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Hourglass

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Leonardo sat up straight in his bed and slammed his hourglass sideways to stop the sand from running out as a cry split the night. Oh, no, he couldn’t help thinking. That sound meant that Mike was going to want to sleep in his room again.


He had to check his urge to groan or twist his face in consternation, knowing his little brother would burst in any minute. And Leonardo would let him, of course. It was not his little brother's fault that he was plagued by terrifying dreams. Donnie said they were not even normal nightmares but an actual medical condition called night terrors. He would come awake violently, thrashing like he was fighting for his life and gasping, or sometimes even making high pitched shrieks that woke up everyone in the lair.


Of course Raphael was no help at all during these episodes, since he was not especially kind or understanding about being roused by loud noises of any kind -- particularly not noises being made by his brothers. Donnie was the least likely to rouse, since he was very naughty when it came to staying up later than Splinter allowed. He slept deeper than any of them once he finally got there. If he did hear Mike cry out, he would always come padding out of his room to investigate. More often than not lately, though, Don had only stopped reading or tinkering by flashlight under his blankets a couple hours ago and slept right through Mike’s cries. Whenever that happened, Leo knew he would be getting a visitor.


He would never be such a jerk as to ignore his brother's distress. He didn't even mind, most nights!  In fact, Leo thought it was completely screwed up that he was starting to mind. The REASON he wanted Mike to stay in his own bed was both shameful and selfish. The truth was that the winter nights were warming and Leo had wanted the privacy and freedom to pleasure himself.


He would wait until lights out, then flip an hourglass on his nightstand and watch the sand run out three times. It began as an important precaution, since he did not want to be overheard and potentially teased my his brothers. But there was more to it lately. It was becoming a ritual.


As the sand ran out the first time, he would force his mind to go still and calm. Perfect self control, mastery of self. Mindful and present in the moment, feeling nothing but the breath flowing in and out, the pulse of chi and the steady pump of his quickening heart.


When the sand ran out, he would reach out to flip the hourglass, then return to his previous position. Though still maintaining perfect discipline of the body, the time for meditation was over. His eyes would drift closed now and then in a pantomime of falling asleep even as his mind exploded into wild unchecked fantasies. It was better not to let himself analyze the masturbatory contents of his imagination. It was better just to dream, to want whatever crazy thing he wanted, and not think too hard about any of it. Enticing scenarios and imagined sensations swept over him like waves of heat, until his tail was thick and twitching with need against the back of his legs.


Still Leonardo would remain as just he was: perfectly unmoving, wanting but unwilling to touch himself. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, not yet... Not until the third hourglass. He would wait.


It probably meant he was weird, Leo knew, but there was something so delicious about the waiting. So sensual, just to know what was coming and deny himself. He would lay very still on his bridge and clasp his hands together in front of him or reach up and grip the headboard to keep them from straying. His heart would pound as he watched sand spilling into the lower chamber.


This hourglass was a big, sturdy thing, a reliable six minute timer. Sometimes by the end he would be panting with his hard cock trapped in the vice of his tightly clenched thighs, his tail pressed hard against the mattress, trembling in his effort not to thrust.


It was weird, for sure, and it only got weirder. There was no discipline left in him at all after that, except for maintaining silence. Leo’s face grew hot as he thought about what he would definitely be doing about twelve minutes from now, if only he hadn't heard Mike cry out.


At least he didn’t wait any longer than he did to start dreaming, Leo thought fretfully. How terrible would it be if Mikey, or ANY of his brothers burst into his room to see him frantically fucking his thighs and pounding the head of his cock into his cupped palms? What if the door flew open right as he got there, and they saw him shivering and splattered all over with cum? Whoever it was would probably never be able to forget the sight.


And that wasn't even the worst possible scenario. Because sometimes lately he would reach over to one of the nightstands that flanked his bed and retrieve one of the tapered candles that sat in glass holders, and continued to pleasure himself that way. The slit in his tail would be stretched open more than usual right after jacking off. It would get slippery and far more sensitive to the touch. Sometimes he would spend another hour with his hand between his legs, sliding the candle in and out, pretending that a strong and faceless someone was pinning him down and thrusting into him.


There was also this very suspicious toy which Mikey had discovered during a salvage trip several years ago… He called it his Wibbly Thing, and had carried it around for the next several days finding numerous ways to annoy the rest of them. Donatello was especially concerned and horrified by Mikey's favorite new toy, but refused to explain why... Leo got the answer out of him eventually, and promptly took it upon himself to confiscate the toy for being a disgusting and immoral object, something that people their age obviously should not have. He had been very vocal about his intentions to throw the nasty thing away, and perhaps even destroy it forever.

Except... he hadn't.  He should have, he knew, but instead he had kept it.  It was a deep source of shame.  Leo knew his brothers all believed that he had followed through and gotten rid of it. They would never see it again, he had assured them, and so far that was absolutely true!  But it was also true that he had sliced a discrete opening into the side of his mattress and stuffed the contraband inside. Sometimes he played with it, but mostly he left it pulsing there somewhere beneath him as he tried to fall asleep, a constant and insidious torment that that would alternately beckon and haunt him like the beating heart from that Edgar Allen Poe story. 


Thus far, he had not been bold or depraved enough to actually penetrate himself with it--but at the same time, self aware enough to suspect that someday he might. Even if they only saw him rubbing the Wibbly Thing against his tail or sucking on it while he jacked off… Oh, man. It wouldn't even take that much, Leo realized. If anyone ever learned of its ongoing existence, he would be forced to overcome the difficulties presented by his bone hard plastron and figure out a way to commit seppuku on the spot.


Leonardo forced himself to lay back down on his mattress to wait for Mike. It was not the delicious sort of waiting. Even so, he was resolutely determined to purge his mind of bad thoughts. He would focus on something worthy, something pure, like being a good brother.