Earthenwing
Donnie hated green tea.
He took a sip anyway, wishing for coffee, keeping his eyes on his cup. Mostly. In the dull fluorescence of the ceiling fixtures Donnie glanced furtively up now and then, trying not to be seen obviously hunting for clues. He didn�t find any, anyway. His father was perfectly impassive, sitting slightly askew from him at the low tea table, legs folded serenely under his robe and blunt claws spaced evenly on the fragile porcelain bowl of the cup. His father was, of course, perfectly at ease, and why shouldn�t he be? This ceremony of tea and formal briefing, long standing and apparently long suffered, was his own design. He expected Leonardo was better at it, his meetings probably didn�t seem like one long, awkward pause, but then, he�d done them since he was seven. Donnie hadn�t been trained to it.
Splinter paused, cup at chest level, and Donnie had learned over the past year that this meant he was going to say something. He waited for it, patiently.
He did not like these meetings over tea.
�Your brothers.� Master Splinter said eventually, looking at a point past Donnie instead of directly at him, as he sometimes did during these briefings. He seemed exceptionally preoccupied today, even for him, Donnie had noted with some concern. �How are they handling Leonardo�s failure to return? It seems they�hide these things from me.�
Donnie looked down at his teacup. �About as you�d expect.� He said, tone even if slightly bland. �Raph�s taking it out on everybody and himself. Him and Casey are out a lot more than he admits to, I think.� What he was doing with Casey, Donnie had no more than vague suspicions, and kept to himself. �Mikey�s pretending to be a lot more okay with it than he is. You�ve noticed that, at least.�
Splinter nodded slowly, though his son�s assessment hadn�t told him much more than he already knew. He was watching Donnie. After a long moment of awkward silence, Donnie sighed.
�They�ll be fine, if he just comes back. Well, Mikey will anyway. Raph�ll make an issue of it, I�m sure, but it�ll turn out. But he was supposed to be back three months ago. What I can�t figure out is WHY.� He said, and it actually sounded like a complaint. �I�m sure he has his reasons but�.�
Splinter�s eyes shielded immediately. �His reasons are his own. They are not a matter for discussion.� He said, and Donnie ducked his head, taking it as a chastisement whether or not it was meant as one. The meeting fell into awkward silence again. Awkward for Donnie, anyway. He watched his teacup, and pretended he didn�t know Splinter was staring at him. He knew Leo�s absence was hard on their father, too, especially now that he should have been back. That could explain his behavior tonight. He wondered if there was something he should do, something Splinter was expecting of him, but he could think of nothing. He was no good at being the first son.
Eventually, before Donatello gave and asked what was going on, his father looked away and slowly drained the rest of his tea cup, staring blankly into the center of the table. �Finish your tea, Donatello.� He said quietly, and for just a moment fidgeted with the cup, turning it in his hands and tightening his fingers on it. He�d circled the rim nervously with a claw before noticing what he was doing, and set the cup down on the table.
Donnie hesitated, frowning because some small part of his mind was aware that his father simply did not fidget, but really, it was nothing.. He drank the rest of his tea in a few quick gulps (it had cooled down by now, anyway) and reached for his father�s empty cup, planning to take both of them to the kitchen to rinse out and put away. Master Splinter reached out a hand and caught his wrist, stopping him.
�Leave them.� He said quietly. �And sit back down, Donatello.�
He�d taken himself as dismissed. Donnie settled back down, hesitantly, not sure what else his father could want to talk to him about. He could formulate possibilities, of course. Taking into account his nervousness, his distracted behavior, the way he�d been staring at him, as though trying to find the time or the nerve or the wording to bring up a subject, all unusual behaviors for the man. Adding into that behaviors he�d noticed in the lair, such as an unusual attentiveness to Donatello lately, observing him distantly when he thought he was too busy to notice him. A recent abating of the signs of a short depression Donnie had become aware of not long after Leo had failed to return. Little behaviors; Donatello�s scientific mind made up a list of possible subjects Splinter could want to talk to him about and decided he didn�t like any of them. This was probably going to be an unpleasant conversation.
The man laced his fingers for a moment, absent, fidgety, and unlaced them, looking back to his son with a faint look of appraisal. Donnie tried not to shift uncomfortably. When he�d sat back down, he�d done it to the side of the tea table, meaning there was nothing between him and his father. He found himself wishing there was.
�You�re brother,� Splinter said eventually, voice very soft. �Has been gone a long time.�
Donnie paused, and nodded. He had anticipated this would have something to do with his brother�s absence, he just wasn�t entirely sure he was ready for it. He arranged his mental list of possible topics in descending order of likelihood, though the list was fairly short, and about to get much shorter.
�Donatello�� Splinter began, hesitantly, obviously groping for the right words. It was rare Splinter looked uncomfortable. �Donatello, do you trust me?�
Donnie blinked, startled, and mentally regarded his list. He was apparently looking at the wrong list.
�Of-of course I do.� He said. �You�re my father, you raised me.�
Splinter nodded once, breathing in.
�And you know that I would never do anything to hurt you?�
He hesitated, then nodded, slowly. Definitely the wrong list.
�Good.� Splinter said, swallowing. �I would never do anything to harm you. You are my son.� He reached across to touch Donnie�s knee, keeping his gaze. �And I will not hurt you.�
Donnie stared at him, brain struggling to piece together what his father had just tried to tell him, and failing at it. What? But then his father�s palm began to slip its way slowly up his thigh, and Donnie�s eyes widened. Surely not.
When his father leaned forward, he leaned back just as far, but Splinter�s hand caught him at the back of the neck and held him there. Donnie�s muscle�s locked and he stared at his father with round eyes as the man�s palm slid to his jaw, brushing a thumb over his cheek in a gesture of affection from a much younger age.
�Wh-what�what are you�?� Donnie stammered, and Master Splinter pressed a thumb to his lip, silencing him. Holding him still.
Oh.
Oh.
Donnie swallowed and turned his face away, heart pounding as a new and surreal panic set in. He was misinterpreting, perhaps. He had to be. Because this was his father, and there were things his father did not do. Master Splinter turned his face back to him, commanding his eyes, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on Donnie�s leg.
�It is alright.� His father said quietly, muttering to a frightened animal. �It is alright.�
Carefully, watching him for a violent reaction, Splinter got to his knees and leaned over him, pressing a careful, blank kiss to his son�s mouth.
Donnie froze. For a moment, he didn�t breathe. There was no room for misinterpretation.
Except that their father did not do this.
Splinter, recognizing the expression of shock, kept mumbling that it was alright, still rubbing his thigh gently but not pulling away, not giving him room to regroup himself and come up with the correct response. The disbelief made Donnie�s eyes seem blank and brittle. Splinter held his gaze. �It is alright.� He assured gently. �Donatello. Everything is alright.�
Splinter spidered slow fingers down Donnie�s throat and across his shoulder, well aware how tense the boy was, how fast he was breathing, that the sweat that had begun to rise on his skin was from panic, not arousal. He leaned forward and kissed him again, gently, holding him by the back of the neck, and Donnie shivered and recoiled, trying to pull his face away. He didn�t let him. Splinter kissed his forehead, gently, the way he�d kissed him when they were children, and the resistance lessened.
�I will not hurt you.� he said again, keeping his voice low, like he was trying to sooth a frightened animal. �You are my son, I would never do anything to hurt you. Do you believe me?�
Donnie didn�t answer.
�Donatello. Do you believe me?� he insisted, voice a little sterner.
Donnie shut his eyes miserably and nodded.
Splinter brushed his thumb against his temple. �Do you trust me?�
He didn�t look at him. �Yes.� He mumbled quietly. Of course he did; Master Splinter was their father, and though tomorrow he might not, as it stood now, seventeen years had earned him that much, his trust. It was unconscious and unwilled. Splinter ran a thumb over his lip, and Donnie pulled the lip in between his teeth, lowering his face in shame.
He trusted him. As his son and his child, he trusted him.
Splinter kissed his temple, long whiskers forcing Donnie to close his eyes, and his hands slid carefully down his arms, reaching the boy�s own and holding them for a moment. Donnie looked up, face hot with shame.
�Come.� Master Splinter said simply, keeping hold of Donnie�s hands as he rose gracefully to his feet. Donnie let himself be pulled up, aware after two steps that they were heading towards Splinter�s bedroll, but as to the dark door in nightmares he found himself pulled towards it anyway. Splinter ordered him down and he fell on his rump on the bedroll gracelessly, looking up at his father silhouetted against the light and feeling too young, and too stupid, and wishing of all horrible things that Leo had come back, because this is what Leo did, wasn�t it? This was why Splinter had arranged these meetings, this was why they�d spent so much time alone in the small hours, why they�d always spent so much time alone, why Leo, tasting freedom, had chosen not to come back�.
Until Master Splinter traced his claws down the back of Donnie�s neck like spider legs and he shivered, tilting his head up thoughtlessly and giving way for a kiss.
His pulse stammered as he felt Master Splinter�s teeth brush his lip, but he wasn�t bitten; his father�s tongue pressed past his lips and he opened his mouth, jaw shaking and tasting copper. Splinter�s whiskers brushed at his face and he tried to pull back thoughtlessly but his father had a hand on the back of his neck, holding him. He went still, teeth trembling and tongue pressing back mindlessly against him, hardly a kiss, but a violation.
Those hands. Familiar hands with familiar, blunt little claws, he heard them catching against the edges of his shell, dragging lightly down his plastron and down to his thigh, pads running down the taught muscle to his knee and back up, claws brushing the tendons inside the leg and Donnie jerked, wanting to move away but stopping himself. Splinter stopped there, hesitating, and Donnie felt a burst of relief when his hand didn�t continue up to the bottom of his shell. Splinter pulled back instead, giving Donnie a chance to pant mindlessly for air, shaking and trying to shift his position. Splinter had knelt between his legs, a position which, in practice, seemed very dangerous; his father put a hand on his thigh and prevented Donnie from jerking his knees closed.
For a moment his father simply knelt there, studying him, and Donnie looked away. His face felt hot, humiliated and shameful. Splinter gently took hold of Donnie�s hand and brought it to the ties of his own robe, putting the end in his fingers pointedly. Donnie stared at him, blinking and stupid, but because there was nothing else to do he cooperated, pulling the cord. The knot loosed and the robe fell open.
Over 17 years he had, of course, seen his father naked, and Donnie had never considered it much to see; Master Splinter was covered everywhere in thick, dusty grey fur, sparing only his hands, his feet, and his tail; like most rats, there was nothing much to see as far as sex organs go that wasn�t covered in fur. He had never seen�this�before. Aroused, his penis had emerged from the fur, slick and reddened and strangely alien, and Donnie pulled away, not quite able to LOOK away. His father snatched his wrist back and Donnie muffled a whimper, pulling away from him.
�It�s alright.� Splinter mumbled again, in the even, soothing tones, not giving an inch. �Trust me.�
Donnie shut his eyes miserably and relaxed his arm, letting his father pull his hand gently to him. His fingers contacted something hot and slick and his eyes shot open again against his will, staring at his own hand against his father�s alien, rodentia organ. He swallowed and, obediently, slid his hand around it, seeing his father jerk with a strange little grunting noise. Unable to entirely muffle a whimper, Donnie moved his hand slowly, feeling the smooth, slick skin pulse hotly under his palm. He�d never touched anyone but himself.
He�d never figured he�d have to.
Splinter�s breathing had gone uneven. Donnie wanted to look up and see his face but, despite himself, he couldn�t seem to look away from what his hand was doing, stroking slowly up and down the shaft of his father�s cock. Splinter�s hips moved faintly with him. It was like the worst of a pornographic nightmare, the sort you never admitted to having, even to yourself.
Splinter cupped Donnie�s face and tilted it up, meeting his gaze and studying him. Donnie just stared back, hand still moving though he didn�t seem to realize it. Eventually, Splinter kissed him.
�Enough.� He mumbled, pulling Donnie�s hand away and pushing it back to the turtle�s side, kissing at his temple as he did it.
His father pushed him, gently, onto his back.
Donnie threw his elbows back to stop himself, jarring onto them hard and staring up at him with renewed alarm. Splinter merely leaned over him and kissed him again, pulling at the stops of his elbows and laying weight on Donnie�s chest, making it difficult to stay up without actually throwing off his father. Donnie made a sharp noise of protest and let himself be pushed down, staring up at the ceiling with an infuriating, helpless twist in his chest.
�Trust me.� Splinter was mumbling again, kissing softly at his jaw, his throat, his shoulder. �Trust me.�
Donnie tried to shut his eyes. It was harder than it should be.
Splinter, showing too much familiarity with this situation, grabbed the bedroll�s two pillows and made intelligent use of them; one he put under Donnie�s head, a concession to comfort, and the other he propped under Donnie�s hips, rolling his shell up to the exact right angle, and Donnie immediately tried to sit up, pulse stammering. Splinter caught him and pressed him back into the bedroll, kissing at his mouth and brow and temple and murmuring against his skin. Donnie whimpered and conceded, letting his father arrange him, hips up and knees apart.
Splinter settled back on his haunches between Donnie�s knees, and Donnie heard the rustling of fabric. He raised his head and saw his father had shed his robe, leaving it in a puddle on the concrete floor, and its loss made him seem decidedly animalistic. Donnie let his head fall back again and concentrated on the ceiling, wanting it to just be over with. In his mind, he tried to picture a circuit board. Carefully, methodically, he would assemble it in his mind, and ignore whatever Splinter was going to do.
Splinter slid his palms slowly up Donnie�s thighs, thumbs trailing the tendons inside and resting at the junction between pelvis and leg, touching the trembling, exposed tendon, but no further. One hand slid away from his thigh, and Splinter began to mumble again, telling him it was alright, he was doing very well, as claws brushed the tip of his tail and Donnie jerked. He shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to focus on the structure in his mind, struggling to hold the thing in it�s entirety without loosing detail, not to pay attention to Splinter�s hands, focus on this, focus on this�
But Splinter didn�t do what Donnie had thought he was. Instead, those fingers lightly touched his slit, brushing the place where the turtles kept themselves hidden, the only appendage that still DID pull into the shell at their age. Donnie�s eyes snapped open, mental circuit board abruptly shattered, and he tried to jerk his legs to himself without thinking. Splinter elbowed his thighs apart firmly, pressing a palm against Donnie�s stomach and pushing him back down.
�I�m not going to hurt you.� Master Splinter repeated firmly, for maybe the hundredth time, he wasn�t sure anymore. And those fingers kept doing exactly what they were doing, working at him expertly, trying to coax him to life. Donnie groaned, face darkening with shame, and put an arm over his eyes, as though by blinding himself he could make it go away.
It was the shame, perhaps. The humiliation, and those expert fingers, and the fear and the deep personal horror and perhaps the wrenching in his gut and the trembling in his mind. Splinter�s fingers touched everything, and he realized with a surge of absolute horror that he was beginning to respond. He groaned again and covered his face in his hands, trying vainly to hold it in as his cock slowly but surely delivered itself out of hiding and into his father�s too-experienced hands. Splinter�s fingers closed around it and Donnie strangled a wail, making just an awful choking sound instead, and his hips pushed up into it before he could help himself. His father stroked him, firmly, knowledgably, and it was different that when he did it himself in the darkness of his own room, it was sharper, it was like glass and he wanted to scream and kick him away. Instead he grit his teeth and threw his head back, making strange noises, hands locked over his face like he could hide himself.
It felt like being gutted. His father�s hands knew places Donnie had never thought about, places he must have learned from somewhere, places he must have learned from Leo. Donnie tried to stifle himself, knowing if he made too much noise Raph or Mikey might come to investigate, but it seemed like every strangled gasp and whine should have been a scream, he should have been allowed to scream at his father�s hands working him so deftly as he just lay there on the bed, legs spreads and for all intents and purposes cooperating with the man, cooperating because he wouldn�t fight, cock hard and shameful and sending waves of red, horrified pleasure through him.
Eventually, before he went mad, Splinter had mercy and took his hands away; Donnie was breathing raggedly through his teeth, shaking badly. He took his son�s wrists and pried his hands away from his face, and Donnie didn�t let that go without a fight. He didn�t want to look at him.
�Donatello.� His father said quietly, waiting.
Donnie whimpered and opened his eyes, unsteady and wet. Silhouetted by the light, his father was looking down at him with that fatherly expression of concern, but behind it there was something else, a heavy and real heat, and Donnie gave a sharp intake of breath, and groaned. Splinter twitched and he pushed Donnie�s hands down to the bedroll beside his head, thigh pressing against Donnie�s erection, and he squirmed under him, turning his face away.
�It will be alright.� Splinter mumbled again, but he sounded breathless. He shifted down and kissed at Donnie�s throat, trailing down the vein there to his collar bone and for a moment Donnie felt his teeth against his skin, sharp and dangerous, and he gasped.
He wasn�t bitten. Splinter pulled back, sitting back on his ankles and looking down at his son for a moment, sprawled and erect and redfaced. Donnie tried to collect himself, propping himself up on his elbows, but his father patted his plastron quickly and moved away, muttering �One moment.�
He went to a low cupboard, moving uncomfortably, and Donnie felt abruptly absurd, alone with a spinning head. He pulled his legs together, trying to do the same with his wits, but in just a moment his father was back, gently prying his knees apart and kneeling there again, holding a small plastic bottle in his hand. Donnie realized what it must be and groaned, letting himself fall back on the bedroll, shutting his eyes against it.
He was actually doing this. And Donnie was just going to lay there, cock and ass both in the air and cooperating like he wasn�t his son and this wasn�t the most horrific thing he could have imagined his father doing to any of them--
He felt cool slickness under his tail and jerked, breath hitching, as his father gently pressed a finger into his opening. He was being careful, careful as Donnie might expect him to be, but he could hear that the man�s breathing was quicker, and the slight impatience showed. Donnie tried not to squirm. In his own experimentation he�d never�.done that�before. The feeling was alien and invasive but it went straight to his cock, sharpening the edge despite his instinctual horror of it. His father slid another finger in, then there were three of them, a little too quick for Donnie and it made it burn, not quite ache, and that burn only made things worse.
He whimpered when Splinter pulled back. But then the man gave a faint grunt and shifted himself, bracing an arm on either side of Donnie�s ribs and forcing his thighs even further apart with his body.
Donnie braced himself, expecting pain. What he didn�t expect was the feel of that slick, foreign cock against him, prying his ass open harshly and spearing him. He gave a muffled cry, putting his hands up against his father�s chest, but he stopped himself from actually pushing him away. Splinter panted against him, trying to give him time to adjust, but he didn�t give him quite enough.
Donnie supposed he was used to a more experienced partner.
Splinter started to move. He brushed something inside and Donnie jerked, gasping with sudden horror and closing his fists around the fur on Splinter�s chest. Splinter grunted with pain and stopped, shifting back enough to grab Donnie�s wrists and pry his hands away, pushing them down to the ground at his sides and pinning them. Donnie whimpered and put up a token struggle, which was summarily ignored; his father started thrusting again, and Donnie threw his head back, making little noises with each thrust and shutting his eyes against his own personal horror. He wished the lights were out. Blackness might add a certain unreality to the situation. Fluorescence only gave it sharp corners and teeth.
Splinter says nothing. He makes no noise, just the sound of his harsh breathing, and Donnie managed to muffle himself momentarily. He should have fought back. He tried to tell himself he would have fought back if he�d have known it would feel like this, that Splinter could do this to him, but he was lying, because it was his father, and because he would do anything for him.
Then he lost his thought as his father let go of his wrist and grabbed his cock instead, giving him a few good pumps and making the boy yelp and go abruptly silent, and to Donnie it felt like being thrown through a glass window, shards of jagged glass as he came, hard and desperately into his father�s hand. When he could breathe it came in great, painful gasps, and he shuddered, head swimming and twitching as his father kept rutting at him. He didn�t see when his father came. He just knew that, at some point, he stopped, and Splinter lay panting against his stomach for a moment, damp with sweat and heavy.
The fluorescent lights were too damned bright. Donnie covered his eyes, badly out of breath and shaken.
It wasn�t bad, for a moment. For a moment, he didn�t remember the reality of what had just happened, just that he had come too hard and he felt like he was made of water. But then his father pushed himself up, getting to his knees with a grunt and looking down at him. Donnie hesitantly took his arm away and looked back, the first knots of unease beginning again in his stomach.
His father leaned down and, gently, kissed him on the forehead, like he was a little boy. Then he stood up and fetched his robe, putting it on.
Donnie struggled to sit up, gut twisting slowly. There was white come streaked on his stomach. His father went across the room and uncovered a towel, tossing it to him. Donnie caught it, startled, and took a moment to register what it was for.
God�. He�d�.With his father�.he�d actually�..
His father had-- Donnie hadn�t wanted to, but Splinter had anyway and--
Donnie wiped the come off his shell with the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. He smothered it, dropping the towel on the bedroll and getting to his feet. He ached a little, but a quick mental survey told him he wasn�t really hurt. After a shower, there�d be no evidence at all.
He stared at his father. Splinter tied his robe, smoothing his fur out absently, and he looked so damned calm. Of course he was calm. He�d done this before. He�d done this a hundred times before. He waited, not sure what it was that he was waiting for, but the hysterical bubble insisted something had to happen. Something.
Splinter cleared his throat.
�You should take a shower.� He said gently. Donnie blinked. �Take a shower and go to bed. It�s getting late.�
Donnie stared for a long moment. And that was it. Splinter turned his back, dismissing him, and Donnie hovered, still feeling there should have been something else. But eventually he looked down at himself, making sure there was nothing out of sorts, and turned, leaving Splinter�s room and standing dumbly outside the door.
Michelangelo was sitting on the couch, volume too high on the television and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He was watching the late night movie on channel 9 and he glanced up and Donnie absently.
�Hey.� He said, reaching into the popcorn bowl and digging out a handful.
Donnie didn�t answer.
For a moment, he listened to Greta Garbo wax poetic to her leading man. Mikey didn�t look up again.
�I�m going to take a shower.� He said blankly, looking past Mikey to the front door of the lair.
Mikey nodded, not looking up. �You have fun with that.�
He hesitated. Then he went into the bathroom, and locked the door.