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Inspired by Donathan's art over on Tumblr- please go and follow them here! They are so funny and sweet and every time they post a new work I about keel over and die.
Gifted to buthowboutno, who has just a mountain of work that I am constantly drooling over. Seriously, go and read their fics.
Benny’s was basically a national treasure between you and your team at this point, and though it was in the ass end of Queens, you and Donatello opted to hoof it- not wanting to converse with Leo just yet to ask him to make a portal. Once your legs stopped feeling like jelly you sprinted along the rooftops, not quite keeping pace with the purple banded turtle but still agile nonetheless. Once you had gone several blocks from Hun’s corpse and the encroaching clean up crew, you both slowed, slipping down to the sidewalk and keeping to the shadows and alleyways.
There was silence between the two of you now, not particularly awkward but certainly stagnant. That line that had always been toed but never crossed had finally disappeared, and with its exit you had to wonder if the two of you were ever going to be the same. You were the leader of this crew, but part of what had always held you back from leaping into a physical relationship with Donatello was that fact in itself. It was a conflict of interest, to be sure- not that you demanded professionalism from your team but sleeping with a subordinate didn’t have the best optics. Besides that, the softshell was snarky and serious, and you carried an air of playful casualness- though you always straightened up and buckled down when it came down to the serious shit.
But the temptation had been building for months now. Or perhaps, if you were honest with yourself, it had been years. The way the two of you constantly seemed to be at each others necks a thin veil for the desire that coursed through each of you. Needling one another when all the while your eyes drank in the set of his jaw or the flex of his thighs, and his own gaze took in the flare of your hips and the swell of your breasts. Even now, with his back to you, you caught yourself looking up the line of his legs, the strength of his arms, the thickness of his neck.
God, you needed a fucking hobby.
You’ve been slinking along alleyways for a few blocks now, peering out behind buildings and keeping to shadows. When a police car goes flying past, you flatten yourself to a wall, and Donnie does the same.
The two of you make eye contact, and your breath catches.
“You alright?” he asks, and you don’t miss the smirk on his face.
“I’m fine, thanks,” you snap, intending to leave him in the alley, your back already pushing away from the brick.
Donnie grabs your hand, pulling you back, crowding you against the wall with his large frame, his plastron less than an inch from pressing to your chest.
“Not going to get weird on me, right?”
You frown. “No!” you say, voice full of petulance, and it makes the softshell, whose head has bent down near your ear, chuckle.
“Food and fucking still something you’re interested in, or are we supposed to pretend this didn’t happen?”
You look up at him, bottom lip sucking between your teeth. He has an air or casualness to him, but you hadn’t known him all this time not to read the subtleties in his expression. The quirk of his brow, the softening of his gaze, the question in his eyes.
He’s asking more than a simple question. More than a passing “are you okay?” He’s checking in, testing the waters, inviting you to dive into the deep end.
And you find, with only a little inspection, that you are more than willing to take the plunge. Donatello is a tactical genius, a dead shot and a killer. But he’s funny, in the moments when the two of you aren’t ready to rip each other's head off. He’s smart, too. Smarter than you or anyone you’ve ever known. And you trust him, and you know that he trusts you. Fully, implicitly and without question. There has been more than one time he’s saved your ass, and more than one time that you’ve saved him in return. And tonight, with Hun, wasn’t some fluke. The two of you worked together like a well oiled cog in a machine. You both possessed enough brains, brawns, and maniacal lunacy that together- you proved more than deadly, more than efficient. And sometimes…
Sometimes your heart clenched when you looked at him. Sometimes it would thrum an off beat staccato when his golden gaze would flick to your own. Sometimes… sometimes it was hard to breathe around Donatello, and not because he was handsome or deadly, but because…
Best not to go down that rabbit hole, though.
So as answer to his silent question, abandoning words that you could never properly articulate anyway, you take his cheeks in each of your palms and smash your lips to his.
It’s clunky, as far as first kisses go. Your teeth knock against his, a surprised mmph! huffing out from his chest.
But then he chuckles again (infuriating), and kisses you back, a hand sliding to the nape of your neck and the other grasping your hip. He guides you, slows your frenzy with a softness you did not initiate, a tenderness you don’t allow yourself to analyze. His lips are a slow push and pull and you find that it is impossible to stop the way your whole body melts into his. His hands knead in both the places they rest, and when his tongue swipes over your lower lip you shudder and open your mouth, licking against the appendage and giving a soft whine when you find that it still tastes of you.
A leg knocks against your own, pushing your knees apart, and Donatello cants his hips and raises his leg until his thigh presses against your center. You hear the involuntary whine escape your own throat again, move your hands so that they slide down to his shoulders, gripping them with your fingertips and feeling the mesh of his shirt beneath. Without any thought, any cognizance, you roll your hips.
You have never begged for anything in your life, and now you find a choked “Please,” escaping your lips, spoken into his mouth in that same whimpering whine you were unable to quell.
With that utterance, Donatello is hissing in a breath, stealing your own as he pulls back. He removes his leg (another whine- this time at the loss), and replaces it with the palm of his hand over your center.
He hisses again.
“Soaked through your jeans already?” he asks, the heel of his hand pushing against your sex, grinding up into your clit and making your head fall back onto the brick wall you lean against.
“You’d let me fuck you in this alleyway, wouldn’t you?” he growls, and the way his voice has dipped makes a tremor run through your entire body- like a jolt of electricity attached to his every utterance. “You want me to fuck you in this alley.”
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bury your face into the crook of it, nodding against him and trailing small, distracted kisses under his jaw. His hand that isn’t pressed to you, applying pressure that isn’t enough, slides up and down you back.
“Even though anyone could see you? Could see us?” he asks, adam's apple bobbing. “Even though we could be caught?”
He presses just a little harder, adds just a bit more pressure, and your knees wobble.
“I don’t care,” you rasp. “Please.”
Donatello growls, his head bending down to bite firmly on your shoulder, making you gasp and squirm against his hand. He lets out a muffled churr, his tongue laving over your shirt and wetting it, his teeth a firm press, his fingers pushing up where your core lies- wet enough now that the the dampness transfers, slicking his own hand, the heel of which still causes the lovely friction to your clit. You grind your hips into him, eyes sliding shut at the sensation, one hand on the back of his head and the other gliding down, stopping at the buckle of his belt, fumbling a bit with the clasp. He bites a bit harder, making you gasp as he presses you more firmly into the rough brick of the wall, his free hand hiking up your leg so it rests on his hip, his fingers a bruising grip into your thigh. You tug at his belt.
“Bang and bang. You’re both dead,” comes a deadpan voice, and when you jerk your head up it’s to see Leo standing right behind the two of you.
Donnie releases your shoulder from his mouth and groans, his forehead resting on your clavicle.
“Fuck off, 'Nardo.”
Leo gives a little laugh, shaking his head.
“No can do, Hermano. You two either let me portal you to base, or portal you to Benny’s.” Leo gives you both a narrowed look. “What are you, fucking teenagers? Get it together, this is so dangerous.”
Not for the last time, you let a whine escape your lips, this time in frustration.
“Leon,” you say, voice full of annoyance. “I will shoot you.”
“Oh please let me,” Donnie murmurs, lips against the crook of your neck, his snout nuzzling into you.
“Come on!” Leo says, voice encouraging like the two of you were stray dogs he was coaxing. “Let's go, break it up and get it together!” He frowns when neither of you part. “Don’t make me portal you into the Bethesda Fountain to cool off.”
With a grunt, Donatello pulls away, removing both his hands- and the pressure they’d provided- from your body in a wash of regret.
He doesn’t turn to his brother, just keeps his eyes trained on you- surely taking in your swollen lips and blown out pupils.
“Benny’s or Base?” he asks.
Immediately, you want to say base. There is a fire in your belly that you have never felt before, a tremor of need that demands to be sated.
But you’ve got logs to fill out, and a stomach that is empty.
With a regretful sigh you say, “Benny’s.”
But Donatello only nods, understanding. He even gives you a small smile, the corners of his mouth tipping upward.
“Benny’s it is you absolute miscreants!” Leo says cheerily, and you glare at him over Donatello’s shoulder.
“Ladies first!”
Leonardo makes a portal there in the alley, bowie knife gleaming in the dark as he flicks it downward with a flourish. He gives you a little bow, a hand wiggling- motioning you to go through first.
Leo was your friend, your best friend, and more than that he was your partner. The two of you worked together in tandem, in happy and deadly synchronization. If you and Donnie were a well oiled cog in a machine, then you and Leon were the machine itself. More than once there had been a call for backup- shouted in the heat of a firefight, only for Raph, Mike, and Donnie to show up to the sight of the two of you sharing a cigarette in a field of bodies, covered in blood and laughing in the aftermath. Leo was the one who had pulled you out of murk and mire when you’d been surrounded in Bishops lab, and it had been you who had stealthed your way into Big Mama’s arena to yank him out of a Battle Nexus circuit when he’d been given nothing but a wooden sword and a shield. You’d been the first one to meet Usagi, the first one he’d called and told about the Rabbit Yokai- voice excited at 3am when he insisted that this was different, this was love .
You even had a matching pin-up tattoo with the asshole- the Bettie Page lookalike on your left arm holding an old machine gun- tits akimbo as she blew a kiss.
So when your best friend and partner motioned you through the portal, and you gave him that little “you interrupted and I’ll kill you” glare, you noticed all the things that someone else might not. The way his eyes had gone serious for just a fraction of a second, the way his own gaze held a levity. The way that his hand- with its wiggling fingers- was a sign that the two of you had established in your years working together. A sign for you to wait. To go through the portal and wait, and listen.
You step through the portal with a little nod.
You wait.
You listen.
Donatello is only a stride behind you, eyes never leaving the sway of your ass, when Leo’s hand stops him in his tracks, fingers splaying over his upper plastron and holding him back firmly.
“Hold up,” Leo says, head tilting to the side, and Donatello knows immediately where this is heading.
“Can we not do this?” he snaps, already resigned to the impending conversation but abhorrent to it all the same.
He already knows. Leo doesn’t have to say anything, Donnie already knows.
“This is the last time I think we’re going to be able to have this conversation, so no, you aren’t getting out of it,” Leo replies, predictably.
Donnie frowns.
“What do you want me to say? I already know. I know it’s fucking stupid, okay!”
Leo sighs and shakes his head, the blue of his portal reflecting all the little micro-expressions Donnie might have otherwise missed. The irritation and worry and tiredness. It’s all there, basking in cyan fluorescence.
“You’ve gotta tell her,” Leo says with a sigh. “Before you take it further, you’ve gotta tell her.”
If possible, Donatello’s frown deepens. “How!” he snaps. “With what? A letter, Leo? A fucking email? How exactly am I supposed to say that-”
“Words, man!” Leo cuts him off, face morphing into frustration. He throws hands into the air- his bowie knife a punctuation of his words. “Fucking just tell her! That’s my best friend!”
“And I’m your brother,” Donnie hisses.
“You know, the whole reason I’ve kept my mouth shut is because of that- so maybe watch what you’re implying.”
The two of them glare at one another, and though he’s a few inches taller, Donnie is the first to deflate.
“I know,” he mumbles.
After a moment, Leo relaxes too.
“It’s really not as hard as you’re making it seem,” Leo says, wiping a hand over his tired face. “Just tell her. But don’t… don’t fuck her and then mention it.”
“I wouldn’t-” Donnie begins, but Leo is raising a brow ridge at him, cutting him off.
“Yeah? So I was imagining that clamp, huh?”
Donatello groans.
“That's what I thought,” Leo breathes. “Listen, as much as I’d like another Hamato in the clan, you’ve gotta have this conversation. It’s been three fucking years, man.”
Donnie shrinks a little at the statement. It had been three years. And instead of doing anything about it, he’d gone out of his way to annoy the absolute shit out of you- like some horrible trope where the schoolyard bully only teases the girl in pigtails because he has a secret crush.
Which, yeah. Not far off.
Fuck he was a mess.
“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t leave a mark, you know,” Donnie mumbles, and again Leo’s eye ridge raises.
“You have no idea the temptation, “ he intones.
Donnie scowls at his brother. “I’ve had sex and it’s never been an issue,” he snaps.
“Oh? With someone you love then?”
And that’s the issue, isn’t it? He’s been attracted to you since all this started four years ago, standing in the sewers and vowing to never let an enemy try to rip them apart ever again. Vowing to do whatever it took to keep the clan safe, to keep the city safe. Four years since joining your team, four years of late night stake outs and moving as a unit under the cover of darkness.
And one year of casual, passive attraction had led to an additional three years of absolute pining. Three years of wanting you, three years of seeing your face in every woman he fucked.
Three years since you’d yanked him off a fucking landmine in Bolivia, his face getting scorched to all hell, your hand gripping his own and repelling him to safety.
“I told you to leave me!” he’d shouted.
And your own angry shout of, “I will never leave you behind you jackass! We’re a fucking team!”
Three years of longing. Of snarky remarks and lingering gazes and heavy lidded eyes that challenged for more.
Three years of loving you. Three years of resolve to keep you at arms length. Keep you out of the disaster that was him- his life and his hang ups and his issues.
And one night of weakness. One night of playful banter and a stupid bet.
One night and he was going to say fuck it, and burry himself between your legs. Fuck you until you couldn’t walk, couldn’t speak.
And Leo is right. The temptation was already there. The temptation to clamp down on that spot where your shoulder and neck met and bite down hard enough to draw blood, to leave a lasting mark that signified…
It signified a lot. More than just love and possession.
It signified union.
And with it came every perk of being a Hamato.
Part of Donatello would like to panic and tell Leo to portal him straight to Tahiti. He could start a new life and not have to worry about a pseudo-marriage he might enact if, in the heat of the moment, he marked you.
But he knows he’s in too deep. He’d never leave you behind, after all.
“I’m fucked,” he breathes, and goddamnit he needs a cigarette.
Leo had the sheer audacity to chuckle, and for a wild moment Donnie thinks of punching him in his stupid jaw.
“Here,” Leo begins, sheathing his knife and taking out his own crumpled pack of smokes, “don’t say I never gave you anything.”
Donatello takes one, thankful his brother smokes menthols and not full flavor like Raph, lighting it with his own silver zippo, the sound of if clicking open and shut echoing through the empty alleyway. Leo takes one too, leaning forward and letting Donnie light it for him.
“This would all be a lot easier,” Donnie said on an exhale of smoke, “if you’d just tell me if she’s ever said anything to you.”
Leo’s lips scrunch to the side. “I would never violate the bro code,” he says seriously.
“I am your actual brother, you know that right?”
Leo gives an exaggerated shrug. “That’s my homie. You gotta look out for the homies.”
Donatello throws him an annoyed grimace. Fucking bro code. Donnie should be a part of the fucking bro code, damnit.
They stand in silence, Leo pensive and Donnie lost in thought. How was he even going to explain this to you? Hey, I’ve been fucking wild about you for three years now. No big deal or anything. Yeah, crazy right? Just absolutely batshit in love with you. Also! No biggie! But, I really want to bite you, and if I clamp down a little too hard you’ll basically be married to me. Right? Haha, so funny.
The cringe this thought causes makes its way to his face, his head shaking as if to rid his brain of the awful imagery that followed.
“You know,” Leo begins, pausing to take a long drag, “I’m sure if you just tell her, it won’t be as bad as whatever you’re thinking in that oversized head of yours.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true.”
“Yeah? Run it by me then.”
Donnie flicks ash, glowering at the asphalt below him.
“Hey, so, funny thing-”
“Great start,” Leo says. “Women love jokes. Go on.”
“Uh… I’m in love with you.”
Leo gives a sage nod. “Coming off strong right off the bat, got it.”
“And, uh… I’ve been? In love with you? For? For three years?”
“Beautiful. Heartfelt. Amazing.”
“And I know I act like I hate you… But I don’t,” Donnie bites his lip, eyes squinting at how fucking stupid this sounds.
“Yes, eloquence! The word play! The drama!”
“And also… Also…”
He trails, looking wide eyed at Leo.
“Also?” his brother encourages.
Donatello groans. “Also, I know that you probably only want to have sex, no strings attached, but if I bite you, our clan’s mystic mumbo-jumbo will make it so you have a link to me forever, and we’ll basically be- uh… married?”
Leo waits a beat, then nods. “Yeah, that’s pretty fuckin’ rough, Dee.”
“You’re the worst fucking brother.”
“Maybe workshop it? A little less, hey funny thing, and a little more heartfelt passion?”
Cigarette finished, Donnie flicks it out into the empty alley.
“You’re a paragon of helpful advice. Remind me to beat the shit out of you later.”
Leo snorts, “As if you could! Ready to go?!”
Leo is moving in front of him, a leg stepping through the portal, and Donnie gives him an inquiring look.
“...Yes?”
“Great!” Leo exclaims, his voice louder than it would ever need to be. “Let's go through the portal now, Donatello!”
Donatello’s eyes narrow.
“Ooookay ?”
He follows his brother into the familiar back entrance to Benny’s, and already he can guess what Leo has done.
The back door is still swinging closed, a misplacement of gravel where a fast footfall has skid in its haste to depart.
And the alley still smells like you. Smells like the wetness between your legs and gunpowder and the faint traces of your shampoo.
“Leon… what the fuck did you do.”
You make it to the back table, a rushed hello to Benny as you rocket into the booth that is reserved at all times for you and your crew, before Leo and Don can make it through the door.
You’ve got your notepad out, scribbling over the lines of it, nose nearly pressed to the paper in an attempt to look wholly absorbed. You will your heart to calm, to stop the incredible fast beat behind your chest from having learned so much.
You look up as they approach, smiling and pushing up your glasses.
“Hey! Took you two long enough!” You exclaim, voice pitching oddly and cracking halfway through.
Leo bares his teeth in that tell-tale look of yikes, and says, “Yeah! We had a smoke!”
Jesus god, how in the ever loving fuck were the two of you part of a counter-terrorism operation?
Behind his brother, Donatello rolls his eyes.
“Here, let's go over the DOPE,” you say to the softshell, patting the seat next to you, not missing the way he hesitates.
“I won’t bite!” you tell him, and halfway through what was meant to be a reassuring sentiment, you find yourself floundering. “Uh… I mean…”
You can only give an awkward laugh, too loud and too forced. But Donnie sighs and slides into the booth next to you, Leo seating himself across from you both.
“You wrote- Hun is deceased what the fuck, and a bunch of squiggles,” Donatello says, leaning over to read your hasty writing. “And you spelled deceased wrong.”
He arches a brow at you. “Hard at work?”
“Very hard, yes.” You pause, assess, then add. “At work, I mean. I am hard at work.”
Leo groans. “This is actually torture.”
You throw him a scathing look. “I will stab you with your own knife.”
You’re saved from whatever awkwardness might arise by Benny himself, bright eyed and welcoming, happily greeting the three of you.
“It’s always good to see my favorite customers!” he says jovially. “The usual? Or are we having breakfast?”
“The usual for me,” you say, and next to you Donnie nods.
“Ooooh, I’ll take a waffle!” Leo says. “And a pot of coffee, too.”
“Should I put in an order for Mike and Raph?” he asks, and Leo shakes his head.
“They’re still working, Ben. But can you please add a to-go omelet?”
“One cheese omelet for Usagi- you got it!” Benny says with a wink, and Leo gives a smile at his retreating form.
“Do you think he’d adopt me?” Leo asks, and you know that it’s only a half joke.
“Twenty-seven year old seeks new father figure, accepting applications. That checks out,” you say with a grin.
“I’ll add him to my will. Give him half of everything. Other half goes to that guy in Mexico who made the tamales. Don’t tell ‘Sagi- he’ll be left penniless.”
You smirk. “I’ll tell him before you change your will. He’ll make your death look like an accident and claim the insurance money.”
Leo gave a shrug. “He looks great in black, he’ll be a stunning widower.”
The two of you fill the air with conversation, occasionally adding to your notebook.
“I already have this logged,” Donnie complains. “Why do you insist on writing things down like a cave person?”
“My family are all proud cave folk,” you insist. “Be thankful I left the chisel and stone back with my Ma and Pa.”
When your burger arrives, prepared the way you like along with a heaping side of fries and a strawberry shake, you nearly inhale the meal. You’d been stuck on that rooftop for over six hours, and the only thing you’d been able to eat was a stale granola bar.
The quiet gives you time to think, though, and while you’ve been having a mental screech the last half hour, now your mind seems to insist on analyzing. Processing.
Three years.
That’s the first matter to address, you decide. Because as soon as you get Donatello alone, you are going to absolutely smack the shit out of him.
Three years? You’d wanted to fuck Donnie a long time, but not three years!
And though your mind had toyed with the idea of just flat out telling him that you had maybe caught feelings, he’d felt this way for three fucking goddamned years.
You shove fries in your mouth and throw him a glare, one he doesn’t see- his gaze pointedly avoiding your own.
Because you are still you, and you’re unable to be any other way, you make a mental checklist.
- Smack the shit out of Donnie once you get to base
- Have a shower and maybe smoke a joint
- Find Donnie and smack the shit out of him again
- Tell Donatello he’s is still supposed to fuck you
- Smack him again, probably, for being such an asshole
- Tell Donatello that under no circumstances is he to fucking bite you until you’ve been dating for a long period of time
- Length of dating period until possible bite unforeseen
You hum at the list, sipping the shake and deeming it acceptable, going over all the things you’re going to say to the turtle next to you- most of them involving cursing his ancestors for allowing someone so smart to act so stupid.
This bitch was a MENSA member. He had an IQ in the American top three percent. How was it possible he could be this dumb?!
He shifts next to you, and on inspection you notice a few things at once. How his knees point away from you. How his neck and cheeks are tinted pink. How he keeps huffing- whether he realized it or not- and throwing annoyed looks across the table at his brother (which Leo simply ignored, wiggling happily in his seat over his waffle).
Deciding that, as annoyed with him as you were, you certainly weren't suddenly uninterested. In fact- knowing that he had feelings, and that those feelings were apparently stronger than your own currently were, bolstered you. They made you feel more on even footing.
Hoping it alleviates some of his nerves, you hook your ankle under his, pulling his leg flush against your own.
Donatello pauses midway through a bite of his burger, eyes cutting over to you, and you roll your own and knock your shoulder into his.
All at once he exhales, as though he’d been holding some great breath, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension seems to leave them. He leans into you, and the two of you share a small smile.
When you look at Leo, he’s smirking.
As soon as you step through the portal and into the main hall of base, you turn and smack Donatello, open handed and firm, on his bicep.
“Hey!”
Smack the shit out of Donnie once you get to base
Leo snorts and shoulders past the two of you, swinging his carryout as he walks, headed off to his quarters where you are sure Usagi is still sleeping.
You raise a brow at Donnie.
“I’m taking a shower,” you tell him, hands on hips. “And then I will meet you in your room. Got it?”
Donatello frowns.
“Fine,” he grunts, stalking off, feet stomping as he goes.
“You’re a little baby!” you call after him, seeing him disappear around a corner.
You cross off having a shower from your list, standing under the hot spray and viewing it as a sort of rebirth- feeling a sense of clarity wash over you, but you decide against the joint. Instead you take a few hits off your vape and wish you’d thought to ask Leo for a spare smoke (Donnie was right, the bastard- they did hit differently).
You throw on panties (cute purple ones because you're about to get laid and you’re pretty sure Donnie is a masochist), and haul on your rattiest gray sweats and an enormous t-shirt that nearly reaches your knees (and a little perfume because, again, masochist).
No one is about to see you trek across base to Donatello’s room, knocking and stepping through the sliding door.
You’re surprised to see that the softshell has not taken a shower of his own- nor has he changed out of his gear. Instead he is pacing the length of his room, barefoot and a cigarette between his lips.
“Hi,” you say, and he throws a look in your direction before grunting back at you.
Thinking of your list, you walk straight to him and smack his arm again. You add a little punch, knuckles digging into his collar bone.
Find Donnie and smack the shit out of him again
“Okay, ow.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” you tell him.
“I’m not being a baby!”
You smack his arm again.
“You, Mr. Hamato,” you jab your finger into his side, making him yelp, “are a Grade A man-child!”
Donatello frowns at you.
“I am not!”
“I am not,” you mimic. “Listen to you!” Another jab with your finger, this time to his neck. “You’re such a fucking baby!”
“Why?!” Donnie growls, flapping your hand away. “Because Leo let you hear something private?!”
You glare up at the turtle, and then poke him again.
“Don’t you,” another poke, “dare,” you pinch his forearm and he yelps, “bring your brother into this, you child!”
You finish your sentence by giving him a little shove.
“If you just wanted to abuse me,” (you roll your eyes and mouth the work baby at him), “then why even bother showing up?!”
“That right there,” you say, pointing at him accusingly. “Deflection! You’re in love with me!”
You both stand there, glaring, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flash with momentary anxiety.
You jab a finger into his side one last time, causing him to jump.
“Listen… I know this isn’t exactly the way you wanted me to… find out.”
Donnie snorts, taking time now to stamp his cigarette into an ashtray at his nearby desk, his hand twitching as though he might like to light another.
“No kidding,” he mutters.
“But! But,” you press your lips together, your hands fiddling with your vape- which you took from your pocket. “I also… have feelings. I don’t… I don’t think it’s love. Maybe like… like half in love? We- uh- we fight too much for me to feel that, exactly.”
You take a hit off the vape again, wishing you’d planned out more exactly what you wanted to say, hating how off-the-cuff the conversation was, how nervous your voice sounded.
“Can we… Try the whole getting along thing?” you ask, making tentative eye contact with the turtle who loomed before you.
Donnie nods. “Yeah… you… You drive me a little crazy.” He rubs the back of his neck- looking vaguely embarrassed. “I- uh- I could probably be less of an asshole.”
You nod. “Me too, you know. It’s easy to press your buttons. Get you irritated. But… but when we aren’t fighting…”
You trail off, aware now of how impossibly close Donatello stands, something like hope in his eyes.
“Half in love?” he asks after a beat of silence, and you clock the way he’s leaned closer.
Biting your lip, you nod. “Give me some time to get the rest of the way? Okay?”
Donnie nods. “I can work with half,” he assures, a whisper of a smile ticking the corners of his lips.
You set the vape on his desk, aware that your hand shakes and knowing he also has seen the motion. You give a moment of hesitation then reach up to trail your fingers in a feather-light touch over his upper plastron.
“One last thing,” you breathe, taking in the way his eyes narrow like you’re prey.
“If you fucking mark me, I’ll shoot your kneecaps.”
Donnie exhales a warbling laugh. “Deal.”
His lips crash into your own, a muffled hum coming from both of you, your hands slinking around his neck and pulling him close. The kiss is frenzied and Donatello tastes of menthol, his tongue licking into you. You hear his throaty chuckle when you hoist both your legs to wrap around his torso, his chest vibrating against your own and his hands catching you by the thighs- fingertips digging into flesh. He seems happy to no longer have to lean down to kiss you though, one hand coming up to tangle in your still wet hair, the other still gripping your thigh in a firm press. Then he detaches, leaving a wet trail of kisses from your chin across your jaw line, pushing against the side of your head with a thumb to expose your neck, licking a stripe up it.
His teeth graze over the spot, and you give a trembling warning.
“Donnie.”
The softshell has the audacity to chuckle in your ear.
“I won’t break skin,” he promises with a rasp, taking long strides to the back of his room, where his bed sits against a wall.
He gives you a gentle toss, laughing when your ass bounced on the mattress. Then you watch as he undresses, unclipping the shoulder rig and sliding it to the floor with a gentle bend of his waist- Berettas clacking loudly against the stone floor. Then goes his black t-shirt, his biceps shifting in an easy flex as he whips it over his head.
When his hands move to his belt, you slide to the end of the bed, lightly slapping them away to take over.
“Pushy,” he teases.
But as you unbuckle his belt, making sure to give a heavy lidded gaze up the line of his body to make eye contact, the light of humor leaves his expression, his pupils blown wide as he watches you unbutton his pants.
You press a kiss just above his pant-line, hear him suck in a breath as you unzip his pants, your knuckles a slow drag over his plastron.
The weight of the pants- lined with gear and hidden weapons, has them falling to ground, pooling at his feet and leaving him before you in only black compression shorts. You hook your thumbs under the bottoms of them, skimming them over his thighs.
“Can I?” you ask, giving the shorts a tug.
Donatello huffs a breath. “You don’t ever have to ask,” he assures, and you grin up at him before pulling down the shorts.
You may have known Donnie for a long time, and you may understand the basics of turtle sex (Leo had drunkenly explained one night how it all worked- laughing at your red face), but that didn’t make any of this less foreign. Still, you were unsurprised by the weeping slit that was slick with a musky wetness between his legs. What you hadn’t accounted for was the tail.
It gave a little wag when you zeroed on it.
Donatello stepped out of his clothing, kicking the pants/shorts combo across the room.
“As much as I like you looking at me like that,” he rasped, before reaching down and taking one of your hands, “if you don’t touch me I might lose it.”
He rests your hand over his tail, sucking in a little breath when you grasp it. It seems to curl into your palm, and with curiosity you run your thumb over the underside of it. A glance upward and you see Donnie watching you with dark eyes, his bottom lip sucked into his teeth and biting down.
“Like that?”
He nods.
You lean your head forward a bit, clear in your intention and opening your mouth- tongue lolling out and hovering over his slit. You send him another wordless question, and Donnie nods again.
He tasted a bit like you might, the slickness seeming to cling to your tongue, bland except for that hint of musk. Your other hand- the one not occupied by stroking his tail- spreads his slit a bit, causing him to grunt. His hands rest on your shoulders, chin to his chest as he watches you.
Another lick, this time further inside, revealing a touch of pink flesh that was hidden away, more liquid dripping from his center and sliding down your chin and over his thighs.
Above you, Donatello gives a little hum of pleasure, which turns into a gasp when a finger slides into him. Again, you are reminded of your own body's mechanics, his sheath as soft and pliant as your own core, and rubbing along his inner walls brings out similar sounds from him. Grunts and cut off moans, little panting breaths when you add another finger, your tongue swirling over him- licking around your finger and up the line of his slit.
His hands push gently at your shoulders after a bit, and you pull back, looking up at him with eyes you know are glazed with lust.
He brings a thumb to your chin, touching the wetness that has coated it and runs down your neck.
“Look at you,” he breathes, then he’s leaning down and catching your lips in a sloppy kiss, following as you move to the middle of his bed- the mattress dipping at his added weight. His tongue runs up your neck to your lips, licking you clean, sucking little marks into the line of your neck- his teeth once again grazing against you with the faintest of pressure. A hand skits under your shirt, palming a bare breast and squeezing, drawing a whimper from you.
You can only hold on to his arms, useless as your mind reacts to his touch.
“You’re so sensitive,” he says, voice low in your ear. Your shoulders lay back on the mattress, and Donnie lifts your shirt and exposes your chest. He leans down and flicks his tongue over your already hardened nipple, and you suck in a breath.
He gives you a little half grin, repeating the action and causing the same reaction. His fingers skim over your side, making you shudder in pleasure. They dig into your hip in a firm press, and you buck up into nothing.
“You make me crazy,” he mutters, leaving a line of kisses down your body, his tongue dipping into your navel, nipping at your hips that try again to rock into him. When he undoes the ties to your sweats you sit up enough to tear off your shirt and throw it to the floor, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him into a frenzied kiss before flopping back down.
“Lift,” he tells you, tugging at your pants, and you raise your hips and let him slide them off of you.
You are left now only in the purple underwear, and your mind short circuits as you watch the hungry look that enters his eyes.
His fingers trail over the lace, skimming over your center.
Then he’s dipping down and kissing the expanse of skin that surrounds the panties, his lips trailing over the elastic, his tongue sometimes dipping under the fabric.
Your legs are spread wide, his finger hooking under the elastic to pull the cloth to the side and reveal your weeping cunt. In an act of near tenderness that is marred by the depravity of it all, he leans down and kisses over your clit, then repeats the action over your core.
Your moan is loud, echoing off the walls of his room. He’s kissing you between your legs like he'd kissed your lips, tongue laving over slick skin, jaw working as he presses his mouth into you. You arch your back when his tongue slips past your folds and curls up into you.
“Fuck,” you whine.
He chuckles, sending a vibration through your whole body.
His tongue works faster now, firmly pushing further into you, licking up to the bundle of nerves that makes you hook your ankles over his shoulders, tremors running up your legs.
Donnie pulls back with a little growl.
“Sensitive,” he rasps, licking a line up to your clit and making your whole body jerk. “You’re so fucking sensitive.”
He says it in a reverent way, like the way your limbs already shook was a gift.
Donatello gives a last kiss over your clit, churring at the way you gasp. Then he is looming over you, your legs falling open. A glance down, and he’s already dropped.
“I wanted to watch you drop!” you say with a pout.
He catches your lips in another kiss, a hand pressed to the side of your face while the other fiddles with the lace of your panties. A thumb tracks over your cheek, the kiss deepening, stealing your breath with the emotion behind it.
It was the kind of kiss someone gave to a person they loved.
When he pulled away you chased his lips, leaving longing little pecks across his snout.
Curious now, you sit up, pushing at his chest, your legs crossing under you. He wears a look of momentary confusion until he follows your gaze.
His cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching at your inspection of it. It isn’t quite as other as you had imagined it might be, but it certainly isn’t human, either. The tip is a thick spade shape, split in four like a flower and a darkening of purple that turned to a bright and flesh toned pink. The shaft went thicker in the middle, and on the underside was a bulge of muscle.
“That,” you begin, “is not going to fit.”
Donnie snorts a laugh.
“It’s not that long,” he says, and you raise a brow high.
“Dee, I am not talking about length. That is as wide as a fucking pop can.”
He chuckles, a low sound in the back of his throat, and you toy with the idea of smacking him.
Instead you reach out a hand, fingertips dancing over his tip, which immediately has him cutting off his laughter in favor of a little moan.
“It’s… It’s not as wide to start,” he says, voice graveled in lust. “I’ll- fuck - I’ll go slow.”
His words, stuttered as you ran your hand up and down his cock, have you clenching your thighs together. His face presses into the crook of your neck, softly nipping at your skin.
“I’ll go slow,” he repeats, hands pulling you at the waist. With one deft tug your panties are removed, thrown over his shoulder to rest precariously at the edge of the bed. Then he is in your space, and you are forced to wrap your legs around him, his cock tipping up and sliding over your belly.
He lays you down, hovering over you once more, leaning back and sliding his length over your slick folds, the texture of him sending sparks of need with every back and forth of his hips. You roll your hips in time with his own, and your clit throbs at every slide, leaving you with shallow breaths. The sheets below you twist into your hands.
Then he is leaned back onto his knees, lining himself to your core, his cheeks a reddish hue.
“I’ll go slow,” he assures again, and with your nod he begins his descent.
His gold eyes are nearly black with how blown his pupils have gone, and he holds your gaze as he pushes into you.
Biting your lip, you prop yourself on elbows, looking down the line of your body to watch as he pushed a bit further in.
“Still good?” he asks, and his voice is a wreck.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter, gasping as he cants his hips, another inch disappearing inside you.
He stops just before that bulge of muscle that widens him out, sliding out of you and then back in at a slow pace; once, twice, three times. Your elbows buckle, hands fisting back into the sheets.
“Fuck,” you whimper, eyes sliding shut. “You… fuck you feel so good.”
Donnie churrs at your words. “Yeah?” he asks, his hands squeezing at your hips. One hand slides up, a thumbs pressing down on your clit. “Cum just like this for me.”
All the air leaves your chest at his words, your back arching. He keeps that slow pace, his thumb running steady circles over your clit, churring as you fill his room with breathy moans.
You can feel how hot your face has gone, can feel the way your legs have begun to shake.
“I…Donnie I-” your words are cut off as an orgasm washes over you, like a slow wave that crashes over you at the same pace as Donatello’s languid movements.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he says, and his voice sounds far away with the ringing in your ears. “God, just like that. Just like that.”
His coaxing voice only seems to take you higher, a little scream rushing between your lips, your toes curling as you clench around him.
“Fuck, you look so fucking good like this,” he breaths, back to holding both his hands on your hips in a firm grip. You can’t help but smile a little when you open your eyes, meeting his gaze in a wash of happy aftermath.
Then he’s pressing again, the bulge of muscle stretching you and making you whine.
“Dee.. Oh fuck!”
He pulls back, then presses forward once more, pushing into you deeper now.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he moans, stretching you further, and when your legs go to wrap around him he takes each one by the calves and pushes them wide, holding them open.
Each stroke has him deeper inside you, spreading you with a twinge of painless burning that makes you feel impossibly full and with the knowledge that you’ll be sore for days after this.
When he is finally fully inside you he pauses, watching as you writhe under him.
“Move, Dee. Please- fuck- please move.”
He doesn’t, just looks at you with eyes that are full of sudden emotion. You take a shuddering breath, cognizant of the way you tremble.
“Dee, it’s okay. It’s okay, I know. I know.”
He’s blinking at you, like he’d not meant to be so open with his expression.
Then he’s moving again, at that same slow pace, the slickness between you making squelches of sound. Each time that thick end of him slides into you, you gasp, clenching around him.
“I love you so much,” and he says it on a firm thrust, his mouth mimicking your own and dropping open.
“Dee… Dee I’m so close.”
He nods at you.
“I know… Shhh, I know. Fuck… fuck you feel so good. I’m going to fuck you like this all day, you know that? I’ll go as slow as you need me to.”
The double meaning of his words is not lost on you, but you are far gone now- unable to do more than moan and gasp.
Then you’re clenching around him again, his full length and width halting inside you, rocking into you as you climax. You barely register his words, the little “That’s it,” that repeats.
You choke out a sob when he moves again, now just a bit more forceful, a bit faster.
“Donnie!”
You shout his name, and he releases your legs so that they can finally wrap around him, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. He kisses your cheek, holds you close to him, and when your hands wrap around his shoulders and press into the leathery upper lip of his shell, he pants into your neck.
“Careful,” he cautions, and you can only nod, your head knocking lightly into his jaw.
You cling to each other as he moves, finding his lips in a kiss that does not end when he grinds himself into you, making you gasp into his mouth.
“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he groans, and again you can only nod, tears springing into the corners of his eyes.
“D-d-don’t stop,” you stutter, realizing that your whole body shakes now.
Donnie licks a stripe up your neck, his mouth hovering over the place where it and your shoulder meet.
“I won’t mark you,” he promises, before biting down, his teeth a firm press.
As soon as he clamps down, just a shade of pressure away from breaking skin, stars explode behind your eyes, and your vision whites out. You peak impossibly long, hips bucking erratically under you, and later you’ll realize that the sound you’d heard was your own scream.
Thank god for sound proofed walls.
You come too when Donnie releases your shoulder from his mouth, a regretful whine issuing from his throat - as though he wanted nothing more than to go back on his promise.
Part of you wanted him to.
When he leaves you, his cock slick and resting on your hips, you give a little cry.
“Did you…” you look between the two of you and see that he is still fully erect. “Fuck, you didn’t.”
Donnie has the nerve to chuckle in your ear.
“You said at least a couple hours was to be spent fucking you before I finish,” he reminds, smiling down at your face before bringing his hand around to glance at his gauntlet. “It’s been almost forty-five minutes.”
He parts from you then, back on his knees and ignoring your groan of impatience. He grasps your hips and flips you on your belly, knocking your knees apart as you slide into an all-fours position on reflex. You feel him line up with your entrance once more.
“You can take it, love.”