If there was one thing Leonardo could say he loved about his younger brother, (but why just one thing, when there were obviously so many?), then he's positive that his Bambi eyes would be first on the list that he would never choose what came first.
The way he looks at Leonardo, with such admiration, love, adoration even, was enough to make the bones beneath his skin boil in the heated blood of his embarrassment. His soul was reflected through the baby blue windows in blotched melanin grey and dark limbal ring that seemed too full to possibly be normal.
Like his emotions would shatter through those glassy glances tossed his way whenever things began to feel too much for the youngest.
In those days, those rare moments where he could never deny the open sun kissed arms, he would gently caress the prominently freckled skin along the nape of his neck while Michelangelo lay face down on his chest.
His heart ached, when he felt the tears moisten through his shirts and scald fears untold into his flesh like acid.
How anyone could ever mistreat him when Mikey is nothing but honest and truthful to fault is a crime in itself.
Of course, that would lead us off the track of the matter at hand, should he delve too deep into the rage that pounded at his ribs one by one, until his lungs felt ready to burst in a song of colourful words that could be mistaken for the second eldest misplaced anger.
And so the sweet skin he treasures so dearly, would be second.
That skin he feels move and ripple beneath the callousness of his hand when his grazing becomes too much, mesmerizes his senses into an itching want that he suppresses with the counting of dots along his bare shoulders. Those particular dots, ranging in shapes and sizes, remind him of an old folk-tale about the infant that fell from the sky, a plethora of stars following his descent and burning their way into his skin, to mark him from the gods beyond.
A gift bestowed unto the sinful people of the earth that spoke of innocence and mirthful merry.
Oh, how sinful Leonardo could feel, when the wanting of his younger brother became too much to bear alone.
His desires ended up being confided in by Raphael, of course. It was purely coincidence they happened to share the same yearning for their (in)famous energetic brother.
They shared hours of hushed words about what might have occurred in those particular instances that sparked the sudden need for discussion. Many of which, happened to be complete accidents.
Michelangelo was after all, completely accident prone.
If anyone were curious about these particular instances, Leonardo might explain it exactly how their conversations about the youngest start out.
'Michelangelo accidentally tripped while dicking around on his skateboard. I accidentally happen to have let my eyes wander up the rising shirt that twisted only slightly higher than his navel. He accidentally caught me staring, and accused me of making jokes about him in my head for later arguments. He seemed shocked when I actually helped him up. But it was really just to feel his hand in mine, to make sure he was really alright.'
Of course, not in those words exactly. Maybe according to the older of the two.
But they've agreed to never share what they, and only they want alone.
The third on their list was more of a mutual agreeing between the two.
His voice. The sweet and lilting tone he seemingly always coo's their names with never ceases to wrap its words around their hearts, and squeeze until they're beating to an entirely new pulse.
One that trips on every syllable that slips out of Michelangelo's entirely too pink lips and palpitates at the whimper of pain muddled through the doors that he locks, and assumes no one listens in on.
The doors never seem to be an initiated barrier of privacy to the older two, however. Mikey's soft sobs are like a tightening noose that doesn't loosen until they manage to gently jiggle the lock undone, to embrace him in a blanket of comforting words and deathly honest murmurs of his beauty.
Whether he believes them or not, has always been a concerning matter of a different story that has yet to unfold.
How they've managed to hide themselves from him for so long remains a mystery, even to their current time together, with how much bits and pieces of their innermost thoughts tend to slip out. They've just barely escaped the nosy prodding of Donatello one too many times at their new found 'bonding time', as he calls it.
He's suspicious, and has every right to be, for all its worth.
It isn't until the house is strangely void of their father or their brother, do things come pouring out like the falls of a gushing stream after the cork was plucked rather forcefully, or a vein nicked, that's directly linked to the heart of their pulsing aspiration.
They had been innocently enough watching old movies together, that all three can recount every scene from days of countless rewinding and rewatching.
What had started out as playful pushing and shoving while the movie played on, turned into a deathly still stare off between Michelangelo and Raphael when their lips had crashed together in Leonardo's struggling to get out from between them.
Jealousy, is a dangerous emotion to taunt.
By god if that taunt hadn't been the most forceful push Leo has ever felt.
His hand made quick work of grabbing the back of Michelangelo's wild hair and pulling him forward to force their own lips to meet in mock, a near smouldering passion shuddering through his spine, raising the dark hair on his own neck.
The reciprocation was highly unexpected, but welcome in it's entirety.
A finely muscled leg soon found its way straddled over either side of his hips, dipping the couch in their jointed weight while they managed to move their mouths together, sloppily, but amazing all the same. The pleasure between them was shortened only when Raphael had pulled him in for his own taste of what he had been yearning for so long, leaving Leonardo to attack the caramel expanse of his neck that elicited a string of sweet panting noises reverberating in the meat of his throat.
Leo could see them making out from the corner of his eye, unwittingly maring a freshly purpled splotch with his white teeth while Raphael painted Mikey's lower lip the same color, worrying it until the delicate pink flesh was tender and bruised. The only sound he could hear beyond the own pounding of his heart were the near ragged gasps of the youngest, a hand digging into the sculpted flesh of Raphael's shoulder while Leonardo snaked his own digits beneath the cotton v-neck to scratch his dull nails at Mikey's freckled back, and eventually carve his presence into his ribs in angry red marks that he soothed with his tongue only after the rather annoying cloth had been removed in a shred between Raphaels hands.
Michelangelo had let out a slight yelp, and muttered something along the lines of that being one of his 'favorite shirts', but his mouth wasn't free to spout nonsensical whimsy any longer than Leonardo could resist shoving his tongue into it. He might have even surprised the oldest with the slight skill he had in tangling their mouths together in a tantalizing way that was purely Mikey.
Leo didn't even need to look to realize Raphael's sudden growl was caused by the spotting of the marks along Mikey's esophagus, and the gasp that emitted into his mouth from the no doubt addition he would soon bear was swallowed for later memories.
His hands ran up the bare skin in a futile attempt to map out everything he might have missed from their seemingly so little contact any of the days prior to the situation, chuckling against the wet lips when he found Raphael doing the exact same thing along Michelangelo's thighs.
But all good things had to end, unfortunately, because the moment they heard the twisting of the front door, they separated like oil from water, and made quick work of re-assembling the mess they had unwittingly caused in the events of their rather rough romping session.
That however didn't change the fact that Mikey was still shirtless and bruised however, rather flustered in his mad scramble off Leonardo's lap. He was sent to the bathroom adjoined to their kitchen to hopefully hide out until the opportunity to leave arose.
The cool air that flooded into the living room with their accursed intruder was very much welcomed to the rather overheating brothers who sat, seemingly normal on the couch, watching the credits of the movie roll by.
Their minds couldn't have been any farther away, however.
It turned out to be Donatello who decided now was the perfect time to pop back in.
The thought of why he couldn't have stayed out later was quickly squashed down when they began answering the questions to what they had been doing in his blessed absence.
He didn't seem all too sold, however. But even so, he didn't mention anything that might have hinted on his insight.
Too bad they hadn't even realized he had headed straight to the bathroom until a near maniacal laughter echoed throughout the room, startling them both into a dark realization.
The downstairs bathroom doesn't have a lock. And Mikey, most likely, still doesn't have a shirt on.
Shit.
Exchanged glances were ones of confusion, and slight horror.
Hah, you guys totally thought they would do it, huh?
Pfft, nah, I'm not that motivated. I should be finishing up the third chapter to my ongoing story, but that's not gonna happen, no sir.
I'm so ass backwards.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and let me know if I should add a little continuation to this or not!