him down and pet what was left of his hair. And he did not want to think about the feeling of being split open and fucked over and over and over and filled with thick, black fluid by what must have been every Prawn in the surrounding area.
He did not want to think about that at all.
He was resilient, though. He knew that ignoring the Prawns waiting outside his door for round two would be fruitless, so he resigned himself to letting them in, again, in the hope that he would soon be…well, pregnant, and this nightmare would be over.
An exhaustive several hours later left Wikus thankfully, mercifully alone in his shack. His body—bloody, bruised, bitten—could rest, assured that things could not possibly get worse. He heard a tentative knock on the door, and a Prawn from the night before let himself in.
Fuck. My. Life.
“I must speak with you.”
Wikus glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“We’ve been talking,” he clicked, “and it seems that you’re not fully one of us yet.”
Wikus stared. “No fooking shit.”
“You can’t get pregnant, then. Your body isn’t ready.” What could have been a grin passed over the Prawn’s face. “Do you understand what that means, my Queen?”
Wikus stared silently.
“We can perform the impregnation ritual again!”
It was at that moment that Wikus realized that, for him, things would always get worse.