Coffee. Bitter and black, its bite enough to curl the tongue and stimulate the senses. Have too much of it, and you could wind up a wreck. In a way, the steaming liquid was like working at the black-sites of Weyland-Yutani; abounding with heart-pounding wonders and eye-opening thrills that couldn’t belie the threat of danger that arose with each new day.

In the sparse lounge of X-32-Beta, a sprawling complex that good old W-Y kept out of both sight and mind like the rest of its dirty little secrets, Sam Finney finished off both his coffee and his musings with a deep sigh. His thumbs brushed over the reports his boys had put together—details about the life-form his superiors had dropped off a month or so back. Or had it only been a week? It was difficult to keep track of the day-night cycles on a blasted rock in the ass-end of some nothing star system with no atmosphere save for what was pumped and recycled throughout the complex.

Anyway.

Contained in the pages were details about the creature tentatively dubbed the xenomorph; where it had been found—in a pit on the orbiting moon, its colony swallowing up the exploration team like a hungry maw—its behavior—eusocial and intelligent, but seemingly non-sapient outside of its ‘hive-mind’—and observations about its life-cycle—a quick skim through that portion of the reports had been enough to give Sam nightmares for a good few cycles.

Of course it was that last section that would interest his superiors the most. The creature was strong, fast, and had no shortage of natural defense mechanisms and weaponry. It would make the perfect bio-weapon, one that would line the pockets of the Weyland-Yutani Corp’s stockholders for generations to come. The only hurdle was its problematic method of reproduction. As such, Sam had been tasked, along with his team, with researching alternate ways to mass-produce the creatures.

Sam gathered up the reports and left his empty cup behind to wander the complex halls. Cloning had proven to be impossible—the acidic substance the creature had in place of blood was near-impossible to draw, and even when they had found a way to extract it without it melting through their equipment, they’d found no trace of sequenceable genetic material. And the creature’s saliva—copious though it was—was the same.

Sam froze, his eyes staring transfixedly forward, as he was struck with a bolt of inspiration. He could only thank his relentless insomnia and caffeine-addict habits that it was the middle of the night cycle, so none of his fellow researchers were around to see his moment of brilliance—or the flush on his face the thought brought with it. Breeding. None of his colleagues had approached the option; it was a long shot, considering the creature’s physiology. Some would probably call him disgustingly mad for even considering it. But Sam didn’t get his position at the Weyland-Yutani black-sites by letting such petty concerns get in his way.

It was a good jaunt down the empty, quiet hallways of the complex to the specimen holding cells, which allowed Sam plenty of time to reconsider the half-baked plans running through his coffee-fueled mind even at his quick pace. He made his way through the two security checkpoints separating the labs from the living quarters with a quick flash of his badge at the guards, who didn’t even bother looking up as he passed—they weren’t being paid to question why one of the site’s head researchers was passing through at fuck-you-o-clock. Down a long hallway and through another security door, and Sam was finally looking at the creature he’d been tasked to study.

A thick pane of everything-proof plexiglass and yet another security door separated the observation room from the actual cell. Through it, Sam could see a dark figure bound and suspended in a hunched position, its limbs, head, and tail kept completely immobilized. The xenomorph. With a gulp and a cough to wet his suddenly-dry throat, Sam stared at the creature. It was a thing of nightmares, even in its bondage, but there was something about it that was equally alluring; aesthetic, almost. The shiny black ‘skin’ stretched tight over its frame, the segmented tail and smooth expanse crowning its elongated skull, and the tightly-corded musculature of its limbs and body gave the creature an exotic flare.

With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Sam did something immeasurably stupid; he turned off the live feed from the cameras—after making the standard log about ‘classified and sensitive’ research—and then stepped through the security door into the holding cell.

The creature didn’t react to the human’s presence as Sam approached—at least, not that he could see. Its slow, steady breathing continued unabated, and the thing didn’t even twitch; for a moment, Sam wondered if the thing had fallen asleep. It wasn’t impossible, though neither he nor his colleagues had observed a change in the xenomorph’s vitals or brain waves to indicate that it even could sleep.

The human finally reached out to touch the long, tube-like extensions rising from the creature’s spine, and the xenomorph let out a muffled hiss.

Sam jerked back, half expecting to be torn limb-from-limb on the spot—the grunts had returned from procuring the specimen with horror stories of claws and teeth in the dark, and screams and gunfire as their fellows were swarmed. However, good old W-Y tech held fast, and the creature remained locked in place by its bindings. After taking a moment to calm himself, steadying both his breath and his adrenaline-wracked limbs, Sam set a hand on the creature’s side.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Sam realized how hoarse he sounded, and cleared his throat before repeating himself. His soothing words were probably lost on the alien being, but the xenomorph showed no more signs of hostility. The human took a moment to just appreciate the cool, glasslike—yet strangely giving—chitinous skin under his fingertips. He stroked the xenomorph’s side, up from its powerful hip to its shoulder. Another low hiss came from between the creature’s muzzled jaws—the inner jaw the creature possessed, snakelike as it darted out to punch through armor and bone alike, had featured in quite a few of the grunts’ tales—as Sam rubbed up to the base of its neck. He couldn’t be sure if it was a sound of pleasure or rage, but the xenomorph wasn’t struggling in its bonds.

Sam shook himself; he was stalling. He was on a mission, and had very limited time to see it through. He glanced at the xenomorph’s eyeless face, trying to read the creature’s expression as his hand moved to its flank once more. No reaction.

Sam rubbed over the muscular limb, his fingers playing over the ridges in the smooth, hard flesh as he worked up the courage to put his plan into motion. He was a scientist, one who didn’t care about getting his hands dirty in the name of research. He had been tasked to find a way to produce more of the creature in a way that wouldn’t require massive human resources, and he needed to observe whether the creature even had the capability of reproducing in the way he had in mind.

Finally, Sam knelt down to crawl underneath the xenomorph and position himself between its legs. He heard another muffled hiss from above, but chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the expanse of the creature’s crotch. More smooth, dully-reflective black flesh, completely featureless. However, as Sam tried to control his anxious breaths, he noticed a strange scent in the air below the creature—muted and almost rubbery, with an oddly-sweet edge to it. He reached up to prod along the xenomorph’s underside, trying to find the source of that alien scent, and jerked in surprise as his fingers sank into a well-hidden orifice between two plates—and the xenomorph jumped and screeched above him.

Sam scrambled backwards, landing on his ass with a grunt while the xenomorph squirmed in its bindings for a few more moments. The human felt a strange, sticky wetness on his fingers, and looked down to see them coated in a viscous, translucent-gray substance. It didn’t seem to be acidic—at least, it wasn’t burning the researcher’s slime-coated digits—but Sam was quick to wipe his fingers off on his lab coat nevertheless. He noticed the same odd scent clinging to his fingers even after the substance was removed and, with a curious thrill, brought them towards his nose to sniff at the strange scent. He could only describe the aroma as ‘heavy’, lingering in his nostrils and lungs even after huffing out a few breaths to clear them. At least it wasn’t unpleasant.

However, the scent did cause a strange quickening of his pulse, beyond what Sam could chalk up to nerves. His face grew flushed, and his pants grew tight. Pheromones? If the creature was producing pheromones, then perhaps his idea would have merit after all. But first, a quick test.

He carefully approached the bound xenomorph once more, trying not to provoke the thing. It merely let out a low rumble in response—it could definitely sense his presence. Sam took the opportunity to really examine the xenomorph’s ‘face’, the smooth expanse sweeping back over the top half of its elongated skull, under which its nightmarish jaws sat. Even muzzled, the xenomorph was intimidating; especially since, even with no visible eyes, Sam felt like it was staring right back at him. The human offered the creature a tight, rictus smile, and received yet another muffled hiss in return as his hand settled atop the creature’s head.

Sam’s heart pounded as he petted and stroked the xenomorph’s head, tender and slow, while the thing rumbled and growled at him. Were he not overcome with his strange, mad inspiration, he wouldn’t have dared to approach the creature. But something about this—an alien creature that could kill him in a moment were it not bound and muzzled, left completely at his mercy—sent a thrill down the researcher’s spine. He couldn’t see any nostrils on the creatures face, and so settled for running his scent-stained fingers along the ridge between its upper jaw and the beginning of its glassy crest. No reaction, save for a muffled huff from the xenomorph. It only made sense—the creature wouldn’t be affected by its own scent. But what about the scent of another?

The human jolted in surprise as he realized what he was thinking, which set the creature to hissing once more. It was insane, crossed boundaries that only the mad would cross. But then again, crossing boundaries in the name of progress—and profit—was what Weyland-Yutani did best. His doubts were slowly consumed by that lingering question, the bread and butter and bane of scientists throughout history; if. If this worked, then what possibilities would be unlocked?

Sam looked down at himself. Looked at the tent in his slacks, painful and throbbing—when had he gotten hard? Was it a product of the creature’s scent—its pheromones—or had the thought of putting his insane ideas to the test aroused him so? As he shucked off his lab coat, letting it fall to the holding cell floor and then undoing his belt, he wondered which had given rise to the other. Then he groaned in relief as he pulled his pants open and allowed his erection to bob out in the open air.

Sam could feel the xenomorph’s eyeless stare on him once more; what’s more, he knew that the cameras were still recording everything as he pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. Another strange thrill ran down his spine as the human grasped his cock, slowly stroking it. Squeezing it. Coating his palm with the scent of his sweat and masculinity and the precum that was already freely leaking from the tip. Then he brought that hand to the xenomorph’s face.

The creature hissed as Sam laid his hand on its crest, rubbing once more. Then it paused, and turned its head upward as much as it could to get the man’s musk-stained fingers and palm over the ridge above its upper jaw. A muffled sound, not quite a hiss or a growl, resounded through the cell as the xenomorph shuddered.

“You like that?” Sam’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, and he gulped as he watched the xenomorph carefully. His hand moved up to the creature’s smooth crest once more, and he pushed his hips forward to press his erection against the firm, glassy dome. His balls tingled as the xenomorph huffed a humid breath out over them through its muzzle. It rumbled again—purred—and pushed forward into Sam’s crotch as much as it could. “Yeah, you do.” Sam could only stare down at the creature as he humped its face, smearing its chitin with his precum as his hot, throbbing cock rubbed over the cool flesh. Part of the human wondered if this wasn’t some dream—maybe he’d fallen asleep in the lounge, or this was his mind’s last fantasy while the creature tore him apart. But as the ridges of the xenomorph’s face ground against his length, he found he couldn’t care less.

Another shudder and low whine from the xenomorph, accompanied by another waft of rubbery-fruit scent from the alien’s crotch, drew the researcher’s attention back between the creature’s legs. Something was pushing out of the orifice Sam had discovered; long, thick, and coated in that same translucent-gray slime. He leaned over to get a better look as the thing snaked out from between the plates of the xenomorph’s crotch, wriggling and pulsing in the air. Once it grew to about the size of the human’s forearm, it stiffened to bounce upwards against the xenomorph’s stomach.

That was a penis.

Sam’s didn’t know what he was expecting the xenomorph’s genitalia—if indeed it even had any—to look like. He was relieved to see that it didn’t possess any spikes, teeth, or razor-sharp blades like the rest of the creature. He patted the alien’s elongated skull almost affectionately, and then moved to kneel down between the thing’s legs once more to get a better look. That scent was even stronger now, thick and cloying, almost choking. However, Sam’s own erection dribbled and throbbed with every inhale of the xenomorph’s pheromones—curious how it should affect him so. Was their species actually built for cross-species breeding in the event of separation from its hive?

Sam shook those thoughts away. He could consider the implications later—for now, he had something to examine right in front of him. And examine the human did, grasping the throbbing pillar of flesh and giving it a squeeze to test its malleability; the flesh of the xenomorph’s penis was surprisingly soft and silky, and the length showed at least some degree of mobility as it wriggled and squirmed in his grip. He traced his fingertips upward to the tapered end, which was leaking a clear fluid—different from the emissions that were dribbling from the xenomorph’s genital orifice—from the opening at the tip. Then Sam moved his hand down, feeling around the plates of the xenomorph’s crotch. The creature hissed and jerked its hips as the human’s probing digits rubbed the tender inner flesh. Hot. Hot and wet, and leaking that translucent-gray fluid freely. Sam moved his fingers to the backside of the alien erection, toward the base of its tail, and gasped when his fingertips found what felt like an opening.

This time, instead of scrambling backwards when the xenomorph hissed and jerked at the contact, he grasped the creature’s thigh with his free hand to steady himself. Then he pushed his fingers into the opening he’d found, testing its depth as he stroked the alien’s hot, slick inner walls. Another long, slow, crooning purr made it clear that the xenomorph was enjoying the human probing its hind entrance. The passage was tight, squeezing around his digits so deliciously. And the smell—the pheromones--sweet and yet not, made Sam’s cock throb and his mind sink into a haze of lust.

The xenomorph growled as Sam pulled his fingers out of its entrance. However, when the human stood up and moved behind the bound creature, hooking its tail over his shoulder and positioning his own cocktip at the alien’s entrance, it shuddered and squirmed—rocked back against the human. In return, Sam grasped the tube-like extensions rising up from the xenomorph’s spine.

“That’s right, I’m going to breed you.”

Sam shivered as the words passed his lips, drawn out in a low, husky moan by the humid heat radiating against his erection from the xenomorph’s crotch. What better way to test his theory? After all, in order to make scientific discoveries, you often had to get your hands dirty—that was just part of being a researcher, especially at Weyland-Yutani. And there weren’t exactly many other specimens on hand; the entire nearby moon had been quarantined, and the higher-ups were deliberating just glassing the damned pit.

Of course, even he realized those were just excuses as he pushed forward, sinking his throbbing shaft balls-deep into the xenomorph’s slick, clenching passage. If he had thought the creature was tight around his fingers, that was nothing compared to the heavenly vice embracing his cock. He groaned and hissed, grinding his crotch against the alien’s, and received a low growl in return. The xenomorph’s inner walls squeezed and milked his shaft as Sam started up a slow rocking rhythm, using his grip on the alien’s spinal protrusions for leverage to slide his cock out to the tip and then slam it back into the creature’s depths. He could feel the slick substance from the xenomorph’s orifice—lubrication—running down his balls as they slapped against the base of the creature’s own pulsing erection.

And the smell. Sweet and heavy, and only making his length throb harder as his head swam from the cloying pheromones. Sam breathed in deep, and let out a low groan as he pumped his cock into the slick, tight heat engulfing it.

He noticed the creature squirming in its bindings, hissing and growling—no, purring—as it pushed back against him. Its hips rocked back to meet his every thrust, accompanied by another gush of wetness over the human’s crotch and another waft of its pheromones. He reached down below the xenomorph, curious, and found the creatures cock wriggling and writhing as it dribbled freely. He grasped the alien shaft, stroked it, squeezed it in time with his slamming pace, and the creature threw its head back and let out a muffled roar.

Sam continued to examine—play with—the xenomorph’s penis as his pace quickened. Rubbing and pinching the tapered tip as it spurted lubricating fluid onto his hand. Fondling along the length of it. Wrapping his hand around it and squeezing tight as he pushed the alien’s hips into his grip with his thrusting. Digging into the space between its crotch plates to rub at the soft—and apparently, extremely sensitive, judging by the way the xenomorph hissed and clenched its rear orifice around the human’s own member—inner flesh. It only took a few moments of teasing his breeding partner this way to make the xenomorph hiss and growl and roar while spasming and squirming beneath him. Sam could feel the rhythmic jerking and pulsing of the creature’s cock. It was cumming.

With a low groan, Sam slammed himself into the xenomorph’s passage and cried out his own mind-shattering orgasm.

He collapsed onto the purring xenomorph’s back, panting, trying to catch his breath. It had been a long time since he’d experienced something like that—too long—and Sam relished the chance to drift in the warm tide of his afterglow while stroking his partner’s body. Pressing soft kisses to the firm ridges and bumps, exploring the bony expanse with his lips and tongue. The human only came back to himself when he felt his softened cock fall out of the xenomorph’s orifice, accompanied by one last gush of warm liquid against over his crotch.

Fuck, he was a mess. The specimen was a mess. The holding cell was a mess.

Sam quickly set about cleaning up what he could. He made his way into the observation room to gather up some specimen collection containers, and mopped up what he could of the creature’s fluids into them—he made sure to keep the translucent-gray lubricating fluid separate from the creature’s cum. As he did so, he took a moment to examine the alien semen—thick, opaque black, with an oily sheen to it. That required further examination.

Finally, the researcher dressed himself, trying to ignore both the heavy gaze he could feel the xenomorph giving him and stains on his clothes and lab coat. Sam stumbled back into the observation room, carrying the containers of xenomorph emission, and paused for a moment to copy the footage of the ‘examination’ onto his hard drive and then wipe from the observation room records. Then he wandered through the hallways of the complex in a daze, passing through the security checkpoints and somehow making his way back to his quarters. He set the sample containers on his desk, and then collapsed onto his cot. Sam fell into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The human was roused only a few hours later by a flurry of activity. It took a long while of rushing around and shouting for him to get someone to tell him what the hell was going on. When he finally heard the news from a wide-eyed researcher, Sam could feel the bottom of his stomach drop out.

The xenomorph was showing signs of gravidity—pregnancy.

Sam knew that whatever had happened would be easy to trace back to him. He’d been seen going to and returning from the holding cell by security. He was on record stating that he was performing classified experimentation. His lab coat, which he’d thrown on in his haste to find out what all the damn fuss was about, still had stains from the creature’s fluids—and judging by the glances he was getting from the other researchers, he could tell that they and the rest of him were starting to reek.

He turned on his heel and stalked toward the lounge. He could deal with this. He’d dealt with many situations like this before. He could go before his superiors when he was summoned, freshly-showered and with explanations for his late-night behavior firmly in place. He could get through this and, if he played his cards right, he could spin the pregnancy into a resounding success for his research and for all of Weyland-Yutani Corp.

But first, he needed his goddamn coffee.

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Pub: 30 Dec 2020 13:27 UTC
Views: 695