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Sep. 16th, 2009 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
summer_sparrowTitle: shame
Pairing: Prawnkus/Tania
Word Count: 390
Warning: Prawnsex, need I say more?
Rating: R.
Summary:
Tania hides cat food under her bed, like the shameful secret it is.
Tania ven der Merwe does not own a cat.
She tried the stuff once, morbid curiosity. Now it's all she can do to watch him eat it without losing her last meal. She pretends it's loneliness that makes her let him in, heartbreak, but it's only fascination. It was always her downfall.
Curiosity had her hand down a boy's pants at fourteen, her mouth between another girl's legs a year later. Curiosity is her abiding sin.
In college, Tania's friends whispered of Nigerian criminals and rumors of impending genocide; Tania just wondered what, exactly, hermaphroditic egg-layers did with human prostitutes.
It's only a soft, inquisitive whistle that brings her back to reality. She blushes, snapping her eyes up; she'd been staring.
A blurred schoolgirl memory: prawns can smell pheromones. She crosses her legs against unwanted thoughts.
It's hard to remember that it's Wikus, the intimidating creature at the end of her bed eying her with a reflection of her own inquisitiveness. The creature who moves with lightning quickness, without warning, without noise. She doesn't even have time to scream before he's crouched above her.
Her mind writhes in terror, urging frozen muscles to flight, but some small part of her still trusts Wikus with her life. Even like this.
Wikus slips a hand up Tania's shirt, the feel of three large fingers strange against her skin. She recognizes the gentleness, the restraint, and it calms her. Sweet to the core: it is the Wikus she loves.
Her skirt has ridden up, and she can feel something against her leg. What exactly could they...
Tania pulls away, slides to her knees. Her shirt comes off in one easy tug, her skirt and underpants in another. It's not quite the right texture, too slick and soft, but it's big and hard enough. Wikus slides-- whatever it is-- in and out of her with gentle force, rocking their bodies together almost like it used to be.
Tania pretends that she wishes she could forget who-- what-- is being her. She can't admit to herself that the situation is what's making her nipples hard and aching, legs apart, ripping soft, needy moans from her throath.
She comes to the feel of tentacles on her back and a soft, spreading stickiness inside.
Pairing: Prawnkus/Tania
Word Count: 390
Warning: Prawnsex, need I say more?
Rating: R.
Summary:
Tania hides cat food under her bed, like the shameful secret it is.
Tania ven der Merwe does not own a cat.
She tried the stuff once, morbid curiosity. Now it's all she can do to watch him eat it without losing her last meal. She pretends it's loneliness that makes her let him in, heartbreak, but it's only fascination. It was always her downfall.
Curiosity had her hand down a boy's pants at fourteen, her mouth between another girl's legs a year later. Curiosity is her abiding sin.
In college, Tania's friends whispered of Nigerian criminals and rumors of impending genocide; Tania just wondered what, exactly, hermaphroditic egg-layers did with human prostitutes.
It's only a soft, inquisitive whistle that brings her back to reality. She blushes, snapping her eyes up; she'd been staring.
A blurred schoolgirl memory: prawns can smell pheromones. She crosses her legs against unwanted thoughts.
It's hard to remember that it's Wikus, the intimidating creature at the end of her bed eying her with a reflection of her own inquisitiveness. The creature who moves with lightning quickness, without warning, without noise. She doesn't even have time to scream before he's crouched above her.
Her mind writhes in terror, urging frozen muscles to flight, but some small part of her still trusts Wikus with her life. Even like this.
Wikus slips a hand up Tania's shirt, the feel of three large fingers strange against her skin. She recognizes the gentleness, the restraint, and it calms her. Sweet to the core: it is the Wikus she loves.
Her skirt has ridden up, and she can feel something against her leg. What exactly could they...
Tania pulls away, slides to her knees. Her shirt comes off in one easy tug, her skirt and underpants in another. It's not quite the right texture, too slick and soft, but it's big and hard enough. Wikus slides-- whatever it is-- in and out of her with gentle force, rocking their bodies together almost like it used to be.
Tania pretends that she wishes she could forget who-- what-- is being her. She can't admit to herself that the situation is what's making her nipples hard and aching, legs apart, ripping soft, needy moans from her throath.
She comes to the feel of tentacles on her back and a soft, spreading stickiness inside.