Another on the road iPhone vignette. A little funny a little sad.
I couldn't be doing this. I discard that hypothesis immediately. I shouldn't be doing this. But here I was, sliding through the dark as silently as I was able.
It was natural for a scientist to be curious. I smiled at the half truth recognizing it for what it was. The faint stirrings beneath my shell made it clear that this was more to this than idol curiosity. Being surrounded by the leather and machine oil smell of his bedroom made my feelings and *cough* other things so much harder to hide. And most scientist didn't make a study of their extremely violent younger brothers masterbratorty habits.
He had left the lair about half an hour ago. With a steadying breath I reminded myself I still had plenty of time. With my back to the door I switch on my pen light, the blue white of the super bright LED lances through the murky interior.
"Think like Raphael" I mummer to myself. It would need to be within reach of his hammock.
Sweeping my eyes and light in slow arcs across the room as I searched. This phase of my obsession started about two weeks ago. We had all been watching super hero movies on the couch. Popping in one of marvels blockbusters was one of the few things we could all agree on. Mikey loved seeing his favorite comic characters come to life, Leo loved anything in which the central topic was heroism, and Raph was a sucker for big flashy explosions and fight scenes. I enjoyed any excuse for a quiet evening with my brothers. With the bonus of being wedged tightly next to Raph on the couch.
Watching him react to films was a singular pleasure. He was so expressive. And usually so engrossed in the film he didn't even notice when my eyes were on him. Shouting at the screen, tearing up at sad endings (although he would never admit it), snarling at fights. Face a perfect mirror for whatever it was he was feeling at the time.
It was how I made my accidental discovery. The film had thrown in a little bit of fan service for the female viewers. A shower scene from the male lead. I expected Raph to be fidgety and board. Instead he went very still beside me.
I snuck a peek at him. Raph sat silent in rapped attention. I glanced back at the screen, it couldn't be- rivulets of water trailed down a well toned back. Snapping my surprised stare back to Raph. His breathing was faintly irregular, gold flecked green eyes dilated wide. His lips were slightly parted, as I watched his tongue darted over them tantalizingly before disappearing back in to his mouth. At the sight my own breathing hitched and I struggled to still the hammering of my heart. I had nothing to be worried about. Raphael's eyes stayed riveted to the screen a faint flush spreading across dark emerald cheeks. My eyes flicked back to the screen the figure on it was undeniably, even aggressively male. Corded muscle straining, as the camera dipped lower the taunt round swell of his ass above the firm column of sculpted thighs.
Raphael shifted slighly on the couch, leg brushing mine as he widdened them sligtly. The room suddenly felt ten degress hotter. The effect of being in close quarters with an aroused Raphael was dizzying.
But it wasn't proff, it didn't have to be the movie; Raph's mind could of been anywhere, coalition didn't always indicate causation. And even if it was the movie there were any number of women in figure hugging spandex that could of stimulated the larger turtles interest. I needed hard evidence.
So here I am, risking my shell digging through Raph's room looking for his porn stash. "Somewhere Mikey wouldn't swipe it" I mumble to myself eyes scanning any surface with in reach of the hammock.
On top of his nightstand rests a stack of pulpy horror comics. Underneath is a chaotic stack of books and magazines. A few well worn issues of car and driver up top. I scan down the stack, pausing as the title on a spine catches my eye. 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Matnince.' I snort at this. The next few magazines are turned around, spines facing backwards making them almost invisible in the stack. At first glance it looks like sloppy housekeeping. But I squat down next to it for a closer look.
Transferring the pen light to my mouth to free up my hands, I ease them out from the larger pile. Bingo, all skin mags. It's a smaller selection than I would of thought from Raphael. I flip through the titles quickly, they're an average mix of hard and soft core. Playboy, penthouse, smooth magazine and a couple of other raunchyer titles. All very hetro, all very human.
My head sags. It was what I expected to find but I can't help feeling a little defeated. My eyes feel hot, but this isn't the time or place to break down. I need to get out first. I kneel back down shifting the stack to one hand, and something flutters to the floor. I scoop it up, and am surprised to feel the glossy surface of a photograph.
Brow furrowing, I lift it up to the light still clenched between my teeth. Now this is unexpected. Why would a strait turtle be hiding photos of a male in his porno mags. The photo is shot low from the back, worn tight tight jeans over a definitely a male ass. A fairly athletic one, I note.
I quickly put down the rest of the stack paging through the volume the image slipped from until I find a little bundle of photos tucked into the spine. Turning them over in hands trembling with excitement "Fuck!"The light clatters from my lips to the floor. I scramble to retrieve it.
I go through every curse in Raph's repertoire adding a few he doesn't know in other languages for good measure. "Casey fucking Jones." I mumble darkly.
There are a handful of him fighting, one even that has Raph large in the foreground one fist connecting with a purple dragons face, the other arm extended holding the camera phone as Casey pins another thug to the wall in the back. There are also a few of the brawler at rest, looking moodily out over the skyline, or leaning back against a fire escape face frozen in a laugh.
It's the last image that cuts the deepest. Raph and Casey are sitting on the edge of a rooftop, feet dangling. Casey has a black eye, and Raph's got a gash on his forehead, trickle of blood making him squint. Raph has his arm slung over Casey's shoulder. His knuckles are bruised. The other arm extends up supporting the T-phone he shot this on. But it's their faces that get me. Casey's satyr lips are quirked up and full of confident mischief. Raph is wearing a broader grin than I've ever seen him sport in the lair. It lights up his whole face, radiance extending outward to encompass the whole photo.
In fifteen years, Raphael has never once smiled at me like that. Working quickly and silently I put the photos back in order, then restack the magazines. I do a quick check before I click off the light.
In total darkness and silence I slip back down the hall.