Puzzle Pieces - a Demo Reel Space Adventures fic
Title: Puzzle Pieces
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Word Count: 3,351
Characters, Pairings: Carl, Quinn, Rebecca, Tacoma, Donnie/Tentacle Creature, Donnie/Rebecca, Donnie/Demo Reel Team
Disclaimer: I own nothing, none of the characters in this, etc.
Spoilers: For Demo Reel
Warnings: Non-con with a tentacle monster, mention of suicide, mention of alcoholism, bondage, orgy, frank discussion of sexuality, non-consensual voyeurism, guns.
Summary: The gang has adventures, sex, and character development, though not necessarily in that order
A/N: Part 2 of the Demo Reel Continuation In Space series thing. Not as short nor as lighthearted as the first part, but I hope it’s not depressing.
Part 1 (please read) Rage Against the Dying of the Light
So, the lizard-people? Actually very nice once they set up some Universal Translation machines and started talking. In exchange for helping to haul crates of fruit through the spaceship for a week, the lizard-people agree to give them a lift to the nearest solar system. Carl and Quinn figure out the gambling games quickly, and win some weapons and money. Their supplies are limited to what they were wearing or carrying, but now they at least have some money and means of defense.
Donnie doesn’t let any of them out of his sight for too long, sleeps cuddled between Rebecca and Tacoma every night. Sometimes he cries. They hug him close and pretend not to hear.
They are far from Earth. The lizard-people say they’ve never seen anyone like them before, or heard of any such creatures. Not even the sketches of planets and constellations they sketch look familiar to the lizard-people. The lizard-people suggest heading for busy spaceports, trying to locate their homeworld that way.
~*~
“I think we can all agree that, once again, this is Donnie’s fault.” Tacoma says quietly. He’s tired, hungry, wearing a bandana he suspects might be made of shed lizard skin, and hiding in an alien tree under an alien sky to hide from … aliens.
“What? Why?” Rebecca hisses.
“He’s the reason that glowy space hole showed up, and flung us across the universe. Whatever the hell that was, it was after him. I mean, we’re still going to save him, but this is all his fault.”
“Ruhig! Ze vill be hearing us!” Carl snaps frantically.
A party of the planet’s inhabitants march past, searching the undergrowth. They look like the unfortunate offspring of baboons and armadillos, with a little wolfman thrown in for good measure. At least, Tacoma thinks that’s what they look like. They didn’t get a good look before they fled into the woods, heard Donnie’s screams as he was dragged away …
“Carl an’ I will scout ahead, try an’ find Donnie, bring him back. You lot stay put. If’n we ain’t back in two hours, run fer it.”
Before Tacoma or Rebecca can protest, Carl and Quinn have dropped from the tree and vanished down the path.
“At least they left us two of the guns,” Rebecca says softly.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?”
Rebecca curls three of her fingers into an imitation of lizard-claws, and primes the weapon. It glows softly, whirring in readiness.
“Oh.” Tacoma raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Teach me?”
After two hours - by Tacoma’s still impossibly working watch - they sneak through the trees towards the lights and sounds of what must be a camp. They crawl over the top of a hill on their bellies and see a clearing below them. Carl and Quinn are sitting in a metal cage in the center of the clearing, covered in scratches and bruises and looking offended at the whole situation.
“It’s up to us now,” Rebecca’s jaw is set, her face grim. “You got my back?”
“Always,” Tacoma nods, tightening the greenish bandana that might be lizard skin around his forehead.
That’s when they see him. Donnie. He’s been stripped; even his glasses and hat are gone. He’s pinned between two of the baboon-armadillo people, struggling feebly, but his captors are strong. They lead him to the other end of the clearing, about thirty feet away from Rebecca and Tacoma’s position, to a raised stone altar of some kind, which they bind Donnie to with ropes, ropes stretching his arms and legs to the edges of the altar.
“So it’s true,” Rebecca hisses, verging on hysterical babbling. “I mean, what they say about tall guys. Not that he’s … I mean … big feet and … shoes and … I wasn’t looking!” she claps her hands over her mouth.
“I wasn’t looking either,” Tacoma says slowly, making no effort to hide his staring. Donnie has … nothing to be ashamed of.
Before either of them can come up with a plan, a creature emerges from behind the trees. All the baboon-armadillos cheer and chitter and raise their hands and bow low. Quinn and Carl stand up for a better view. Donnie struggles helplessly.
The creature is … huge. Well over six feet, maybe ten, but it’s tough to tell, what with the undulating and constant swaying back and forth, up and down. It’s also mostly made up of tentacles.
“No. No. No. No. No this cannot be happening. I … this isn’t real!” Donnie starts slowly and then starts to frantically yell. “This can’t be … why the fuck are you doing this?! You can’t! No!”
The creature roars with something that sounds like delight and lurches down, half smothering Donnie with its bulk. Then it rises up, lets him breathe momentarily, only to wriggle down and begin rubbing all over him with its tentacles.
“Get … off … no … mmm … no! I said n … n … oh …”
Tacoma gulps. Rebecca’s eyes are as wide as saucers.
“I thought he … wasn’t … oh.” Tacoma gulps again.
Donnie is smiling now. Relaxed. Tacoma wonders, briefly, about sex pheromones, but those wouldn’t work so quickly, even with human physiology. At least, he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t, and that Donnie would still be frantically protesting even if he felt his body start to betray him
“Well, come on, hentai monster. It’s just you and me here. You gonna put those to use or just stare at me all night?”
The tentacle monster can’t understand Donnie’s words, but his tone, and the head-tilt and seductive look seems to translate pretty well. It growls low, almost a purr, and starts to get to work.
Somehow, Rebecca’s hand has found Tacoma’s. They’re clutching each other tightly, staring in horror, paralyzed, as the creature slides one of its tentacles past Donnie’s parted lips, fills his mouth, twirls around eagerly.
Donnie’s whole body arches up. It’s obvious, even from thirty feet away, that Donnie is really starting to enjoy himself.
The creature makes a rumbling noise (laughter? Perhaps) and loosens the bonds on Donnie’s legs, slithering one of its tentacles low, lower, prodding, stretching …
Rebecca is blushing and Tacoma can feel himself getting a bit hot under the collar.
Donnie’s moans are … well … interesting. And it’s hard not to stare at a guy taking the equivalent of two - no, wait three - dicks with seemingly no trouble at all, and getting off on it.
“Wow,” Rebecca breathes.
“Yeah,” Tacoma coughs.
“So, save him?”
“Yeah.” Tacoma nods. “But …?”
“Huh?” Rebecca whispers.
“Maybe … in a minute?”
“Ok.” Rebecca says faintly.
Donnie rolls on the altar. His hands have been untied by now, along with his legs. He thrusts backwards, forwards, lets the creature move him, twist him, reposition him at will.
“What a slut.” Rebecca gasps. “There’s just … not other word for him, is there? Slut.”
Tacoma raises his eyebrows. “Can you call him that? I mean, that’s not an ok word to use.”
“I’m not using it as an insult. I think it’s great how he’s that comfortable with his sexuality. But if I see someone getting it on with a tentacle monster in front of fifty people, I’m gonna call a spade a spade.” Rebecca licks her lips. “He’s shameless. You remember when you wouldn’t do that bit for the Dark Knight Rises video, and he looked at you like that? Thought he was gonna blow you then and there.”
Tacoma splutters, finally lets go of Rebecca’s hand. “Wait, what?!”
“Did he blow you after the shoot, or wait for the weekend?”
“What?!” Tacoma yelps, barely managing to keep his voice down.
Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “He never … wait, you never had sex with Donnie?”
“No!” Tacoma shakes his head. “Was I supposed to?” he stares in utter confusion.
“I did,” Rebecca shrugs, turning back to the scene on the altar. New tentacles are squirming forward to take the places of spent ones. Donnie is dripping with greenish goo and moaning very loudly.
“When?” Tacoma asks, before he can stop himself.
“Eh, before I joined. It was at the casting call and he started begging me to join Demo Reel because all the actresses who’d shown up had refused, and he was cute and I thought, hey, this is stupid, but it’s worth a shot so I … made a suggestion. To see how much he’d appreciate my presence on his production team. So he got down on his knees and … showed me.” Rebecca squirms, smiling suggestively and waggling her eyebrows. “He was really good at it, by the way. Way too many guys aren’t, or just don’t care about that.”
Tacoma’s brain shut down somewhere around the point when Rebecca said “got down on his knees.” Considering Donnie is about thirty feet away and wrapped up in tentacles, making obscene sounds before getting two tentacles thrust into his mouth at the same time … Tacoma’s brain can’t really take much more of those kinds of images. He’s suddenly very glad he’s lying down on the ground. Rebecca’s not making any attempt at hiding her enjoyment of this scene, but Tacoma is still frantically clinging to the remains of plausible deniability
“After two weeks at the studio I told him I was quitting and he got down again and … well, I didn’t actually have another job lined up, I just told him that, and I thought I’d just say another two weeks for my paycheck. And of course, after the next two weeks, I didn’t want to leave. That was it, though.” Rebecca giggles. “I think he wanted more, y’know? I called him a naughty boy and he perked right up. Like I said: total slut.”
Tacoma blinks rapidly. Donnie is currently rocking backwards on the altar, contorted in a position that is only possible because the tentacle creature is supporting him. He looks utterly blissed out. Tacoma has a sudden image of Donnie, back at the studio, on that couch, looking up at him through lowered lashes, begging Tacoma to stay and write more, please, is there anything I can do to convince you …?
Tacoma shakes his head. “As soon as that thing is done with Donnie, we go in and rescue him. Agreed?”
“Ya-huh.” Rebecca nods, eyes fixed on Donnie.
~*~
After almost ninety minutes- again, by Tacoma’s watch - the monster slumps away from the altar. There’s a beat, utter silence.
Then the creature rises up to its full height, screeching, and flips over, opens up a giant gaping maw lined with layers of teeth. A slathering tongue wriggles out, wrapping around Donnie’s leg.
“Why?!” Donnie yells weakly. “Why does the universe hate me?! Just once, can’t something GOOD happen to -”
“Unhand him, you monster!” Rebecca screams, standing up and taking one strategic shot at the tentacle monster’s side. It shudders, roars, and lets go of Donnie.
Tacoma manages to get his gun working, raining imprecise laser pellets down on the crowd, scattering them and shooting at the feet of any who try to get close to the altar. He shoots off the lock on the cage, and Quinn and Carl race out, seizing their gear and Donnie’s clothes from a pile by the cage and racing towards the altar, firing shot after shot.
The tentacle monster suffers more hits and ultimately slinks away, roaring strings of, thankfully, incomprehensible words.
Tacoma and Rebecca scramble down the hill, keeping their eyes and ears open for more aliens, and head for the altar.
Donnie is curled up, shaking slightly.
“Mine friend,” Carl murmurs, crouching down while Quinn covers his blind spots. “Ve must be going, mine friend. Can you stand?”
Donnie shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut.
“Very vell, I must be carrying you.” Carl takes a blanket from his bag and wraps Donnie in it, putting Donnie’s clothes, hat, and glasses into the bag. Then he picks Donnie up carefully, not quite bridal-style but close enough, and beings to hurry towards the city the lizard-people had directed them towards.
Quinn scouts ahead. Rebecca and Tacoma cover their backs. Donnie says nothing.
~*~
It’s late. None of them have adjusted to alien sun cycles yet, they’re all jet-lagged and bewildered.
The city has bubble towers and yurt-like structures, several species of aliens and a semi-active spaceport. They can buy passage off-world at “fargleblarglewargle,” which seems to mean “mid-day.” As the sun is barely setting now, that’s going to be quiet some time.
They buy a room for the night at some kind of hotel. The single bed is large and more an elaborate nest of cushions and blankets than the sort of thing they’re used to. Rebecca takes to it immediately, squirreling away inside it and grinning like a child.
Tacoma ventures out with Quinn to buy some food. They find a stall run by a being that resembles a fish and a firefly’s lovechild. It flirts with Tacoma and gives them a generous discount. Quinn teases him about it all the way back to the hotel, chewing on some of the tangy orbs that came in a bag none of them can read.
Rebecca is sleeping in the nest. Carl and Donnie are standing in the bathroom, the door ajar, steam wafting up through the vents and the tub draining from a bath. Carl is drying Donnie’s hair with a striped towel. Donnie is staring at the floor.
Everyone gathers around for the food, Rebecca yowling as Tacoma gently nudges her awake.
“Peanut butter?” Tacoma suggests, passing around a cup of greenish paste.
“This is spicy-sweet. Sweet-spicy.” Rebecca sticks out her tongue, which has turned blue from the bread-like substance.
“Chicken!” Quinn grins, cramming a chunk of purple meat into his mouth. “Even a’ the end of th’ universe, blessed, blessed chicken wins out.”
Donnie says nothing. He huddles at the edge of the nest of blankets, picks at the food with a three-pronged fork-like tool.
“Eat something, mine friend,” Carl encourages, passing Donnie a rose-colored slice of bread.
Donnie picks at the bread.
“Schnell,” there’s a hard edge to Carl’s tone now.
Donnie speeds up a bit.
The food is gone all too soon, as are the creamy non-alcoholic beverages. Then comes the awkward realization that usually, this is the point when Donnie curls up between Tacoma and Rebecca, and Carl and Quinn huddle somewhere nearby, and they all go to sleep.
After several long minutes of silence, Tacoma speaks up.
“Donnie, if you don’t … whatever you’re comfortable with, we …”
“I understand.” Donnie scoots towards the wall. “The rest of you take the bed. I’ll stay over here.”
“Donnie! What -” Rebecca starts, but he interrupts.
“None of you want to touch me, right?! Look at me?! I get it. I’m … just let me go to sleep, ok?” Donnie wraps his arms around himself and closes his eyes.
They all look at each other, mixtures of confusion and horror on their faces.
“Donnie, we were giving you space -”
“I don’t want space!” Donnie yells, suddenly, glaring at them all. “All my life, there’s been space between me and everyone else. The people on sets who didn’t want to get fired for hugging me and ‘being inappropriate.’ My … my mother.” Donnie takes a deep breath. “My wife can barely stand to be at the same dinners as me. And now when I finally … finally found … finally had … just because some hentai thing … and I wanted … I wanted …” Donnie’s voice cracks, his eyes water, and then he’s crying, hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing.
Nobody’s sure who goes over first. Rebecca and Tacoma crawl over, hug Donnie between them, and they’ve slept like that so often it feels natural now, like they’re puzzle pieces sliding together. Carl and Quinn join in as well, and it should be crowded, it should feel claustrophobic awkward, but it doesn’t.
“Tell us what you need, Donnie,” Rebecca urges.
“We’re here for you,” Tacoma adds, squeezing Donnie’s shoulders.
“Ja,” Carl murmurs.
“Don’t ya dare count me out,” Quinn cautions.
A tense silence envelopes the room.
“You’ll leave me.” Donnie whispers, so soft that it’s only their incredibly close proximity that lets them hear him. “If I tell you, you’ll leave me. I don’t want any of you to leave me. I don’t ever want to be alone. For years I … I was so alone, and so angry, and lonely, and I drank and it was terrible and …” he sighs. “Promise you’ll stay?”
“None of us are leaving you Donnie.” Rebecca swears. “Not ever.”
“And if something rips us away, we’ll never stop trying to get back to you.” Tacoma promises.
“You vorry so much, mine friend. Let us do ze vorrying for a vile.”
Donnie takes a deep breath. “Ok. I … I want … all of you.”
There’s a pause.
“When you say, ‘want,’ do you mean -”
“Donnie, after today, is that -”
“I wanted that too!” Donnie snaps. “I was scared at first, and at the end, but in the middle … it felt so good. It was all over me, it, it loved me. It wanted every inch of me, it had me again and again and I didn’t want it to stop.” His voice cracks again, and he gulps, steadying himself. “I felt so … loved. How fucked-up is that, am I right?” he laughs, but it sounds harsh, bitter.
They pull away slightly, Tacoma and Rebecca still clinging to Donnie, everyone giving each other a little bit of breathing room.
“Fuck it,” Rebecca says, leaning forward, but Tacoma has beaten her there, surprised Donnie with a kiss that lasts long enough for Rebecca to push Tacoma away with impatience and claim Donnie’s mouth herself.
Carl, meanwhile, is fiddling with Donnie’s belt and zipper. “Evidently, all you had to do vaz ask, mine friend,” Carl smirks as Rebecca pulls away, letting Donnie stare forward at Carl in shock.
“You … you all …” Donnie blinks.
“Ya seen yerself?” Quinn asks, kicking off his boots and pulling Donnie’s pants down. “It’d take a special sort a’ eejit ta not want ya.”
“Unless they were a lesbian!” Rebecca points out, tugging Donnie’s shirt off.
“I think zhat some of zos frauleins vould consider exceptions to be making.” Carl’s tone is solemn but his mouth twitches with laughter.
Most of them laugh, but Donnie yelps as he’s stripped completely and half dragged, half carried over to the nest-bed.
“So, what do you want?” Rebecca asks, trailing a finger down Donnie’s half-hard cock.
Donnie blushes, and the flush spreads all over his pale skin, to the amusement of them all.
“I want to be stuffed. I want to feel all of you.”
Tacoma gulps. Carl grins. Quinn cracks his knuckles. Rebecca looks determined.
“Well, open up and put that gob o’ yers ta good use,” Quinn challenges, grabbing Donnie by the shoulders and hauling him over.
“Shall ve flip a coin?” Carl asks Tacoma, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah, I’ll get him ready for you.” Tacoma pulls off his shirt.
“Unt perhaps later ve can try … together?”
Donnie moans. “You’re killing me already!”
“Less talk, more … ah … ahhhh … ya fuckin’ … oooooh …”
Rebecca smirks. “Told ya he was good at that,” she slides down and wraps her hand around Donnie’s cock, teasing and stroking. “Let’s see how long you can hold out, Mr. Director.”
Donnie shudders, eyelids fluttering beautifully.
~*~
It’s a long time before any of them get to sleep, but when they do, tangled up underneath some of the blankets, using each other as pillows in some cases, wanting showers but too lazy and relaxed to go and take one, Donnie laughs softly to himself.
“What?” Tacoma asks. “Don’t tell me you’re up for another round, because some of us are mere mortals and can’t keep up with your crazy-ass refractory period.”
“No, it’s not that.” Donnie grins, teeth glinting. “I have an idea for a new script.”