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Attraction is a curious thing, a social construct if you're willing to believe. There is such a thing as sexual attraction, but love itself is a social concept. Donnie feels urges, if you will, hormonal fluctuations, and ingrained instincts to carry out his lineage. He also feels, well, he wouldn't call it love. He didn't necessarily wish to bend on one knee, offering forth a plush bouquet harvested from his finest growth, but that doesn't mean that the idea was entirely displeasing. Not that love is all about flowers, that is just one element of the socialized construct that differentiates between cultures, communities, and even individuals. Because Donnie felt love, not love, but his love. The kind of love he dedicated heart and soul to his annoying ass twin, Leonardo.
The pesky, infuriating slider tormented him night and day, weaselling into his mind and permanently frying the frontal cortex of his brain. He challenged Donnie as a person, as a brother, flipping his understanding of social norms on their head. Incest is conceptually wrong, primarily due to the risk of inbreeding, which, given that both he and Leo are male, is incredibly unlikely. So, what is left other than a sputtering, red-cheeked bastard huffing that it's just 'wrong'? But what is wrong? Who defines it? Is it the law, your mother, or yourself? Wrong itself is subjective; everything is subjective when you really think about it. Are we, as animals on a rock, trying to make sense of everything behind it, obsessed with meaning? But maybe there isn't any meaning. Maybe we're all just supposed to eat, sleep, fuck, defecate, and die.
Which, if that were his legacy, that would be all good and fine, but Donnie had a meaning, his own meaning. One he made for himself, like all people do. The only authentic ending is Donnie and Leo die. Donnie and Leo die. Donnie and Leo die. Donnie and Leo die. Donnie and Leo die. Donnie and Leo die. And Donnie is going to love him through it, gripping fast and metaphorically skullfucking his corpse. Prodding, and slowly corrupting Leo's mind with the perverted filth of his desire.
Donnie has a dust river in his head, and Leo is the sun.
He has cameras in his twin's room, microphones, and whatever else would be in a stalker's most perverted dreams. Donnie was always several steps behind Leo, living in the past through cherished photographs, categorized by time and preference, folders full of the most glorious material for his fantasies.
His trackers monitored all his brother's movements of the day, the slider never out of his sight even when he physically was.
Leo consumes him, flooding each of his veins with burning liquor to electrify his buzzing mind. His twin made his body tense and shake in the most pleasant of ways, causing euphoric rocking in his limbs as he would bite into his pillow and roll in his bed back and forth until the sensation faded, or wiggle in his seat, or flap his hands. Seeing such simple things, sexual or not, made his body light up as if he were watching a Jupiter Jim movie and had discovered a new theory for the corkboard.
Fascination, desire, want, Donnie felt it all, felt bliss. Their twin nights were something he looked forward to, feigning distaste to cover his tracks, but indulging heavily in the sweet excuse to hold Leo in his arms. Content with what he had, grateful for all that he was allowed.
Though there is always that temptation to go a step further, to cross the line he had drawn up himself, the one he labeled as too far. So, lost to the utter mindlessness of his own thoughts, Donnie fell victim to the paradox of the beginning having already begun. Each action, each touch was already the start. He had snagged the apple before it had even been spoken, patting the spot next to him for Leo to join him for their movie.
His twin grins in the soft-chinned innocence Donnie loved, eliciting certain types of attention to Donnie’s traitorous groin as he felt his tail quiver within his shorts. “Hey, Donnie,” his voice purrs slicker than an oil spill as he scooches closer to him, wiggling in to fit.
“Salutations, Nardo,” he replies, looping his arms around his shoulders, and it's dirty. The intent is dirty. It starts clean but it's covered in filth at the end all the same. “Are you ready?”
“Yes!” He chirps almost immediately, and being sly, Donnie gets away with having eyes as he admires the tension of Leo's muscles, clenching together in excitement as he rocks forward. The tendons in his neck pulled deliciously as Donnie swallowed back a shaky breath.
His hands tremble as he reaches for the remote, bending Leo slightly with him as he curls his fingers around it and draws it back to himself. It’s been 11 years since this all started, 5 years old and realizing just how pretty his twin looked, how cool he acted. It’s been 11 years of obsession, of holding himself back. It had been 11 years.
He doesn’t even realize he has fallen silent until he hears a concerned, “uhh? Donny?” he pauses, fingers flexing automatically to make out a warm shape, and his heart pounds in recognition.
“Donny.. What are you doing?”
He did it, he touched Leo where he never should have and he had foolishly done it by mistake. It was over, everything he worked hard for was gone, he was going to be kicked out, and shunned and he didn't even get enough time to enjoy it!
A hand claws at his own, apparently he had been digging in his nails, and so with the remorse of a starving stray he let go and forcibly yanked Leo back by his mask tails, threading his fingers in it as he forced his twin into a heated kiss. Leo made a small sound somewhere between a hum and a whimper as his head was tilted back to give Donnie more access. The kiss was relentless, firm, and brimmed with an emotionless passion that would not end; Donnie only pulled away when Leo made a sound of distress from the lack of air. He panted, gasping for breath, his murky eyes locking onto Donnie to clear into a bright blue sky dewy with tears.
Donnie moved to kiss him again, as Leo’s hand reached out almost desperately. Donnie took it with a wicked smile, and Leo closed his eyes in what could have been peace or resignation or some awful mixture of the two. The only authentic ending is Leo and Donnie die, Leo and Donnie die, and no one can tell them how to live before it. Donnie digs in his teeth, marking it, drinking in that pained gasp that echoes up into the roof of his mouth.
The softshell’s vision blurs, a loud thunk ringing into the world as he feels them cross and his body fold back into the cushions, wheezing out the sparking agony between his brows as he makes out the murky form of a green arm rubbing at the bloody teared marked head of its owner.
“What the fuck was that.” Leo hisses, as if his tongue had not tasted the rawest of bliss, and as though the angels had not kissed his vulnerable cheek to sleep, whispering promises that ached so tender with the slain promise of love. “I knew something was up with you.” he squeaks, tumbling ass first onto the ground, digging his heels into the carpet as he made to back up, “the cameras, all those cameras, the trackers, I knew there was something fucked in your head.” He laughs, and it cuts into the lines of his lips, the smile of beauty that carves wounds into the cheeks, “I didn’t think it was this though, didn’t think you would ever stoop to molesting your own brother.”
Donnie stares at him, unwavering, and Leo is struck with the cord of his own heart, feeling its plucked strings play his doomed sinful tune. “Who else.” He makes to ask, hiding the green that sat uncertainly beneath his sly tongue.
“Who?” Donnie blinks at him, one lid after the other, more reptile than human.
Leo rolled his eyes humanly, clapping his hands to his knees as he stood up, brushing himself off the filth of the ground, holding onto the deceitful notion of the capability of being clean. “Mikey, and Raph, duh. Have you touched them too?” he accuses more than asks, planting his footing firmly to the ground, relishing in the false height between them as Donnie sat, and Donnie smiled.
“Only you.”
It flusters Leo’s soul as he steps back, shifting foot to foot–- as his nature to slide away from danger. It appears Donnie is no threat as he rises to his feet, more even in stature now as he reaches out, careful hands cupped as though to hold his cheeks, a false god with hands full of gold as his darling slider moved away.
“I don’t know if I should be relieved or disgusted.” Leo found it in himself to admit with the shift of his eyes, the clouds forming in them, a warning of the storm. “I should've known.”
“I hadn’t meant to force myself upon you.” Donnie hushes, “I was content watching, it was the slip of the hand, and I couldn’t bear not getting at least a taste before..” he trails off, jagged trails to which loosened packs tumble down to tear along the rocks. “Oh, Leo, my Nardo.”
“Oh, Don-tron.” Leo lets his breath fall flat, tangling his hands into the edges of his twin's plastron. “You truly are depraved.” He puffs, leaning down to press a kiss to the edge of his lips, mockery that tickles off into short snickers.
Donnie presses into him, uncaring, “Depraved, to be morally corrupt; wicked.” He forces a proper kiss, grabbing both sides of the slider's head and dragging him like an anchor across loose sand. “Do you wish for me to be wicked?” He catches his breath, dragging his hands down to his sides and hooking his obsession’s waist. “To be corrupt?”
The slider is given no time to answer before he’s shoved back onto the bed, remote scattered to the floor as he made to destroy the comfy pile he had assembled for their movie night. His lips silenced all protests from that yapping beak, his darling never knew when to shut up.
He hooks a knee under the junction of Leo’s leg, spreading it open as he slotted in between, feverishly loving on Leo’s every pleading squeak.
"I can be wicked," he whispered against his brow bone, refusing to meet the burning eyes that bore into his soul, left to smolder on the hot coals of Donnie's consistent lust. "Wicked - evil or morally wrong," he hummed, pushing his thumbs into the soft flesh of Leo's inner thigh. "Evil - profoundly immoral and wicked," he slid his thumbs up with the word, dancing his fingers over the band of Leo's shorts to wiggle them down.
"Tell me, Leo," he teased, merry and conceited, "Is this immoral?"
Leo opened his mouth, and Donnie swarmed it, like wasps to a corpse, to feast as he dragged his tongue down into his throat, gagging him as his curious fingers cupped, felt, and teased the flesh he had gawked at from the privacy of his lab for years. The richest of memories aroused in the indulgence of shower film-- soapy bubbles against supple thighs.
He had seen it all.
Leo sucked in a breath, drool connecting their sly mouths, the bittersweet taste of cinnamon left in his throat. "It's you..." He choked, Donnie's moisture hitting his gag reflex with force as the softshell slipped inside with a stuttered finger.
"Hm?" He raised a plaintive brow, slipping his finger in deeper and deeper, making a "come hither" motion. "Me?"
Leo arched forward, clinging to him as he felt his walls flex, coating Donnie's fingers in his wetness as his trapped cock twitched in interest. "It's you, this is you." His voice came out in a snarled moan, hips bucking up into the sensation. "You wrote the rules, your limits, and you have moved past them." The slider hissed, his cock begging to drop as it pressed against Donnie's fingertips. "I cannot dictate morals to a self-proclaimed god, now can I?"
He chuckled with mirth, an unlickable expression in his eyes. "That's not a no," he addressed, fingers slipping out with a wet pop to allow the slow slide of Leo's weeping cock to reveal itself as pretty as on camera. "You have not said no."
The slider looked at him as beautiful as a macabre painting, something blooming in death as his twin slumped forward and met his mouth with a kiss. "Ever heard of buying a lady dinner first?" he puffed with a wink, and Donnie gripped his cock firmly in retaliation, giving it a firm pump that had Leo's thighs seizing and toes curling into the pads of his feet.
"I certainly don't come here often." The pestering slider blepped, giggling despite the sharp gasps of air that escaped him as Donnie wrangled him into his lap and stroked him. "N'ngh, not fair." He whined, pawing angrily at his hands as Donnie made a ring with his finger and slid it gently up and down.
"You joke to deflect how you are feeling," he noted out loud, and Leo stiffened then gasped as his tummy tightened and his legs twitched up to buck into that wicked hand.
"Indubitably not." Leo hiccuped, trying to roll over to his side, but there's a hand on his hip and another pumping his cock in a slow, evil rhythm.
"Hah, and they say I'm the one terrible at lying." Donnie snickered before pressing a sweet kiss to Leo's cheek, his affection corrupt as he continued his assault on Leo's most intimate of senses. "You like this."
There was an attempt at protest before the world whitened out into one big bright spark of tortured rapture as he coated their laps and hands in the nectar of his fallen grace. "I..." he sucked in a breath, then another, chest heaving as his limbs twitched against his will. His nerves shot and buzzy as tiredness overtook him and dragged him under the waves of his own storm as he shot one last teary stare toward his brother. "So, did you..." and it was ego gratification of a tepid kind for Donnie. The hidden confession had brought forth blamelessness.
The serene and luminous region of truth - Leo was messed up too, for In the end, it was Donnie and Leo, Donnie and Leo…
Donnie and Leo...