Author's Note: Originally I was going to keep this in the body of Winter Interlude, but I've decided to put it on it's own so the rest of that fic can stay rated T. This however, is rated M for smut. If that's not your thing, you have been warned. Nothing too graphic, because this makes me bashful enough. It takes place during Winter Interlude, but it isn't necessary reading to understand the bulk of the story. Although it will be referenced in future chapters. Enjoy!
Donatello
This has escalated quickly. If I was ever in control of the situation I certainly am no longer. I never should have agreed to this in the first place. We're going to get caught. Or, more likely we'll wander back to the lair and I'll look so, entirely guilty Master Splinter will make me train until I collapse. I'm going to be in so much trouble. April slides her hand up my thigh from her perch on my leg and traces along the edge where shell meets skin. I am going to be in so much trouble. I don't care.
"Are you warm enough?" she asks, her voice a delicate whisper that sends a shiver through my body that has nothing to do with the cold.
I nod, finding it increasingly difficult to form words or think straight or stop myself from taking her right here and now.
Gosh, that's awfully romantic. Maybe you should suggest that, Romeo.
I blush and try to swat away my own sarcastic thoughts. "Are you…warm?" I murmur.
I hope she can't read the less-than-honorable thoughts all over my blushing face. It's a false hope. April can read me like a book. She smiles. It's slow and predatory and makes my stomach flip nervously. Her fingers continue their path just underneath the edge of my shell, each little press and feather light touch making it increasingly more uncomfortable to remain sitting. I squirm, my fingers curling against the small of her back as her grin widens and she rolls her hips forward.
"Mmm, very warm," she replies, leaning forward for a kiss. "Almost…too warm."
She pulls back, letting my hands hold her steady as she peels off her sweater. I slide my fingers under the thin material of her camisole, moving my thumbs in slow circles across the arch of her lower back. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my hands, sending sparks of electricity through my fingers with every touch. I never want to stop touching her. The camisole is the next piece of clothing to drop to the floor, forgotten. I move to spread my hands along her ribs, delighting in each dip and curve. I pause beneath the edge of her bra.
Go for it.
I hook my thumb under the lace-covered wire, her breath coming in a short gasp when I graze against the skin of her breasts. It isn't the first time I've seen them, or even touched them, but it all still seems like some weird, wonderful dream that I'll wake up from very soon. She's beautiful; perfect even and I still can't believe she's here with me. I'm not going to take it for granted. I…
What's she doing?
"Oh."
I can't keep the grunt that follows the small exclamation from passing my lips as April presses down once more with the flat of her palm against my lower plastron. My shoulders roll forward and I can feel my tail swell as she presses down again. I won't be able to keep myself hidden for much longer if she keeps doing that. I close my eyes tight and think of math, snow, and long training sessions; anything to stop this from being over before it begins. She lessens the pressure somewhat, but doesn't remove her hand. I can feel the smile on her lips when her mouth brushes across my neck.
"Relax," she says, the word almost a purr.
"I…I'm trying," I reply with a nervous laugh. "It's kinda hard."
"Hmm, I noticed," she teases, her fingers moving over the growing bulge in my plastron.
You walked right into that one, Genius.
"That's not…I didn't mean…" I stammer and feel my face burn with the fire of a thousand suns.
She laughs and tilts my head to cut off my feeble ramblings with a kiss. She tastes like strawberry lip gloss and something even impossibly sweeter. Our tongues touch and I move a hand to cradle her head, letting her hair slip through my fingers. I could kiss her forever and die happy. I try to relax, letting myself get carried off by the warmth of her body and her intoxicating scent that fills my head and clouds my better judgment. Her hand is moving lower once more and I brace myself for her touch. I moan and instinctively lift my hips as I drop down.
I hold my breath. There's still time for her to stop, for her to realize what exactly she's gotten herself in to. I know she has held me before, has seen all of me and it didn't send her running. This seems different somehow. That first time it was dark and we were in the safety of her room. The interior of the Shellraiser seems unnaturally bright in that horrible, heartbeat of a moment when I'm suddenly exposed. There's no denying my differences in the harsh light of day. There's no hiding it under a blanket and the cocoon of a snowy day and a dark room. I'm there, all of me and she can still turn away.
"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, her hand encircling me with one slow, toe-curling slide of her palm.
Don't ruin this. Don't say anything to make her stop. If you ruin this you'll regret it.
"Y-yeah…I…oh…"
Words utterly fail me as she circles her thumb over the tip before taking hold of me once more. I lean my head back and swallow, trying to conjure complex equations once more. She kisses the side of my neck as she continues to work her hand at a slow pace that might just drive me mad. I whimper as she shifts her position on my lap, causing me to push my tail into the seat of the chair.
"Donnie?" she murmurs against my skin and even the tiniest hint of uncertainty in her voice is enough to make me come crashing back to my senses.
I tilt my head forward, eyes wide.
What did you do wrong?!
"Yeah?" I ask.
She buries her face in the crook of my neck, her breath hot and almost panting against my skin. Anxiety burns to life, quickening my heartbeat and turning the heavy feeling of desire in my stomach into an aching, squirmy mass. Her grip loosens slightly and I'm sure I've done something wrong, something irrevocably and horribly wrong.
Or maybe she finally realized how different you are. Saw you in the light and can't deal. Can you blame her? She's beautiful, perfect. Why would she want to be with you? Why would she want to touch you? You're disgusting.
"Donnie," she says my name again and I'm struck motionless.
She lets go entirely and I reach down to tuck myself away. I'll tell her it's all right. I understand. I won't let her see how much it hurts. I won't act disappointed. I can't blame her. This is my fault. I never should have gotten my hopes up. I never should have thought this was something I could have. I'm not meant for this. Her hand rests atop mine, stopping me from hiding myself away and I can't help but notice the blush that makes every one of her freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose.
"Can I…I mean…do you," she crinkles her nose and rolls her bottom lip to hide a sheepish smile. "Do you want me to use my mouth?"
Wait…what?
I must be staring at her like the village idiot because her blush burns further to life and she avoids my gaze by tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can't wrap my head around what I think she just offered. It doesn't make sense. She was just about to tell me she didn't want to do anything. Wasn't she?
"I…huh?" I mumble in place of an actual response.
She smiles and looks up at me through her lashes. "If you don't want me to…" she says with a smirk and a flippant wave of her hand.
"I want you to," I say in a voice that is embarrassingly close to a desperate plea and not for the first time I wish I could travel back in time and stop myself from speaking altogether.
"All right," she replies with a little laugh that is more nervous than taunting.
She leaves me with one last heated kiss before sliding off my lap to kneel in front of me. I'm lost. I am not me anymore. This can't be real. This can't be happening. But I am and it is. It very much is. I grip the arms of the chair and let my head lean back, loosing myself in the sensation. Part of me thinks I might have died and that this is indeed heaven. The logical part however, reminds me how trite that sounds. I don't want to disregard this as a dream. I want to remember it, every slide of her tongue or added grip on my tail in time with the movement of her mouth. I want every second of it locked firmly away in my memory; every last glorious detail. I never want to forget a thing.