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sub!Leo prompts

Chapter Text

Steel poles. Rivets. Shackles. Leonardo felt increasingly light headed as he watched Donatello lay out everything needed, but he started breathing heavily when he saw the welding torch. He would have fled the laboratory if he hadn’t already been wearing a steel collar chained to the wall.

“You’re overreacting,” Donatello said mildly, not even looking at him. He picked up one of the poles and threaded a black shaft of rubber into one end. “A one-bar prison isn’t that bad.”

The chain from the collar to the wall was several feet long. Leonardo could have easily stood or come closer to watch Donatello work. Instead he sat in a huddle against the wall, holding the chain in his hands.

“Easy to say when you’re not the one who’ll be in it,” Leonardo muttered.

“Actually, it’ll be in you,” Donatello said.

“Not helping, Donny.”

“I’m not going to use a welding torch on you,” Donatello huffed. “Give me a little credit, huh? I want a willing test subject, not a torture victim.”

Donatello went to a chalked point on the floor right in front of Leonardo, giving his captive a good view as he uncovered a small hole, its sides lined with threading. He positioned the pole and began to turn it several times.

“Tedious,” Donatello said, “but it’s gotta be done. It’s gotta be in there strong enough.”

Leonardo had a hundred questions that he didn’t ask. Donatello tightened the pole as much as he could, tugged at it hard, then leaned on it with all of his strength. It didn’t move.

Donatello next went to work on the second bar, welding three shackles onto it—one in the center, one on each end. He let the metal cool as he put his tools away, letting Leonardo look at it for several minutes to wonder how it worked.

Then the chain on his collar began to retract into the wall.

Startled, Leonardo was forced to stand, coming closer and closer until his collar was pressed against the concrete. Held fast, he couldn’t move as Donatello knelt in front of him, forcing his legs apart, locking his ankles into the shackles on either side of the bar.

“I don’t think I need to worry about you running off now.” Donatello pulled the key from his belt and unlocked the collar, then firmly grasped the edge of Leonardo’s shell. In one smooth motion, he put his other arm under his brother’s knees and lifted, hauling him into the air.

The spreader bar at his feet centered on the rubber, and Leonardo had a terrible moment of realization that he could do nothing about. As he was tilted forward, the standing bar fit neatly through the center shackle, guiding Leonardo down until his toes touched the floor…and the shaft touched at his entrance, pressed insistently… Leonardo still had one arm around his brother and used him for leverage, holding his weight…

Then Donatello eased his grip away and took a step back, allowing Leonardo’s weight to come to rest on the shaft. Leonardo groaned as he began to sink down, inch by inch, holding himself on the balls of his feet. He managed to grab the bottom half of the shaft and the steel pole, but he couldn’t lift himself up, and he couldn’t bring his legs together.

Donatello knelt in front of him, running his fingertips lightly along the back of his leg.

“It’s an ingenious design,” he commented. “You can’t bring yourself up, and your legs are spread out so the dildo presses up into you…very nice view, by the way.”

He flicked the shaft and chuckled when Leonardo stifled a whimper.

“Going to try to keep yourself up?” Donatello asked. “You’ll get tired eventually.”

He stood, taking Leonardo’s hands and holding them, letting Leonardo lean against him, head on his shoulder.

“It’s called a one bar prison,” Donatello said, nuzzling his cheek. “I don’t even have to do anything with your hands.”

He pushed Leonardo back upright, smiling at his wide eyes.

“But I’m going to.”

Groaning, Leonardo tried to grab Donatello’s arm and missed, left straining to keep his balance as his brother retrieved something from the desk. He didn’t understand the jumble of large rings and chains until Donatello had clicked the collar around his neck, then brought each hand up into the bracelets held by sturdy chains. Leonardo was left with his hands cuffed uselessly at his throat.

“Now this is why I like steel,” Donatello said, stepping back to look over his work. “No complicated ropes, no leather you have to fight to buckle. Just a lock and some leverage.”

And with that, Donatello returned to his desk.

Wondering what else Donatello could possibly do, Leonardo’s stomach clenched as he realized that Donatello meant to do nothing else. Leaving Leonardo impaled with only the certainty that he would be speared even further, Donatello focused on his screen, completely absorbed in his work.

Minutes passed. Leonardo began to tremble in earnest as his legs grew more and more exhausted. He winced as he slipped an inch, then another, dragged down the length of rubber that forced itself deeper and deeper, until finally he stood, feet flat, so filled that he didn’t think he could bend at all.

With a muffled whimper, Leonardo managed to rise up on his toes again, relieving the pressure inside him, but he couldn’t hold himself up nearly as long, and soon he was again sinking down.

“You must like riding that pole,” Donatello said, enjoying his discomfort. “I should put a platform under it, add some rotation…I could have a lovely turning display.”

“Don…” Leonardo gasped. “Don, I can’t…please…”

“I did add something to this one, though,” Donatello said. “So you give in a little quicker. Should I show you?”

“Please, take it off,” Leonardo whispered. “I can’t do this. It’s too deep. I can’t…Don, please…”

“Oh, you’re serious.” Donatello sat a little straighter, staring at him with pursed lips. “You’re finally admitting something’s more than you can handle.”

Leonardo lowered his head, breathing heavily.

“That’s really good,” Donatello said, opening a desk drawer, rummaging around, then coming back to him. “We’re making progress.”

He pushed the heavy bit gag between his brother’s teeth, pulling it deep so that it dug into his cheeks, and locked the steel strap behind his head. Leonardo groaned and tried to pull away, pulled up short by the pole inside of him.

“I’ve carefully measured what you can take,” Donatello said. “You could handle another couple of inches if I wanted.”

Leonardo’s weak shake of his head brought an indulgent smile from his brother.

“You have to learn to trust me. We still have more work to do if you’re going to be a good test subject.”

He bent and touched a button at the base of the shaft. The vibration that followed was faint, enough to rouse Leonardo but not nearly to bring him any satisfaction. Donatello stood, tapped on the gag as he considered something.

“I need some things from the junkyard,” he said. “When I come back, you can tell me if you’ll be good.”

To his mounting horror, Leonardo watched him turn and head for the laboratory door. Donatello gave him a cheery smile, then flipped off the light and closed the door. Left in complete darkness, he grew aware of the tiniest light blinking on Donatello’s laptop before it went idle and shut off.

Alone, wishing anyone would come in to save him, Leonardo felt his resolve begin to crumble. This was what he suffered for being an unwilling subject. Obediently following Donatello’s commands had to be better. He tried to convince himself of that as the hours passed.

Chapter Text

The gateway to the Nexus flashed as it opened, but almost no one was there to see it gleam and glitter as Leonardo stepped through. Behind him, the smoke and sparkle of fireworks exploded in the sky, followed by the heady scent of rice wine and temple incense…and then the gate closed, and Leonardo was left alone in a dark lair.

He sighed as if something had been cut and left behind, and he set down the cup in his hand. Small, made of clay, it could barely hold a few mouthfuls at a time, and now only the tiny fish painted inside remained.

Clad in the festival’s white and blue yukata, Leonardo felt self-conscious now that he was no longer surrounded by other animal people in outfits. The rice wine was still affecting him—the sash blurred in and out of focus as he began to pluck at the knot.

“Had fun?”

Leonardo paused, swallowed once. Caught.

“A little.” He refused to react. “Left early.”

“Left Usagi, you mean.”

In the dark, Raphael was only a shape that moved closer, coming within reach. He wasn’t taller, but he managed to loom over his brother anyway. He frowned.

“You drunk?”

“No.” Leonardo lowered his head anyway, knowing he wasn’t too far from it, then glared Raphael. “Are you?”

Raphael flinched, their previous argument coming back to him. “…no.”

“Well then.” Leonardo finally managed to undo the knot, beginning to unwind the sash. “Neither was Usagi. I can’t go out now and then?”

“You went out for more than a festival.” Raphael swept a bit of white fur from the sleeve of the yukata. “He works as quick as a real rabbit.”

“Don’t be vulgar.” Leonardo frowned as he pulled the sash away, balling it up in his hands.

Raphael lightly touched his brother’s arms, sliding his fingertips down, then closed his hands over Leonardo’s. The sash he took and allowed to unwind to the floor, then began to wrap it around his brother’s wrists. Without murmur, Leonardo allowed it, watching dispassionately as the ends were drawn up between his hands and knotted, cinching the sash so that he was caught.

“I’m hardly in the mood for one of your rough fucks,” he muttered.

“Good thing I ain’t either.”

Raphael brought his brother’s arms up over his head, gently pinning them to the wall with one hand. Leaning in close, he slid his free hand across his brother’s belt and found his short blade. Leonardo’s breath caught as he turned away.

“Carving your name into me?” he whispered, voice shaking. “That’s a bit far, isn’t it?”

Raphael didn’t answer. The blade wisped over Leonardo’s throat, under his chin, bringing his gaze back up. Resentment. Exhaustion. Leonardo was too tired to fight.

Cloth sliced cleanly across the blade’s edge, the seams cut over his arms so that the yukata fell in puddle around their feet. The sword went back into its sheath, and for a moment, Raphael held him in place, letting Leonardo feel his vulnerability.

Then Raphael took his brother’s bound hands and put them over his own head, resting against the back of his neck. As if he formed a necklace, Leonardo had to step close, too close to refuse the kiss that followed. Raphael’s hands moved across his shoulders and down his sides, coming to grip his ass, squeezing tight.

When the kiss was broken, instead of finding himself pushed over the nearest convenient surface, Leonardo was swept up in Raphael’s arms, carried over the lair. Raphael’s room lay ahead, and as tired as he was, Leonardo gave in to the idea of a night of the complexities of sex in a hammock. As he was set down in the netting, arranged neatly so there was no danger of him falling out, Leonardo pointedly glanced from Raphael to his wrists.

“Um…forgetting something?”

Raphael shook his head once. “Not a damn thing.”

Chapter Text

Somehow Splinter didn’t notice. At breakfast, everyone followed the same routine. Tea, cereal, the wrestling match for the sugar and squabbling over the tv remote. But as Leonardo ate, he felt the look of his siblings always coming back to him. Even between their rough housing, Raphael and Donatello kept glancing sideways at him. Michelangelo watched him over his cereal bowl, a small smile there and gone again before anyone else noticed.

They all knew.

When Splinter excused himself to watch the first of his soap operas, all four turtles watched him retire to his bedroom. As soon as the door closed, three of them turned on the fourth.

“Clean up the table,” Raphael said. “Definitely job number one.”

With a soft huff, Leonardo gathered up all the plates and dishes, not saying a word about the spilled milk, the toppled sugar. He performed the chore as if nothing was any different than when it was his turn, and he even did the dishes before returning from the kitchen.

“Man, that’s good,” Raphael breathed. “I didn’t even have to tell him.”

“Of course not. He’s well trained.” Michelangelo took another sip, draining his chocolate milk. He raised his eyeridge at Leonardo, who took the mug and refilled it with the two marshmallows he’d learned to add.

“What else can we make him do?” Raphael wondered as he glanced around the lair.

“You’re thinking too small,” Michelangelo said. “Leo, are you still wearing them?”

Leonardo went still. He’d hoped that his brothers could have come up with a few more basic tasks for him, but Michelangelo was having none of it. After a glance at Splinter’s door, he nodded.

“Show Raph and Donny.”

Well trained or not, Leonardo hesitated a second before he pulled his wristband up, revealing the black edge of buckled leather. Raphael and Donatello leaned closer, their eyes going wide.

“Are those…?” Donatello asked, moving to poke at it.

Leonardo brought his hands down under the table quickly.

“Cuffs,” Michelangelo said. “He also has them on his ankles. They’ve got tiny little locks on ‘em, and I’ve got the keys hidden around the lair.”

“They don’t hurt?” Raphael asked.

“He doesn’t mind if they’re a little tight.”

Michelangelo voice trailed off playfully. Leonardo looked like he was going to melt from the heat of the flush working across his face.

“You remember how to use them?” Michelangelo asked.

Leonardo’s look, wide-eyed and tremulous, went between Michelangelo to their brothers and back. With a glance, Leonardo didn’t beg so much as he questioned if Michelangelo was sure, truly certain, that he was going to do this.

There was no doubt. Michelangelo grinned, practically dying to show off.

Quietly so that his voice wouldn’t carry past the table, Leonardo answered with only a faint tremor in his voice.

“Your command?”

“Hands together, then maneuver number two,” Michelangelo said in the same tone as if he’d asked for another napkin. “Show them what a good little sub you are.”

Leonardo hesitated, unable to look up. He pulled his wrist bands aside enough to reveal the heavy carabiner on each cuff as he pressed them together. There was a hard click as they closed, binding his wrists—they were so sturdy that he couldn’t have taken them off one-handed—and then he slid under the table and leaned over Michelangelo’s lap. His brother’s cock was there waiting, and he put his mouth over it, quietly sucking.

“Holy—” Raphael started, about to lean down.

“No.” Michelangelo held both of them with a rare serious look. “He’s mine. You didn’t get to him first, so you don’t get to watch or play unless I say so.”

If there was any hint of the going on under the table on his face, they couldn’t see it.

“How were we supposed to know he went for that?” Donatello complained. “Between practice and meditation, he’s as asexual as they come.”

“The spiciest thing about him is the chai tea,” Raphael said.

“Exactly,” Michelangelo said as if that explained everything. That he bit his lip in a sudden spike of pleasure that only fueled their envy. “Donny, you think with your brain. Raph, you’re all heart. But big brother’s all body and instinct. The practicing and meditation keeps him calm, soothes the nerves…I just gave him another outlet for it.”

He clenched his fist on the table’s edge. Leonardo was indeed well trained.

“And you got him performing like a sex slave how?” Donatello demanded. “Is he drugged?”

“He likes giving orders,” Raphael said. “Not taking 'em. And not in front of people.”

“Dude, I wouldn’t even know what to put in his drink,” Michelangelo laughed. “You’re making it too complicated. Leo’s a natural sub—my wish, his command. Why’d you think he gives orders? He’s just comfortable doing what Splinter wants.”

He shuddered once, then snapped his fingers under the table. Leonardo took just enough time to clean up and compose himself before sitting back down. His bound hands lay awkwardly in front of him, but he didn’t move to hide them.

“And besides…” Michelangelo said, looking at his brothers. “You ain’t people.”

He tapped the exposed carabiners between his brother’s wrists.

“I figure we can share.” He shrugged. “Even I get tired sometimes. And what were the odds there’s only one of us who likes being on the receiving end all the time.”

“Impossible,” Donatello scoffed. “Raph’s too much. No one can receive that all the time.”

At Raphael’s wounded gasp, Leonardo couldn’t help the tiny laugh that forced its way out. He gave Michelangelo a look.

“He has a point,” Leonardo said. “Raph really is too much. You’re insatiable, but him…”

Raphael grumbled. “Can’t help it if I was the only one in line when they were handing out big dicks.”

“Explains a lot of things,” Leonardo muttered.

“Big talk from someone with his hands in a vise—” Raphael sat straight, feathers clearly ruffled.

“Shh,” Michelangelo whispered, looking between them to make sure Splinter hadn’t heard. When he relaxed, he noticed the small glare between Leonardo and Raphael. He leaned close enough to whisper sharply at Leonardo.

“Quiet,” he ordered, “or I’ll give Raph the cock gag you hate.”

Leonardo frowned but didn’t argue, looking away from Raphael’s growing smile.

“At least this’ll cut down on their arguing,” Donatello said. “So…what? Are we working out a rotation schedule?”

Michelangelo glanced between Leonardo, now sitting still with growing tension in his shoulders, and Raphael, the hungry gleam in his eye settling on the locks of Leonardo’s cuffs.

“Donny…” Michelangelo said slowly, sounding it out in his head first. “You can have him tonight if you want—”

Donatello was nodding before he even finished.

“And Raph…you can have him two nights from now. One night so he can rest,” he said over Raphael’s mounting protest. “And one night 'cause you argued with him.”

Raphael growled. “He started it.”

“Are you five?” Leonardo snapped.

“More'n five inches,” Raphael said. “All up your—”

“Will you two shut up?” Donatello said, looking over his shoulder.

“Is your ass glowing?” Michelangelo asked Leonardo. “Not yet it ain’t.”

As Leonardo’s eyes widened at the promised punishment, Michelangelo turned back to Raphael.

“Every time you two argue, that’s another night you can’t touch,” Michelangelo said. “You get him three nights from now. Wanna go for four?”

When Raphael held his tongue, Michelangelo waited, watching as if to see if he would start arguing again. To his surprise, the comment came from his other side.

“So if I get him to yell,” Leonardo said, “he can’t touch?”

“You little…” Raphael said before he clamped a hand over his own mouth, stifling himself.

“You’re already gonna get it,” Michelangelo said. “You want a real punishment?”

Leonardo’s glance slid back to the table, but he was smiling softly. “I’m the 'natural sub’. Not like whipping’s a real punishment.”

Michelangelo hesitated. As creative as he could get, his brother had him there. Even the most outlandish punishments and humiliations only meant more enthusiastic obedience and coming.

“…I think I might be able to help there.” Donatello stared at Leonardo over steepled fingers, deep in thought. “I have him tonight, right? This is just a rough idea, but my wooden saw horse, a lawn mower motor, a leather strap…I could rig up a rudimentary spanking machine. Just fire it up and forget about it for an hour or two.”

“That’s enough time for a round of Mighty Maracas Rhythm Chase.” Michelangelo’s grin grew in proportion to Leonardo’s mounting horror.

In his room, Splinter muted his soap opera for a moment. The next few seconds sounded like the normal rough housing of vigorous young men fighting over who got to play first with the newest video game. The squabbling died down more quickly than he expected, however, and without the usual scornful bickering between Raphael and Leonardo. Whatever they were fighting about, they had calmed down so swiftly that he figured three of them must have teamed up against a fourth. Such was the way in their tiffs that he wasn’t surprised, and with the lair quiet again, he returned to his show.

Chapter Text

Leonardo heard the heavy wooden staff clatter to the floor behind him. His legs were spread wide, and Donatello nudged them wider, forcing him only a few degrees shy of a split. Leonardo rested his head on his arms as he waited for the first ankle to be lashed to the staff, wincing as Donatello wound the rope and then cinched it in the middle.

“Don’t cut off circulation,” Leonardo complained. “I’d like to be able to walk afterward.”

“You’ll be lucky if you can walk,” Donatello said, sorely tempted to smack Leonardo’s ass. But this was only their third session, and he was still warming up to the idea of being in control. “It’s not even that tight. I don’t want it slipping down the staff.”

“I still wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. Just wouldn’t be so stretched out.”

Leonardo lifted up on his elbows to look over his shoulder as his other ankle was likewise tied to the staff. At Donatello’s nod, he tried to move his feet, to shift off of the staff or pull a knot loose. Nothing gave.

“Your hand,” Donatello said, chuckling when Leonardo simply lifted his right hand to his side. “Okay, hold still.”

Leonardo didn’t watch as his brother looped the rope around his wrist, drawing the ends through a twist, and he obediently offered his other hand for the same treatment. But he did startle and try to pull his hands back as his arms were suddenly pulled down between his legs. Wincing as his face pressed the floor, he awkwardly came up on his knees, bending as much as he could at the waist as Donatello pulled his hands far enough that he could tie them to the staff as well. With a few more knots, Leonardo was left trussed with his ass presented in the air and his shoulders and face to the floor.

“Geez, warn a guy next time.” Leonardo fidgeted, adjusting so there wasn’t as much pressure on his cheek.

“Okay, here’s your warning,” Donatello said, “open wide.”

The next rope went across Leonardo’s mouth, surprising him so much that he didn’t think to bite down until Donatello had wrapped the rope around his head once and brought it a second time into his mouth, pulling it taut like reins on a horse. Donatello knotted the rope behind Leonardo’s head, and there was plenty more line to pull the ends back and around the very end of Leonardo’s shell. He looped it, tightened it once, and tied it off so that Leonardo’s head was fastened to the bottom of his own shell. Leonardo’s fidgeting pulled the rope deeper between his teeth, and with a muffled grumble, he went very still.

The next part was a row of tea candles that Donatello set in front of his brother’s face. One by one, he lit them so that Leonardo could see the flames, and as each one melted enough wax, Donatello picked them up to set along his brother’s body. He poured a tiny amount of paraffin on Leonardo’s raised ass, blew to cool it, then pressed the candle in place. In this way he set several in a line down his shell and on his legs.

“Now,” Donatello murmured, coming up behind Leonardo. “Let’s see if we can blow out those candles.”

Being careful not to topple the candles meant that he had to move slowly, easing his cock in and gently pulling out again. Telling himself that he was like a machine on its lowest setting, he drove in and back, drawing low moans from his frustrated brother. Leonardo’s tail wagged against his plastron, and Donatello ignored him, intent on not letting his brother come. Only after his own orgasm, driven in deep and finished with small, shuddering thrusts, did he begin to think of any of his brother’s needs again.

By now, the candles were all out, drowned in their own wax which had cooled and now clung to his brother’s skin. Which meant it was time for the knife.

Of course Leonardo knew what a blade being drawn from a sheathe sounded like. Going very still, he didn’t even try to look as Donatello took the knife and pressed the flat of it to the softest inner skin of his thigh, sliding it so that he felt the edge lightly scraping by.

“Don’t worry,” Donatello said softly. “It’s just to get rid of the candles.”

Easing the tip under the first clump of wax, he cracked off small pieces until the rest of it came away, leaving a faint red mark. Leonardo tensed for several seconds, imagining the blade twisting the wrong way, holding his breath as his brother worked across his body. Only once all the candles were gone did Leonardo begin to relax…only to feel the tip resting lightly on the upturned tip of his shell.

“Y'know,” Donatello mused. “At this angle, I can see skin that’s normally hidden.”

He ran his finger along the skin just above Leonardo’s ass, making him squirm.

“I think…” Donatello bit his lip. This was only their third time playing like this—they were still figuring out how far they could go, what limits they could push. The knife’s presence was as far as he’d planned tonight. But presented with this new opportunity…

“Why not?” he said, just loud enough for Leonardo to hear. “You’ve cut me worse in practice. And it’ll heal in no time anyway.”

The muffled curses and protests died as soon as Donatello touched the tip of the knife to the soft skin, scratching a shallow but clear line followed by a curve, then another curve. Slowly a capital letter D began to appear, not a simple thing but a growing decoration of flourishes and tiny nicks. When he finished, he retrieved the first aid kit from his desk and gave the cuts a quick spritz of antibacterial spray, earning a surprised whimper.

“Probably should have done it in binary,” Donatello said. “Would’ve been a lot easier…but a lot more lines, come to think. Maybe next time.”

The angry, garbled sounds coming from his brother told him how much Leonardo thought of allowing a next time. Donatello went to sit down at his chair, rolling it closer so he could better look his brother in the eye.

“You’re right. I should keep you stuck like this for awhile, make sure that wound has time to heal a little. How long do you think that’ll take? Ten minutes? An hour?”

The sounds died away as Leonardo understood his meaning. Sighing, Leonardo relaxed, not even giving a token protest when Donatello sat back in his chair and put his feet up on his brother’s shell.

In his mind, Donatello reevaluated the limits his brother had. A firm voice and confidence seemed to command his brother’s obedience. If Leonardo had kept protesting, he would have untied him and even apologized for pushing, but this…Donatello smiled. He would come up with new ideas for their next session, but first on the list?

—onatello in similar letters across the rest of that smooth expanse of skin.

Chapter Text

Bound in duct tape, Leonardo sat on Leatherhead’s lap, a blush burning his face red hot. His wrists were crossed and held down in front of his plastron, crisscrossed in the gray tape that wound around his entire body. His legs had been a compromise—the alligator wanted his legs spread, but he didn’t want to risk the turtle trying to escape. So each leg was taped calf to thigh, bent at the knee so that he felt like a toy on the much larger mutant’s lap.

His mouth was covered in the alligator’s cum, already well used. Leatherhead had promised a wild night and, curious, Leonardo had accepted.

He didn’t think he was going to be released for a long time, and when he was, he was sure he’d be covered in cum and tape residue…if Leatherhead even undid all of the tape. And that in itself was a painful ordeal he didn’t look forward to.

“I think we are done with your mouth,” Leatherhead said, courteously folding the blue mask in front of him and wiping his mouth clean. “Let’s close it up for the night.”

The strong hands, larger than his head, gently pulled his slack mouth a little wider and pushed the mask in, tucking the ends into the sides. The sharp claws didn’t leave any marks as they held his head still for another strip of tape that held the mask in firmly.

“Such a good turtle,” Leatherhead murmured, stroking Leonardo’s face with the back of his claws. “You take instruction very well. Spread those long legs a little more, won’t you?”

It didn’t matter if he obeyed. The alligator’s cock appeared from beneath its scales beneath him, and Leatherhead simply held the edges of his shell and lifted him several inches so he could literally sit, staring at with wide eyes. He’d already seen it before as it thrust at his mouth, but now he faced the very real prospect of being split in half.

“A frightening sight, no doubt, for someone your size,” Leatherhead chuckled. “Have no fear. I don’t plan on wearing you out so early in the night.”

Leatherhead turned him around, holding him in one arm against his chest, and then Leonardo had the sensation of the alligator’s massive cock sliding up along his legs and between his ass, coming to rest without penetration. Then again, and again, each time made easier as more cum wept out of the shaft, until Leonardo felt how drenched he’d become.

When Leatherhead came yet again, Leonardo groaned. The rub against his tail brought soft waves of pleasure that weren’t nearly enough to satisfy, teasing him with the liquid touch that slid over him.

Leatherhead plunged up between his ass several times, leaving heavy traces of one orgasm after another. As he adjusted his grip, holding the turtle by the legs, Leonardo’s thighs ached from the rough scales and constant pressure. There would be bruises in the morning in embarrassing places, the marks of large fingers pressing into his skin.

The night wore on. Leatherhead showed no sign of stopping, and Leonardo admitted defeat to himself, resigned to hours more, helpless to the constant if polite assault.

Chapter Text

Michelangelo smiled across the dinner table.

Begging off that he wasn’t feeling well, Leonardo excused himself, heading to the bathroom for a shower. If anyone else noticed that he didn’t put his gear back on afterward, they took it simply that he was going to bed early. And only Michelangelo’s gaze followed him across the lair, noting his quick glance to make sure no one was watching.

Their eyes met. His mouth parting slightly, Leonardo hesitated…

Michelangelo’s smile briefly flashed fangs and the deliberate resting of his hand by Raphael’s.

Swallowing once, Leonardo went into Michelangelo’s room, closing the door behind himself.

There were rules—only a few. Too many rules made controlling him harder, so the few rules he had had to be absolute. He was not allowed to touch or change anything in the room, so he stood in darkness for several seconds before the room lit with the dim glow of gold candles in the corners. He belonged on the bed, preferably laying back on it, but he instead sat on the corner farthest from the door, his back turned.

And he had to wait, silent and ready.

He felt faintly ridiculous. He could easily stand, leave the room, tell his brothers and his father that something had happened to their little brother, that Michelangelo had changed into something murderous. But if he did…what would they do to him? Michelangelo was still his little brother—still whining when he had to clean the dojo, still playing games and roughhousing with Raphael.

Even in this sexual slavery, there were signs of his brother’s touch. A handheld game device on the end table so he wouldn’t get bored. A pile of snacks in easy reach of the bed. And the occasional lapses when Michelangelo was so wrapped up in a video game that he forgot Leonardo was waiting. It was an easy sex game to play if Michelangelo hadn’t turned so terrifying that, by the time he heard the door open and a tiny bit of light spilled in, Leonardo was trembling.

The door closed.

There were no footsteps.

“Lay down on the bed.”

Leonardo shut his eyes, telling himself to sit still, to sit still, to—he turned and lay back, head on the pillows.

The bed shifted as something heavy pressed on the mattress, creeping on all fours. His knees were pushed wide by fingers tipped with claws, and sharp teeth gently came down on his thigh, a tongue dragging over the smooth skin. Leonardo shivered as the licks advanced to the vulnerable point where his hip met his shell, and then he was pressed firmly down into the mattress as Michelangelo crawled over him.

The last rule was that he was not permitted to move, so Michelangelo turned his head for him, stroking Leonardo’s throat with his fingertips, placing small kisses that hid sharp fangs.

The bite itself did not hurt beyond a light pinch, the sensation of growing light headed that came with blood loss. If it had been no more than this, Leonardo could have born it easily. The kiss that followed came tinged with his own taste, and Michelangelo was a conscientious lover, beginning the long night of lovemaking to follow.

But the first night, Leonardo had made the mistake of looking at him. The face looking back was still Michelangelo’s, but the eyes were maniacally wide in psychosis and his smile was bloodied with the sharp triangles of a shark. It didn’t matter how much Michelangelo didn’t hurt him.

Leonardo took every thrust like bites tearing away pieces of himself in a red ocean.

Chapter Text

When the formulas began to float and blur into each other, that was when Donatello knew he needed to take a break. Eyestrain could be relieved with a few minutes of looking away and blinking, but his brain was tired in a way that coffee just wouldn’t fix. What he needed was a good shot of endorphins.

Yawning, he went to the utility closet, unlocking it and undoing the heavy deadbolt. The closet was lined with shelves holding a disorganized mess of spare parts, loose nuts and bolts, screws and small motors, but what he needed was in the back, beneath an old dropcloth splattered with paint.

He pulled the canvas aside and let it fall, revealing the large office chair—high-backed with sturdy arms and smooth coasters, it easily cradled his captive older brother.

Ropes hadn’t been enough. Instead thick belts strapped Leonardo down into the chair. His arms were raised over his head, hands behind the chair back, and the edges bit into Leonardo’s skin. Each belt was lined with dark bruises where he had struggled, but his writhing now was all in helpless anticipation. There was no harsh testing of the buckles, no straining against leather.

His legs were spread painfully wide, each thigh bound to a chair arm, his legs drawn taut down to the chair’s cylinder and base. His movements were small, resigned, his breathing coming in short gasps. The belt between his teeth held his mouth wide open, probably achingly sore by now.

Donatello held the arms of the chair and pulled it close. Leonardo was held so that the bottom of his shell lay at the edge of the seat, laying him bare and vulnerable to assault. Already growing hard, Donatello positioned himself, then thrust in, using his grip on the chair to pull his brother along his cock. The steady rhythm faltered once as he yawned again, but the tight, slick grip of Leonardo’s ass was waking him fully again.

Leonardo moaned, exhausted from being in the same position for hours and used frequently during that time. That he grew hard as well, aroused by the steady press of his brother’s thrusts against his tail, did little to ease the ache. And he wasn’t surprised when Donatello yet again came before he did and the pleasure stopped, leaving him groaning in denial.

The kiss on his cheek was a cruelty. He moaned again, hoping for any mercy, when Donatello again draped the drop cloth over him, hiding him from view. Donatello accidentally nudged him with his hip, and as he left, the chair was sent on a mild spin. Leonardo heard the door lock and heard the slide of the deadbolts, as if he could even free himself from the chair. From the laboratory came the distant sound of typing, of pieces of metal being fitted together.

Donatello had lost himself in building another machine. Leonardo listened to him work, latching onto anything that wasn’t the dark, silent closet, slowly turning as the chair’s spin continued on well oiled gears.

Chapter Text

Leonardo came to already realizing he was in trouble. His head throbbed from being knocked out—he’d be lucky if he didn’t have a concussion. And his arms and legs were completely immobile, locked in large metal tubes with flashing lights that dazzled his eyes. Only his arms and his hips remained visible as he was pinioned at the center of a what he began to recognize as a large wheel of alien electronics.

“Is the test subject of the subject to be tested prepared for the test to be tested?”

Leonardo winced. Not what he wanted to hear. He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes widened in horror. A laboratory full of krang minions stood behind him, all immaculately dressed in suits, all staring at him.

“The subject to be tested is prepared for testing. The initial test for the neutral pleasure centers rerouted through the krang mobility devices shall be tested initially here.”

The word soup was too difficult to understand with his thoughts still dazed. Instead Leonardo only realized what was going on as the wheel he was locked into suddenly began to turn, rotating so that he was held horizontally in the air, his head hanging back at the height of a kraangdroid’s groin.

He was aggravated but hardly surprised when its robotic cock extended from its trousers with a mechanical click. At least it looked smooth enough, even if it had its own flashing lights, and it wasn’t monstrously huge.

Then the tip’s metallic sphincter opened and a thin tentacle slipped free, whipping about in the air.

Leonardo’s gasp was choked off as the kraangdroid, tentacle and all, thrust into his mouth.

“The experiment of which kraang is engaging requires the engagement of kraang. Describe the sensations which kraang senses.”

“The sensations which kraang senses are engaging. More than engaging. More than engaging. More than—”

The kraangdroid’s head exploded. So did the tentacle, leaving a purple splash across Leonardo’s mouth as the kraangdroid fell backwards, sparking and thrashing. The other kraangdroids pulled the hapless utrom out of its robotic shell, holding its limp brain in their hands. At first Leonardo thought he may have found a new way to kill them, but it twitched. It wasn’t dead. As it came around, it revealed that its eyes were spinning.

“Krang, speak! Are you aware?”

“Describe the awareness of which you are aware.”

A low groan came out of the utrom, and it lifted itself upright in their hands. It hugged itself with its tentacles in a sight reminiscent of Michelangelo rubbing away a headache, and then it screeched and lunged at Leonardo’s face.

Wincing, Leonardo shut his eyes…then slowly opened them again when nothing happened. The sight was horrific, all of the utrom’s tentacles stretching toward his mouth as it hissed. It was held back by several kraangdroids, whose utroms peeked out of the buttoned shirts in awe.

“The pleasure of the creature known as the turtle is pleasing,” said one krang.

“The creature known as the turtle is pleasing but dangerous,” said another krang. “Krang must take steps to remove the danger from the turtle of pleasing.”

Leonardo closed his eyes again. He had no doubt his brothers would find a way to get him out of this, but a krang conga line was not how he’d wanted to spend the night.

But clearly the turtle of pleasing had no say in the thing which was occurring, as the krang began numerous experiments, one after the other, rotating him back and forth so he could service two krang at once, abandoning their invasion plans as they tirelessly turned their attention to much more important matters of creating the formula for perfect angle, thrust and depth for maximized pleasure of the neural rerouting.

In the ceiling, hiding in the dark corners of the lab, Donatello glanced at his siblings.

Raphael motioned at all the kraangdroids sparking and seizing up, thrashing on the floor as they malfunctioned. It was more than they could usually beat up in a single fight. Did they really want to try to leap into that small army? Better to wait until their brother had taken out all of them.

Between them, Michelangelo watched and wished he’d brought a camera. Raising an eyeridge at his siblings, he made a circling motion with his finger.

In perfect understanding, all three of them looked at the wheel their brother was sealed into. Perhaps it really would be easier and safer to roll him out of there and remove him later at their leisure.

A lot of leisure.

The turtle of pleasing would surely be pleased with their efficient plan of efficiency.

Chapter Text

In the top floor of the Foot Clan headquarters, Saki’s private rooms were surprisingly luxurious. There were no windows, but the walls were covered in scrolls of calligraphy and woodblock landscapes. Even the chair Saki sat on, more like a throne, was high backed enough to intimidate, but upholstered in leather to be comfortable, and he lounged, drinking sake as he watched in deep satisfaction as his enemy was bound to his specifications.

Across the room, a large mirror had been place so that Leonardo could see himself—or at least see his head, as the rest of himself was on the other side of the wall.

“I have taken steps to render this victory…permanent.”

Leonardo couldn’t answer. The black ball was too wide and full, stuffing his mouth, and held in place by thick leather straps. He could barely move his head—two half-circles had been cut into the planks of the wall, coming together around his throat like a pillory. The wood had been glued, screwed and then riveted back together on either side to form a permanent lock.

On top of that, a sheet of drywall had been specially made and set in place to hide the carpentry and match the rest of the room. From this side, he looked like the head of a wild animal caught in a hunt and mounted on the wall.

“Do you feel them working?” Saki asked. “I warned them to be careful with the welding. I want you kept in good condition.”

Leonardo wouldn’t respond, but he could feel the Foot soldiers on the other side. His hands were up by his head, fixed in place with steel fasteners that were bolted and then welded to the girders in the wall. One set at each wrist, then one above each elbow, holding his arms flush against the beams, they would have to be struck with hammers and chisels to break them off.

His legs were also pressed flat against the wall, spread to reveal his tail. Thin steel bands bit into the backs of his thighs, just above his knees and below his ass, pressing firmly into his flesh as they held his weight. Other fasteners went behind his calves and ankles, leaving him neatly splayed open in permanent bindings.

“I won’t bore you with the medical details,” Saki said, cheered as he correctly read his captive’s sudden trembling, his wincing as tubes were inserted out of sight. “Suffice to say, with the proper intubing, you can be held indefinitely.”

A remote control lay on the small table with his sake. He lightly tapped the first button.

Just beneath Leonardo, a machine came to life. A simple motor and piston, it slowly began to turn, sending the thick rod of rubber up and into him, penetrating in a long, inescapable push, holding deep for several seconds, then finally retreating again.

On the dark side of the wall, there was trembling, shaking, the sound of muscles straining uselessly against steel that simply didn’t bend, a deep inward groan over the steady, merciless hum of the motor.

In Saki’s room, only Leonardo’s eyes squeezing shut and the barest gasp well muffled behind the rubber ball in his mouth.

“How long do you think you can suffer before your mind begins to break?” Saki asked, and he tapped the second button.

The motor turned again, delivering its shaft only a little more swiftly. Leonardo moaned as it pushed at him in a mechanical rhythm, as rigid and unforgiving as metal. He shuddered in his restraints, completely unable to move and carried along unwillingly with each thrust.

“Most humans cannot stand such isolation and torture for long,” Saki said. “Will you keep your sanity for a week? A month?”

The next button brought swifter punishment, the sensation of violation as Leonardo rocked with the machine’s assault. He bit down on the gag in a vain effort to stand it.

For all its power, the constant attack was nearly silent. Saki stood, bringing the second half of the bindings to wrap around Leonardo’s head. The fasteners connected to the leather at his mouth, locking in place the broad blindfold that covered his eyes.

“Reminding yourself of who you are may help you resist,” Saki said, adjusting the leather so that no light could slide past. “But then again, telling yourself who you are as you enjoy being physically broken may only hasten your final defeat.”

Any response Leonardo could have made was muffled completely. The last thing he heard was Saki’s low, victorious laugh as he slid the hood in place, cutting off all sound. Leonardo was left in silence, wracked with thrusts that deepened at Saki’s unseen whims, clinging to hope that he would be rescued.

Hope that slowly began to weaken as days went by.

Chapter Text

Taking down the eldest, especially when he could see it coming, was a two turtle job—Donatello to hound him, leading him toward the lab, and Raphael to back up the threat. The long sweeps of the bo had Leonardo ducking and backing up, unable to leap for the high ground of the pipes and handholds overhead as Raphael blocked him in.

As he backed up, Leonardo ran into the doorframe, wincing as he stumbled off balance, and then fell backward as he dodged a thrust of the staff. Tumbling on his shell, he rolled on his front and scrambled only to have the breath knocked out of him as Raphael leaped and landed on his back.

“Get him on up,” Donatello said, already leaning his staff against the wall. “Hold him still.”

Raphael dragged his brother’s arm behind his shell, pulling it far enough that Leonardo yelled, trying to rise and relieve the pressure. As Raphael sat up, he brought Leonardo with him, holding him against his chest. His brother’s thrashing was no less powerful for how much smaller he was, but with his arm twisted and the other pinned under Raphael’s, his movements were easy to contain.

“Raph, no,” Leonardo gasped, struggling to breathe in his tight grip. “You don’t know—it’s mind control, he’s trying to—”

“I know,” Raphael said softly, trying to sound soothing. “He already dosed me with ‘em.”

Leonardo looked up at him in shock, shaking his head in denial, and his sudden stillness made it easy for Donatello to insert the needle into his arm.

The result was not instant. Leonardo cried out, trying to slink out of Raphael’s grip, fully aware of the cold needles spreading through his shoulder. The chemical crept sluggishly like ice, moving up his throat and coating his mind in a layer of frost that slowed his thoughts.

“There we go,” Raphael said, easing his arm back down, catching him as toppled back. “Just let it work.”

“He should be ready,” Donatello said. “Strap him in.”

Raphael brought his brother up to his feet, but the effort was wasted as Leonardo had no balance. Swaying like a reed in a heavy wind, Leonardo felt the world spinning around him and clung to Raphael, sick to his stomach.

“Don’t let him…” Leonardo mumbled, the words slurring beyond recognition. “S'a trick…”

“Trust me,” Raphael said, slinging his arm over his shoulder. “Come on, you’ll feel better after this.”

“Much better,” Donatello said softly, coming around to take Leonardo’s other arm. “Just try to walk.”

“Man,” Raphael said. “He’s smaller but he’s a pack of muscle.”

Leonardo felt himself sinking and wondering if the floor had given way, unaware that he was lying down on a padded surface. Heavy canvas went around his wrists and ankles—medical restraints bolted somewhere out of sight. Spread eagled on a mattress, Leonardo swam in a delusion, the edges of his brothers blurring into the ceiling and the light overhead.

“See,” Donatello said softly. “Isn’t that better? Comfortable, right? And you’re not alone. Raph’s right here with you.”

The response was weak, a vague shake of the head. Leonardo was resisting. Donatello smiled to see it. His brother was so strong willed, so sure of himself. He stroked his brother’s cheek with his knuckles. When he’d turned that discipline and force for his own purposes, his control would be that much more unbreakable.

He nodded at Raphael, who climbed over his brother, easing his hand under Leonardo’s shell and lifting his hips. He touched the tip of his cock to Leonardo’s entrance, teasing the coming penetration, and his brother responded, shivering in his hands as his breathing quickened. Then Raphael slowly pushed in, just the head, then another inch, giving Leonardo time to adjust.

Donatello lay down beside Leonardo, stroking his face, forcing kisses, whispering comforting thoughts in his ear.

“It’s good, being held like this. We want to take care of you. You’re held down so you’ll be with us, and you like being made love to.”

Leonardo sighed, trembled. Gave a token jerk against the straps. He felt like he was entirely covered in ice, and the only warmth in the world came from his brothers plying him with attention. Donatello’s kiss was scalding. Raphael’s cock carried fire deep inside of him, leaving trails of molten heat on his skin.

“You like being loved just as much as we do. You like being held so securely. You like being cared for. It’s so hard to be the leader. So hard. So much better to do what I say. ”

Something was wrong. He knew something wasn’t right about this, but Raphael’s rhythm was a calming beat that matched his heart, matched Donatello’s voice telling him wonderful things. It was so hard to be the leader, not because of the commands to give but because of the distance it created. The gap between him and his brothers.

A gap that Donatello worked to close between each kiss.

Long minutes passed. An hour. Two. Raphael and Donatello alternated, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wear out from the constant assault. The ache between his legs grew hot but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. They loved him, and they did this to show him how much they loved him, how much they wanted to keep him.

When he woke, curled in Raphael’s arms, it was Donatello who stirred first. Already sitting up, reading something on his screen, Donatello noticed his tired, wordless sounds and moved to hold his hand, running his thumb along the strap.

“Just rest,” Donatello whispered. “You need to let the treatment take root. We’ll do this again when I think you’re up to it.”

Leonardo blinked heavily, giving a faint nod. He noticed the rubbing on his hand and looked down.

“Did you want me to take off the restraints?” Donatello asked.

Thinking about it took a long time, but finally Leonardo shook his head once.

“…like 'em.”

Donatello smiled. “Of course you do. And then tomorrow we’ll go collect Mikey, and then you’ll all be mine.”

Leonardo was already falling back to sleep. Donatello pet the length of his throat, loving how his fingers fit neatly around his brother’s neck. How Raphael turned his face toward Donatello’s hand. Like two more additions to his work room, put neatly in their place.

Chapter Text

In a way, Leonardo was glad that he wasn’t on a laboratory slab. True, with Bishop, capture was never good, but the man still had an unhealthy fascination with taking mutant turtles apart.

Upside down over water wasn’t much better, though.

“It’s a rather inelegant form of torture, I must admit.” Bishop did not sound particularly sorry. “But it’s efficient and it keeps you completely bound. Not an easy feat with you, I’ve found.”

Leonardo was given no time to respond as he was lowered toward the glass tank.

When he had first woken up, he’d thought Bishop had put him over a tank of piranha or sharks. Only after his thoughts had cleared did he realize that the tank was far too small for that. As wide as a phone booth, it was almost equally as tall, the perfect size for dunking one tied-up turtle.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he was bound. If he shifted around, he felt his arms pressed tight against his sides and his legs locked together. Tape, maybe, although that wouldn’t make sense if he was being put underwater. Canvas belts perhaps. He’d also been put in a large sack with a hole cut into the bottom so his head was all that appeared, and the bag itself was tight, like a sleeve compressing him on all sides. Something was hooked or tied to the top, holding him suspended upside down…and then he was lowered into the water, sinking so that he was entirely submerged.

Ice cold. The shock of it stole his breath away, and he started to thrash almost instantly. As his mouth opened, a moment from taking a fatal breath, he was pulled back up, stopped just above the water’s surface. It lay below him like a threat as he gasped.

“What,” he panted, “no questions?”

“That would make this an interrogation,” Bishop said. “This is torture. You are going to suffer until you beg me to stop, and then I will continue.”

He set the mechanism to automatic. Instantly Leonardo plunged back into the water, shocked but now feeling how the cold stung and burned against his face. He was brought up slowly this time, giving him a few seconds of respite, then he was dropped again.

He couldn’t grow used to the temperature. Every single time, the cold hit him like a wave, shocking him to the core, and he shivered when suspended in the air. There was no relief. He went in again, and ice water leeched through the bag and restraints, creeping between his legs, biting his tail. Too cold to move, he hung limp in the air, held suspended in water.

At his seat, Bishop worked on his tablet, completing a few office tasks he’d put off. The turtle’s torture had only lasted a few minutes but already he was defeated. Bishop doubted anyone had ever used their cooler blood against them, and he considered the rest of his plan, a completely waterlogged and frozen turtle dropped on their doorstep as a potent warning to leave him alone…

He watched Leonardo submerge yet again, mouth open in a silent cry of pain.

There was something deeply satisfying about watching his enemy slowly broken down.

How much more satisfying to then reshape what was left to his own will?

Chapter Text

“All you have to do,” Bishop said, “is say 'please’.”

“…f-fuck…you…”

“Tsk tsk. Just because I’ve caught you is no reason to be impolite. Especially since I’ve been so kind as to let you speak during this whole affair. Hmm. Something I think I will remedy, if only temporarily. You can’t say 'please’ if you have this huge rubber ball in your mouth.”

“…goddam—fff—”

“There we go. My apologies for buckling it in so tight but I can’t have you talking, now can I? The strap shouldn’t draw blood, but it does look uncomfortable. I’ll remove it when I’m ready to give you another chance.”

“This? Oh, I suppose you’ve never seen one before. It’s a branding iron. Honestly, I don’t know why you continue to strain against the leather. You know they won’t give. You’re just making the bruises worse. Your wrists and arms are going to be black and blue, and for what? You’re as helpless as you were the moment you woke up.”

“Look closely. See the lines? It’s not a letter—it’s a barcode. You’ll get a permanent mark later, but I’m not used to using a needle and I want to make sure the tattoo is clear. Now brace yourself.”

“Surprised? A good branding doesn’t hurt. See, you’ll be well taken care of once you’ve accepted this. You’ve already lost. You’re mine. You just have to accept it.”

“Do not panic. Just breathe…the shock can’t be helped, but it goes away quickly. I would offer you morphine, but I don’t want you to think that I simply drugged you into obedience. You need to know that you gave in and admitted your defeat. That way your obedience and loyalty is that much stronger.”

“You know, I only require one bodyguard. If you take your place by my side, I won’t go after your brothers. You have my word. Of course, I won’t say no if you invite them. Don’t scoff. I can tell you’re cursing behind that gag. But every ninja needs a lord. I would simply accept them into my service. You’re the stubborn one.”

“No, I don’t suppose you could trust me. Hard to trust after you’ve been on someone’s dissection table. But my desires…*ahem* My needs have changed. I want your services.”

“Well…true. Services in this context extends well beyond your martial arts abilities. You have many…attributes I wish to exploit. Will exploit, in fact.”

“This? Just a scalpel. I said don’t panic. I promised I’m not going to dissect you. But I do need to insert a few tracking devices, a monitor for your vital signs, a capsule of sedative. The sedative is only if you grow violent or lose control of yourself, and I have to face the reality that I know nothing of magic and spellcraft. If you’re possessed, I need to be able to stop you.”

“Yes, it really is that benign. And yes, I do have to insert them without pain killers. Like I said, no chemicals.”

“The cut feels like a piece of ice against your skin, doesn’t it? Not painful. I told you, you’ll be well taken care of. There’s the first tracker. It answers to a network of satellites. I can find you anywhere in the world with this. The other three are simply redundant.”

“You’ve gone quiet. Good. Here, a little reward. Once I realized that your tail is the base for your reproductive organs, adding a small vibration unit was a given. That’s the lowest setting. Yes, I added it while you were unconscious. That took more complex surgery and I didn’t want to feel that. The unit is also controlled via satellite. A more pleasurable way to get your attention, or perhaps knock you out of commission. A virgin, hm? I look forward to that.”

“I hope you understand now the sheer amount of control I already have over you. Your location, your body’s readings, even your sexual gratification. The barcode details my ownership of you. It also signifies the responsibility I bear to you. You are mine. And I protect what is mine.”

“There. That’s the last one in. And I think I should turn this off as well. I don’t want you to think you were unduly influenced. Mm, the buckle is indeed quite tight. There. Now…do you wish to be my servant?”

“…p-please…”

“I’m glad you accepted this before I had to resort to more negative reinforcement. You’ll have to wear the shock collar until I’m convinced, but I look forward to seeing you earn that honor. Now…I’m going to put the oxygen mask over you again. Breathe deeply. There are a few more modifications I need to make…”

Chapter Text

His bedroom door lay open a few inches, so Raphael heard the faint scuff of footsteps coming toward him. Looking over his magazine, he sat straighter as Donatello came in, pulling Leonardo along by a leash attached to a collar.

“Special delivery,” Donatello said.

“I thought Mikey said I didn’t get him for another couple nights.” Raphael sat upright in his hammock, putting his feet on the floor. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Mikey’s got extra training with Splinter,” Donatello said. “Probably be another hour or two. Since I was done with him, Mikey said you could keep him busy.”

“Huh.” That raised several questions, but rather than ask, he lifted his hand, catching the end of the tossed leash. “Any rules I should know about?”

“No breaking the skin,” Donatello said, counting them off on his fingers. “No deep bruising. No marks, basically. No arguing. And no gagging him just so you can rant.”

Raphael fought down his smirk. “Won’t say I wasn’t tempted. Anything else?”

“Technically he has a safeword,” Donatello said. “But Mikey said they’ve done some really extreme, freaky stuff and Leo never uses it, so…don’t expect to hear him say ‘no’.”

Raphael coughed. “'No’? Not getting the concept of a safe word, bro’.”

“I’ll be in the lab if you need me.” Donatello kissed Leonardo’s cheek. “I’ll have the new machine waiting for you on Tuesday. And don’t forget, as soon as you wake up tomorrow, coffee on my desk, just the way I like it.”

“Yes, Donatello.” Leonardo watched him go from over his shoulder. Once the door was shut, he lowered his head, looking at the floor.

Raphael didn’t miss the slight tremor of his hands.

Buying some time, he examined the leash. Bright orange canvas, probably so everyone remembered who Leonardo really belonged to. It was several feet with a carabiner on one end. He was a little surprised it didn’t simply have a lock, then figured the only person who got to use locks was Michelangelo. Sure enough, the end attached to the collar was held without a padlock.

Curious, Raphael wound the leash around his fist a few times, pulling it taut.

“Undo the leash,” he said.

Leonardo hesitated. “I can’t.”

“It ain’t locked,” Raphael said. “What, just 'cause Mikey said not to?”

“It’s not that,” Leonardo said. “Although Master did say not to.”

“That little brat the only one you call master?”

“He likes it,” Leonardo said, a faint smile betraying fond exasperation. “Donatello didn’t, said to use his full name for this.”

“So you have to call us what we say to.” Raphael’s smile grew. “If I said call me Owner of My Ass?”

“Then I would say it.” Leonardo meet his look. “Owner of Your Ass.”

Raphael laughed despite himself. “Okay, okay. Raph’ll do. Take off the leash anyway. It’s just gonna get in the way.”

“I can’t,” Leonardo said again, tapping the carabiner. “Some of them really are that strong. This one and the ones on my cuffs, I cant budge them. He has a vise he uses to push them in.”

“Huh. Well…if I guess if you can’t lose it, use it.”

Raphael wound the leash around and around his fist, pulling Leonardo closer. Leonardo didn’t try to fight, but he put his hands around it and leaned back, keep the canvas taut until Raphael had him within reach.

“Sit. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Leonardo swallowed once, his gaze sliding back to the floor.

“Mikey…he had something in mind. He probably didn’t think Splinter would keep him this long and—”

“Leo,” Raphael said. “Sit.”

“Just a little longer,” Leonardo said. His voice grew small as he realized Raphael wasn’t going to wait. “You know Mikey picks things up fast.”

Raphael waited until his brother glanced up at him again.

“Sit.” He patted the hammock beside him.

With a deep breath that shuddered as he exhaled, Leonardo came and sat beside him, hands on his lap. He didn’t move, tensing as Raphael touched his cheek, put his knuckles under his chin and forced his head up. That he took Leonardo’s hands, bringing them to his lips, kissing the backs, brought a confused look from his brother.

“Donny’s making machines?” Raphael asked.

“Y-yes.” Leonardo watched him turn his hands over for a kiss to each palm.

“He used one on you?”

“Yes.” Leonardo sounded satisfied that he controlled his voice this time. “A whipping machine.”

“How’s it work?”

“I don’t know,” Leonardo said, but from Raphael’s raised eyeridge, that wouldn’t be enough. “It’s like he said. He tied me down on a sawhorse and the thing spun around behind me. Every few minutes he changed it so it went the other way.”

“With a whip?”

“A few thin strips of leather,” Leonardo said. “He wanted to start small. Said he’ll make a stronger one later.”

“I think I’d like to see you in that.” Raphael put his hand on Leonardo’s cheek, gently turning him to meet his look. “Did you enjoy it?”

A blush. “…yes.”

“Good. I’d like to see you squirm. But just a little.”

Now Raphael took a kiss, pushing in close so that Leonardo put a hand on the hammock, holding it as he leaned back. When the kiss ended, Raphael stayed leaning over him, brushing a thumb under his eye.

“I might tie you up,” he said, “but it’s good knowing that ain’t the only reason you stay put.”

“Raph…” Leonardo started, not sure what to say.

“Now,” Raphael said over him. “Let’s get this started. Lock your hands together.”

“…yes, Raph.”

The change in his voice was immediate—softer, expectant, ready for the next command, especially now they both knew how they stood. Leonardo didn’t need to worry about Raphael using this as an opportunity to abuse him.

Manhandle, whip, beat into a mattress…but not abuse.

When Michelangelo finally arrived, he found Raphael sitting up in his hammock, Leonardo between his spread legs, dutifully working the large cock in front of him. Michelangelo’s gaze quickly dropped to Leonardo’s ass and found it untouched, if still lined with the fading red welts of Donatello’s attentions. So Raphael had spared Leonardo’s feelings and let him perform as a sex slave rather than just taking him without any consideration.

Michelangelo chuckled. Not that it would do Leonardo any good in a few minutes.

Leonardo had stopped, turning to watch Michelangelo come in. Immediately he felt a light tug of the leash pulling his face up against the cock, and he went back to sucking while they spoke over him.

“Ready to share?” Michelangelo asked, locking the door.

“Figured you’d wanna split him after your workout,” Raphael said. “Which end do you want?”

“Oh, I figured he’d ride us both,” Michelangelo said. “He complains, but he can handle it.”

Raphael tossed him the end of the leash. Leonardo was swiftly pulled up to his feet, swaying slightly as he caught his balance. Bound at the wrist, the canvas leash now formed a convenient thread to strap his hands up at his throat, and Michelangelo wound the canvas around his neck and hands, using the end carabiner to cinch his hands in place.

“You been good?” Michelangelo whispered, turning Leonardo to face him. “Been enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, master.” Leonardo glanced over his shoulder. “We…reached an understanding.”

“Aw, what a good little pet.” Michelangelo gave him a kiss so Leonardo wouldn’t see him waving Raphael close behind him. “See, this is already doing wonders for everyone. Donny’s gonna get a good night’s sleep, you’re not arguing with Raph, I get to plow you every which way…”

As he spoke, he suddenly bent and gave Leonardo’s legs a few light smacks, making him spread, then spread a little wider. And then Michelangelo put his arms under his brother and lifted, hauling him up and into Raphael’s arms. Holding Leonardo’s spread legs just under his knees, Raphael suddenly realized what his little brother meant to do. Raphael was just there for convenient muscle, to hold Leonardo up at the right height.

“This is gonna be tight,” Michelangelo said, coming close so that Leonardo was pressed between them. “Get ready.”

Who he was talking to, they couldn’t tell. Leonardo look too many deep breaths, swallowing nervously, and his open mouth was too much temptation. Even as Raphael lowered him onto his cock, he pressed his mouth to Leonardo’s, quieting him.

“Keep him from yelling,” Michelangelo said. “He’s usually pretty good, but…I should have brought a gag with me.”

Michelangelo slid his cock along Raphael’s, easing up against Leonardo’s ass. Raphael only had his head in, but even that was enough to fill up their brother. With a little force, Michelangelo slipped in beside him.

They didn’t try to push hard, instead thrusting in time with each other, making Leonardo bounce in Raphael’s arms. As Leonardo pulled away, gasping for air, he was caught again by Michelangelo, silenced by his tongue. In this way they passed him back and forth between themselves, using gravity to pull Leonardo down an inch, then two, then three, deeper onto both of them.

Leonardo’s mind swam in and out, growing increasingly lightheaded, as he was overwhelmed with the pressure and force inside him. His groans were swallowed before he could make them, any protests he might have had drowned in kisses. He couldn’t even try to hold himself up, too wrapped up in metal and the leash to do more than bob like a toy on their cocks.

Raphael came first, but that barely relieved anything as his come filled Leonardo so that he almost thought he would find it coming from his lips. Raphael continued to thrust which brought Michelangelo over soon as well.

“…you…” Michelangelo sighed, leaning against them as he caught his breath. “You keep him tonight.”

Raphael slowly lowered Leonardo to his feet, unsurprised when Leonardo folded and went to his knees, sprawling on the floor beneath them. The eldest look like he was going to pass out, staring at nothing as he panted.

“Donny gave him orders for tomorrow morning,” Raphael said, grabbing the tissues from the nightstand.

“Gonna have to work out a schedule,” Michelangelo said. “Well, Donny’s gonna catch up on three days of sleep, so he can get his coffee in the afternoon. And then I think he’s got another machine he’s making?”

He glanced at Leonardo, but he was in no condition to answer.

Raphael was left to clean up, muttering about Michelangelo escaping from doing work, and he brought Leonardo up into his hammock. The canvas he could unwind, but his brother remained locked up with his bound hands at his throat. He didn’t think that would be too comfortable…but as he lay down beside him, he found that it worked perfectly if Leonardo’s head pillowed on his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Ambushed from above, Leonardo dropped on his plastron, already tucking into a roll…then stumbled short as a heavy weight landed on his legs. Bracing himself to rise, his hands were pinioned by two slender points that came down hard on his wrists, holding him flat.

The hiss in his ear was horribly familiar. Perhaps because the wasp recognized that he’d been infected before, it didn’t try to bite him, recognizing his scent. As the seconds went on and he didn’t feel the painful sting, his thoughts shifted from warning his siblings to somehow saving himself. If it held him for much longer, it might grow complacent, realizing he wasn’t trying to fight. Then he could throw it off and—

Something was pressing against his ass.

Too startled to think, he couldn’t breathe as something slick and hard slid across his skin, searching for entrance…then began to push. He gasped as it sank in without trouble, as thin as a needle, but very quickly it widened and forced him open, smoothly sinking deep as it expanded. The sensation left him torn, groaning in pain as it split him like a massive cock and groaning in pleasure as it thrust in.

He lifted his head, breathing heavily as he overheated, and he was pushed back down by its mandibles, forcing his cheek to the cold stone floor. He craned his neck, trying to look over his shoulder. The back end of the parasitica wasp  doubled over and disappeared under his shell, and something small and round pushed down out of its abdomen through its ovipositor.

A second later, he felt it push into him, pressing heavily against his plastron. He squirmed, trying to push back, and instead the next sphere rolled through him faster, hitting him deep inside like a fist. Leonardo groaned again as another sphere came roughly into him and weighed him down.

Visions of horror movies played in his head. It was planting eggs, using him like a convenient incubator, and it showed no sign of stopping. As he whipped his head back and forth in futile agony, he grew harder, felt the pleasure rushing over him despite nothing but cool air flowing over him.

He screamed as he came. The sudden noise startled the wasp into jumping back, and Leonardo turned on his shell to lash out—cutting off its head in one swipe.

The thrusting of its abdomen didn’t stop. Shocked, he tried to pull himself off of it and found himself impaled and held down by its tight fit and the weight of its eggs.

The abdomen was struck sideways and smashed against the wall. The violent motion tore it out of him, and Leonardo turned back on his plastron, curling up in pain.

“I’d ask if you’re okay,” Donatello sighed, kneeling beside him and touching his cheek. “But it looks like you got it coming and going.”

Leonardo turned his face into Donatello’s upturned hand. “I think I liked it when they just bit me.”

“Considering how we’re gonna have to flush these out of you…so do I.”

Chapter Text

Raphael could barely keep hold of him—panic made Leonardo as frenzied as a mouse in a hawk’s claws, and everything Raphael said sounded like a shrill avian shriek. Leonardo had ripped out the dart and syringe before it had delivered the full dose, finishing the fight, but the effects had ramped up and up so that Leonardo was trembling on the run back home. Stumbling and watching the skyline, swearing something was following them. Finally held in Raphael’s arms for the last few blocks beneath the streets, pushing his face against Raphael’s throat, hiding from the shadows that wanted to eat them.

By the time they were safe in the lair, Leonardo was trying to hide from Raphael and the rest of the world.

Hold him, Raphael was told. Don’t let him go. Talk him down.

As if anything he said could cut through the thick cloud of fear. Michelangelo and Donatello were running between the lab and Splinter’s room, calling out names like dihydrokawain and methysticin and kava that he didn’t understand. All he knew was that they were trying to create an antidote, anything to make it better.

The only thing that made his own fear bearable was that Leonardo didn’t scream. Lost in his deepest fears and paranoias, their big brother had retreated into silence, trying to make himself as small as he could, thrashing until Raphael lay on top of him, squashing him flat. It didn’t stop Leonardo’s fight but it did take some of the bruises out of it.

Thinking he could at least wrap Leonardo up in a blanket, Raphael stopped Michelangelo as he ran by again, stalling him long enough that his little brother tossed a thick blanket over them both. Left alone again, Raphael started to shrug it over them, awkwardly pulling it up over their heads.

Leonardo stopped fighting. Raphael blinked, wondering if it was a trick, but no—his brother stared through the knitted mesh of fabric, the shadow throwing tiny speckles of light over his face. His pounding heartbeat hadn’t slowed its race, but Leonardo held utterly still, frozen as he watched the empty lair. Cringed as Michelangelo passed by again, and he ducked under Raphael’s arm.

Like a mouse in its burrow.

“Well, at least that’s better,” Raphael breathed, then met his brother’s wild look. “You forgot I’m here?”

Leonardo didn’t answer except to stare as Michelangelo disappeared into the kitchen.

How silent the lair could be. Every heartbeat, breath, even their shifting on the sofa sounded loud. Tired of leaning over his brother on one arm, Raphael grunted and sat up, bringing Leonardo with him. His brother didn’t resist except to curl in his lap, digging his fingertips over the top of Raphael’s plastron.

“Not so hard.” Raphael winced as the grip pulled. "Relax, we ain’t going nowhere.”

He arranged the blanket to fall over both their heads, covering them in a separate world of shadow and light pinpointing their skin. He stroked his brother’s arm, his face, whispering soothing assurances that they were safe, they were home, nothing could get them here. Without any understanding or even recognizing who Raphael was, Leonardo watched him with wide eyes, still breathing heavily.

Raphael frowned. If that didn’t stop, Leonardo was going to pass out.

His brother took the frown for a threat and fidgeted to bolt, gasping as Raphael caught him tight, crushing his arms against his plastron. As Leonardo started to twist and his breath grew thin, Raphael covered his brother’s mouth with his own.

Leonardo froze, tense as a stone. Raphael adjusted slightly, deepening the kiss, and Leonardo still didn’t move. When Raphael broke and leaned back, Leonardo watched his sibling in wonder that he wasn’t being hurt.

“Remember me now?” Raphael murmured. “You know who you are?”

Without responding, Leonardo couldn’t think to form words or answer. But he put his head on Raphael’s shoulder, still watching the lair through the blanket, and his heartbeat finally began to stop pounding.

Still surrounded by danger, Leonardo knew. But also in the safest of hiding spots.

When the antidote was ready, they pulled back the blanket to find Leonardo curled in Raphael’s arms, face hidden in his throat, softly caressed as he slept.

Chapter Text

No ropes. No chain. No cuffs. Not even a stern command. Just a stance—legs spread slightly, hands touching the desk—and shaking breaths as Leonardo waited in anticipation. He only wore a blindfold, unable to see Donatello sitting at the desk. He wouldn’t know when his brother pressed the remote, starting the machine, wouldn’t see when he stopped the pain.

The motor hummed to life. Leonardo tensed, his breath hitched. Nothing. Donatello was teasing him. The motor didn’t turn off, paused, warming up. Leonardo counted the seconds, the heavy ticks from the clock on the wall. Donatello said nothing. The anticipation made him shake, unsure of the pain to come.

He’d taken the whip before, but never from a cold, merciless machine. He flinched for no reason, heard the chuckle at his expense. His face warmed in faint humiliation.

And then the first blow hit the back of his thighs. His head tilted back as he gasped, bucking in surprise. He trembled but didn’t move. He wasn’t allowed to move. Already the welts began to rise.

The next stroke came after several seconds, then a little faster. A little faster. The machine was gaining speed and spun its leather straps with the same force each time, never growing tired, never showing compassion. He was groaning already, bending to the desk, trying to bend out of the machine’s reach and only better presenting himself in its range. Red lines lay across his skin in perfect lines down the whole length of his thighs, and as his legs buckled, his ass came low enough to receive similar punishment.

He didn’t know when the pain would stop. Long minutes passed and he heard nothing but the machine behind him, the cracks across his ass. As he rose up on his toes, sparing the wounded skin, he brought sore, beaten flesh back up for the machine to strike. He clenched the edge of the desk with tight fingers. It was too much, overwhelming, and he knew Donatello was enjoying the show as he suffered, willingly standing for the whipping.

He couldn’t see if Donatello had his finger on the button or if he was sitting back in his computer chair. He had to trust that his brother would stop the punishment eventually.

The machine turned without any sign of ending.

Chapter Text

Early enough that his brothers were finishing their morning routines, Leonardo opened the dojo, kneeling at the altar to light sandalwood incense. A holdover from when Splinter was still young enough to lead practice—he sighed. Splinter did not join them for practice any more. And Leonardo didn’t really care that the incense burner was a the statue of Buddha, but the brass dish at his base held incense well, and practice didn’t feel right without that scent in the air.

Then he went to the pile of athletic tape in the corner. He’d forgotten how many stores they’d cleaned out for the rolls upon rolls of black tape, but they’d gone from hitting the local convenience shops to stealing boxes from warehouses. Sitting down by the pile, he stretched his long legs for a moment, then relaxed with a tired sigh.

Sometimes…he really hated waking up this early just to practice. To bother his siblings to rise and work out even when Saki was dead and the clan war was over. At least Donatello had coffee to look forward to. Raphael was still dragging himself out of his hammock, and Michelangelo—

Michelangelo plopped down in front of him with a grin too cheery for the morning. Leonardo blinked, pausing with the tape at his wrist.

“You’re in here early,” he said, but he glanced at the clock. “Or did I lose track of time?”

“Hey, I don’t always play hooky in the kitchen.” Michelangelo plucked the tape out of his hand, stretching a piece and holding it out. “Here, I’ll do your arms if you do mine after.”

“…okay.”

Leonardo put his hand out and watched his brother wind the tape beneath his shoulder, fitting it snugly, slowly bringing it down to his hand. The repetitive movement lulled him into quiet, and he remembered how late he’d gotten to sleep the night before.

“Raph needs to learn to be a little nicer,” Michelangelo said softly, chuckling as a flush colored Leonardo’s face. “He should remember you like to get to bed early.”

“I should’ve known better than to say yes,” Leonardo muttered. “He’s as bad as you when he gets going.”

“Aw, you wound me.” Michelangelo began tending his hand, wrapping the tape around his fingers. “I thought I take good care of you.”

“You’re a sex weasel,” Leonardo said without any heat, simply stating a fact. “You’re just nicer about it.”

“So I’m worse than Donny, too?”

Leonardo’s eyes closed. Michelangelo understood. Donatello was as attentive as a scientist hovering over his experiment, always watching, gauging for expected reactions. Sleeping with Donatello was pleasant if unnerving—monitored every moment.

Now Michelangelo started working on the other arm. Leonardo let himself drowse, snatching what small form of sleep he could. Raphael hadn’t come in yet, so he could afford to snooze without fearing being teased. And Donatello was still finishing breakfast…

Leonardo frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Michelangelo asked.

“Don’s still not here,” Leonardo said.

“Is that bad?”

“It means he’s probably snuck back into his lab and I’ll have to drag him out again.”

“I don’t think so,” Michelangelo said mildly. “I mean, you’re probably right. He probably shot off to watch his slimes, molds and spores creep across a petri dish.”

Leonardo sighed.

“But I don’t think that he meant anything bad by it,” Michelangelo said. “Since I’m the one who told him that you called off practice.”

A moment passed before Leonard understood what Michelangelo had said. “…what?”

“Told him practice was canceled,” Michelangelo repeated with the same cheerful smile. “Told Raph, too. He just flopped back into his hammock. And Splinter’s sleeping in—don’t’ worry, I checked. So no one’s coming in besides us.”

Confused, Leonardo sat straight…and looked down at his arms—completely taped, yes, and completely tangled together. The tape from each arm had been wrapped over and under the tape around the other arm, and with a firm tug, Michelangelo pulled the ends, taking out the slack so that his forearms drew together.

“Mikey—”

“Like I said.” Michelangelo finished by wrapping the tape over and over and over his wrists, reinforcing the bindings as he tucked in the ends. “No one else is coming in. You’re in here with me for a few hours.”

Michelangelo watched the way Leonardo pulled and shifted to test that he really couldn’t pull free. The way Leonardo didn’t panic or try to run, instead lowering his arms and meeting Michelangelo’s look.

Michelangelo felt his suspicions confirmed. Leonardo even waiting for his little brother to take the next step. To dictate the next step. Michelangelo reached over to  cup his face, brushing his thumb across his brother’s cheek. The tip slid into Leonardo’s mouth up to the first knuckle, then withdrew to hover his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Leonardo whispered.

“I’m testing something,” Michelangelo said. “Can you get loose?”

“…no.”

“Are you going to run when my back is turned?”

“No.” Leonardo smiled with a faint laugh. “Not like I’d get far anyway.”

Michelangelo paused. “Do you like that?”

Blinking in confusion, Leonardo tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Me tying you up, knowing I’m gonna do stuff to you and you can’t stop me.”

The flush returned to Leonardo’s face twice as strong, and he lowered his eyes, refusing to look at him even when Michelangelo tilted his face up.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Michelangelo said, “so no one hears you pounding you into the mat. And I’m gonna come before you can, and then I’ll see if the coast is clear so I can take you back to my room and do it again. And I’ll keep doing it until you beg to suck me off just for a break. Then I’ll let you come.”

Leonardo’s breathing had grown labored. Michelangelo slid his thumb back into his mouth, pressing deep so that Leonardo balked. But when he tried to back away, Michelangelo caught his brother’s jaw, holding him tight.

“Do you like this?” Michelangelo asked.

“Don’t make me say—” Leonardo whispered, his voice muffled.

“No, you’re going to say it.” Michelangelo leaned close, pulling his bound arms so that Leonardo was yanked close. “Do you want me to keep doing this to you?”

He felt Leonardo’s pulse against his knuckles, felt the warm breath panting over his fingers. Leonardo’s eyes shut, and he gave one more struggle to pull away. Michelangelo held him tight as if he was holding a fluttering bird. The blush was down Leonardo’s throat, and he absolutely would not look up.

The answer was a small, silent nod.

Michelangelo wondered if his brother would have admitted that to anyone else, if he would have admitted it now if he hadn’t been captured first. Michelangelo held his brother a moment longer, savoring that unbroken vulnerability.

The kiss that followed was as fragile as a wisp of incense.

Chapter Text

On the roof of Casey’s apartment building, behind an access stairwell and in the hot vent of an air conditioner, was the unlikely scene of the world’s first human mutant threesome.

Hands held behind his back, his head bobbing between Casey’s legs, Leonardo was acutely aware not of the cock in his mouth. Casey’s dick wasn’t anywhere near the size Leonardo was used to having in his mouth—a human simply couldn’t measure up to a mutant.

No—Raphael was watching, the real audience for this performance, and Leonardo was all too aware of his look. Worse, he didn’t know what Raphael expected or wanted. When his brother had invited him to this threesome, Leonardo hadn’t expected to be anything but a shared toy. Raphael had done almost all of the talking, and Casey had watched in mute shock as the overly serious leader had gone to his knees, unzipped Casey’s pants and begun to expertly bring Casey up into his mouth.

More than expertly. Casey was almost ready to come, visibly trying to hold himself back so he didn’t seem like an overexcited virgin. The human didn’t have the same stamina of Raphael who was more than twice his mass.

Before Casey came, Raphael grabbed Leonardo’s shoulder and roughly pulled him back.

“Dude, what the hell?” Casey gasped, groaning as his rising pleasure died before it could peak.

“Trust me,” Raphael said, turning Leonardo and pushing him to all fours at his feet. “Real show’s about to begin.”

Raphael knelt behind him, pulling Leonardo’s hips flush against himself. This was more familiar—Leonardo braced himself as Raphael’s cock swelled up between his legs, rubbing between his thighs. As Casey moved quickly to reposition himself in front of Leonardo, Raphael pulled back and fully drove into his brother. The sudden thrust made Leonardo gasp, and Casey likewise plunged into his open mouth, pushing balls deep, and he gripped Leonardo’s shoulders to better match Raphael’s rhythm.

Leonardo rocked between them, but he chanced to glance up at Casey’s face.

The human wasn’t looking at him. Casey was looking at Raphael. And Leonardo realized why Raphael had brought him here.

A human couldn’t handle a mutant cock. It would have torn a human’s insides. Perhaps Raphael had let Casey take him from behind, might have given Casey multiple blow jobs, but Raphael couldn’t be satisfied without taking Casey more fully. Leonardo knew his brother’s tastes.

Casey came well before Raphael did, and he had to drink a beer and catch his breath before he could come back to fucking Leonardo’s mouth. The sex turned into a shared drilling as Casey tried to match Raphael’s force, driving Leonardo back against Raphael’s cock, but there was no comparison. Raphael was driving Leonardo into the concrete. Casey…was simply there.

When it was finally over, Leonardo tended to himself, waiting for Raphael to finish holding Casey, kissing with mismatched mouths, close the only way that two street toughs could be. Leonardo left the roof before they finished to spare himself the awkward goodbye with a man who had just seen him act like a sex slave.

It was several minutes past when Raphael joined him on the street, straightening his mask. Raphael glanced at him sideways.

“…thanks.”

Leonardo smiled and didn’t say anything as they walked home. Only when they were a few steps away from the lair did Leonardo turn and look, really look at his brother.

Tired. Drained. Barely satisfied. Glaring at the floor.

“Let me know when you want to do that again,” Leonardo said.

Raphael froze. “What?”

Leonardo was reaching for the lock, and Raphael grabbed his wrist.

“After that?” Raphael asked, breathless. “After we just…?”

Shrugging, Leonardo nodded once. He didn’t dare say anything. The peace between them was tenuous.

“…I’ll…” Raphael swallowed, and he stood a little straighter. “I’ll let you know.”

Leonardo smiled.

Chapter Text

The Lit Flame Inn, the most discrete hotel in the entire Nexus, did not charge a security deposit. From the tattered tatami mats, the cracks in the walls and the spilled sake, Usagi figured that would change after tonight. Not to mention the white tufts of fur that covered everything.

He packed the kiseru with mild herbs and lit it on the nearby candle. He didn’t normally indulge in smoking a pipe, and he certainly didn’t carry his own, but Michelangelo had one for some reason and this was not a normal situation.

Usagi lay back on Raphael’s shell. The larger turtle barely shifted under his elbow, spread out across the futons like a starfish, but he provided a comfortable cushion as Usagi glanced around the rest of the room. None of them wore their masks or anything anymore, but he was glad that he could tell all of them from their sizes and postures.

Donatello lay sprawled by the door, his arm outstretched toward his duffel bag. Usagi had last heard him murmuring something about cough-fee, but whatever that was, Donatello had collapsed, utterly spent from giving and receiving most of the night. He held much of Usagi’s respect as he’d served as the sandwich in most of their couplings.

Smoke rings floated down to Michelangelo, who leaned against the window and watched the moon without really seeing the moon, stunned beyond the capacity for words or coherent thought. Michelangelo occasionally tilted the sake cup to his mouth, but it had been empty for the past hour and he hadn’t noticed.

But at least Michelangelo was still the most aware. Leonardo lay in a collapsed heap at Usagi’s feet, curled with a blanket in his arms. When Usagi had walked in on them, Leonardo had been receiving all of their attentions, and by the end of the night, Leonardo had still been the target of most of their lust. Usagi didn’t know when he’d passed out, but somehow he looked the most comfortable, and probably would be the most rested of all of them come morning…which was only in another hour or two.

Usagi sighed mournfully.

“I thought four teenagers would be able to keep up with one rabbit,” he huffed. “Now I see it was a clever ruse to wear me out before the Battle Nexus Tournament.”

“I concede,” Donatello rasped. “You win.”

“Yup,” Raphael said slowly. “I give.”

“Hell no,” Michelangelo groaned, flailing for balance. “No bunny’s knocking me out like that.”

That he tried to stand and only toppled over, the sake cup rolling along the torn tatami mat, didn’t worry Usagi about his chances. On the floor before him, Leonardo’s eye opened slightly.

“Already won,” Leonardo murmured, sounding too exhausted to move.

“And how,” Usagi asked, “do you figure that?”

“Just gotta…turn and wave my tail.” Leonardo’s voice trailed as he drifted to sleep again. “Instant…vict'ry.”

Usagi watched him pass out again. With an indulgent smile, he blew another smoke ring into the air.

He didn’t admit that Leonardo might have had a point.

Chapter Text

“Okay, it’s all set.” Michelangelo held up the plush turtle doll up, shaking it properly open. “Let’s get you inside.”

Leonardo looked at it skeptically. The turtle doll was a little larger than himself, the size of a giant carnival plush. Seafoam green with a vapid smiling face, its limbs were stubby and flat. He’d have to completely bend his arms and legs to fit, and he doubted he’d be able to even crawl along.

“How am I going to breathe?” he asked, leaning away as Michelangelo brought it closer. “There’s no mouth.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Michelangelo said, lifting the face and revealing a zipper at the corner of the wide golden grin, unzipping it a few inches to show the opening in the cloth and padding. “It opens up. It’s only closed right now ‘cause you ain’t in it.”

“And…how do I move in it?” Leonardo asked. He touched the plush plastron, surprised by how thick the fabric and padding was.

“Silly,” Michelangelo said, turning the doll and making sure the long zipper down the back was fully open. “Dolls don’t move.”

Leonardo stared at the darkness inside the plush doll, running his fingers along the lining. Smooth, well stuffed, it would be a tight fight.

“You gonna go in willingly?” Michelangelo asked, his tone wheedling. “Or are you gonna go in tied up?”

“Give me a minute,” Leonardo grumbled.

Taking a deep breath, he started with the legs, easing his knees down into the padding. He had to scoot in the last few inches so that his shell cleared the bottom, and then he tucked his feet in under his shell.

“Lean in,” Michelangelo said, raising the upper half so it would open a little more inside.

Holding his head away from the doll, Leonardo worked one arm in first, pushing his elbow deep into a surprisingly compact hole. He figured it must have been made for humans, but the amount of room for his shell made him think that Michelangelo had sewed it himself. The next arm went in easier as he turned his shoulder.

“Lemme get the zipper first,” Michelangelo said, gently closing the doll behind him. They both had to tug and twist at the cloth to adjust it properly, straightening the fit and zipping it snugly up to his neck.

“Mikey…” Leonardo tested his range of motion, trying to lift his arms or turn. The plush doll arms lifted a few inches, nothing more. The suit was so stuffed that it felt like a hundred pounds on him. “How long am I going to be in here?”

“Ah ah,” Michelangelo said, “say it right. How long am I going to keep you in there?”

Leonardo frowned and studied the plush doll’s head hanging in front of him. “How long are you going to keep me in this?”

Michelangelo sat down in front of him, fluffing up the head in anticipation. He took a kiss, gentle for the bruises still dying along his mouth.

“I’m thinking all night,” Michelangelo said. “Need my little stuffed turtle to chase the nightmares away. Now open up.”

Before his brother could argue, Michelangelo raised the doll head to Leonardo’s face, catching the muffled squawk as Leonardo felt the thick rubber ring push into his mouth behind his teeth, pinning down his tongue, holding his mouth at a convenient angle for whatever Michelangelo planned for the rest of the night. The plush head was just as tight a fit as the rest of the doll, molding to his face as it zipped closed behind him.

There was a faint crush of velcro as the zipper was patted down along his shell, hiding the seam. The doll’s mouth was unzipped to reveal his own mouth, and as Leonardo expected, he was immediately put to use as Michelangelo’s cock slid through the ring. Leonardo couldn’t move his head and couldn’t even move his tongue, but he didn’t have to. He felt pressure on his shoulders as Michelangelo grabbed the doll and pulled forward, thrusting into the mouth like a sex doll.

Inside, Leonardo discovered that he could barely breathe as the cock filled the doll’s opening, and he could do nothing to speed along the process. Worse, if he passed out, Michelangelo wouldn’t know. Who noticed if a plush doll didn’t move?

He needn’t have worried. Michelangelo pulled out fully, giving him a moment to gasp, and then thrust in again. The speed was slow, unhurried, and he began to fully feel his helplessness as he was moved this way and that, tilted for a better angle, given air, then denied again. Michelangelo’s mastery was complete and Leonardo luxuriated in the loss of control, at being nothing more than a toy.

The cum in his mouth was a relief as he swallowed, rewarded with air as Michelangelo pulled away. Then the zipper was pulled shut, sealing him in completely. He fidgeted, his breathing made more difficult as he drew air through the fabric and steel teeth.

The darkness lifted as the cloth in front of his eyes lifted, revealing a thin black mesh that he could barely see through, and breathing came a little easier. He saw Mikey grinning at him for a moment, and then the room spun around as he was hauled up into the air. He fell sideways, bouncing as Michelangelo jumped into bed after him, lifting him up against the headboard and using Leonardo as a huge pillow as he started to read comics.

Leonardo sighed and settled in. Minutes passed. Sometimes Michelangelo held the comic up for him to see a meaningless blur of colors while explaining the plot. Sometimes Michelangelo commented on how stupid the main character was and explained why the writers had forgotten a special power they’d introduced years ago. And often Michelangelo said nothing at all, content that his toy knew its place and didn’t even fidget.

“Hey, Mikey, you know where Leo—?”

Raphael’s voice died as he came in, halting as soon as he saw the doll. He stared at it for several seconds before his gaze moved back to his little brother.

“Dude…what the—?”

“Yes, Raphael, I know exactly where Leonardo is. And where he’s going to stay for the rest of the night.”

Leonardo felt a cold chill creep through his shell, suddenly very happy to be forcibly silent and still.

“Oh…uh…” Raphael took a deep breath. “Damn, Mikey. I’m starting to feel for poor Leo.”

“Just starting to?” Michelangelo asked. “Not a couple nights ago on a certain rooftop?”

Silence. Leonardo strained to hear anything.

“Leo told you about that?”

“I made him tell me. He was covered in bruises, Raph. Although I’m a little surprised Casey’s microdick could leave those kind of marks.”

“Mikey—”

“No no no, Raph. Let me guess. It’s kind of hard crushing on a human when it’s not as easy as sliding tab A into slot B. So you used big brother as a sexy adaptor.”

“Now look—”

“And knowing Leo, he offered his services any time because he wants you to be happy…even if that means having to bang Casey. You’re lucky April doesn’t know. She would have wanted Leo to bite it off.”

“I ain’t gotta defend nothing, Leo can make up his own mind—”

“He’s mine,” Michelangelo said, flopping more heavily on the plush. “He obviously can’t be trusted to take care of himself. So you want anything, you have to ask me. And I say he doesn’t get dragged out of the lair at the last minute 'cause you got a Casey booty call.”

A long silence. And then Raphael’s loud huff and angry slamming of the door, stomping out of the lair.

Michelangelo stretched, relaxing as he turned on his side and opened the comic book again. He felt the faint shift of his brother inside the doll, and Michelangelo sighed and glanced up. The doll’s black eyes stared back.

“I meant it that I don’t like it when my toys get busted.” Michelangelo lay down again, pillowing his head on the doll’s fluffy midsection. “You sit there and think about it for awhile. I’ll let you out when I’m not so annoyed.”

Leonardo winced. Sitting inside of a doll for a few hours suddenly seemed like a good way to spend the night.

Chapter Text

Laying on the floor, resting his head on his crossed arms, Leonardo endured the warmth spreading across his face, the rising heat of humiliation as he lifted his hips and ass. He couldn't see what Michelangelo was doing, but he felt his brother's hands firmly grasping his calves, running along his legs for a moment simply to feel the taut muscles there. Then the fingers delicately trailed up behind his knees, along his thighs, moving in along soft skin and up under his tail—Leonardo twitched as Michelangelo's fingers swirled around his tail, and, biting his lip, he buried his face back in his hands to muffle his tiny sounds and breaths.

"Sensitive back here, huh?" Michelangelo chuckled. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"You said to get ready," Leonardo mumbled. "I took care of everything."

"Not quite what I meant."

Leaning over Leonardo, forcing him to take his weight, Michelangelo reached his hand out so that his brother could see the large purple plug. Shiny and ridged like a strawberry, it looked almost as large as Michelangelo's hand. Leonardo's eyes widened.

"Okay," Leonardo said slowly, "I know we joke about it, but you realize I've never taken anything bigger than Raphael, right? And not even all of him?" He started speaking faster as Michelangelo sat back, hands on his ass, setting the plug against his cloaca.

"Oh man, okay, even that's with gravity working and I seriously think you're going to be disappointed and—oh...." He winced, gritting his teeth, fighting to relax as Michelangelo gently pushed the plug in, refusing to take no for an answer as he met a little resistance—Leonardo felt the widest part press in deeper, clearing his entrance, and then the pressure eased as it was fully in.

"Dude, never doubt the Donny." Michelangelo patted his brother's ass, giving it a rub as he called it for good luck. "Turn around. I wanna see your face when I switch this on."

"It's electric?" Leonardo gingerly turned, adjusting to the heavy weight inside him. To his surprise, it didn't move, held in place and large enough that he couldn't ignore it. "What am I saying? It's Donatello—of course it's electric."

"Remote controlled, actually." Michelangelo held up the remote and the array of multicolored buttons. "Let's try it out...blue first."

Still kneeling, Leonardo sat straight, tensing as the plug began to hum. The sensation was light, teasing but without any threat of bringing him over. He felt the blush again as Michelangelo stared at him, enjoying the effect on him. Leonardo clenched his hands into fists, then forced them open and set them on his knees again. His breathing, shaky at first, steadied with effort.

"Now red."

At the loud click, Leonardo gasped and tipped forward, catching himself on his hands. The hum became a loud vibration, and he clawed at the floor for several seconds, trying and failing to raise his hips up away from the device inside him. He reached down, finding his entrance but utterly unable to pull it out of himself, and made a weak grab at the remote only to splay sideways as Michelangelo laughed and lifted the remote out of reach, watching Leonardo's eyes start to glaze over.

"Mikey, Mikey....oh god, take it out, stop, I can't...oh—"

Michelangelo held his breath, enjoying the show. After a long moment of his brother writhing on the floor, amidst his growing grin, he turned the toy back to blue. "Okay, we'll call that punishment setting. Or maybe reward, when you get used to it. Got your breath back?"

Several seconds passed as Leonardo lay on his plastron, legs slightly splayed, one hand out toward Michelangelo. He couldn't answer, regaining his senses. His legs felt like his bones were still humming.

"I wonder what orange does," Michelangelo said.

Leonardo braced himself as he heard the click. Then yelped almost immediately as something crackled with a sharp sting. As if a whip had cracked across his ass, only the sensation came from deep inside, driving all other thoughts out of his mind. A second one followed swiftly, then a third, and he couldn't form the words to beg his brother to stop, rolling on his shell and staring wide eyed at the ceiling.

"Gah!" Michelangelo tried to click the button again, slipped, fumbled with the remote, then caught it again, pressing the button to end the setting. "Whoa, okay, so that's the real punishment button. You okay?"

Leonardo gazed up at Michelangelo, dazed. "...yes. Yes...it actually didn't hurt all that much. It just...whoa. Caught me by surprise. It happens so fast..."

"What was it like?"

"Like..." Leonardo shrugged. "Like getting snapped by a rubberband? It's...it's probably not that bad now that I know what to expect."

Michelangelo raised an eyeridge, lifted the remote, and pressed the button. On cue, Leonardo winced, but he didn't panic. Bearing it stoically, he sat up again, easing back into a kneeling position.

A slow smile spread over Michelangelo's face. "Go get me a soda."

Leonardo sighed, glaring off the side in his usual—

Michelangelo hit the orange button. Leonardo yelped again, glaring at his little brother in betrayal until the second shock came. He held out as long as the third shock, then grumbled and went swiftly out of the bedroom. There was a faint gasp as the fourth shock hit him, and then Michelangelo mercifully shut off the punishment as Leonardo finished bringing back the grape soda.

"Nothing but pure sugar in that," Leonardo grumbled, but he knelt for his next command, keeping his eye on the control.

"I can definitely get used to this," Michelangelo said, popping the can and taking a sip. "Donny called it no-restraint bondage, but remote control Leo is a way better name. Okay, last one, let's see what purple does."

Leonardo tensed, squeezing his eyes shut...

Nothing happened. As seconds passed with no change, Leonardo breathed out in a deep sigh even as Michelangelo groaned.

"Aw, no fun. I guess that button's busted. I can't imagine what it would've done. I think we've seen all the vibrating functions. I wonder if it a wire's loose..."

Michelangelo pressed the button again, and again, and again. Still nothing. He sighed and tucked it into his belt. He had so many ideas to order Leonardo to do, and he figured he'd punish his brother half the time, just to spice things up...

Only while he was imagining a long list of humiliations did he notice that his brother was panting for breath. Leonardo's eyes had softly closed, his lips parted as his chest heaved, and Leonardo put his arms around himself as if cold.

"Uh...dude?" Michelangelo put his hand on his brother's forehead and found his skin flushed and heated.

Leonardo moaned at his touch, turning his cheek into Michelangelo's hand, grasping his brother's wrist and holding him close. Moans followed every breath.

Michelangelo looked back at the remote, holding it up to his face. Now he noticed the tiny, faint writing above each button.

Blue – tease

Red – incapacitate

Orange – control

Purple – enslave

"Oh shit." Michelangelo tried to draw his hand back only to find Leonardo gripping it with all his strength. Leonardo turned, pressing kisses into his palm, kisses that quickly turned to licks and then playful nips.

"Ow! Hey, go easy on the—" As Michelangelo wrenched his hand free, Leonardo lunged, pouncing on him and knocking him backward. Michelangelo twisted underneath him, drawing a startled cry of pleasure as his knee brushed against Leonardo's tail. Overwhelmed at the sudden sensation, Leonardo sat up, running his hands down his plastron as if he could push the heat away. Michelangelo froze—the vision was too much. He usually had to command Leonardo to do anything and now his brother was reaching down to his thighs, following by grabbing Michelangelo's shell, running his thumbs over the smooth surface that led to his tail.

"What the heck?" Michelangelo cried, turning on his plastron, trying to crawl away. Instead his hands were pinioned, his neck nuzzled, as Leonardo lay close, licking at his shell. "Gah, calm down you raging nympho—"

"I'm afraid he won't be able to calm down for awhile."

Michelangelo craned his neck, looking up at Donatello leaning in the doorway. Smiling under his purple mask, Donatello had crossed his arms and his legs, watching Michelangelo struggle under a wildly amorous big brother.

"Man, it looks like you pressed the purple button a lot, huh?" Donatello squatted down to look Michelangelo in the eye. "You didn't bother to read the instructions, of course. Or the remote, I bet."

"Donny, ultimate cool dude, favoritest bro..." Michelangelo winced as Leonardo nipped his throat. "What the heck did you do?"

"Just put some aphrodisiac in that egg," Donatello shrugged. "One or two doses should be just enough to get him in the right mood, a little more pliable so he follows orders. But let me guess—you pushed the button, didn't see any immediate result, then hit it a couple more times. And now Leo is a bit of a mindless sex slave."

"'m not mindless," Leonardo murmured, pressing kisses along Michelangelo's cheek. "Take this thing out of me...gonna ride him..."

"Unfortunately, that is impossible," Donatello sighed. "The egg's ridges are designed to deploy ever so slightly for half an hour after the first button push. I'm afraid that thing's not coming out until I deliver the counter-signal."

Now Leonardo lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. His panting never stopped, and he swallowed once, trying and failing to compose himself.

"Then...what? I can't stay like this...Donny, do something. Please."

"Yeah, what he said," Michelangelo grunted, caught under his brother's knees as they pressed tighter, finding sweet sensation against his shell. "For crying out loud..."

"I...could be persuaded," Donatello said. He found the remote in Michelangelo's belt and palmed it, stowing it in a pouch. "If you'd try on something for me."

"Anything!" Michelangelo snapped.

Then fell silent.

In Donatello's hand was another large, ridged plug.

Chapter Text

Walls were not always walls. Worse, walls sometimes decided to be walls again at the worst moment. Bathrooms were even more treacherous. Leaning against the bathroom wall of the Yokai pizza joint, Leonardo found himself slipping along the tile without warning, and he managed to get his feet under himself just before he fell.

But he couldn’t stand up.

Long seconds of confusion passed before he realized that he wasn’t caught on anything. The wall had simply reformed around his neck, just behind his head. He had a view of the bathroom’s tiny sitting room and baby changer, but the rest of the bathroom was behind him.

Again, he sighed. Was this because he had the sword? Did portals just like to open up around him?

He froze as the door opened behind him. Whoever had come in didn’t say anything, and then the door slammed shut again.

That…didn’t make him feel any better. He struggled and pushed and wondered if Raphael would hear if he yelled loud enough, but did he really want his sibling to see him like this? Did he really want to stay here any longer than he had to? Resigning himself to the inevitable teasing, he was about to start calling when the door opened again.

“Um…hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a sledgehammer or something?” Leonardo called out. “Kinda stuck here–”

A human came into view, but with slit snake eyes that narrowed as he regarded the caught turtle. Leonardo noticed something in his hand and hoped it was a hammer. In the split second that he could see it as the human lifted it to Leonardo’s face, however, he gasped and tried to flinch away.

A thick black ring of leather and rubber lay in the human’s hand, and it was pushed past Leonardo’s lips, suddenly widening as the human let go. The rubber ring fit behind Leonardo’s teeth, forcing his mouth open around the circle of leather over his mouth. As he winced, trying to push it out, the human pulled the straps around either side of his face and buckled it tight behind his head.

Something dangled on a chain hanging from the ring gag. The human caught it and aligned it with the gag, and the cock-shaped plug sealed Leonardo’s mouth. A quarter-turn locked it so he couldn’t spit it out.

While he was gagged, Leonardo felt hands grasping his legs, running along his thighs and calves and forcing him to spread wide. His feet were pushed close to the wall, leaving him unbalanced, and cold steel closed around each ankle. There was the sound of a drill, and then he couldn’t move his feet anymore.

His arms were grabbed and held tight against his shell as something larger went around his shell, steel pipes framing his body. He couldn’t see the handrails being drilled into the wall behind him, the long bolts that would keep the rails from moving, but he did feel his hands and arms being shackled to the rails to hold him still. Chain looped around his thighs also wrapped around the lower part of the railings, supporting his weight and keeping him conveniently spread.

The arrangement took less than three minutes. The hasty wall they built to his side took more time, although it went up much faster than he’d thought possible. While the finishing touches were added to his bondage–-a chain around his shoulders and shell that also took his weight, added straps to his ring gag that ran up between his eyes and were likewise drilled to the wall, holding his head up-–the rest of the bathroom began closing off with thick green vines that moved like snakes, forming a living wall.

A hard slap on his ass made him yelp, only a muffled whimper in the gag. The hand drifted along his shell and arm, testing the tightness of the chain and how it pressed hard into his skin. Heavy footsteps came around the side, and a pizza slicer cut through the vine wall, leaving a rough door that pushed open and revealed the parlor’s minotaur.

“I thought I recognized that tight ass,” she said, looking down at him with a broad grin. “Confused? Startled? Let me be the first one to welcome to your first day on the job. Or maybe job is too generous. That implies you’re getting paid. More like…you’re the newest appliance here. A real installation piece.”

She bent down to better look him in the eye. “You already met Joe, our janitor. He’ll be taking care of you while you’re here. I just thought you’d like to see what’s on the menu.”

Reaching around the door, she brought in a chalk menu board with a fancy wooden frame. On it, in fancy handwriting, she began to list various acts and prices.

“Let’s see…we’re raffling off the first go at ya, but after that, I think ass for ten minutes, ten dollars. Mouth, five. Buck fifty for every extra minute. Lube complimentary. Commemorative photograph, twenty bucks. Spankings free. Please reinsert plug after use.”

Leonardo’s only response was a quickening of breath, the straining of muscle against unforgiving steel. She turned off the lights and shut the door, and her footsteps vanished quickly.

He was left alone in the dark. This was a terrible joke, wasn’t it? An awful prank gone too far? He heard the hit of a hammer against the wall outside and then the clunk of the menu being hung. Not a prank. His heart beat faster. Why weren’t his brothers looking for him? He couldn’t move at all.

Long minutes passed, or at least he thought they did. Impossible to tell how long he stood there, bent over and held tight. The chains were so tight, completely without slack and wrapped around his legs and arms and shell in strategic spots, that he couldn’t even adjust himself.

Cool air blew over his legs. He went rigid–-he couldn’t see or hear what was happening, but he could feel it. On the other side of the room, someone had come in. He struggled in earnest to no effect. Someone lightly touched his ass, feeling him up, running their fingertips along his joints. The touch was gentle, tentative, exploring between his legs and cupping his tail, moving up to–

He winced as they found his entrance, kneading his ass to make their way easier. The slaps that followed brought tears to his eyes, but worse was the cool drizzle of gel across his skin.

And then he choked on the rubber gag in his mouth as someone’s cock pressed against his ass, sliding in between his legs so he could feel the length and thickness of it. He briefly had an image of Raphael, brought to mind by the sheer girth, and then it was sliding into him, filling him, pushing in bit by bit.

He wanted to thrash, to scream, to beg and kick. The chains twisted ever so slightly and a whimper died around the cock in his mouth. The cock withdrew, pressed in again, slowly, slowly, taking care not to tear, but it was still so overwhelming that he didn’t notice the door opening, the lights coming on, or an unnoticed leather strap being drawn over his eyes, until the plug in his mouth was turned and pulled out.

There was little exploration this time. The person in front of him simply cupped his face, adjusted, and then thrust in once. Leonardo coughed as precum coated his mouth and touched the back of his throat. The cock withdrew so he could breathe, and then it pushed in and out with a steady if slow rhythm.

Leonardo couldn’t protest, couldn’t fight. The cum that filled his mouth went down his throat, spilled past his lips. He took a shuddering gasp that was cut off as the gag was sealed up again. It also had the effect of silencing his groan as the person behind him pushed in so far that their hard front pressed against his ass. They shuddered, and the cum and lube began to cool on his skin.

There were affection pats on his ass, on his cheek, the sound of phones snapping photos, and then he was left alone again, blinded and exhausted. He would have collapsed if he hadn’t been locked in place.

Later, when the chains were cut and he was rescued, cradled in one of Raphael’s arms as his siblings fought their way back into the sewers, he passed out, only waking up long after they arrived home. Cleaned up, his bruises tended, he lay curled in Raphael’s hammock, resting his head on his brother’s shoulders. And he snuggled a little closer and soaked up the safety that sheer amount of muscle and protection brought.

He never noticed that neither Raphael nor Donatello left their shellphones unlocked around him.

Chapter Text

Experiments required absolute control—a controlled environment, accounting for all variables, and most of all, a subject that could not interfere with the experimentation inflicted on it. Donatello had long ago eschewed the use of animals in his work. Nevermind his natural empathy for creatures suffering from scientific cruelty—animals couldn’t report on their feelings, on how an injection felt, or do anything but look at him through the bars of their cage.

Truth was, being in his lab all alone for long hours was fulfilling…but it was also brutally lonely. That his brothers couldn’t keep up with his explanations only isolated him further. And he was a healthy young man with very, very few choices in life.

In his mind, shackling his brother to the wall was a natural solution.

He’d stumbled on the idea after a marathon of bad movies with his siblings. Stretched out on the couches in a jumble, he’d laughed along as the mad scientist loomed over his victims, but when the scientist left his beautiful young test subject chained to the wall of his laboratory so he could focus on another experiment, Donatello’s laugh had died in his throat. The idea had taken root in an instant. His hand had naturally fallen to Leonardo, sitting on the floor in front of him, and he’d squeezed his brother’s shoulder once.

Leonardo had looked up, reading the intentness of Donatello’s gaze. And he hadn’t argued.

In Donatello’s mind, that was all the permission he needed.

His brother stood against the wall opposite his workstation, held fast in chains. Only a few feet away, the distance gave Donatello enough room to work and yet talk with his brother, whiling away the hours chatting about their family, the last fight, history, philosophy, to start to teach him about basic biology and engineering, even chemistry and anatomy. Especially their own anatomy.

The desk lamp left a circle of light across his workstation and sparkled along the chains. The rest of the lab was dark, save for the crucible in the corner beginning to glow red. Safely behind a fireplace screen, it crackled and sparked as it warmed the lab and kept out the night chill, and the flickering light threw shadows across the wall that would have been ominous if Michelangelo hadn’t first covered the cement in bright graffiti and rainbow stickers.

No surface had been safe. Donatello's laptop had several kawaii fruit stickers and a Frankenstein monster lumbering along the bottom, but to his credit, Michelangelo had slapped those on before knowing that nothing but the devil’s piss could take stickers off a FruitBook laptop. So Donatello had tried to cover up some of the more cutesy stuff with science stickers, and he often referred back to them when Leonardo grew nervous.

“See the sticker that says ‘don’t test on bunnies’?”

Leonardo, raising an eyeridge, gave a look at the short chains holding his hands above his head. “I notice it doesn’t say turtles.”

“Well, maybe a little testing on turtles.” Donatello sat back, pressing a button on the remote built into the arm of his chair.

Behind the wall, a mechanism clanked and allowed a little more slack in the chains. Not much—a few inches, but enough that Leonardo wasn’t pulled so taut and upright. The shackles held his wrists by his head, and he shifted his weight to his other foot.

“I dunno, Donny.” Leonardo smiled gamely, but his trembling voice gave him away. “I’m not so good at experiments. Test anxiety, y'know?”

“I think you’ve been passing with flying colors,” Donatello said. “Speaking of which, I wanted to try something else tonight.”

Leonardo twisted his hands in the shackles, testing the new angle he was held at. That he’d already had some kind of cream rubbed into his thigh earlier in the afternoon unnerved him—worse was that Donatello had also wiped the cream away and cleaned his skin with alcohol. His brother was planning something and Leonardo couldn’t get away. The unyielding rattle of steel that frustrated him only made Donatello’s smile spread. As he opened his mouth, however, a knock at the laboratory door startled them both.

“Yo, Donny!” Raphael audibly leaned on the door, making it creak with his weight. “You seen Leo? I ain’t seen him in hours.”

Donatello glanced at Leonardo, reading his mouthed 'no,’ the quick shake of his head. It was the helpless fear in his brother’s eyes that made the decision easy, Leonardo’s mounting horror as Donatello called out to their sibling.

“Come on in, Raph. And close the door behind you.”

Donatello waved Raphael in, but halfway in, he held up his hand. Raphael stopped with a curious look. From where he stood, he couldn’t see Leonardo around the corner, and Leonardo stood absolutely still, his eyes wide, wondering if Donatello really meant to let their brother see.

“Donny?” Raphael asked.

“You have to promise not to tell,” Donatello said.

“So you know where he is?”

“Oh, I know,” Donatello said, chuckling to himself. “And this can go one of two ways. Either you leave and keep looking for him, or else you agree that whatever you see here, you don’t even whisper a word about…and you get to assist in my experiment.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Donny…”

“It’s nothing bad,” Donatello assured him, smiling even wider. “Make your choice.”

As Raphael hesitated, Donatello rolled his eyes, spinning once in his chair.

“It’s not like I can stop you changing your mind,” he said. “But I don’t think you will, not after you see.”

Pausing for a brief moment, giving Leonardo false hope, Raphael finally shrugged and crossed his arms.

“Fine. I agree. For now.”

Knowing what was about to come next, Leonardo closed his eyes and turned his head away. The small movement made the chains clink.

Raphael stood straight in realization, and he came closer, coming around the corner. His breath caught.

Against a clear section of wall, Leonardo stood with his wrists shackled in steel that fit snug against his skin. The chains were short, holding his hands securely by his head. His submissive posture told Raphael that there was nothing his brother could do and Leonardo knew it.

Raphael gave a low whistle and looked over his shoulder.

“He didn’t fight,” Donatello said, “but if I’m being honest, I don’t think he realized what he was getting into at first.”

“And boy, is he in it.” Raphael turned his attention back to Leonardo. “Can you feel even feel your hands?”

“Circulation is unimpeded, and muscle strain is well within his current limits.” Donatello opened the desk drawer and pulled out another length of chain. “Here, catch.”

Raphael did so, finding that the chain had two more shackles, one on each end. The screws were already threaded through both sets.

“One around each ankle,” Donatello said. “And make sure you lock it to the bolt in the floor. I need him immobilized for my next experiment.”

Raphael held the shackles and chain for several seconds, staring at them and feeling their heavy weight, and then looked up at his bound brother. His expression wavered as he realized what Donatello wanted and that Leonardo wasn’t resisting. Was actually flushing a deeper red than his markings.

“Sounds good,” Raphael said, kneeling and clapping the first shackle around Leonardo’s ankle. His brother tensed at the cold steel, but there was no attempt to escape as Raphael laboriously fit the two pieces together and screwed them tight. After the second was attached, he brought the chain to the rounded bolt jutting from the floor, securing it with the padlock already there.

“Hope you got a key for that,” he said, standing. “Or he ain’t going anywhere for awhile.”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Donatello said. “But he’s still wearing his gear. Take that off, huh?”

Sucking in a breath in anticipation, Leonardo still refused to look up even as Raphael reached up to his hands. The cloth wrap was untucked and gently pulled free, revealing his wrist and arm. Then the second hand…both legs, and his breath shook as Raphael’s warm hand grasped his foot, the thumb sliding along his sole.

“Sensitive, isn’t he?” Donatello steepled his fingers, resting his chin as he watched. “The mask, too.”

Raphael undid the belt first, unbuckling it at the shoulder, letting it fall free, then at the side so that it dropped to the floor. Despite how little they wore, the sensation was one of removing anything between him and Leonardo, and finally he untied the mask—he could have simply slid it off, but it felt more satisfying to untie it, to take that extra time to unravel it and lift it away, exposing his brother’s face.

The sidelong glance that Leonardo risked, gazing from the corner of his eye at Raphael, was too much temptation to resist. Raphael gathered Leonardo’s face in his hands and brought him up for a kiss. There was a token struggle, a helpless pull against the chains, and Raphael indulged in the small resistance that he easily crushed—the kiss was no less forced for how soft it was, and his brother made small sounds of distress that finally faded, allowing Raphael to turn him for a better angle, a more convenient angle to taste his mouth, regardless of how the position forced Leonardo up on the balls of his feet.

When Raphael drew back, he stared in wonder at Leonardo, amazed that his brother was so conveniently pinioned for him. He took another kiss and his brother had to obey, hands straining at the air. So easy to paw, to grope, exploring the taut muscles with fingers that brushed the back of Leonardo’s knees, where his hips met his shell, the curve of his collarbone where it touched his throat…Raphael lightly tasted the juncture there, drawing a ragged groan and stern, strict rattling of the chains.

“This is the best idea you ever had,” Raphael said over his shoulder, briefly pausing in manhandling their prisoner to praise Donatello. “Let’s just keep him like this, huh?”

“Can’t,” Donatello sighed, watching the show. “Muscle atrophy and mental aberrations would set in quickly. But that’s not to say we can’t do this every so often. I do like having some company while I work.”

Leonardo arched as Raphael reached down, stroking his tail. He grit his teeth, writhing over Raphael’s hand, twisting his hips as he tried to evade his grasp and hissing as his tail was grabbed in a firm warning.

“If…if I let you…” he whispered, then gasped as his tail-tip was played with.

“Like I can’t drag you in here,” Raphael said. “Like you wouldn’t come crawling for this.”

“Careful,” Donatello said. “You can satisfy yourself, but I don’t want my subject having any relief. He needs to be just this primed for the experiment.”

“No problem,” Raphael said, removing his hand and forcing another kiss as Leonardo groaned in disappointment. “What’s the experiment?”

“Glad you asked.”

Donatello glanced at the crucible still burning in the corner. It glowed a bright red, and he began sliding on a heavy oven mitt.

“Keep kissing him,” Donatello said. “A good, deep one—see if you can make him swoon.”

Now that was a challenge Raphael could enjoy. Putting one arm around his brother, holding him flush against his plastron, Raphael snaked his other arm behind Leonardo to hold his head upright. He supported most of Leonardo’s weight, smothering any last traces of resistance, and he found his brother opening up to him, allowing him completely at his mouth, his tiny whimpers lost in their kiss.

Neither of them noticed the branding iron pulled from the crucible. Donatello gave a last double check on his metrics—the temperature gauge, his notes about the timing, the thickness of their skin—and then he pressed the red hot metal against Leonardo’s thigh.

Leonardo went rigid and his cry was lost in the kiss.

Donatello pulled the iron away quickly. With a shaky breath, he gave the wound a quick look. Instantly cauterized, the nerve endings had ignited and died in an instant so that Leonardo was already confused as to what had happened, wondering what the sudden flare of brief pain had been. In a moment, Donatello knew that his brother’s body would start to react, but he had that moment to prepare.

How easy to loosen and completely remove the chains on his brother’s wrists. Leonardo grasped Raphael’s shell, clinging tightly, and Donatello undid the screws holding him to the floor.

“Can you help him to the bed?” he said, motioning to the far corner. “Careful not to touch his left leg.”

Curious at that, Raphael nonetheless nodded, taking Leonardo’s weight and slowly moving him into the deeper shadows. While bending to help him onto the mattress, he bumped against a small table and caught the wobbling lamp before it fell. When he turned it on, though, and saw what Donatello had mentioned, he froze.

Leonardo lay his head on the pillow, relaxing as he stretched out, but he winced as he moved his leg. He started to reach toward the wound when Raphael grabbed his hand, holding him still. Raphael grimaced when he saw the bruises on his brother’s wrists and ankles.

“Don…” he whispered.

“Well, yes, steel is unforgiving, and he did struggle quite a bit.” Donatello sat down on the side of the bed, spreading out the gauze, a jar of water, antiseptic and pills. “But it felt wonderful while it lasted, didn’t it?”

Raphael looked at him like he was—

“Don’t give me that look,” Donatello said sharply. “It’s not like you minded. And the brand didn’t hurt nearly as bad as you think it did. Trust me—taking punches because we were stuck together hurt a lot more.”

“You branded him,” Raphael whispered.

“If you’re really upset about it, help me treat it.” Donatello raised Leonardo’s leg just enough to slide a towel beneath the wound, then poured water slowly over the burn. “Make him take a dose of those, and then keep making him drink.”

For long minutes, Raphael dutifully assisted with the aftercare, sitting behind Leonardo, encouraging sips, holding him as Donatello covered the burn with bandages, taping it securely.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Raphael murmured.

“Don’t feel bad—” Donatello started.

“Don't—?” Raphael said. “He’s hurt—”

“He didn’t bite you,” Donatello said. “He didn’t yell and he didn’t say no. And he’s asleep, so don’t talk so loudly.”

Raphael glanced down in surprise. Leonardo lay comfortably nestled in his arms, the mottled bruising turning darker around his hands and feet, his mouth bruised at the corners. Raphael held him closer, at odds with himself, not watching Donatello gather up his things and put them aside.

After several minutes, Donatello came and sat down with him again, studying him as if he were part of the experiment.

“We’ve gotten way worse on any night topside,” Donatello said. “Or are you hoping you can add an R to his other side?”

Raphael frowned. “No…I just didn’t know that was gonna happen. I didn’t think…”

His brother struggling, giving up, a surprise wrapped up for him to enjoy. And the bruises and fear that followed. The brand was simply the punctuation mark on the night.

Raphael felt the mark likewise on himself, a boxy D to boldly state where the regret and pleasure had started. And he fell asleep with his brother, holding him close, not sure what he’d do when he woke up. The last thought he had of the night was of a warm sheet being drawn up over them both before the lamp was turned off, the laboratory door left open to allow in a little light from the lair.

Chapter Text

Of course Raphael had a throne. He’d taken already massive chunks of steel and iron from the junk yard and spent hours welding them all together to make a seat that he could lounge back in. With a backing curved for his shell and rounded arms that he could put his legs up over, he looked every inch a master dom…frowning over a disobedient slave.

Not his own, of course.

Donatello and Michelangelo were feeding each other’s giggles despite being bound hand and foot. Or because they were bound hand and foot. Either way, he’d put them at the far side of his room, against the wall, so as to muffle their snickering.

They were obviously put together as a single package in shared bondage. Each held half of Michelangelo’s nunchucks between their teeth, a wooden shaft in their mouths and duct taped in place. They were on their knees, their ankles bound to Donatello’s staff beneath them. Raphael had also tied their hands behind their shells, and then roped them to the staff as well.

And still they waited for him to do something ‘stereotypically masculine and testosteroney’ or ‘full of smacks and thwacks’.

Not even giving them the satisfaction of him looking at them, Raphael lay back in his throne, one leg up.

Finally came the knock on the door.

Donatello and Michelangelo sat straight, at least as much as the rope would allow. Their breath caught as they stared at the door. They knew that Raphael had a slave—finding out the reason for the strange bruises on Leonardo’s throat had been the catalyst for Donatello asking for help.

Michelangelo, it seemed, could not stop laughing, even through gags. And Donatello didn’t know how to stop him.

And when it was just Donatello and Michelangelo on the floor, they both devolved into snorts and laughter. How could some rope and Raphael’s posturing be sexy? How did kneeling on the cold floor become hot? What would Leonardo say when he saw them like this? They began to think this was an elaborate prank.

Raphael waited a long moment. He’d asked Leonardo for this demonstration. But a slave still needed to be know that he was a slave.

“Enter.”

The door opened just enough to allow Leonardo, kneeling at the floor, to come in and close the door behind himself. As if he were merely entering a traditional Japanese room, he gave no fancy bow, no elaborate prostration, nothing to indicate that he wasn’t anything more than their brother coming inside. He wasn’t even dressed differently, save that he didn’t wear his swords.

But he didn’t move, and their younger brothers noticed the little differences that became apparent.

Leonardo didn’t talk. He didn’t move. He didn’t change his gaze, staring at the same spot on the floor. He breathed steadily, waiting. He was as much a part of the furniture as the throne or the hammock.

“Come here.”

Taking a deep breath, Leonardo quietly stood, paced to just in front of Raphael’s chair, and knelt again, hands on his lap. Now his gaze focused on the steel ring welded to the side, just by Raphael’s hand. A long chain lay coiled on the floor, one end attached to the ring, the other end waiting to be used.

“Leave just your mask.”

Without acknowledging anyone else in the room, Leonardo began to unfasten the buckle at his shoulder. And suddenly, to both Michelangelo and Donatello, the floor was not cold, the plain leather was no longer the same old belt, and Raphael’s posturing was now something that demanded compliance.

They had all disrobed in front of each other before. They usually ran around without hardly anything on. Modesty in such cramped quarters had been discarded ages ago. And yet this felt different — he turned his head slightly, one hand pulling leather loose from steel, allowing the belt to slip free. His other hand crossed to his side, undoing the second buckle, and when he brought his hands back to his lap, the leather pooled around him in one motion.

“The box.”

Now Leonardo dutifully retrieved something barely larger than a shoebox, drawing it from beneath the throne, and he offered it up to Raphael. Not to hand it to him—Leonardo held it up, opening it to him, serving as the holder as his brother scooped up the belt and put it inside.

Raphael beckoned him closer. Still holding the box, Leonardo came up on his knees, then crept up along the throne, within Raphael’s easy reach.

Taking his sai, Raphael brought the point up to his brother’s face—

—both Michelangelo and Donatello winced audibly—

—and Raphael gave a small smile of satisfaction as Leonardo went incredibly still as the point slid between his skin and his blue mask, easing it up and off of his face. Then the mask went into the box, the box was shut and locked, and Leonardo set the box back under the chair. The meaning was clear—he would not receive his things again until Raphael decided, leaving him visibly enslaved.

Raphael wasn’t finished. He’d taken something from the box, and now he waved Leonardo closer again, turning his hand and commanding Leonardo to turn and sit up on his knees.

The collar that came down past Leonardo’s face and over his throat was heavy, an old piece of circular iron from the junk yard that was then cut in half, hinged, sanded smooth, polished to a shine…and attached to the chain, sealed with a heavy padlock.

Leonardo’s breath visibly quickened as Raphael gathered the lock in his hand and pulled him backward several inches, forcing him to bend back until he was in easy reach for a kiss.

“Black cherry tea,” Raphael murmured, his low voice carrying through the room. “Must’ve been a quick cup.”

It wasn’t a question. Leonardo held silent.

“Burn yourself drinking too fast?”

“A little—” Leonardo’s answer was cut off with a deeper kiss that demanded he give in, allowing Raphael’s tongue and yielding when he was turned for a better angle.

“Pity,” Raphael said as he drew back, kissing the corner of his mouth. “That’s just going to make this harder for you.”

Raphael turned him to see their brothers, staring enrapt with wide eyes.

“You’re going to slip this on Mikey, and you’re bring him so close to the edge that he begs.”

Without looking, Leonardo recognized what Raphael pushed into his hand. He nodded once—yes, he understood—and then he was released, falling to all fours and rattling the chain. As he crawled toward Michelangelo, both of them noticed the round ring in Leonardo’s mouth but neither of them knew what it was for until Leonardo bent, his head between Michelangelo’s thighs, easing the ring down onto his brother’s half-exposed cock.

Leonardo nudged it more securely in place with his tongue, and he continued to bob as Michelangelo swelled completely, filling Leonardo’s mouth. Above him came the whimpers muffled by wood and tape, and Michelangelo fidgeted and squirmed as Leonardo’s mouth swallowed him like a sheath. Somehow Leonardo took him deep enough that his throat could constrict around the head of his shaft, and then came the long drag along his tongue as Leonardo sat up.

Michelangelo shuddered, groaning with the loss of that slick heat, mumbling something pathetic behind the gag. He didn’t notice Donatello’s wide eyes or his intent stare, the way something was unlocking in his mind as he figured out yet another puzzle.

Leonardo smiled, satisfied with his work, and glanced sideways at Raphael.

“Let Donny go,” Raphael said. “They can keep the ring. A going away present.”

Undoing knots was always easy with Raphael—all of them were slipknots that came undone with one good pull of the loose end. In only a moment, Donatello was freed, tearing the tape off of his mouth and spitting out the nunchuck.

“…th-thanks,” Donatello said, standing and looking down at Michelangelo, wriggling in growing distress. “Anything else?”

“Here,” Raphael said, and he tossed a small jar through the air to him. “With how bad you’re gonna ream him, don’t take him dry.”

Donatello opened his mouth, about to argue that their cloaca were more than capable…then stopped himself and nodded. Fair point. He grabbed the long end of his staff, tilting Michelangelo onto his shell, and he dragged his sibling out of the room, back to the lab, clearly to engage in further experiments.

Leonardo watched them go, hiding his laugh behind his hand, and then he felt the tug on his collar. With an indulgent smile, he kept the chain taut, allowing Raphael to draw him back to the throne. Then Raphael pulled him up onto the chair, sitting astride his lap, the chain wrapped around his hand.

“I swear,” Leonardo murmured, squirming as Raphael’s found his ass and squeezed. “This huge thing is ridiculous.”

“Don’t recall slaves getting an opinion,” Raphael said. “You ready to try out my other huge thing?”

A good slave shouldn’t have rolled his eyes at that, but there were no snickers, no outright laughter, and only swift obedience at the end of a chain.

Raphael supposed he shouldn’t complain.

Chapter Text

“Father says I may keep you,” she hissed, moving around him in languid circles. “Under certain conditions.”

He didn’t answer. Bound, hands behind his shell, on his knees…the darkness inside Karai overwhelmed the darkness around them.

“If I tame you to my hand,” she said, settling behind him. “Or if I completely break you.”

Stoic silence. Could he escape into meditation? She pressed against his shell, laying her head on his shoulder. Her lips hovered by his ear.

“Will you give in now? Spare yourself the pain and simply accept my mastery?” She traced her finger along his throat. “A collar and a lock is all I ask. A chain. That you eat out of my hand…”

His jaw tightened. No response. After a long moment, she sat straight with a sigh.

Cold steel touched his throat, the sharp tip gently tilting up his head.

“Then I will etch your lessons into you until you accept.”

She began at his shoulder. A quick stroke, a second, the touch of a cold blade so sharp that it sank into his skin. A curve. Her name. The scent of blood filled the air between them.

In a week…a month—a year? he’d lost track of time—his brothers saw him again on some rooftop, staring at them with dead eyes, clad in the colors of the clan, a red and black collar strangling him. Deaf to their voices, he kept heel to Karai’s commands, knives drawn and waiting. Black wraps covered his legs to his knees, his arms almost to his shoulders, as if even in the depths of torture and shattering, he’d tried to hide the swirls of scars that covered every inch of him, slipping even underneath his mask.

Chapter Text

Two minutes to eleven. Donatello closed his bedroom door and smacked off his lights, leaving just the dim glow of the lamp by his bed. He sat down at his work desk, leaning back in the chair as he faced the door. Then, biting his lip, he went to the wall and leaned his shoulder against it, crossing his arms, facing the door with what he hoped was a nonchalant look.

He heard the faint click of a door opening outside.

Heart pounding, he changed his mind again and quickly lay down on his bed. No, he thought, not laying down—he fluffed his pillows and sat up, one knee slightly bent. Pneumatic Engineering, twelfth edition, was open on the blanket next to him. He grabbed it, holding it in front as if he’d been reading.

There was a knock on the door. Soft, hard to hear.

“Come in.”

Donatello forced himself to breathe normally. As his door started to open, he noticed that the book was upside down, fumbling to turn it right side up and staring intently at the page as if he’d been reading for hours.

Kneeling, Leonardo appeared at door, then quietly came in and knelt again, closing the door behind himself. He sat nothing, hands resting lightly on his knees, head bowed.

Donatello hid his smile behind his book. A long minute passed. Only once he had his face back under control did he let the book slip down.

“Come up here,” he said, beckoning him with one hand.

Leonardo hesitated, his gaze sliding sideways to the wall. Swallowing once, he started to rise to his feet.

Donatello’s grip tightened on the book. That wasn’t what he wanted—he specifically wanted—but would Leonardo listen if ordered? This hadn’t been what Leonardo had agreed to. But Donatello had brought him along this far…

Confidence, he told himself. Confidence.

“No no,” Donatello said, controlling the tremor in his voice. “Crawl.”

Leonardo froze, still staring at the floor. His breath hitched.

Donatello’s jaw tightened. Dammit. He’d pushed too much, he knew it. If he was lucky, Leonardo would just give him a look and continue as he'd—

Leonardo dropped back down on all fours, coming to the foot of the bed.

Heart about to leap out of his chest, Donatello watched his proud, fearless sibling pace like an animal, obediently coming up on the mattress. Leonardo knelt again, waiting for the next order. Reaching blindly, Donatello put his hand out to his nightstand, pulling out a thin strap of blue canvas. Did he dare again?

His brother hadn’t argued so far. Hell yes, he dared.

“Come here,” he said again, holding the canvas out.

The unspoken order hung between them, obvious and impossible to escape. Leonardo looked up just enough to see what his brother held, a flush rising along his throat.

Donatello marveled. He’d never seen his brother color like that. Evidence of the depth of his self-consciousness, the burning sense of objectification, gentle humiliation, becoming his brother’s pet… Donatello mentally ticked off each fetish and kink as it revealed itself to him, using the litany to ground himself and keep his hands from shaking.

If he revealed his own nervousness, Leonardo might balk. Donatello simply kept his hands out, waiting.

Closing his eyes, Leonardo leaned forward just enough to put his throat against the collar, dipping his head further as Donatello buckled it snugly. The leash, a simple blue strip with a catch, snapped at the ring hanging at the vulnerable dip of Leonardo’s throat.

His brother had no idea what to expect. Donatello used that to his advantage, suddenly drawing the leash taut and pulling his brother close, stealing the surprised kiss. He forced Leonardo to lean across him so that his brother was forced to straddle Donatello’s hips, spreading himself wide as Donatello’s tail began to engorge, pressing at his cloaca.

The flush at Leonardo’s throat grew darker, and still he didn’t argue.

Donatello indulged in the kiss, prompting his brother to open a little wider and grant him entrance. Small sounds came from his brother’s chest, muffled cries as Leonardo gave in, unused to being handled on a veritable chain.

When he released him, Donatello only let him draw back by inches. He pulled the leash taut, holding Leonardo close even as he wrapped the leash around his hand several times.

“Good boy,” Donatello murmured. “Very good.”

The small satisfied smile that came to Leonardo’s face vanished almost immediately. No matter. Donatello knew.

His commands for the rest of the night came without any difficulties.

Chapter Text

Deep in their subterranean game room, past the rows of arcade machines painstakingly stolen from from a mutant mantis that had tried to eat them, Michelangelo and Raphael traded spots at the Dance Go Dance Go Ululation rhythm machine. There was room for two, but this was less of a duel and more about practicing several songs and hanging out together. The lair was theirs for the night. Donatello had enlisted April's help in tracking down his stolen shellcycle and Splinter was joyriding on a shellcycle that was decidedly not his.
They could do whatever they wanted, and they were already twelve songs in.

"Try 'Echo One Two Three'," Raphael suggested. "That's got a good rhythm."

"That's easy listening," Michelangelo said. "I'm thinking 'Past the Fire and Flames'."

"I dunno, Micheal." Raphael grinned and reached back, smacking Leonardo's ass for emphasis. "Heavy metal might just drive him over the edge."

Dance Go Dance Go Ululation machines all had the same design—a dance pad of arrows and circles, a huge screen of floating symbols, and a thick bar along the back that dancers could hang onto while they attempted fancy moves. It was this bar that they'd duct taped their brother to, his legs spread so that each ankle was bound to the support posts, his thighs tightly strapped against the horizontal steel. Held wide open for easy access, Leonardo struggled and panted and fought to bring his legs closed.

A second slap fell across his ass, then slid down and stroked the smooth skin where his hip met his shell. The fingers moved up between his legs, petting his tail, running along the edge of his own mask tied tightly around the base. Raphael grabbed the dangling ends of Leonardo's mask and flicked them over his tail, dragging another groan out of his brother, laughing as his sibling groaned and bucked uselessly.

"No way," Michelangelo said, loading up the heavy metal song. "I am smooth as butter on this one. He'll feel the guitar more'n me."

The wail of the electric guitar vibrated along the entire machine, thrumming through his muscles just enough to reach his hips without actually bringing any real touch. Leonardo moaned into the orange mask that had been hastily stuffed into his mouth and secured with a red mask tied so tightly behind his head that it pressed the gag deeper, impossible to spit out.

"My mask really brings out your eyes," Raphael said, pressing a mocking kiss to his temple. "You should wear it more often."

Raphael grabbed the ends of what had effectively become a leash and yanked back, bringing Leonardo up so he could see the screen. As Raphael wound the red tails around his left hand, his right slid down Leonardo's plastron, feeling the smooth duct tape wound tight around his brother's arms. It hadn't been enough to tape his wrists behind his back—his upper body was wound in tape until he'd stopped fighting. Or at least he'd stopped fighting until they'd carried him up here and he'd realized what they meant to do to him.

Not that fighting mattered. He couldn't move, bending solely at Raphael's push and pull, serving only as his pleasure as Raphael drew flush against him and pushed slowly in yet again.

The colors of the screen blurred and faded in and out of the darkness as sensation overwhelmed him. This was the thirteenth song, the seventh time with Raphael, his body rocked with every thrust as he whimpered uselessly into the gag. The game's bar ran just below his tail, vibrating enough to rattle his bones and yet barely enough to reach his center. In perfect rhythm, Michelangelo turned, leaning on the bar, leaving kisses and licks and stinging nips along Leonardo's throat.

They refused to touch his tail, but every other part of his body was fair game. Slapped, kissed, softly stroked and then squeezed in one hand so tightly that he would bruise...and then bitten hard enough that there would be marks in the morning.

They were maddening, and yet the song ended before Leonardo could hope to climax. Held upright, his head forced back in Raphael's tight grip, he felt Raphael come yet again inside of him. Raphael shuddered against him, thrusting once, twice again, holding him tight as he pushed to the hilt. Leonardo closed his eyes, weary and exhausted, and the biting pressure in his cheeks eased as Raphael finally let go of the ends of his mask.

"Another good ride," Raphael said, giving him another kiss. "Mikey?"

"Ready!"

Michelangelo vaulted over the bar, landing behind Leonardo and firmly gripping his ass, squeezing enough to lift Leonardo another inch, tightening the feel of the tape.

"Still good for another go?" Michelangelo asked, reaching around to feel the mask tied around Leonardo's tail. "Ooh, that's still plenty tight."

Leonardo howled behind the gag, writhed and yanked himself back and forth against the machine. Behind him, Michelangelo gathered up the makeshift leash and drew him back, forcing him to meet his look.

"Don't worry," he said, kissing the bit of his cheek exposed by the tape. "Just a dozen or more songs."

Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut.

"And then we'll leave you here for Donny. Mr. Bootyshaker is gonna need to unwind after tonight."

The gag thoroughly muffled Leonardo's helpless moan. He toppled forward, bent in half over the bar, as Michelangelo grasped his hips to hold him steady. Leonardo tensed, feeling something long brush against his entrance, teasing and warning him in one go. Then it returned, sliding into him, pressing deep while Leonardo couldn't move.

"I'm thinking 'Furious Furious'," Raphael said, picking the next song. "Got a good pace."

If Michelangelo answered, Leonardo didn't hear him, lost in the lights and the melody and the steady, driving rhythm. The songs passed in a timeless, endless haze, leaving him without any kind of satisfaction, slumped over the bar like part of the machine. When they abandoned him there, turning off the lights, he fell forward, held upright only by the safety bar so that he watched the door between his legs, waiting.

It was impossible to tell how long he waited. His legs grew sore, and trying ease the pressure in one spot meant increasing the pressure somewhere else, so he never grew any more comfortable. Held wide open, his thighs trembled against the tape, aching around his bruises.

"...stupid terminal velocity engine...I swear this better be good...spending all night freezing after that fat rat..."

A silhouette stepped into the doorway, pausing as Leonardo came into view.

"Oh...oh." Donatello came closer, his smile growing as he studied how his brother was tied. "Yes, yes, this is indeed very good. Looks like mine isn't the only booty that'll be shaking tonight."

There was a gentle caress across Leonardo's ass, feeling the long stretch of skin down to his knees. Then the mask wrapped around his mouth was pulled back, gently forcing him to stand straight, pulling all of his weight on the tape. The ends were drawn down to the mask tied around his tail and the ends pulled up tight so that his head tilted up, forcing him to stare at the ceiling. Leonardo whined, trying to move and tugging so hard on his tail that his eyes watered.

"That's it, keep them coming," Donatello said, kissing away a tear. He was maskless—no doubt his purple mask was what held Leonardo in position. "You're so striking like this, kind of like a bdsm Vitruvian man. Okay, now you just stay there and watch. I gotta get in the mood for this."

Not that Leonardo had any choice. Held at attention, with every single vibration carried to his poor tail with no relief, he watched the lights play on the ceiling, waiting at his brother's pleasure.

Chapter Text

Soft circles.

Soft, maddening circles.

Leonardo sat crosslegged, hands resting on his knees, deceptively still and languid. He didn’t move except to lower his head an inch, obviously deep in thought. Obviously calm and at peace.

The circle swept down along the edge of his shell in a full rotation, scraping the loose bits of shell and lightly touching the new surface beneath. He shivered, lips parting, only for a moment—but his calm facade was just that, a mask, and Raphael gave a low chuckle behind him.

“Like that, huh?”

Raphael worked the stiff bristle brush in a rhythmic pattern, gently scraping away the pieces of shell shedding away. All of them had gone through this multiple times, familiar now with the itching, the painful pulling of too much too fast. The awful sensitivity that followed as a new shell revealed itself.

And Leonardo was the most sensitive of the four.

“‘Bout time you finally came to me.” Raphael buffed the bottom curve of the shell, clearing away the last rough edges and driving Leonardo up and up, trying to escape the brushtips. “'Bout time you finally shed at all. I was worried you’d stopped growing.”

Pressing his lips tight together, Leonardo deliberately ignored that comment and struggled to find his focus again. A single candle glowed in the dojo, a small circle of light on the mat that didn’t reach Raphael. The only ones awake this late, their murmurs didn’t quite escape the small illumination.

His brother took a moment and stretched, putting his legs out on either side of his sibling. Then Raphael reached forward and gently wound his brother up in his arms, pulling Leonardo back securely into his lap.

“Raph—”

“Shut up,” Raphael whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple to soften his bluntness. “Gotta do this right. If it’s worth doing ‘n all that.”

Leonardo tensed as Raphael brought the brush to bear on his plastron, sweeping slow circles across the scutes to the edges of his shell. Parts of his shell were curled at the very edge, eager to fall away, and the constant pressure and brushing hurried the process along. But at a price. A terrible, terrible—

Raphael wouldn’t let go. Leonardo hissed as the brush wisped at his thigh, accidentally stroked his tail. He would have moved but the larger arm held him flush against Raphael. Instead, Leonardo leaned helplessly against his brother, letting his head rest on Raphael’s shoulder.

The wooden handle of the brush touched his jaw, gently turning him toward Raphael’s kiss. Then the brushing continued, prompting him to arc back against Raphael, teasing the new edges of his shell.

“Love you like this,” Raphael murmured. “Like a guitar. Play you just right and—”

The brush swept down his entire front, igniting each new nerve ending, and Leonardo gasped silently, writhing in Raphael’s arms. Too trapped to escape, silent lest anyone hear and see him like this.

“You do that again,” Raphael said in his ear, “and I’ll give you something to sit on when you come back down.”

Leonardo winced at the promise, the way the brush never stopped.

Soft, maddening circles. And his control disintegrating just as quickly as his old shell.

Chapter Text

Dishes, easily the most mindless chore in the lair. Laundry was the worst, followed by cleaning the bathrooms and cooking—but after overcooking dinner a few times, using the wrong spices, somehow cracking the teapot, now he didn’t have to worry about cooking for the whole family anymore. But, as Michelangelo insisted, if he didn’t have to cook, then he had to clean up.

Which meant time alone from his siblings, time to let his mind wander without the focus of meditation, time to rest and relax.

He finished the last dish, let the water out, dried his hands…

“Letting me sneak up on ya?” Raphael whispered in his ear. “Or did I really catch ya off guard?”

Leonardo tensed despite himself, suddenly pressed against the kitchen counter by his brother’s heavier weight. There was no point fighting—he couldn’t push off his brother unless he was willing to use one of the kitchen knives very badly. Raphael wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, pressing kisses along Leonardo’s throat…grazing with his teeth.

“It’s late,” Leonardo murmured, turning his head away. “I haven’t even showered yet.”

“No problem.”

Raphael reached across the sink and turned on both the hot and cold water. Then he added the plug so that the water quickly rose.

“One bath coming up.”

Leonardo stiffened, squirming in earnest now. Occupied with trying to loosen his brother’s grip, however, he wasn’t prepared for Raphael nudging a knee between his legs. Pressing in, forcing Leonardo’s legs more and more open, Raphael began to bend his brother over the sink, down toward the water.

Leonardo fought, grabbing the edge of the sink and pushing back. Raphael easily forced him down, one hand behind his head, smoothly guiding his face toward the water. Held over the surface, Leonardo trembled, turning his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. His cheek touched the water, cool but not ice cold, for one long moment, as he felt the familiar presence against his entrance.

Then his head was shoved completely under the water at the same time Raphael thrust into him.

No air—he clamped his mouth shut. Small bubbles escaped his lips anyway. His hands slipped and scrabbled at the sink, and still Raphael pressed into him. Leonardo’s hips struck the cabinet and he struggled to stay up on his toes.

Raphael pulled him up, forcing their mouths together as Leonardo gasped.

“Deep breath,” Raphael warned him, and then he plunged Leonardo back into the sink.

Struggling cost air. Leonardo gave up, letting Raphael hold him down. The rhythm drove him into the water, and as the seconds passed, his lungs began to burn, to tremble, straining to breathe in—

Raphael brought him up again, holding him tight as he came. Leonardo couldn’t cry out, panting for breath instead, and then he was pushed back under one more time, submerged as Raphael used him for a last few shuddering thrusts.

Raphael leaned heavily across him, catching his own breath. Still holding Leonardo in place, Raphael slid his hands off his brother’s sides down his thighs, grabbing his ass and squeezing tight. The helpless wriggling beneath him was almost as satisfying.

“Just a little longer,” Raphael said with a small smile, holding the back of Leonardo’s head with his hand. “Wanna feel that desperation just a little longer.”

Leonardo couldn’t hear him, sliding his hand along the sink until Raphael caught his wrist and pinned him. Long seconds passed by as he waited for his brother to let him breathe.

He bit his lip and felt his lungs tighten that much more.

Chapter Text

“This?”

Donatello nodded once, glancing at his brother over the top of his coffee cup.

“Yup. Have a seat. Get comfy.”

In the gloom of the darkened laboratory, Leonardo glanced over his shoulder at the far door, locked and chained with a heavy padlock. He frowned.

“Nervous?” Donatello asked.

“You don’t normally have to imprison us,” Leonardo said. “So what’s the catch?”

“The catch is that I have a brother who has to playact that he’s unwilling,” Donatello said with a raised eyebrow. “You gonna sit down?”

Leonardo’s frown deepened. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I unlock that door,” Donatello said, “get a refill, and go back to this chemical equation…without you.”

That finally had the desired effect. At least having the grace to realize he’d been called out, Leonardo sat down in the chair with little more than an irritated huff.

The seat in itself wasn’t too odd—there didn’t seem to be any levers, pulleys, motors, or battery packs attached. But riveted to the steel frame were black nylon straps, strategically placed for obvious reasons, and the high back of the chair curved perfectly to accommodate his shell. As Leonardo arranged his limbs along the arms and legs of the chair, he found that he could lean back easily, his neck resting against two of the supports in the frame.

“Custom made?” he asked, eyeing the door again.

“Of course.” Donatello finished his coffee, setting it on his desk. “Not like we get furniture in our sizes.”

He came over to his sibling, studying the fit of the steel frame to his brother’s body. “It doesn’t feel weak anywhere, does it? No sharp ends?”

Leonardo wriggled in his seat, then shook his head once.

Donatello half-smiled. His brother couldn’t even look him in the eye like this. Before Donatello began to press his advantage, before he bound his brother and did what he liked, Leonardo stared at the floor, at the wall, at anything but whoever he gave himself to.

Before Leonardo could see his growing smile, Donatello knelt and caught the end of one of the nylon straps. He brought it over Leonardo’s ankle and into the cam buckle, pulling the belt just tight enough to put a bit of pressure on, to hold his leg down. Then he did the same to the straps at his knee, over his thigh, and the same on the other leg.

“Not too tight?”

A small noise. Donatello took that to mean no and continued on up, buckling his brother’s wrists, his forearms.

“The trick to his,” Donatello said softly, more to himself as he worked, “is to get rid of leverage. These glorified seat belts won’t slip. They’ll just get tighter, but it’s too easy to work yourself free if you don’t block the escape route somehow.”

He buckled down each of Leonardo’s upper arms, then drew a long strap across his upper body, pulling it a little more firmly so that it pressed Leonardo slightly into the chair. Then he added a strap across his brother’s throat.

“Open up,” Donatello said, tapping Leonardo’s mouth. “You’ll like this.”

The gag, which meant that Leonardo could forego having to talk or admit that he wanted any of this. Good leaders were ascetic, after all, or at least that was the type of leadership that had been driven into him. Meditative. Focused. Monk-like. Everything that Donatello wanted to break.

The gag was another strap, wide enough that Leonardo’s mouth was held open, and Donatello pulled it tight so that it pressed into his brother’s cheeks. Not enough to hurt, but the strap went so deep that Leonardo couldn’t shake it off or slip free.

“Annnd…one more…”

There. One last strap across Leonardo’s eyes. The illusion was complete—helpless at Donatello’s mercy. And even better, Leonardo couldn’t see Donatello gathering the plastic tubing from his desk.

And Leonardo hadn’t noticed the small hole drilled into the center of the strap through his mouth.

“Now let’s get this in there,” Donatello said, threading the thin plastic tubing through the strap and easing it past Leonardo’s teeth, just over his tongue—the sudden stiffening told him that Leonardo had felt it moving toward his throat. Only when Leonardo coughed, about to gag, did Donatello stop, satisfied.

“You’re probably wondering what that’s for,” Donatello said. “A personal mix of mine. A little scopolamine, a couple barbituates, some honey to kill the taste…and of course some green tea to thin it out, make it easier to swallow.”

Leonardo froze. He barely breathed.

“I have your attention now?” Donatello reached down and pulled the strap across Leonardo’s thigh so tight that it pressed deep into the muscle and skin, almost painfully holding him down. As Donatello spoke, he pulled the other straps tight—arms first so that Leonardo’s already slim chances of escape were arrested completely.

“Good. I wanted to make sure we could have this talk uninterrupted. I mean, this is not entirely fair to you. Don’t get me wrong, you are fantastic in bed. Or…well, wherever we end up. Not necessarily the bed. And you…”

Donatello straddled his brother’s lap, sitting down and caressing his brother’s face, his throat, tracing the edges of the straps against his bruising skin.

“Get you away from the dojo and meditation, and you are one heck of a ride. No complaints there. But you do have a couple bad habits.” He tapped Leonardo’s plastron idly, nuzzling his jaw just under the strap. “And we’re going to fix them.”

The writhing beneath him was tame, the movements so small that he almost missed them. Not until Leonardo went completely tense for several seconds, then heaved a sigh and relaxed, did he realize Leonardo had been trying to break free.

“Was that struggling?” Donatello asked, feeling along the muscles of his brother’s arms, luxuriating in how they felt as they flexed beneath the merciless straps. “I can’t wait to use this chair more…after you’re good and broken in.”

Donatello undid the single strap across his brother’s eyes, letting him see the tube that fed into his mouth. He reached into his belt and produced a remote control with a single button, and at its touch, a hum started up at his desk.

“Just a good dose or two to start,” Donatello said, looking back at his brother. “It’s not poisonous. It won’t even hurt, I promise. It’s just to make you a little more pliant, a little less inhibited.”

He stroked his brother’s cheek, running his thumb under Leonardo’s eyes.

“A little more apt to say what you want instead of me having to take it.”

Leonardo didn’t hear him, focused only on the clear fluid beginning to flow through the tube. It flowed sluggishly, pushed along by a weak motor, and Leonardo began to make strange noises and sounds, giving small shakes of his head. It was the only movement he had left, and it did nothing to dislodge the tube from the gag.

“Relax,” Donatello said, kissing his throat. “It’s not like I’m brainwashing you. It’ll just make you a little more honest with yourself, a little more…well…”

Leonardo tensed, trembling, as the chemical came up the last few inches, up to his mouth and over his tongue, finally touching the back of his mouth.

He refused to swallow.

Donatello blinked.

“Huh. Good muscle control,” he commented.

The drugs didn’t stop flowing, so Donatello pinched the end of the tube to slow it to nothing but a trickle. Leonardo glared from the corner of his eye, the sounds coming from him turning more desperate.

“Go ahead,” Donatello said. “See how long you can hold out. You still have to breathe, you know.”

Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he knew. Already he felt the burn in his lungs—he’d only held his breath after starting to swallow. The taste filling his mouth was awful not because it was bitter but because it was the familiar green tea and honey mix he preferred. He liked it so much—he liked being bound like this, too, and being held by Donatello, touched by him, letting his brother dictate what happened—

How much had he already swallowed? Was swallowing—when had he started swallowing again? After a few mouthfuls, Donatello paused the flow, letting him breathe again, then forced him to swallow more.

“It really is mostly green tea,” Donatello said to soothe him, kissing away the tears of frustration that had welled up. “The chemicals are pretty potent, so I didn’t use much. I could have just laced your usual tea—I really considered it for awhile, but this better emphasized my point. Ready?”

It didn’t matter if he was ready. More came, obediently swallowed, and a warm haze began to settle over him. He did like feeling Donatello on top of him, demanding that he obey, the heady sensation that came with being forced. Why were there tears in his eyes? Why was Donatello saying that he never looked at him? Leonardo was looking at him right now, enjoying the calloused hands caressing his throat so that he swallowed.

When the dose was finished, Leonardo continued to watch as each strap was laboriously undone. Eagerly accepted the kiss that followed, returned it with puppyish enthusiasm. Nodded to Donatello’s request to return to his bedroom so they could use something soft. Agreed to take a another long drink of green tea and honey and something else. Flushed red when asked if he wanted something, then still answered, softly, that he would love to be bitten. Just a little. On the neck.

“Please.”

And Donatello checked off yet another successful experiment.

Chapter Text

The rules became more crushing.

Leonardo began to break down.

Michelangelo noticed little things at first. Of course he did. Minuscule details attracted his notice, and Leonardo was nothing if not a little bird fluttering under his attentive gaze—reluctant to leave the shelter of his room, tense at all times, even shaking if he reached out to take something at the breakfast table.

Part of Michelangelo, the new constant hunger, enjoyed this new aspect of his big brother. Hushed for fear of speaking too loudly, his gaze always flickering to Michelangelo for his approval before he did anything—Leonardo obeyed Michelangelo’s slightest whim despite his own stubborn pride.

Not that he had a choice, of course. And part of Michelangelo, now eternally seventeen and in love with his brother, hated seeing that change. As conflicted as he felt, his rules for his brother became just as conflicted.

Don’t speak without permission…but talk about how you feel and what you think.

Be ready to lie in bed at a moment’s notice…but go about your day normally.

Sugary ice cream and soda make your blood so sweet…but eat the health foods you prefer.

Don’t cry…even though your little brother is now a monster.

Leonardo wound so tight that Michelangelo thought he might snap at the dinner table around everyone. Or in the dojo, sparring with a creature that could have torn him in half. Or at the tv, sitting beside a dead thing warmed only by his own stolen blood.

When Michelangelo ordered his brother to the bedroom, lighting the candles for him after a moment’s thought, he gave his sibling a few extra minutes to calm down, breathe, meditate, whatever it was that helped him settle before one of their trysts.

Instead, when he quietly came in, sliding under the door like a shadow, Michelangelo found his brother curled up on his bed, crushing the pillow to himself. Hiding tears.

Michelangelo listened for several seconds. He’d never seen his brother cry before. He’d never seen him fall apart. Even mangled by the worst injuries, Leonardo remained calm, suppressing his emotions as if his life depended on it.

Now he simply sobbed as if there was no hope.

Michelangelo studied him. Leonardo was probably right. There was no hope for a vampire, no cure he knew save for true death.

Still…maybe he knew something that could help.

Slithering onto the bed, curling behind his brother, he put his arm around Leonardo and held him close. Kissed the back of his neck, his cheek. The tears streaking down toward the pillow. He brought him up into his lap, letting him stay curled, whispering comforting nonsense about loving him and not wanting him hurt or afraid.

Leonardo didn’t look at him. In here, when Michelangelo drank blood and drank his brother down through sharpened shark’s teeth, Leonardo kept his eyes shut.

So Leonardo only trembled as Michelangelo nuzzled his throat, not seeing the wide grin and bright eyes as Michelangelo took a bit. Gently, gently, the razor sharp teeth had to cut so carefully, just a little sting when he could have bitten half his throat out. Even harder to do this when Leonardo shivered. His pounding heart seemed to make his whole body rock.

And Leonardo didn’t see Michelangelo then nibble at his own wrist, drawing a small amount of his own blood.

In the kiss he forced on his brother like this, the first time that he dared press his terrible teeth to Leonardo’s lips, Michelangelo let his own blood fill his brother’s mouth.

He had to tighten his hold on Leonardo, who balked despite his fear. He held the back of his brother’s neck, refusing to let him turn away until he felt him swallow once, then twice.

A moment passed. This kind of kiss was all the sweeter for how Leonardo couldn’t fight, held prisoner by much stronger arms and the threat of those teeth beside his face. Slowly Leonardo’s breath calmed, his pulse slowed, until he no longer shook under Michelangelo’s hands.

When Michelangelo pulled back, Leonardo followed his grip, languid and limp as he was positioned carefully on the bed. As if floating, Leonardo watched the firelight play on the ceiling, a warm haze clouding his mind and smothering the fear. He felt hands softly resting his head on a pillow, felt a weight pressing down on him—he felt as heavy as lead, content to lay still as his legs were bent and spread, as pleasure drove through his center, radiating like liquor through his whole body.

This time, when he saw Michelangelo above him—fanged and frenetic and bloodthirsty—Leonardo gave a faint smile, barely aware of anything but heat and delight.

Later, lying beside his brother in satisfaction that this had worked, Michelangelo nuzzled and licked the nips he left along Leonardo’s throat and thighs and wrists. That Leonardo looked at him with absolute trust and love made his control over him that much easier.

“Scared of me anymore?” Michelangelo asked.

Leonardo smiled around the kiss before he could answer. “No, master.”

Michelangelo paused, frowning.

Crap.

“Don’t call me master,” he said.

Leonardo nodded once, blindly obedient.

“Yes, master.”

Michelangelo’s frown deepened.

“No, I mean…um.” He leaned up on one arm, staring at his brother. “I didn’t mean to…well, damn.”

That, to his surprise, brought a drunk smile and a hand caressing his face.

“You always bite off more than you can chew,” Leonardo laughed, “even with those teeth. What did you think would happen to me, master?”

Michelangelo’s eyes widened.

“You can still think?” he gasped. He gave a small, relieved laugh. “Oh thank god. I thought I made you a mindless slave. I just didn’t want you scared anymore.”

“I’m not, master.” Leonardo shrugged, staring at the ceiling again. The candles made the shadows flicker and dance in a way that he just couldn’t stop watching. “I think I should be, but my master’s blood took the fear away.”

A suspicion began to grow in Michelangelo, and a rising panic. He sat straight, watching Leonardo act as if drugged.

“Sit up,” he demanded. “Look at me.”

Leonardo obeyed, looking at him curiously. “Yes, master.”

Michelangelo winced. “Don’t call me that.”

“No, master.”

“No! Um…” Michelangelo looked around the room, his vampiric sight seeing through the shadows but finding nothing that could help him.

“Are you worried about me, master?” Leonardo asked, raising an eyeridge. “Or are you worried you’ll get caught?”

“Ugh, you’re exactly the same,” Michelangelo muttered. “Except…look, I order you to call me by my name, okay?”

“Yes, Hamato Michelangelo—”

“Just Mikey,” Michelangelo said, grabbing Leonardo by the throat, startled by the vague smile in return.

“Yes, Mikey. Whatever you command.”

Leonardo tilted his head, almost purring as he indulged in the secure feeling of his brother’s grip on his neck.

From downstairs came their father’s call to the dinner table.

A cold chill ran through Michelangelo’s already cool body, and he wondered when all this raw power was going to make everything easier, dammit.

Chapter Text

“I warned you this would happen.”

Before a single candle, Leonardo sat in the dojo, gazing at the same cracked brick he’d been staring at for several minutes. Around him, the candlelight only accentuated the darkness. He couldn’t meet Splinter’s gaze, so he stared past the broken stone where the side of the tunnel met the ground, a spot more darkness than light.

His master’s words, delivered in his constant patient tone, were nevertheless delivered over a tail that whipped the air. Leonardo had long ago learned how to read his father’s moods.

Disappointment.

Aggravation.

Leonardo flinched from the anger.

“I didn’t think—” he started.

“Indeed.” Splinter’s tail punctuated the air. “You did not heed my warn my warning. Now you have little recourse but to separate yourself and hope to repair the damage.”

Leonardo’s hands still ached from how he had tightened them into fists. His nails dug into his skin.

“Considerable damage.” Splinter took a long breath, steadying himself. Leonardo had not told him everything, barely even suggesting the edge of what had happened. No matter—what had transpired was obvious. “To bear such insult on the battlefield, and from your own brother…you have lost all control of yourself, and through this, your family’s respect.”

Leonardo sat like a statue. The weight bearing down meant he couldn’t move. To move was to crumble.

“You must go. Master yourself. Then return to master your brothers. If you cannot do this…”

Splinter let the thought, the threat, hang over his son like one more sword. When he received no argument, he stood and left the dojo, closing the door behind himself.

In the empty dojo, Leonardo stared into the hollow of the chipped stone.

The candle burned down, guttered in its own wax, and went out. Soft plumes of smoke curled and vanished.

Behind the salvage shop, a pile of broken mannequin parts spilled over the garbage bins and made convenient blinds to hide what was really a glorified knife fight. Three bodies joined the pile, fitting into the silhouettes of jutting hands and heads. Pulling his sword free of a ninja’s chest, Leonardo had barely sighed out his tension, the relief that they had won without injury and without being seen—when the strong arm came around him and pulled him close. He squirmed, awkwardly turning his sword so it wouldn’t cut Raphael, trying to step away and only held that much tighter.

“Are you kidding?” Leonardo hissed under his breath. “This isn’t the time—”

“Sure it is,” Raphael murmured, pressing close so that Leonardo could feel his excitement. “Shut up.”

“Nnn—”

“Quit arguing.” Raphael covered Leonardo’s mouth with his hand, pushing him against the rough brick, backward over the trash cans, spreading his legs.

Leonardo had no leverage, nothing but the unsteady shapes beneath him and the bodies shifting deeper into the pile. He had no view of the street above them or in either direction, and he had no way to calm his panicking heart as he wondered if they were really alone. He had nothing to grab except Raphael’s other hand pushing him backward. He might as well have been one more mannequin. One more body.

For hours, the dojo remained dark. Splinter refrained from entering, knowing his son’s moods. There would be hurt, the crippling self-doubt, the familiar resignation, and then the quiet determination to fulfill Splinter’s orders. It was a recurring pattern that he had relied on for years.

But allowing his son to wallow in self-pity was entirely too indulgent. Leonardo needed to be told what ship to board, what country to withdraw to. As it was, he’d have a few minutes to bid his brothers farewell until his return.

Splinter returned to a dark room. There was no answer when he spoke his son’s name. With a sigh of irritation, Splinter struck a match.

The match fell from his startled hand.

The dojo was empty, save for two katana laid neatly on the mat.


The search went for almost two weeks.

The chase ran for three.

Leonardo was honestly surprised when he first felt the touch on his spirit, the ghost of someone’s fingers on his soul. He didn’t even know who had reached him—not Splinter, the touch didn’t hold even a hint of claws—but he recognized it as someone who had touched him before. One of his brothers.

He’d guarded his mind ever since, sealing himself off from the world. From one city to the next, small towns to smaller train stops, he traveled in rail cars and truck trailers, hitching rides in the beds of pickup trucks at night when no one could see what they were carrying. He set a dizzying pace for the first few days—New York to Atlantic City, then to Cherry Hill and Allentown, Harrisburg and Frederick, Rockville, Glen Allen, a frought ride on the top of a semi-tractor trailer to the National Forest.

The mountain thickets were beautiful. And terribly lonely.

After that, he rode aimlessly, barely able to stay a few steps ahead. Some days, watching the world blur by in an open boxcar, he drowsed in the sunlight. Forgot to eat. Didn’t care when he remembered.

Only to snap wide awake when the touch came again, reaching for his soul which he immediately locked away again.

He curled up tight in the corner of the empty traincar, gritting his teeth, holding his head in a cold sweat. Why wouldn’t they stop? He was sent away. They should have nothing to do with him until he could master his own feelings. And since that would never happen, he shouldn’t have to see them again.

Had Splinter realized his true intent so quickly?

They were relentless—he had to keep moving, even when he slept. But they could split up, anticipate his next turn, ride ahead or rest in one spot to catch up later.

On rare occasions, he spotted them. Three splashes of green color, three familiar shadows, even just three familiar presences out of sight and blurring into view, searching the train he had just left, combing a truck stop where he had just changed rides.

Once, through pure bad luck, he slipped on wet gravel on the rail, making the slightest scuff as he climbed onto a long coal car. As he backed away to the other side, he caught sight of them on the other side of the train yard…catching sight of him.

They came at a frightening speed. Had they always been so fast?—vaulting the trains between them, sprinting across the tracks. Leonardo had scurried down the other side of the train and ran, simply ran, barely catching the last rung of a ladder on the back of another train. It took all his strength to pull himself up—they had to be several meters back and yet he would have sworn he felt them dragging at his side—and then the train pulled to full speed, easily out pacing them.

When he turned and looked over his shoulder, he couldn’t make out their expressions, but the intent, their focus, that this defeat was only temporary, was all too clear.

He would lose them before the next railyard. He promised himself, as he crawled over the top of the train, tumbling into an empty grain car, that he would leap out halfway to the next town. Just a nap, a short rest, as he pressed himself into the corner, closing his eyes. And he would simply walk through the trees beside the road, find a creek and walk through it to hide his tracks…a short rest, nothing more.


“—the other bottle, give it here—”

“We ain’t got another one—”

“Shit, he’s so pale—”

Voices.

His brothers’ voices.

He’d failed.

Just like in everything else.

He kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep. It wasn’t hard. He felt heavy enough to sink into the floor, and the wind was so cold that it sapped all the strength out of him.

“Donny, I think it’s still bleeding…”

“It has to, I can’t leave a tourniquet on for long. Just wait ‘till—”

“We can jump now—”

“Not until I bind it up again!”

Blood? Yes, he smelled blood. Felt terrible pain along his side, now that he thought about it. From his right hand down to his knee, his whole side hurt, and someone was scrubbing at his skin, making the pain worse.

“There’s still more gravel.”

“Get ready—”

There was a wave of fire through his side that made him gasp, going rigid as they lifted him up—Raphael, it had to be Raphael to carry him like that—the sensation of weightlessness, awful if only because he knew that meant a harsh jolt as they landed. The hit was cushioned as much as Raphael could, but Leonardo’s senses scrambled as he was set down. Resting on wind? Grass blowing over him? Something cool touched his forehead and water wet his lips.

“Don’t drown him—”

“—dehydrated, duh—”

They talked over him, ignoring that he was really awake. More convenient for everyone if they all pretended. And it let Raphael carry him, holding him, without the burden of words coming between them.

Half the time, it was true, anyway. He floated in and out of fever, waking to the touch of a cold rag on his face, water offered regularly, always in the arms of one of his brothers as a pillow. Michelangelo kept up a steady stream of chatter that changed subject so often that he could never tell if he was dreaming or awake, and Donatello’s whispers were too technical to grasp. Leonardo latched onto the calm confidence in Donatello’s voice, the reassurances that he was healing now that they were driving. Leonardo had to take their word that they were in a van—had they stolen it? He barely saw the light dappling through the windows, dazzling his eyes when they weren’t covered. And Raphael…

Raphael simply murmured the occasional apology.

They didn’t ask why he had run.

Obvious. Of course it was obvious.

At least it spared him the humiliation of having to explain.

When they arrived home, he was vaguely aware of being carried and put to bed. Knew someone was sitting beside him, reading but there, never leaving him alone. Knew that Michelangelo snuggled up with him to sleep. Knew that Donatello changed bandages while Raphael cleaned his wounds. Knew that they made sure he swallowed pain meds regularly.

Knew that Splinter was nowhere near him.


“Pretty sure you’ll get full motor function back in your hand,” Donatello said, spreading his palm flat and examining the scars. “Um, if you didn’t damage all the sensory components—I mean nerves. Ugh, sorry, it just makes more sense if I think of it that way. Oh, and the rotator cuff, but you’ve been exercising, right?”

Leonardo nodded once, slowly. He still had headaches—he had one now—but they were small and less frequent than before. His brothers’ presence around him was welcome once more, not something to be guarded against.

“Lightly?” Donatello asked, dipping his head to see his brother’s eyes.

“I remembered,” Leonardo said, half-smiling. “Nothing too heavy unless I want to make it worse.”

The smile faded as he looked askance.

“I…”

He’d stayed hidden in this room for days. Not even his own room, no—they kept him safely ensconced in Donatello’s room. The one with the best lock.

They tried to make his confinement more comfortable. The pile of books beside the bed was hardly touched, the pile of snacks touched only by Michelangelo. He couldn’t bring himself to meditate, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t read or try to hold a conversation. Instead he listened to his little brother read comic books and watch videos, listened to Donatello read journals and try to simplify his engineering projects. Often he simply drowsed wearily on Raphael’s shoulder, neither of them speaking.

It was so hard to make the words come.

“I shouldn’t have run.”

Donatello’s gaze slipped to the floor, weighed down by guilt. They hadn’t spoken at all about the days leading up to their brother leaving home, trapped inside an awkwardness so thick that they couldn’t force their way out. To broach the subject at all seemed insurmountable.

The silence stretched, and Leonardo grit his teeth, beginning to visibly close up again.

“No.” Donatello caught his brother’s hands up in his own, cupping his face. “No, I…no. Don’t feel bad. We weren’t going to notice if you hadn’t said…hadn’t done something drastic. I just got so used to—all of us got used to taking you—your nature..I mean. Uh. 'Cause you prefer being…”

Donatello sighed, upset that he couldn’t say it. All he could add was “I wish I was someone you could have run to instead of from.”

He took a deep breath, holding his brother’s hands close. Leonardo hadn’t pulled away, and he meant to hold on as long as his brother let him.

“It won’t happen again,” Donatello said firmly. “It’ll be different. You’ll see. Better.”

Leonardo opened his mouth, then thought better of it and shook his head once. He didn’t reply, but his shoulders remained slumped. His whole posture read of resignation.

It hurt to know that he didn’t think his brothers would change. But that same hurt, and the ugly scars on Leonardo’s side, had stiffened their resolve.


Three months later, the scars had healed and were beginning to fade. Raphael had developed the habit of idly stroking the raised edge on Leonardo’s side, tracing the smooth skin along the shell. Leonardo, sitting on his lap, shivered and tried to bring his arms down to protect the long wound.

Of course he couldn’t. His wrists were circled in cuffs connected by a chain that lay behind Raphael’s head, holding him so that his arms circled around his brother’s neck and forced him into a long embrace.

But the chain was long, his arms held without any strain. Any trembling came not from the weariness of being stretched too far but rather the heat of Raphael’s indulgent kisses, of Donatello reaching along his throat to pull his head back for a kiss of his own.

And on the other side of the couch, Michelangelo held Leonardo’s feet in his lap, buckling cuffs around his ankles, connecting them with a similarly long chain. Long enough to be comfortable and relaxed, short enough to bring him up short if he walked.

Not that he would be walking for the rest of the night.

They sat in a cluster on Donatello’s bed, ostensibly watching a marathon of monster spider movies. Rather, Raphael made teasing comments about how he wanted to try out what various spiders were doing to their victims, his warm hands leaving trails on his brother’s body so that Leonardo’s breath turned heavy and labored.

Overwhelming, consumed by six hands stroking his eyes, his throat, his—he couldn’t catch his breath, and when he was spread out for all three of them, he felt like he was being tasted instead of devoured, savored instead of chewed and spit out. And if he wasn’t allowed out of their sight, his cage was gilded and cushioned in velvet, their treasure safely locked away.

They didn’t watch movies or game in the main room anymore.

And their father did not come up to their rooms, so close and yet a world away.

Chapter Text

Every road-side inn of Usagi’s world seemed the same—several tables and chairs in little clusters, a candle on each table, and a sake jug with two cups as soon as they sat down. The inns were always dim, even during the day, with the windows and doors open to the sunlight that barely came in. Behind one door, the kitchen clanked and splashed, and behind another door were the handful of rooms that one could rent for the night.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Leonardo glared at his traveling companion. “Now what?”

Usagi, a rabbit-eared ronin, sat down in front of him and generously poured out sake, taking a sip.

“We are on our last ryo.” Usagi smiled despite the way his ears drooped down and his shoulders sank. “We will have enough to pay for this drink…and then we are broke.”

Pushing the sake across to his friend, Leonardo leaned back in his chair.

“I could fix that,” he offered.

“You’re as bad as Kitsune,” Usagi said. "We do not need to resort to thievery.”

“A bounty, then,” Leonardo groaned. “A quick hunt—”

“We do not have the energy—”

“—we bring in some easy catch—”

“—I did not see any wanted posters here—”

“—and then we get a room—will you quit arguing?” Leonardo sighed.

“Do you honestly feel up to it tonight?” Usagi asked.

Leonardo glared at him from the corner of his eye. They were both covered in dust from the road, and they were both sore from wiping out two bandit clans along the way, and they were in the middle of an unspoken argument about the orphanage they’d passed and the reward money Usagi had completely given away.

Leonardo’s look was hot enough to set the wooden building on fire.

“I don’t feel up to a lot of things tonight,” he growled.

Usagi paused, then nodded once in understanding and took another sip.

“So what’s the bad news?” Leonardo asked. “Yokai down the road? Evil nobles? A poor mother of twenty kids on her last grain of rice?”

“You misunderstand,” Usagi said with a small smile. “That was the bad news. But there is good news.”

“Why do I think it’s good news for everyone but me?”

“Ah, well. Not quite. In fact, you won’t have to do anything but sit there. Easy work, actually.”

Leonardo scoffed. “I need to meet this Kitsune. Sounds like he’s more sensible.”

“She,” Usagi said. “And you’d probably like her. But we are getting away from the point. We weren’t exactly paying attention when we walked in here.”

“It was about to rain,” Leonardo said. “Of course we weren’t looking too carefully.”

“So look now.”

Leonardo almost didn’t. They’d slept in the rain before. It was not that bad, not when there were abandoned farm houses and shrines everywhere. Usually haunted or filled with bandits. And scattered long distances apart. Far from the road.

He looked.

And shut his eyes tight.

In so many ways, his world and Usagi’s were completely different. Anthropomorphic animals instead of humans, feudal instead of modern. But in other ways, they were exactly alike.

A bar full of nothing but bears with their kimono open in invitation, or worse, with nothing but a fundoshi, all watching the two young, dusty ronin drinking alone.

Leonardo leaned over the table and put his head down in his arms.

“No,” Leonardo said. “Not again.”

“You didn’t object the last two times.”

“I did,” Leonardo said. “You ignored me.”

“It will pay for the room.”

“So would a quick walk outside.”

“Without resorting to theft.”

“Then you do it this time.”

“If you know the knots…?”

Leonardo glared up from the table. Usagi’s smile was confident and infuriating, even moreso as the rabbit gathered the ends of Leonardo’s mask and rolled them around his white fingers.

Outside, lightning flashed and the rain came down in torrents.

“You’ll keep it short,” Leonardo demanded.

“Of course.”

“Nothing painful.”

“Never.”

“Nothing…too bad.”

“I’ll even let you keep your legs closed.”

Leonardo sighed and shut his eyes.

The worst inns, he’d come to realize, had a small space to one side for a musician or two, a performance, even a raised stage. Enough space for Leonardo to sit with his legs curled beneath himself, leaning on one side. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the ropes Usagi bound around his plastron and shell.

“Perverted rabbits,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible, certainly not visible to the audience. “Samurai bondage freaks. Exhibitionist—god, I hope that rope is clean—”

“Silence,” Usagi whispered, “or I will put the rope through your mouth.”

Leonardo grumbled but fell silent.

The room was quiet save for low murmurs and the soft clay clink of sake into cups. Leonardo refused to look up, jostled slightly as Usagi wound rope around him, twisting it in places, winding tight knots that pulled against his shell. Then Usagi reached around and pulled some of the rope into open diamond patterns on his front.

“The turtle pattern,” Usagi said, to the laughing appreciation of the audience.

Leonardo flushed enough to show through his skin. That brought a murmur from the crowd as well.

Then came the box tie around his arms.

This part was harder with the shell in Usagi’s way. He couldn’t simply restrain Leonardo’s hands behind his back…so he didn’t even try, folding them in front of Leonardo as if the ninja was trying to cover himself in front of everyone.

Leonardo’s wrists were bound, then his arms were tied to the diamond pattern down his chest, and then the rope was tied off behind his back where he couldn’t reach. Breathing became a little harder as the rope pressed visibly into him. There would be bruises in the morning.

There was a roof beam above them. There was always a roof beam for this sort of thing. He felt the familiar tug on the center of his shell, drawing him upward just enough to take the weight off his legs.

His ankles were already crossed. They’d done this enough times that he knew how to make it go faster. The tie at his ankles wasn’t too tight so he wouldn’t be in pain, but the rope wound around his calves and knotted at his knees. An entirely different length of rope went around his thighs purely so that Usagi could bind them tightly and with several criss-crossings, then attach them to the ties around his knees.

Finally—finally they were almost done—his legs were pulled up higher than his head. Leonardo lay sideways in the air, uncomfortably upside down, refusing to open his eyes.

The audience took it for submission and reticence and paid well for the display. Leonardo heard the coins hitting the floor and heard Usagi step away from him to gather their earnings.

It was a long while for Usagi to return. Leonardo tried not to struggle as every twitch made the rope creak.

“We are in luck,” Usagi said at last, kneeling down to better speak to him. “This is enough to stay here for a few days and eat. A few days of well earned rest, yes?”

“The next noble we pass on the road,” Leonardo muttered, “I’m robbing him blind.”

Usagi chuckled and glanced over his shoulder. The inn was dark and empty, its keeper having given him a key for the room to let and gone to bed. There was only the last candle here before them. With a mischievous smile, he gave Leonardo a small kiss, sending him turning slowly in the air.

“We’re alone,” Usagi warned him. “You should not test what I would do when you are like this.”

From the back of the room, a match struck. The farthest candle lit, illuminating someone leaning back from the light, barely visible in the darkness.

“I dunno. What you got in mind?”

Leonardo froze, silent save for his heart suddenly pounding.

Usagi slowly stood, squinting into the shadows even though he knew that voice.

Raphael.