Turtlecest, it was bound to happen
I'm kinda tired of messing with this chapter. I'm actually on chapter 3 and I know chapter 4 is going to be the hardest one to write, but I'm going ahead and posting this now.
Title Broken Weekend
Characters/Pairings Raph/Don (non-con), Don/Leo, Mikey/Angel
Warnings Non-con, Turtlecest, Turtle Anatomy, Implications of a sexual relationship with a minor
Summary Blind rage, a mistake; returning home, a lie; pleasure, a revelation; guilt, a start of reparation
Author’s Note This is largely inspired by reading crabapplered’s rant on/examination of the Turtles’ personality. I wanted to play with the ideas presented, and see how they felt when handling the characters. I rather like the results… even if it makes Raph that much harder to write. XD
This was originally going to be only one chapter, all in Don's POV. Then it switched to a scene for each turtle, but Mikey insisted he needed at least two. So I had to split them into chapters.
Chapter 1
Leonardo had the dedication. Michelangelo: the raw talent. Donatello had the smarts. And Raphael, the strength.
It was something he prided himself in, something he worked at. He lifted weights to build his muscles up, and used the punching bag to tone them. And even though Donatello could easily beat Leonardo in an arm wrestling match, Raphael had very little problem doing the same to him.
In a hand to hand fight between the two of them, they would come out about even, as Donatello used his knowledge of leverage and force and anatomy to best Raphael’s superior strength. All it took, however, was one mistake, one moment off guard on Donatello’s part and the tables would turn. Let Raph close quarters with him, and turn the sparring into a grappling match where he couldn’t get the leverage, or put enough force behind his blows and he would lose. Raphael could pin him, and he would be helpless to get him off.
His lab definitely counted as close quarters. And even worse, he’d been caught off guard.
His head throbbed where it’d been slammed into the wall, and his cheek burned from the concrete biting into it. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he thought it was from the way his arm was twisted behind his shell, or maybe more to do with the sharp pain in his side. His other hand braced against the ground, trying to shove himself back up, but he couldn’t move for the pressure exerted on his skull. That was what was shoving his face into the floor. A fist that clenched the knot of his bandana, two knuckles that dug into his head, painful points of constant pressure.
Raphael growled above him, and there might have been words, but Donatello couldn’t make them out for the roaring in his ears.
He should have been paying attention to his surroundings. To what he said. Oh god, what kind of an idiot was he to get caught off guard like this. If only he could get the breath to speak, Raph would stop. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t draw in that needed breath. His side hurt, where Raph had landed most of his first blows, and he couldn’t breathe.
He kept his eyes scrunched close, he didn’t want to see the shadow of his brother hovering over him, pounding at him, his face twisted with rage. Donatello’s tail ached from being yanked, his cloaca burning from the other turtle’s attempt to fit inside, but they weren’t built like that, not like humans. So Raph pounded at his thighs, his stem slimy between Donatello’s legs.
Oh god, why didn’t he think? They all knew how Raph had a quick temper, they’d seen his blind rages. He’d almost killed Mikey once, what five years ago? He should have been more careful of his phrasing, his tone, his expression.
What had he said to set this off? He couldn’t even remember now. ‘…you want a hooker, why don’t you fucking fund it yourself?’
Bile rose in his throat, but he kept swallowing it back down. He couldn’t give in to that urge, not when he couldn’t breath; he’d choke. Not in front of Raph, not right now, not like this. Wasn’t he humiliated enough? His cheek ground against the cement, and his panting, whimpering breaths sucked in grainy dirt, and cut his lips on his teeth.
He wanted to tell Raph to stop. Wanted anyone to tell Raph to stop. Wanted Raph to come back to himself.
‘…what do you expect us to do, Raph? We’re giving you space, we’re giving you time. We’re giving pennies we don’t even have. What more do you want from us!’
This was all his fault, if only he had been paying attention.
Raph suddenly stopped, he heaved and groaned, and warmth spread across Donatello's plastron.
A word grated out in the midst of Raphael’s anguished heaving. “No…”
That opened his eyes, and he peered up at his brother.
“Oh god, oh god.” One hand released his arm, the other yanked out of his mask. “Donnie?”
Donatello let his arm fall to the floor, it hurt just doing that, stiff from being held in one place for so long. The fingers only twitched helplessly at first, but finally he could move his arm. He sat up with a groan as his body complained of deep aches and sharp pains. He glanced at his brother, his eyes moist and blurry, gritty with dirt. But he wasn’t crying.
Raphael withdrew, eyes wide with shock. “Oh shit…”
“Eloquent as ever,” he spat before he could censor himself. He felt the wince more than he saw it, and instantly regretted his tone. Even as he tensed in preparation for a blow that would never come.
A hand landed on his shoulder instead. “Let me…”
Panic at the touch, shoulder quivering; Donatello scooted away with a thrust of his legs. “Don’t touch me!”
The hand disappeared, and Raphael straightened. “Don… Bro, I- I’m- I didn’t-“
His stomach twisted with a surge of nausea. “Don’t call me that.” He didn’t mean to make it sound quite so sharp. Donatello couldn’t look at the other turtle, not with the memory of him pounding away still so fresh. His eyes focused on the disarray of his work area: the lamp that lay on its side on the floor, the red liquid that dripped off the edge of the table, the papers scattered on the floor.
Raphael’s hands flexed helplessly at his side. “Oh, shell. Your face, I can get some ic-“
It hurt to sit on his sore tail, so he dragged himself to his feet and over to the wall. “I’ll be fine, just go.”
Raphael took a step toward him, one hand reaching for him. “Donnie, please, let me help-“
Donatello’s eyes snapped up at that. “Haven’t you helped enough?”
Raphael jerked as though slapped. His wide, shining eyes went flat and expressionless.
Donatello winced at his own words. Raph didn’t deserve that, they knew his temper, and it’d only gotten worse since Master Splinter died. He almost constantly fought with Leo, oftentimes ending in blows until one of the other two intervened. Raphael was getting out of control, and Donatello should have known better than to push his buttons; Leo’s scream from the time Raph had snapped his wrist still echoed in Don’s ear. It was his fault, he should have
known better.
He leaned his shell against the wall, breathing deep despite the shooting pain in his side. When he looked up, he found the lab empty; Raph had left. Donatello closed his eyes, relief combating with his guilt. Oh god, why did he have to snap like that?
Okay Donnie, stop it. Think. He couldn’t just sit here, he didn’t want the others to see him like this, but they shouldn't
be back from patrol for another thirty or forty five minutes. He needed to calm down. Deep breaths. Don’t think about the problem, work on the solution.
Bile again rose in his throat, and that decided his first course of action.
Bathroom.
He stumbled down the hall, reaching the toilet just in time. After several unpleasant minutes, Donatello crouched next to the bowl; shivering from the vomiting, a foul taste in his mouth. He took deep, gulping breaths in an effort to calm his rattled nerves.
Finally, he stood and went over to the sink to rinse out his mouth and wash his hands. had gotten in maybe three blows, before Raphael had him completely subdued. All that training, all that strength-he had bent Raph’s sais in half once in a rare fit of temper-and he couldn’t even protect himself in his own home. He could still feel Raph between his legs, and his hand encountered stickiness on his plastron. That sent him back over to the toilet, heaving bile out of his empty stomach. He straightened and went back to the sink for another rinse.
Finishing that, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. A mutant turtle stared back at him, face bruised and swollen on one side. The turtle in the mirror reached up to touch the stinging cuts across his snout and cheek, where they had scraped the concrete. Even the heel of his hand sluggishly bled from being braced against the rough surface. Blood dribbled down his chin: from the nostril that had been smashed into the wall, ande where his teeth had cut his lips open. He agitatedly swiped that away. Then he raised his hand to hover over a mark in the midst of otherwise untouched skin: teeth marks. He didn’t even remember Raph biting him.
He stared at himself for a long few minutes (maybe it was an hour, he couldn’t seem to track time). The others… Oh god, what would he tell them? If they came in right now what the shell could he say to explain this? ‘Hey, bros. Raph just beat the crap outta me. Didn’t even get in five licks myself. Why? Oh, well you know me. Opened my big mouth before thinking. Always getting my ass kicked.’ Yeah, that would go over real well.
And then what?
They’d hunt down Raph. God only knew what they would do, but Leo would be livid. And he could already see the broken expression on Mikey’s face.
'...and when's the last time you actually considered what happened to this family. You're so wrapped up in yourself, you forget your family. What would Master Splinter say?'
He started shaking, his breath whispering out of a throat closed tight with tears. His eye still smarted from dirt, and so he scrunched his eyes closed against the pale ghost of himself in the mirror. His head dropped down as he fought the sobs that wanted to wrench their way out of his chest.
He couldn't predict what Michelangelo would do, but Leonardo... Leo's temper could almost match Raph's, he just had better control than his younger brother. Not with this, it made Leo furious when they fought amongst themselves, and when it came to himself-to the turtle that rarely actually got into fights, to the turtle that often shared their leader's bed-Leo would lose it. Raphael would be lucky to get away with just a few bruises.
This would devastate their already grieving family. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell them. Master Splinter had ingrained in the four brothers the importance of family, the need to always consider how their actions would affect the rest of them. Donatello had taken it most to heart, as he'd built things that everyone could benefit from rather than just himself.
This was all his fault. He wouldn't do that to his family, too.
His fault.
He’d been so stupid.
Donatello looked up at the bruised turtle in the mirror one last time, taking a deep breath to calm his shattered nerves. Then he stepped into the shower, resolute on his next course of action.
Title Broken Weekend
Characters/Pairings Raph/Don (non-con), Don/Leo, Mikey/Angel
Warnings Non-con, Turtlecest, Turtle Anatomy, Implications of a sexual relationship with a minor
Summary Blind rage, a mistake; returning home, a lie; pleasure, a revelation; guilt, a start of reparation
Author’s Note This is largely inspired by reading crabapplered’s rant on/examination of the Turtles’ personality. I wanted to play with the ideas presented, and see how they felt when handling the characters. I rather like the results… even if it makes Raph that much harder to write. XD
This was originally going to be only one chapter, all in Don's POV. Then it switched to a scene for each turtle, but Mikey insisted he needed at least two. So I had to split them into chapters.
Chapter 1
Leonardo had the dedication. Michelangelo: the raw talent. Donatello had the smarts. And Raphael, the strength.
It was something he prided himself in, something he worked at. He lifted weights to build his muscles up, and used the punching bag to tone them. And even though Donatello could easily beat Leonardo in an arm wrestling match, Raphael had very little problem doing the same to him.
In a hand to hand fight between the two of them, they would come out about even, as Donatello used his knowledge of leverage and force and anatomy to best Raphael’s superior strength. All it took, however, was one mistake, one moment off guard on Donatello’s part and the tables would turn. Let Raph close quarters with him, and turn the sparring into a grappling match where he couldn’t get the leverage, or put enough force behind his blows and he would lose. Raphael could pin him, and he would be helpless to get him off.
His lab definitely counted as close quarters. And even worse, he’d been caught off guard.
His head throbbed where it’d been slammed into the wall, and his cheek burned from the concrete biting into it. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he thought it was from the way his arm was twisted behind his shell, or maybe more to do with the sharp pain in his side. His other hand braced against the ground, trying to shove himself back up, but he couldn’t move for the pressure exerted on his skull. That was what was shoving his face into the floor. A fist that clenched the knot of his bandana, two knuckles that dug into his head, painful points of constant pressure.
Raphael growled above him, and there might have been words, but Donatello couldn’t make them out for the roaring in his ears.
He should have been paying attention to his surroundings. To what he said. Oh god, what kind of an idiot was he to get caught off guard like this. If only he could get the breath to speak, Raph would stop. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t draw in that needed breath. His side hurt, where Raph had landed most of his first blows, and he couldn’t breathe.
He kept his eyes scrunched close, he didn’t want to see the shadow of his brother hovering over him, pounding at him, his face twisted with rage. Donatello’s tail ached from being yanked, his cloaca burning from the other turtle’s attempt to fit inside, but they weren’t built like that, not like humans. So Raph pounded at his thighs, his stem slimy between Donatello’s legs.
Oh god, why didn’t he think? They all knew how Raph had a quick temper, they’d seen his blind rages. He’d almost killed Mikey once, what five years ago? He should have been more careful of his phrasing, his tone, his expression.
What had he said to set this off? He couldn’t even remember now. ‘…you want a hooker, why don’t you fucking fund it yourself?’
Bile rose in his throat, but he kept swallowing it back down. He couldn’t give in to that urge, not when he couldn’t breath; he’d choke. Not in front of Raph, not right now, not like this. Wasn’t he humiliated enough? His cheek ground against the cement, and his panting, whimpering breaths sucked in grainy dirt, and cut his lips on his teeth.
He wanted to tell Raph to stop. Wanted anyone to tell Raph to stop. Wanted Raph to come back to himself.
‘…what do you expect us to do, Raph? We’re giving you space, we’re giving you time. We’re giving pennies we don’t even have. What more do you want from us!’
This was all his fault, if only he had been paying attention.
Raph suddenly stopped, he heaved and groaned, and warmth spread across Donatello's plastron.
A word grated out in the midst of Raphael’s anguished heaving. “No…”
That opened his eyes, and he peered up at his brother.
“Oh god, oh god.” One hand released his arm, the other yanked out of his mask. “Donnie?”
Donatello let his arm fall to the floor, it hurt just doing that, stiff from being held in one place for so long. The fingers only twitched helplessly at first, but finally he could move his arm. He sat up with a groan as his body complained of deep aches and sharp pains. He glanced at his brother, his eyes moist and blurry, gritty with dirt. But he wasn’t crying.
Raphael withdrew, eyes wide with shock. “Oh shit…”
“Eloquent as ever,” he spat before he could censor himself. He felt the wince more than he saw it, and instantly regretted his tone. Even as he tensed in preparation for a blow that would never come.
A hand landed on his shoulder instead. “Let me…”
Panic at the touch, shoulder quivering; Donatello scooted away with a thrust of his legs. “Don’t touch me!”
The hand disappeared, and Raphael straightened. “Don… Bro, I- I’m- I didn’t-“
His stomach twisted with a surge of nausea. “Don’t call me that.” He didn’t mean to make it sound quite so sharp. Donatello couldn’t look at the other turtle, not with the memory of him pounding away still so fresh. His eyes focused on the disarray of his work area: the lamp that lay on its side on the floor, the red liquid that dripped off the edge of the table, the papers scattered on the floor.
Raphael’s hands flexed helplessly at his side. “Oh, shell. Your face, I can get some ic-“
It hurt to sit on his sore tail, so he dragged himself to his feet and over to the wall. “I’ll be fine, just go.”
Raphael took a step toward him, one hand reaching for him. “Donnie, please, let me help-“
Donatello’s eyes snapped up at that. “Haven’t you helped enough?”
Raphael jerked as though slapped. His wide, shining eyes went flat and expressionless.
Donatello winced at his own words. Raph didn’t deserve that, they knew his temper, and it’d only gotten worse since Master Splinter died. He almost constantly fought with Leo, oftentimes ending in blows until one of the other two intervened. Raphael was getting out of control, and Donatello should have known better than to push his buttons; Leo’s scream from the time Raph had snapped his wrist still echoed in Don’s ear. It was his fault, he should have
known better.
He leaned his shell against the wall, breathing deep despite the shooting pain in his side. When he looked up, he found the lab empty; Raph had left. Donatello closed his eyes, relief combating with his guilt. Oh god, why did he have to snap like that?
Okay Donnie, stop it. Think. He couldn’t just sit here, he didn’t want the others to see him like this, but they shouldn't
be back from patrol for another thirty or forty five minutes. He needed to calm down. Deep breaths. Don’t think about the problem, work on the solution.
Bile again rose in his throat, and that decided his first course of action.
Bathroom.
He stumbled down the hall, reaching the toilet just in time. After several unpleasant minutes, Donatello crouched next to the bowl; shivering from the vomiting, a foul taste in his mouth. He took deep, gulping breaths in an effort to calm his rattled nerves.
Finally, he stood and went over to the sink to rinse out his mouth and wash his hands. had gotten in maybe three blows, before Raphael had him completely subdued. All that training, all that strength-he had bent Raph’s sais in half once in a rare fit of temper-and he couldn’t even protect himself in his own home. He could still feel Raph between his legs, and his hand encountered stickiness on his plastron. That sent him back over to the toilet, heaving bile out of his empty stomach. He straightened and went back to the sink for another rinse.
Finishing that, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. A mutant turtle stared back at him, face bruised and swollen on one side. The turtle in the mirror reached up to touch the stinging cuts across his snout and cheek, where they had scraped the concrete. Even the heel of his hand sluggishly bled from being braced against the rough surface. Blood dribbled down his chin: from the nostril that had been smashed into the wall, ande where his teeth had cut his lips open. He agitatedly swiped that away. Then he raised his hand to hover over a mark in the midst of otherwise untouched skin: teeth marks. He didn’t even remember Raph biting him.
He stared at himself for a long few minutes (maybe it was an hour, he couldn’t seem to track time). The others… Oh god, what would he tell them? If they came in right now what the shell could he say to explain this? ‘Hey, bros. Raph just beat the crap outta me. Didn’t even get in five licks myself. Why? Oh, well you know me. Opened my big mouth before thinking. Always getting my ass kicked.’ Yeah, that would go over real well.
And then what?
They’d hunt down Raph. God only knew what they would do, but Leo would be livid. And he could already see the broken expression on Mikey’s face.
'...and when's the last time you actually considered what happened to this family. You're so wrapped up in yourself, you forget your family. What would Master Splinter say?'
He started shaking, his breath whispering out of a throat closed tight with tears. His eye still smarted from dirt, and so he scrunched his eyes closed against the pale ghost of himself in the mirror. His head dropped down as he fought the sobs that wanted to wrench their way out of his chest.
He couldn't predict what Michelangelo would do, but Leonardo... Leo's temper could almost match Raph's, he just had better control than his younger brother. Not with this, it made Leo furious when they fought amongst themselves, and when it came to himself-to the turtle that rarely actually got into fights, to the turtle that often shared their leader's bed-Leo would lose it. Raphael would be lucky to get away with just a few bruises.
This would devastate their already grieving family. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell them. Master Splinter had ingrained in the four brothers the importance of family, the need to always consider how their actions would affect the rest of them. Donatello had taken it most to heart, as he'd built things that everyone could benefit from rather than just himself.
This was all his fault. He wouldn't do that to his family, too.
His fault.
He’d been so stupid.
Donatello looked up at the bruised turtle in the mirror one last time, taking a deep breath to calm his shattered nerves. Then he stepped into the shower, resolute on his next course of action.