Hello again! Long time no see. Sorry for such a long pause on the updates, I hate to keep everyone waiting. But here it is! This chapter is from Raph's POV, and does have a few suggestive scenes. Enjoy and review.
Wind blows from every direction as I trudge through heavy, spiraling rain. The thick sound of roaring breezes mingles with booming thunder, and I can't help but shudder at the brutally cold weather. I can just barely see where I'm going; rain pours in all directions, and if it weren't for the blinding flashes of lightning, I'd have fallen of a building miles ago.
As tempted as I am to turn back and go home to my warm bed, I can't. April called me less than an hour ago, telling me that she'd been sitting on her balcony reading when she'd seen Casey stumbling through the streets, dead drunk. Worried, she'd contacted me, given that I am quite familiar with the aftermath of too much alcohol. I didn't take offense to this—I probably should have, she clearly had labeled me an alcoholic—because I was far too concerned for Casey to care. I hung up almost immediately, practically bolting out of the lair in search for my drunk friend.
I find him now, huddled in the back of an alley, shivering in his drenched clothes, about 100 yards from where April reported seeing him. Leaping down into the alley, I land before him, causing Casey to jerk his head up, his eyes meeting mine.
They're hickory brown; the orbs that've been implanted in his attractive face. They reach for my attention, grasping onto me tightly. It takes every fiber in my being to look away, but I only last a few seconds, because then I'm feeling lonely and that stare he gives me makes me feel complete.
So I gaze at him, our eyes locked on one another. I'm walking forward, suddenly, and the next moment I'm kneeling before him. My hands stretch out, ready to hold onto Casey's. I hoist him up off the ground, but when I'm ready to release his hands from mine, he tightens his grip.
My face goes hot with blush, his touch warming my body up about a hundred degrees. It isn't until he begins leaning towards me that I push him off.
"C'mon, Case, we gotta get you home." I'm mostly saying this to myself, as a reminder that now isn't the time for kissy-face. Not that Casey would wanna tongue wrestle with me anyhow.
Still, I allow myself to think about his lips on mine as I guide him home, his arm tucked beneath mine. He mumbles, words slurred, not at all understandable. But I like the sound of his voice in comparison to the screaming rain and jolts of thunder. So I let him talk, nodding him on, repeatedly telling myself that this is how it outta be. Just two buds—one of which is drunk—soaking in the comfort of each other's company.
This should be enough for me, I should be happy like this. Only I'm not. The more I reflect upon it the truer it becomes. I'm in love with Casey Jones.
Moments like these don't quench my thirst, because I don't want friendship, I crave romance. No, I don't crave him, that's an understatement. I'm desperate for his mouth moving against mine as my fingers tangle themselves in his hair and his hands cup my face lovingly. I'm starving for the feel of his body on top of mine, that pleasurable feel of him pounding in me harder with every thrust. The wait for him to want me back is leaving me with a haggard, dehydrated feeling that only he can cure.
Casey's head bobs to the side, landing on my shoulder. I shift, not wanting him too close, in fear of what he might make me want to do. Luckily, we're on the balcony outside his bedroom. Well, it would be luckily, if I could just get the damn window open.
"For fuck's sake Jones, why 'you always lock-in' this damn thing?" I give the window another shove; whether it be out of frustration or in hopes that that'll open it, I don't know, but what ever it was, it doesn't help one bit.
I take him round front, to try the front door. But it doesn't budge, and I wouldn't dare knock on the door in attempt to summon his father; who knows what'll happen then. A mutant turtle delivering your dead-drunk son to the door? Probably not the best thing to be woken up for at 3:30am.
Shit. Now what? There's no way in hell that April would take him in, not when he's crushing on her and he's a mile and a half past drunk. She'd rather die than allow him into her home when he's in this state. So there's only one other option if I'm not leaving him out on the streets in hopes that he'll sober up before dawn—which I would never do—and that is take him to the lair.
...
Well the walk here certainly was festive. Casey threw up on me—twice, I might say—and after I scolded him for the first time, he began to cry and crying turned to sobbing and there was no calming him down by then. So when the second storm came around I'd learned its best to just silently curse about it.
We're nearing the lair entrance, and I know for a fact that everyone's asleep, even Donnie, who stays in his lab till practically the crack of dawn.
I turn to Casey, letting him down off my shell, which I'd been carrying him on. "We have to be really quiet going in, okay? Can you be super quiet for me?" Casey nods a response, and mumbles a few gurgled words.
I inhale sharply, praying to God that Casey won't screw up.
Grabbing Casey's hand, I stealthily guide him to the bathroom. He doesn't make a sound for the most part, although he did almost fall and if it weren't for my swift rescue, he'd have clanked to the ground louder than an elephant.
I turn on the shower, holding my hand under the stream of drizzling water to measure whether the temperature is warm enough. When it is, I help Casey strip himself of his bile covered clothes. I will admit, this isn't how I imagined my first time doing this would be.
Ideally, I'd wanted us alone, in my bedroom. The lights would be off, maybe a few candles lit to set the mood straight. Our lips would move fiercely against each other, my fingers combing through his hair as his hands traveled down my carapace, his soft, gentle stroking enough to turn me on. My hands'll drop to his waistline, and he'll unbutton his faded jeans, leaving them for me to pull off. My index fingers will buckle themselves around his belt holes, and as his jeans slowly drop down, he'll tug my mask away.
His shirt was lost to the floor long ago, back when our heavy makeout first began. Now, though, there's nothing between us. Not a single cloth, no attire left on our bodies. He lays me down on the bed, a smirk plastered on his face as he leans down, lips puckered, coming closer and closer to me with ever passing second . . .
I shake my head, urging my fantasies away. A scowl masks my face as I glare deeply at my clenched fists.
"Careful not to slip," my tone is sharp, not even the slightest bit of light shining through the cracks of the syllables in my words. Just as I say this, Casey trips over the ledge getting into the shower, nearly falling, if it weren't for my rescue; the second one tonight.
I step into the shower after him, holding onto his shoulders to steady him. My legs quake, and I'm afraid that I'm going to fall over myself, and no one will be able to help me up.
That's the scary part, because the longer I stare into his hickory brown eyes, the closer I am to hitting the ground. There's something about his soft eyes that soothes my soul, although, I don't know quite what it is that I find so alluring. Perhaps it's the memories they bring back, of the farmhouse tiles. Casey's eyes are just the right shade to match the floorboards at the O'Neil farmhouse, a dark brown, near black. Every time I meet my buddy's gaze I can't help but be drawn back to simpler times, when my only concern was to make the ice tea for my family to drink. So many afternoons were filled with me and my brothers and Casey and April all raving through that house, playing games like hide-and-seek and freeze-tag. The creaking of the ground beneath your feet was always enough to tell the main player where you were hiding, and no one could help but silently curse as the floors gave away their keen hiding spot.
That isn't the only memory his eyes bring back, though. Sometimes I think of the woods when I stare into those gleaming orbs. They resemble the thickness of a tree, and a million thoughts could be read from his eyes all at once, just like the patterns on the bark. Lights dance on Casey, he's always attracting the spotlight, similar to the muddy creeks the sun shines down upon on warm, summer mornings.
Bottomline is that Casey calms me, I'm 100% convinced that he's my better half. I love him, and I couldn't stop if you paid me a million dollars. I can't help myself, he's far too mesmerizing to ignore.
In the here and now, Casey's hand drifts upward, landing on my cheek. I lean into the caress, a small smile appearing on my large lips. He takes a step forward, then another. His chest is against my plastron, his hands cupping my face. It's exactly how is dreamy it, except it isn't. Because this isn't really Casey, this isn't really what he wants. He's drunk and the alcohol is making him want me in more than one way. I'm not going to kiss him, or touch him, our do anything other than help him get to bed so he can sober. We'll talk in the morning.
...
"Casey, get in bed," I hiss, my temper getting the better of me. He's stumbling around my room, swaying as he walks, studying every object and poster and picture and book. He won't stay still, and it's rather irritating, considering my main goal currently is getting him to bed.
"'Mon Raph, we can stay up a bit lat'a," he slurs between hiccups.
As I bit my lip, watching him wander around my room, repeatedly telling myself that if any of my family members decide to walk in, not only will they find Casey half naked, but also dead drunk. And considering the garbage bag of Budweiser they all know I have stashed away in my closet, the situation won't be so great on my end, either.
"No. Bed. Now," I point to the cot, it's blankets vent forward so he can easily slip under them. Casey Starr's at me over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he calculates my sternness. Seeming to come to a realization that I'm no longer messing around, he heaved a sigh and wanders to the bed.
The blankets pull over him, warming him, I presume. I could only get him back into his boxers, they were the only thing not covered in throw up. Luckily, I was able to find an old pair of sweatpants in my drawer, and thankfully, they fit him perfectly.
I walk over to the bed, dodging Casey's sleepy glance as I grab my pillow. When I begin to retreat towards my bedroom door, Casey sits up, reaching out his hand to stop me from leaving. "Where ya goin'?"
"To sleep in the living room, Jones," I rub massage my temple, eyes closed, as I wait for a response.
"No," he plops back down on the mattress with a loud 'thump.' "Sleep in here with me."
A low growl vibrates through my throat, but I turn around anyway, and drop my pillow onto the ground. I stare Casey dead in the eyes, a challenge written across my face. He ignores it though, patting the empty spot beside him on the mattress. I know instantly that he wants me to sleep with him.
I shake my head, my eyes wide with refusal. "Please," he pouts, looking up at me like a child.
No, I can't sleep with him, because them I'll want to do more than just sleep and judging by his drunk, out-of-my-mind state, he might just give it to me.
Still, I pick up my pillow and crawl into bed with Casey, just to make him happy. Pulling the string on my bedside lamp, the light goes out, and I can't see a thing. My eyes slam shut immediately, and I know instantly that it won't take long to get to sleep. It's a quarter to five, and the last day has been far beyond stressful.
I'm just drifting into a soft and peaceful slumber when I feel it. I don't know why I'm so surprised, after all Casey has tried to kiss me, gripped tightly onto my hand as we walked, and traced small shapes over my shell while whispering delicate words to me, all within the past hour. So, it shouldn't come as a shock when Casey's nose is nuzzling into the back of my neck.
His hands tie around my waist, and he's scooting closer and closer, until his chest is right up against my shell. Any closer and we'd be one person.
He kisses my neck lightly, his lips soft against my skin. I can't pull away, I'm too close to the edge of the bed. There's no escaping from this, I'm trapped in a thick embrace, and the saddest part is, I'm not sure if pull away if I could.
"Casey . . ," I moan his name, a purr of satisfaction growing in the depths of my throat. I turn around to face him, but he obviously has other ideas.
Casey pins me on my shell, climbing onto my carapace in an act to straddle me. His hands get to work on massaging the skin around my plastron, the skin he knows is the most sensitive thing on my body; well, next to my tail. But he leaves that be, for now.
My head falls limp against my pillow as my eyelids fall. I heave a song sigh of pleasure. "You like that, don't ya, Raph?" Casey's voice is as smooth as silk as he talks to me in a sensual tone. "I could give you more, I could make you feel things you've never felt before." That's when his hands wander to the edge of my carapace, and his fingers begin to rub circles around my cloaca adding the pleasure that ripples through my body at immense speeds.
Reality strikes hard, though, to my dismay. My eyes shoot open, wide, as I realize that Casey's preparing me for sex.
I grab his hands in mine, taking them away from the parts of me I'd rather him not touch. Well, I'd like him to touch me there, I would do anything to have his hands wander all over me, tracing over every scar, every puncture, every curve and every edge. But not when he's drunk, he doesn't mean it when he's drunk. When he's drunk he just wants some action, and he won't care who he gets it from. Unless he's sober and absolutely positive that he loves me like I love him, then I'm not going to go all the way with him, not in that sense.
Moving his hands nearer to my face, I press my lips to his palms, staring up at him with glowing eyes. "Casey, look, I love you to bits, and I want this, us, more than anything. But I can't do this unless I know you want it as much as me."
"But I do."
"For all I know this is just the alcohol talking," I say with a stern expression, dead serious.
Casey sighs, getting off of me. I don't push him away when he snuggles up to me, though, because it does feel nice to have his body radiating heat onto mine. So, I wrap my arm around his thin form, and together we drift into a peaceful sleep.
