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Jensen was human, once. Human with vain wants and desires, a hot-shot pilot on a mission for galactic expansion. He was all fly boy, and he'll be the first to admit that he'd known what he was doing while strutting around in that body on purpose.
Here and now, he slithers and crawls. He scares the very explorers that wrote him off as another pretty face that could be on one of the whorehouse ships were it not for the fact that he'd been good with a yoke.
You could say he's kinda moved up in the galaxy. He serves his queen real well, takes a little bit of pleasure from rappelling out from some height and working that whole fear-of-things-with-eight-legs angle that it seems like all 'nauts have. He knows when to suffocate and when to implant and recruit. He gets his queen all her best soldiers, defectors and strong-willed scuts who are blood hungry and would be ready to die whichever body they're in.
Yeah, Jensen knows it's cocky, but it's not like his swagger invalidates the claim. He'll probably make general in like, however long a month is around here. Ever since he stopped getting old, he's never really been sure.
He's on a territory holding mission with his brigade when he sees Morgan. Where Jensen'd usually attack without thinking, this time he slides just out of the range of Morgan's sight. Morgan holsters his pistol and shines his light into the crevices of the room. Good, looking for something, then.
Time hasn't been good to the guy, obviously. There are bags under his eyes from oxygen and sleep-deficiency, he looks like he's been fighting for so long. His beard is full and grey and his flesh-red mouth is ironed out into a line of determination.
Jensen always regrets not having taken that mouth when he had the chance in his old body, back when Morgan was less of an adversary and more of an authority figure paired up with Jensen in a few two-person missions. To be fair, there's a lot to like about the guy even now: the way that thigh holster sits so close to the bulge of soft-cock in his pants, the way that shirt shows off layers of war-toned muscle, the way his eyes twinkle with intense curiosity instead of fear.
Jensen's implantation sac starts generating fluid without him even realizing it. His tail curls back in its most basic and elegant form, something Morgan would have catalogued 'a psycho-cultural sign of arousal.'
It's just him and this guy he'd wanted for so long, in this room. And even though Jensen doesn't have the body he used to, Jensen knows how to seduce a man like Morgan.
He crawls over to a rock, just besides Jeff's foot, and cautiously, slowly turns himself over, splays his body out and curls his tail behind him. Jensen spreads his legs, all eight as wide as they'll go, the little talons hidden in the dirt.
'Come and get me' he thinks, and wills himself still.
Jeff's foot nudges against him a bit, and there's the moment, as Jeff shines the flashlight down and sees the seemingly dead facehugger Jensen is right now. Jensen wishes he had the means to break his act and preen, but oh, Jeff's finger's so very close to Jensen's little cervix, collecting the fluid, caressing the sac. It tickles, the touch so delicious and deliberately slow.
'You're such a scientist' Jensen thinks. 'Don't tease me.'
They both watch as the fluid stretches between Jeff's fingers, a long rope. And when Jeff takes his eyes off Jensen, that's when it's easy to push his tail down into the soil and use it to spring up, catch Morgan's face. The force knocks Morgan backward, the flashlight falling out of his hand.
They're in the shadows, the dark. Morgan's lips are parted, his breath coming in labored pants, his body fighting the urge to be still, play dead. It's nothing new: all the two-leggers think that's enough to trick things like Jensen's newfound ilk, but seriously, mouth breathers gonna mouth-breathe sometime.
Jensen's dripping against those lips, bends a little further to rub against them, warm and slick. Against his own will, Morgan moans, the vibration chasing up Jensen's sack, the kind of feeling Jensen thought he'd never have again.
Jensen wonders if Morgan would have played dead if it'd been another one of his troopmates. Maybe Morgan would be as much of a slut as he is now, tongue just barely peeking out and sliding against the tiny hole.
The sound Jensen makes isn't a moan- he doesn't have the vocal cords for that little trick anymore- but it's soft, fragile. The opposite of imposing. Jensen knows Morgan's a bit scared, but he can smell the pheromones, the way he's aroused, too.
'This'll hurt a little,' Jensen thinks as his tail caresses the soft skin of Morgan's forehead, pushing his hair out the way. And then he draws back to strike, a clean hit that makes the whole body convulse as Jensen burrows until he finds what he needs. It's easy enough to find the chemical code, the one hormone that makes Morgan who he is.
Jensen sucks it in, breathes Morgan until he finds the gruff memories of living on the colony, the lost lives of women whom he had loved even as they had been sent away to the mine-prison-chattel ships. It's there he finds Morgan's name.
'Jeff' Jensen thinks, as his body processes the information and modifies the egg to receive it. 'Life will be better here. It'll be better with me.'
And Jeff keeps tasting Jensen's fluids, candy sweet and spicy just like Jensen remembered when he'd gotten this treatment. And Jensen keeps finding the hormones, all the right chemical buttons to push in Jeff's head to make his hips flair, heavy with the weight of his barely explicable erection. He's pawing at the ground, now, like Jensen's really fucking him for real, and Jensen's almost complete in making Jeff's body fertile.
"Please," Jeff groans. It's been ages since Jensen heard that word, so sweet against his entrance. Jeff's put beard burn on Jensen's hind legs, and Jensen's whole body is in overdrive, delicious orgasm running through all of him, his cervical dilation almost ready, the fluid coming in torrents now. "I'm sorry, Jensen."
The sound of Jensen's name shocks him into opening even wider, the egg dropping into Jeff's mouth, with more fluid so it won't get caught in his throat.
Jeff's body goes lifeless. Jensen's tail recedes, and he climbs off that beautiful face, sitting beside the corpse, curling up to take his rest. Facehuggers aren't supposed to dream, but Jensen imagines that when his old body died and became his birthplace, Jeff had blamed himself for it. Maybe he'd angsted over it quite a bit. Maybe he'd promised that he'd find the treasure they'd been looking for at the time. Maybe he'd vowed revenge.
He dreams of the first words he'll say to new!Jeff when he pops out of old!Jeff's stomach. Hell, he even dreams of the two of them fighting side by side, protecting the Empire and keeping the forces of two-leggers at bay. He imagines the first time Jeff will lay eyes on the treasure he and Jensen had been searching for all that time ago.
Jeff's body heaves, his stomach shifting back and forth until finally, the cavity stretches until it pops open, blood stains blooming across Jeff's old clothes. A few baby!huggers roll out, covered in blood and all the ooze and come that Jensen'd fed the poor bastard while he'd been so worked up, and then the big one climbs out, legs that are wobbly but fully developed, a tail just like Jensen's. His body's a little browner than Jensen's is, but at least there's no more salt and pepper hair or a need to show restraint.
Jeff's mouth opens and closes like it's gasping for air. Jensen wishes he had the lips to smille at that. Instead, he says.
"I know it's fucked up and I'm sorry I hurt you, but I missed you a lot and I love you and I'll never hurt you or leave you again."
Jeff looks over at him, and six of his eight eyes widen, "Ackles?!"
It's not quite the response Jensen was expecting, but it's a good start.