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You pause at the door, one hand resting on the worn frame. The room before you is still and dark. The low hum of a fan fills the air, and by the dim light of a computer screen, you see someone shift.
You knock lightly on the frame, one foot tapping toes to the floor while you wait.
“Come in.”
You sidle into the room, steps still hesitant from the ache between your legs. Last night, the brothers had gone up against Shredder, and then come to you, in their own way. You’d heard snatches of the fight from Donnie and Leo- really, Leo, sitting eerily still while Donnie bandaged the gash across his forehead, rambling about what they could have done better. Don had nodded, murmured quiet assent to increases in training, and you’d watched from the side as his hands couldn’t quite seem to leave Leonardo’s shell, or face, or hands. Then you’d helped him sew up Raph’s shoulder, and wrap Mikey’s bruised tail.
He’d sent you out of the lab when they were through, with a thanks for the coffee and a sweet smile. You’d definitely help them for less, but with Donnie it came so easy. Surprising, then, that he’d been the only one not to take you last night.
Instead you’d gone to help Mikey with dinner. He’d seemed the most unaffected, winking at you, calling you ‘nurse’ as you’d wrapped his bruised, wriggling tail, but his silent motion in the kitchen belied his previous charm. He was making spaghetti, face framed in steam over the boiling pot, and you’d reached out, stroking along the chipped rim of his shell. Your eyes met, and then he’d smiled, turning to catch you against the counter, pressed your hands flat to the spice cabinet.
He’d fucked you with your shorts on, hips tight against the counters edge. One broad, three-fingered hand spanning your bare belly, keeping your ass pressed flat against his scutes, until he came, the tip of his middle finger gliding over your sopping clit until you came too.
He’d wiped you up with a dishtowel after, a little sheepishly and then the timer’d gone off, and everyone piled in to eat. It was a quiet meal, still- Donnie had taken a plate to his lab, and Raph was gone.
‘Out.’ Was all Leo would say, while you and Mikey exchanged grim glances over the bread sticks.
Afterwards, when you’d gone to get cleaned up, Leo caught you outside the bathroom. He was holding his mask in his hands, big blue eyes creased with pain he couldn’t-wouldn’t express. You’d taken him by the hands, wrapping slender fingers around his thick digits and pulled him into the bathroom after you.
You stripped in silence, his hands tender on your skin, still nervous even after everything you’d been through. The dexterity of his hands amazed you. It shouldn’t. You’d seen him handle a blade, and that was nothing compared to the slow glide of a zipper down your front. You piled his gear into the sink, his mask draped across the top like a flag in the ground, while he filled the tub.
It was huge. Donnie had found it in a hotel they were tearing down, and it had taken everyone and Metalhead to get it home, but living in a sewer definitely made it worthwhile. You’d let Leo sink in first, sitting on the edge and scrubbing soothing circles on his shell while he sat, tracing the grooves and whorls with slowly pruning fingers. You’d stroked him until he churred, his cock unfurling to bob just above the waterline.
Only then did you climb into the tub, straddle him, sink his thick length into you, letting the warmth of the water sooth your impatient connection.
He’d filled you twice before letting you wash and dress. As you’d stepped out into the hallway he’d caught your hand, pulling you into an urgent kiss that made the ache between your legs fade.
As you bid him goodnight, you’d thought wistfully of asking after Raph, but if Master Splinter hadn’t gotten anywhere, you doubted you would either. Better to let him rest, and try to check on the most turbulent turtle in your life in the morning. He had been hurt. Maybe he’d simply retired to his room early...
You were two steps into your darkened bedroom, when rough hands pushed you to the bed, your feet tangling awkwardly in your unmade sheets. A hand covered your mouth before you could scream, one thick finger pushing into your mouth, a thick wet cock pressing between your legs.
You’d moaned around his hand and he pulled his finger free with a pop, tangling into your wet hair instead, using it like reins to pull you back onto his cock.
“Raph...” You’d whispered, but he’d only answered by sinking into you, hips thrusting furiously against your own. He filled you completely and then some, fucking and grinding as though to plunge into the heart of you. His breath was a hot puffing rush as he pushed as deep as he could and came.
“What-”
“Shut up.”
His hips hadn’t even slowed as the hand gripping your hair forced you flat into the soft expanse of your pillows. You were embarrassingly wet, his hips meeting your ass with slick slaps, the only sound in the lair your desperate mating.
You’d fallen asleep that night still filled with him, his shell a warm crushing shadow as you had slept nestled against him. You’d woken when he’d started pumping into you again, his cum wetting your thighs.
You were alone when you woke up that morning, Raphael having risen with the sun to train, and you were so full you found small glistening drops decorating the hall that had escaped you on your run to the bathroom. You scrambled to wipe them away on your way back down the hall to Donnie’s lab.
It was cool in his lab, and you felt your skin break out in goosebumps, as you skirted high standing tables, covered in a jumble of chemistry equipment, medical gear and computer parts. The floors were spotless though, and as you made it back to the corner he used as his workspace, he wheeled out from behind his monitor, chair squeaking.
“Hey.” You say, one hand coming up to rub at your elbow. “Whatcha up to?”
Don shrugs, the quick motion flexing the green muscles along his sides, as he tucks his hands behind his head.
“Not a lot. How about you?” His eyes rake over your form, and you shift nervously. Since you were hoping for an exam from the family doctor, you hadn’t worn much. Three fingered bruises linger like shadows at your bare wrists and thighs. Pink suck marks bloom at your throat, marking you like a necklace, trailing down your collarbone before disappearing under the tank you wore. Leo’s carapace, braced in the gentle slope of the tub, had given him perfect leverage to nip and bite at you, and as you thought it, they throb. “You look a little...”
“Tired.” You fill in diplomatically, nodding your head. They’d needed you last night, and you’d been more than happy to give, even if it meant you’d be feeling it during group training this evening.
“Yeah.” Donatello says, but he still sounds pensive, his eyes lingering on your wrists. “You made it out of the fight less scraped up, you know.”
“Yeah.” You brush some of your hair out of your eyes, trying distract from your own anxious feelings about the fight last night. “That’s sorta why I’m here...”
Don nods, standing, one foot kicking the wheeled base of his office chair, sending it to rest neatly against the desk in one fluid motion. Benefits from ninja living, you suppose, and then he steps up to you. The top of your head only comes to his chin, and it makes you feel small, delicate. One firm, warm palm cups your elbow, guiding you to the small army cot and shower curtain that served as infirmary.
If you could change one thing about your new life, it would be the danger they faced so constantly, and it’s terrifying, inevitable consequences. Don had risen to meet the situation head on, but you knew it worried him too, the fear of a wound too deep, an injury more serious than he had the knowledge or skill to fix. People were not computers, as much as you could tell he sometimes wished they were.
You sit on the cot at his direction, legs stretched in front of you, hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. Donnie paces the floor beside you, picking up a clipboard and pulling out a peremptory pair of gloves. The gloves make you nervous, anticipatory, even though this is a real medical visit. Just thinking of having him touch you is exciting.
“I missed you last night.” You tell him into the silence, drawing one knee up under your chin, giving you something to hold onto. It makes him pause, as though shocked to stillness. You're smiling when he looks over his shoulder at you. “I did.”
“It looked like you had your hands full.”
You shake your head at his words, and his hesitant tone. He steps closer, into the confining ring of the shower curtain and pulled it closed behind him, and now it’s just you and Donnie, breathing in the close space.
“I had room for you.” You tilt your head back to get a better look at his face where he stands over you. He’s flushed, eyes darting away from your face, and you reach up slowly, hooking your fingers onto the lip of his plastron, tracing the edges until your finger pads are stroking his ribs, reveling in the rise and fall of his suddenly unsteady breathing.
He catches your hands, pulling them away, and then churrs when you let your nails kiss him goodbye. You can feel yourself getting wet, slick in preparation. And then you feel it again, that twisting, wrenching ache in your gut that along with the streaks of blood your questing fingers had found in the shower that morning had sent you to the lab in the first place.
You grit your teeth, but a sound escapes you anyway, and you bend at the waist to hide your eyes, one arm wrapping around the source of the pain, until your sweaty forehead is resting against Don’s plastron.
“What is it?” And he sounds almost frightened, his hands amazingly gentle through your hair. “What happened?”
The muscle relaxes, releases you, and you gasp feeling cold sweat break out as the tension leaves you clutching at Donnie, breathing hard.
“A cramp. Really bad cramps. I was bleeding a little this morning too. I’m just worried something’s torn-or-” You stop, flushing, and bite your lip to keep from talking. With the pain receding, embarrassment is hitting you hard. Donnie’s still stroking your hair, and as you pull back, you realize he’s begun to bulge, his trapped arousal pushing at his plating. Maybe he’d missed you last night, too.
“Probably cervical bruising. Maybe an abrasion. I can prescribe painkillers-”
“Can you check?”
The request comes out in a nervous jumbled rush, and if you were avoiding eye contact before, now you wish you had a shell just to hide in.
“I can.” Donatello replies, and his voice doesn’t hold any questions, any uncertainties. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
“I’m sorry.” You mumble, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, turning instead to a cabinet to the far left. He pulls out a plastic speculum, and a clear packet of sterile medical lubricant, probably picked up during their last hospital raid. He won’t need it. You’re soaking wet already from the earlier flirting, and the painful humiliation of having to tell Don such embarrassing things.
“How would you like to lay?” He asks, but doesn’t turn around and you realize he’s giving you time to figure it out. An army cot really wasn’t designed for this, but you make do shifting to the edge and stuffing a pillow under your hips. It means he’ll have to brace your legs but you can’t find a better position and then you’re cramping again. You moan, tossing your head back weakly as the feeling stabs through you.
He turns at the sound, and you grasp his hand like a lifeline, squeezing hard. The pains releases you just as suddenly, and you fall back with an irritated noise. You still hadn’t realized what position you were in until you feel the wet head of Donnie’s cock, freed from it’s protective slit, rubbing a hot trail along your thigh. It makes you gasp, and he pulls away like a startled animal, taking his clean scent and dry warmth with him.
“No, wait-”
“Sorry.” He sounds mortified. “That was unprofessional-”
“-come back.”
You pause and then reach your hand back out for him, waiting until he envelops it in his palm, hiding its slim features.
“You’re wet.”
He sounds wondering and you snort at him, tossing your other arm over your eyes, hiding your shame.
“I probably don’t need the lube...”
“Let me check.” Donnie whispers, and then sinks down in front of you. Your thighs tense, waiting for the clumsy brush of fingers, but instead a slick tongue slips over and around your clit, before sucking the twitching flesh into his mouth, brushing it with blunt teeth. You splay one hand over his head, fingers tangling in the tails of his mask. The other he holds pinned flat to the bed and the easy balance of power is a rush.
Your legs spread, letting him press closer, the pillow giving you needed height and you hiss as his jaw presses against your sore and swollen labia. You’ve felt puffy and tender all morning, but now that you’re spit slick and wet it feels good. Really good, and it makes you press closer to him, to that quick, clever tongue, suckling on your clit. He pulls away from you and your hands, your wet open body reaching for him, desperate to have him back.
“Shh.” He says, and Don sounds drily amused, like when he’s MST3K’ing Space Heroes. “I still need to do your exam.”
You nod, try to catch your breath. Your whole body is tingling and flush. You can feel your nipples rubbing against the fabric covering them, hard points begging for a touch. You feel looser, less tense, and when you express as much to Donatello he agrees with you.
“It’s the endorphins.” He has a tiny penlight gripped in his mouth, and you shift, flexing your calves where they rest across his shoulders. “The same rush that kept you from feeling your stopping point with Raph last night.”
“I didn’t have a stopping point.” You admit, and embarrassment colors your words, but it’s the truth and you’d feel worse hiding it. Later, you’ll blame the uncharacteristic admission on the lack of sleep, the vulnerability your pain had pushed onto you.
Don just cleared his throat, his fingers spreading your swollen, dripping lips, sliding the tip of the speculum against your opening. It makes you shudder, and the rippling of your body slid the tool further into you. Donnie makes a noise when you do, the movement surprising you both. He recovers first, with a nervous laugh.
“Maybe it’s good I’m your doctor.” He joked, smiling up at you, hands steadily slipping the speculum further into you, until only the clear handle juts from between your gaping thighs. “If this is your regular reaction to medical attention, you’d really be straining a doctor-patient relationship.”
“It’s because of you.” You groan too turned on to banter,and Don chuckles again, breathless this time and you watch him lick his lips, his eyes fixed on where you’re stretched, ready to be opened. “That I feel so-”
“Hey.”
You look down at him, and your body is trembling with the strain of holding your position.
“I’m going to open it okay? It helps spread you wide enough for me to get a good look, but with how sore you are-”
“Go ahead.” You smile at him, or try to, one hand reaching down to smooth over his cheek. He nods against your hand, and then squeezes the handle, triggering the trade of tension, the stiff beak inside of you spreading your sticky walls. The sensation is intense especially with Donnie’s fingers pressing into your thigh, holding you down and open in place of stirrups.
“Ah.”
“Too much?”
“No...”
It’s almost too much though, and you let your head fall back, trying to regulate your breathing like you did at meditation. Your belly feels stretched and warm, and you ache where the tool pushes you widest. You’re still getting wetter though, your fluids coating the clear speculum, each twitch of your walls against the translucent device making you sweat. You can’t help it. He’s watching you with the sort of concentration he normally reserves for formulating mutagen, and the scrutiny is flattering.
Donnie settles a flat hand on your stomach, his other hand leaving the speculum securely wedged inside of you, to take the penlight from his mouth, flick it on, and peer inside of you.
The attention makes you want to squirm, but you hold still. You’d asked for this. Could’ve just taken the painkillers, and saved yourself and him the trouble.
“Yeah, definite bruising. You’re very swollen. I’m not surprised you’re cramping with this level of damage. I’m gonna prescribe you-”
You groan as a cramp grips you, makes you clench around the plastic spreader and Don makes an aborted noise. He’s watching you, fascinated, eyes locked on your innermost secrets, and it makes your hips shake. You know he can feel it, how can he not, he’s inches from you, your ankles hooked behind his neck.
“Sorry.” You murmur, the relaxing of the cramp leaving you wet and wrung out. Donnie shakes his head. He’s flushed, biting his lip.
“You-no. It’s fine. I’m going to take this out okay?”
You nod as he releases the small clip holding the stiff beak open, his hand guiding it slowly closed, and you’re strangely cold when you press back together. A clear, sticky string connects you to the speculum in his hand, and it makes you look away.
Don’s still hard, swinging as he stands, still shiny with his own natural lubricant. Now that you’re sure you’ll live, the arousal is making itself known. You press your thighs together, and they make a slick noise when you squirm. Donnie’s cock twitches at the sound, and it makes you smile and lean forward. He jumps when you suck him into your mouth. He tastes clean and salty and at the feel of your tongue wrapping around him, his hips jerk.
“Darwin’s beard...” He mutters, breath whistling through the gap in his teeth, and you’re smiling at him, even as you suck him further into your mouth. You keep going until the tip of your nose bumps his plastron, then swallow and Donnie churrs, the sound vibrating through his body. His hips pull back, before thrusting at you tentatively, and you grab his shell for balance, letting your body sway with the motion of his pumping cock.
Your body is singing again, previous aches forgotten in the rush of oxytocin to your brain. His taste is like a drug, and you’re reluctant to pull away, to let him slip from between your lips.
“I don’t have one with you either.” You tell him, and he looks down at you in confusion, eyes dilated with lust.
“Have what?” He asks, and you lay back, wrapping your legs around his carapace, his hands automatically going to your hips, raising you up to meet him. He barely brushes against your entrance, and then again, and then you’re merging. It feels natural, fluid, your bodies well acquainted and the ease with which he fills you completely makes you gasp.
“A stopping point.” You whisper, voice stolen by the blood heavy press of his cock, and he churrs, the sound making you clench up, your bruised over-used muscles milking him. Pulling him deeper into you.
“Love you.” Donnie gasps, and you moan anew. Your hands clutch at the sweat damp sides of his plastron, placing your weight almost fully in his arms, and he takes it easily. “You feel-”
“Please.” You groan. “Fuck me.”
His hips jerk against you, the head of him pressing gently against your cervix, the addicting pleasurable ache starting between your legs already. You writhe against him, and he strokes a hand down your side, like he’s soothing an animal.
“Shh. Relax.” He says, and you take a deep shuddering breath. You could have lost them all last night, never had this sweet sensation again. It makes you needy, desperate, out of control. “I’ve got you.”
His thumb settled on your clit, grinding between your joined bodies, the angle leaving him curved over you. His hips rock slow and shallow, filling you in smooth seamless thrusts. The sensation is soft, but stimulating, and pleasure builds in you swiftly, easing his way, his length wet with your combined heat. His other hand grips your ass, rocking you against him like a swing, and you’re coming before you mean to, before you realize, clenching sweet and desperate around him. The breath is knocked from you with the force of it, your body stiffening. Donnie churrs, low and loud, his form hunching over you but his thrusts never speed up, maintaining the same, fluid even glide as his thighs shake from the strain. His arms flex around you, and you drag open-mouthed kisses on the tense musculature holding you to him.
“Donnie...” You implore, your body spent and trembling, still hot where he pulses in and out of you. Your thighs ache where they press into the edge of his shell, his rough carapace scraping your soft skin. “Oh, yes...”
His hips stutter, jerking him deeper than his rhythm dictated, smacking the swollen head of his cock against your cervix, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you shriek. Your hands grip his arms, and you can feel the power his frame carries to move you like a doll. He’s already gone back to his delicate, even thrusts, kissing your body with his. His control is infinite, and you grind your hips against him, trying to get him deep enough to hurt.
“I’m gonna come.” He whispers, like a confession and you tighten up at the words. “I can’t-”
His hips jerk again, knocking a squeal from you.
“Please, Donnie, please.” Your voice is barely audible over the hum of the fans, the electrical whirr of his network of servers, all data-mining the town at once. “Fuck me, please, I want it-”
He breaks with a gasp, hands tight on your hips, sure to leave stark three fingered bruises on your skin. They’re close to where Leo’s plum colored marks have pressed sweet reminders into you. His hips slam against you, pinking your skin, the rough treatment making you cry out, body shaking with the brutality of his thrusts. Your sore, bruised pussy squeezes out another orgasm, your body jittering apart with the force ripping through you, and you feel Donnie come too, painting you with warmth, his hot release leaking from between your sealed bodies.
He’s panting over you, warm brown eyes fixed on your face. You smile, and his expression lightens, smooths. He eases out of you, wordlessly, still supporting your ass in his hands although you can feel where you’ll bruise now, his grip uncareful in the rush.
“We shouldn’t have done that.” He says, but he sounds a little smug, like he just trashed Mikey at Lonely Blade. “You need rest. And ibuprofen.”
“I needed you.” You tell him complacently. Hair of the dog, and all that, but you honestly feel better than before, your aches a memory. “And ibuprofen.”
He laughs, and sets you down, and you hiss as more of his cum slips out of you. You’ll be leaking all day. It’d be upsetting if the thought wasn’t making a smile tug at your lips, making your nipples tighten all over again.
“You okay?”
His face is creased with worry, and you wave him away immediately.
“I’m fine, doctor, just-” Your voice drops playfully. “Dripping.”
He’s flushing, eyes wide behind his mask as he looks down at you, hand frozen on a pill bottle. You grin at his expression, biting your lip and then he’s kissing you, nuzzling his smooth beak against your cheeks and chin, nipping at your mouth until you’re breathless, arms thrown around his neck.
“Alright, well lets get you cleaned up.” He murmurs against your ear. “What would the nurses think if they saw a patient like this?”
You laugh.
“That you’re an excellent doctor.”