Raphael's lips closed solemnly around his toothpick. The hulking turtle resisted the temptation to let his tongue twist around it, or push it from one end of his mouth to the other, or anything else that might distract him while he waited for her. She hated the damn thing, and he knew it. But she wasn't here.
It was late. Late enough for his patrol of the neighborhood to have concluded. He should have been home by now, below the city with the rest of his brothers. But April was still out. The turtle frowned, crossing his thick arms over his broad plastron. The train tracks that rattled above him were on her bike route home, and they had agreed to rendezvous here, tonight, if only briefly. They would both be in the neighborhood, after all.
He would have escorted her home, if he could, but he was already running on borrowed time. The turtle glanced at his phone, and his brow furrowed behind his red bandana. It was later than he thought. Splinter had only just begun to warm up to the idea of the turtles on patrol, and he had made it quite clear when he expected his sons to be back in the lair. April had made it just as clear that as long as they were doing…whatever it was they were doing, she was going to continue to live her life. Raphael grimaced. Thinking of her riding alone through this neighborhood every night made his scaly shoulders bristle.
A train shook the tracks overhead, and Raphael slunk into the shadows of rusted out overpass. Like all of his brothers, Raphael was trained in the art of invisibility, but any densely populated area was still high risk. As April O'Neil had so staunchly proved, all it took was one persistent smartass with a cameraphone, and that was it. Their cover could be blown. His lips pressed together, mulling over alternatives to entering her apartment through the fire escape. Raphael exhaled in agitation. He had left his coat and hat at her place weeks ago. The turtle had thought she would have returned it to him by now, but she seemed to be hanging on to his disguise for some reason. She had left her own yellow jacket in the lair, the last time she had visited - the next move in a game he had not known they were playing. Michelangelo had intercepted it, only to accidentally intrude on a rather private moment between them as she had parted.
Raphael bit down on his toothpick. He swallowed hard, thinking about that last visit, and those parting kisses. And it wasn't just kisses she had offered him that night. Her entire body had surrendered to his touch. He remembered her supple skin, hot as a summer night under his hands. He remembered how she had leaned back, letting him kiss her; on her lips, her cheek, her neck. He remembered how she had blushed, and trembled, and how he had hoped she could not tell that he was doing the same.
The turtle felt something stir amidst the folds of his loincloth, and he leaned back against the graffiti covered concrete. He hadn't meant for it to escalate so quickly that night. It had started as a kiss goodbye, but it had become something much more, much too quickly. The sharp sound of Raphael exhaling through his nostrils punctuated the silence under the overpass. He began to pace, absentmindedly kicking at the trash at his feet. His sensei's words echoed in his memory. You must learn control, my son.
Control. That was Leonardo's thing, and Raphael had always resented him for that. Not because he needed to learn control - but because his brother was so insistent upon imposing it on him. He had never had a reason to strive for control before now; his rage had always been his strength. It made him train longer. Fight harder. It gave him a reason to keep going. Control meant inhibiting that, and inhibiting himself. What good would he be to the team then? But this wasn't about the team. It was about him and April. He kicked at an empty beer can. It clattered loudly against the concrete, obscuring the distinct clicking of bicycle wheels slowing behind him.
"Come here often?" a voice in the dark asked.
Raphael spun around to see April dismounting. The turtle stiffened, and straightened himself to his full height. He had been distracted. She had ridden her bike right up to him, and he hadn't even noticed. Get it together, Raphael. He admonished himself.
With feigned disinterest, he took his toothpick between his fingers, and let it go with a flick. And then it was gone. It had vanished amongst the rest of the detritus littered beneath the overpass. It was just as well; all it did was get in the way.
As she swung her hips over the seat, his heart started to pound. The closer she came, the louder it got. His lips groped for the toothpick that was no longer there.
"Hey," he murmured.
April smiled as she unlatched her bike helmet. "Hey yourself."
She ran her hand through her hair, and her sweet, light scent mingled with the air that hung heavy with the smell of old, sour beer. Raphael's mouth was suddenly very dry. He could have leaned down and drawn her up, let her mouth find his. For some reason beautiful, sweet smelling April O'Neil was here, with him. He could have kissed her then, under the overpass. It wasn't the most romantic of places, but there were stars above them, somewhere. The moon and the stars were so obscured by light pollution they were almost invisible. New York City was so bright it had swallowed them all whole.
Raphael shook his head, trying to forget the way she smelled, the way her lips felt on his. His broad shoulders tensed as he drew them back. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
April tilted her head to the side, and her hair fell across her shoulders. "Is that a rhetorical question?" she asked, playfully.
The turtle felt a sudden pang of contrition that Donatello the walking dictionary was at home. Where Raphael should be. It would be so easy to slip away into the shadows, into the dark below. He did not have time to play. Not tonight. The turtle turned away from her.
"I should go," Raphael said, his voice gruff. He glanced over his shoulder. "But, uh, I'm glad you're ok."
"I'm sorry. Shit hit the fan in the newsroom tonight," she explained.
Though he did not turn to face her, he could feel her eyes on him, before he felt her hand reach out to touch his carapace. April's hand lingered on his shell before trailing down its ridges and cracks and dents. She stopped at strip of duct tape, her deft fingers tracing the fraying edge where it held him together. Raphael turned, slowly, his breath caught in his chest.
He knew how menacing he must look; tall, and broad and backlit by dim flickering street lights. His imposing shadow stretched the length of the overpass, blocking out what little light there was as it fell over her. And yet, she was not afraid.
She should have been afraid.
He was a freak, after all. The turtle's entire body tensed. "I have to go," he said, flatly.
April's soft lips creased into a hard frown, but she nodded in acknowledgement. The motion sent hair tumbling over her shoulders, and she swept it back in irritation. Raphael watched her as she fidgeted with her bicycle helmet, and then she bit her lip. But soon her lips were still again, resting in a comely pout.
A car sped by, headlights glaring in the darkness. Raphael squinted; he could not see how April's eyes widened. The turtle barely had time to swear under his breath before she pushed him out of sight. They stood there in silence below the overpass. They stood for some time, under that overpass, neither speaking nor moving. He could hear her heartbeat through her shirt, wild and pounding. Her hands were on his chest, her fingers splayed across his plastron. Raphael cleared his throat, loudly, and he thought he saw her blush - but maybe it was just the low light.
As she began to withdraw, Raphael's heart began to pound. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Her hands fell away from his chest, and he stammered, "Thanks."
What the hell Raph - way to sound like a total nerd. He berated himself. But it was too late, his face was betraying him. Damnit. Raphael felt himself blush, then. She looked up at him with those incredible blue eyes, and he could not help but smile.
"Well, somebody's got to watch your back," her lips curled into a grin.
That was so like her. Always looking out for him, even when it was to her own detriment. He took her in his arms, gently drawing him closer to her, and the streets seemed to settle around them, becoming still, quiet; lulled to sleep by the lingering heat another New York summer night. The tension that had shot up inside her at the thought of being seen faded away, and she melted into him. Her warmth washed over him like a sunrise; beautiful, and merciful and blinding. He felt his resolve being swept away by the way she smelled, and the heat of her skin beneath her shirt, and he did not fight it.
This time, he kissed her. He took her face in his hands, and brought her lips to his. April's lips parted, and slowly closed around his. Take it slow, he told himself. But then her lip softly bit down on his, and something surged through him. Her mouth gently pulled at his, drawing him closer. Her hand was running up his neck, and he clasped her to him, pressing her body against his.
She would pull away, gently, slowly, only to find him again. Her kisses fell across his face, hot and brief as embers falling from the fire. There was fire in his veins. Each touch, each kiss, each damnably gentle caress only made it blaze hotter. She had ignited something inside him, something so furious and brilliant that it eclipsed his bitter self-doubt. It had been there so long, he didn't know to feel once it had faded. So he let her touch him, running her hands down his neck, across his shoulder, gripping his biceps as he clutched her closer.
He pushed her up on a cement block behind them, and she drew a breath so quick and deep that her entire torso quivered in the humid night air. As he leaned in closer, her legs opened wider. His breath caught in his throat, but her hand was there, trailing down the curve of his cheek, drawing him back to her. His mouth was on her neck, and her legs were wrapping around his, pulling his entire body closer to hers.
Raphael fell into the curve between her neck and her shoulder. His lips parted, slightly, brushing against the skin of her throat. The heels of her boots dug into his sides, spurring him forward, and his mouth pressed against her neck, hard. He drew her skin into his mouth, slowly increasing the force he applied with his lips. She leaned back, and her sudden gasp faded into the heat of the night. Her neck craned backwards, but he did not release her. Instead, he sucked harder, drawing her into his mouth further. April let out a moan of pleasure and pain, and he felt his entire body stiffen. If he had looked up, he would have seen her dark lashes flutter across blushing pink cheeks. He did not stop kissing her. He could not stop kissing her.
Pulling her closer, he ran his hands up her torso, following the curve of her hips up her back. She writhed in his grip, her hips undulating over his. Raphael's calloused hands felt even rougher across her soft, milky skin. His fingers stopped, skirting the lace of her bra. He could have slipped under it, cupped her perfect breasts in his big hands. It would be so easy. His hands trembled, and he did not press them up any further.
All sense of time was lost in the stillness beneath the overpass. How long had he been kissing her? How long had he pressed her up against the graffiti covered concrete? Minutes? Hours? He had no idea. A siren blared in the distance, and Raphael's eyes widened. He had told himself he would go slow. But he hadn't.
What good would he be to her, if he couldn't control himself? Before, if he had been angry, he screamed. If he had been hurt, he lashed out. If he wanted something, he took it. Before, he hadn't needed control. But this was nothing like before. She had changed everything. Raphael forced his hands to drift back to April's hips, and drew his mouth away from her throat, gently.
"You ok, Red?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Raphael nodded, though he wasn't sure if that was true. He kissed her neck; slowly, softly, deliberately. Her throat was flushed a scalding pink where his mouth had been just moments before.
Her breast rose and fell, as she drew shuddering breaths. She swallowed. And then suddenly, she was still. Raphael's amber eyes met hers, and just she opened her mouth to speak - something buzzed in his pocket. His phone. He jerked away from her, the heat of her soft skin still lingering on his lips.
"Shit," he muttered, fumbling for the damn thing with shaking hands. He unlocked the phone, but said nothing. He was breathing a little too loudly, giving himself away, but he did not care. The turtle waited, bracing himself for his comeuppance for breaking curfew. It was worth it. She would always be worth it.
"Raphael," an imperious voice snapped. "What's your location?"
The turtle rolled his eyes. Damnit, Leo. Raphael sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his face. "By the Saint Mary's tunnel."
He could hear his older brother sigh over the line. Leonardo paused, choosing his words carefully. "Look, you can take April home, if you need to, but you will report back," he huffed. "ASAP."
Raphael's lips turned up into a semblance of a smile. "Yeah, sure."
The turtle hung up the phone before his brother had the chance to say anything else. He glanced up at April, who had slipped off the concrete block and stood by her bicycle. She was straightening her shirt. Soon the only evidence that his hands had been up under it, on her, were a few wrinkles at the hem. But her neck was still pink, and getting pinker. Her throat throbbed aflush and hot where his mouth had been. He swallowed loudly.
"Ah, I think I've got time to walk you home, now. If you want."
"I'd like that." April said, gingerly pressing a finger to her neck.
Raphael's eyes widened. "Are you ok?'
"Yeah," she said with a wince. "It's just going to leave a mark."
"Oh shit, April I'm sorry," he sputtered.
"Don't worry, I've got a great makeup guy," she shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulders. He could still see the bruise he had given her blossoming across her throat. His kiss was like a brand.
He hastily dropped his gaze to the ground. "You are something else, April O'Neil," he murmured.
When he looked up, he was smiling. And that uncomfortable crooked grin of his made her smile, too.