Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles and I don't own the wild west. I honestly just want people to enjoy.
Author's Note: there is a mildly explicit scene later in the chapter. I'll mark it with -((-))- both before and after; that way if you don't want to read it you can skip it.
Chapter 19
Epilogue - One Year Later
It had been raining most of the day, a wet drizzle that quenched the parched land from the heat of the summer months. Donatello wiped his brow, and glanced out the expanses of his newly purchased land, feeling more sweat sliding down the back of his neck from the hard labor of building his new forge out of the river rock he gathered some twenty miles to the east. Seven months back he purchased Mr. Jenkin's land from the courts, waiting out the winter hidden way in the saloon, recovering and working at night for Mikey as he cleaned the saloon or fixed what needed fixing. Due to Mikey's generosity he had been able to not only afford the cheap land, but he had built enough savings to get him through this transition without income. He was just waiting for the legal deed to be delivered from the big city some five hundred miles away to make it all official.
Spring had come early this year, meaning the farmers and cattlemen had been able to start early, and though Donatello had never been one for a green thumb, he noted the weeds needing to be pulled from his vegetable garden. Now that he lived a good half-day's ride from town, the convenience of wandering into the general store was a thing of the past, and caring for himself in any small way also allowed him the distinct relief of not stepping foot in town for several weeks. He glanced at his horse, the gentle mare Mikey had sold him cheap because he was too good of a friend, whinnied to him and shuffled in her stall. But it was the empty stall beside her that his eyes lingered on, his stomach twisting from loneliness.
Wiping his hands on the rag in his back pocket, Donatello stepped out into the rain, his steps quick as he dashed to the front porch of Mr. Jenkin's house and inside. The house had never been very large, a small main room with a kitchen table beside the stove, and two small bedrooms near the back with what had once been the closet between the two.
He had taken his forge hammer to the closet the first day he stepped foot in the building, tearing it to pieces and ripping the door from its hinges.
In the second bedroom he had put a washbasin. The tub didn't survive the burnt remains of his home when it fell through the second floor; but with Mikey's help, he had a decent one ordered within the first month, and he hoped to get it delivered soon enough. Though it had been nearly a year, he just now felt like his life was returning to normal. He heated buckets of water and washed after his hard day of work, soaking in the heat, enjoying the feel of the soap flaking away the dirt and sweat of the day— and wishing the house wasn't so quiet.
He dried and dressed himself in clean clothes, his bare feet slapping on the floorboards as he moved about the tiny kitchen that consisted of a cook stove and a small table with a wash bin, filling a pot with water and beans for dinner, coaxing it to a boil with added salt. Once the beans softened up, Donatello added spices and milk, shifting the pot to a cooler portion of the stove to simmer the contents as it thickened, adding vegetables to the pot to cook down with the beans.
A distant roll of thunder rumbled to the south, and Donatello shivered, the rumble reminding him of callouses and distant promises. It had been months since he left, and Donatello found himself jumpy without him. Alone on this land, no one to hold him up if he were strung up a second time— the smallest of noises put his rifle in his hands, and he always felt silly. He inhaled slow and deep, rooting himself into place so he didn't dart way like a jackrabbit. Adding a few cut-up chili peppers to the pot, Donatello stirred and watch his chili thicken as the beans absorbed the water and the milk cooked up into a sauce.
That's when he heard the hoofs of a horse approaching from the road.
Donatello froze, his heart racing. He glanced about the room, almost as if he were trying to find a place to hide, before he calmed himself and took a slow breath, hand to his chest, and he counted his heartbeats. Once he slowed his thoughts, he walked to the door and took his rifle down. He checked the barrel, loaded in six shots, and locked the gun in place. He opened the door, rifle in his hands, and he watched a dark horse approaching in the waning, drizzly light. The rain patted the ground in a soft lullaby, and though it wasn't the best light to see far, it was the man in the saddle that drew Donatello up, loosening the grip on the rifle.
He rode toward his front steps, all dark and broad, and the man in the saddle slowed his horse to a trot and then a walk before he paused in the yard and regarded him, leaning forward on the saddle horn in a oiled long coat as he stared at him with blazing eyes.
Raphael.
Donatello stared; his mouth suddenly dry. "When did you get back?"
"Today. Rode in with Jason Mackell after the cattle were delivered." He swung out of the saddle and pulled the reins over his horse's head, tying him off on the front porch, and then stood there waiting in the drizzling rain with water dripping off his hat and down his shoulders.
Donatello shifted from foot to foot, his throat hurting as he tried to think. What was he supposed to do? He blushed and looked to Raphael, who waited so patiently in the yard.
"Sorry. You should get your horse off over to the paddock and curry him up, and get him some hay and water while you're at it. I…" he paused, his stomach flipping over itself. "I still have the washbasin filled with warm water. You can wash up, and I have dinner almost done."
Raphael offered a small smile, and Donatello felt his face warm up. He looked down and away, and he lowered his arms in a quick jerk as he realized he had been holding the rifle toward him.
"Hey," Raphael said from the yard. Donatello looked back to him, just a little too embarrassed by the whole matter. "It's good to see you."
No amount of embarrassment could stop the smile from crawling over his face. He nodded, shuffled in place, and then finally looked him in the eye. "It's good to have you home." His voice cracked a little at that.
He turned away quickly. He hated how silly he felt when he told Raphael anything. He hurried back inside and closed the door, leaning against it and hugging the rifle to his chest. He breathed slowly, attempting to calm himself, but it mostly just left him feeling warm and sweaty.
Raphael hadn't been gone that long, five weeks at best, and yet, it felt like seeing him for the first time all over again.
He took the shells out of the rifle and hung it back up on the wall. When he got back to his chili and stirred mindlessly, considering the spices and ingredients. That was the nice thing about chili, he could put whatever he wanted in there and it would taste good either way. But he knew Raphael liked a bit more kick to his meals, so he added a bit more pepper.
The door opened and the smell of rainy-air drifted to his nose. It wasn't the clean sort of rain either, it was thick with a mugginess to it, and yet was cold to the skin. Raphael toed his boots off at the door, and shook his oiled coat and hat free of rain before he hung them up. His coat sat next to his. The sight made him nibble on his lower lip.
"Bath in here?" He pointed to the second bedroom, and Donatello nodded, trying hard not to blush. Raphael offered a small smile and he touched his elbow. The light touch warmed him instantly, relaxing what little nerves and anxiety he had been feeling for the past three months.
It must have shown, because Raphael considered him in return.
"You doin' okay?"
"I'm… doing better, now."
The smirk that curled his lips reminded Donatello why he wasn't allowed to compliment Raphael about anything that would make him feel smug. He snorted, and Raphael continued to crowd into him, bringing a small laugh that burst out of him. It felt so good to laugh again, and to smile—to really smile.
"Doin' better… because of me?"
"Get off with you."
"That smile because of me too?" His voice dipped, a warm rumble that made his toes curl. Donatello blushed and felt it move across his skin like the sun rising each morning.
"Maybe."
Raphael paused, his expression changing from teasing to something a little more. Something heated and perhaps hungry.
"Yeah?"
He dropped his eyes, watching the pot of chili as he stirred it a little too vigorously.
"Donnie…" His voice dropped, quiet and deep, and his hand slipped from his elbow to his waist.
He stiffened.
Raphael pulled away immediately, hesitating beside the stove. Donatello's face burned with shame.
"I'll get washed up." Raphael turned and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door firmly - because in the past, knowing there was a door between him and another man settled his nerves. Tonight, it felt final and miserable.
He studied the chili, trying not to listen to the water splashing about inside. Trying hard to deny that he was imagining what he was.
He didn't know where he stood. He used to know everything about what he wanted and why— now, it was a mystery like foggy mornings where the landscape was hazy and distant and everything felt enclosed and dangerous. He had been walking in fog for the last year of his life. A fog in his soul especially.
Adding this or that to the chili, Donatello found a happy medium where the chili had a bit more spice to it than he normally would add, but not enough to keep him from enjoying the food. Raphael could doctor up the beans further after he scooped a bowl up for himself. He puttered about the kitchen, setting the rickety table he had plans to rebuild at some point, and dragged the extra chair he had in the corner of the room. He added building extra chairs to his list of projects.
He was half tempted to tear the whole building down. Start over. The idea did bolster something in him.
The door opened and Raphael stepped out, his shirt half over his head before it dropped down over his plastron and shell. Donatello stared, and when he realized he was about to be caught, Donatello forced himself to continue to stare, meeting Raphael's eyes. He burned with embarrassment, his vision feeling as if it were about to jump and make him feel dizzy because of it, but he held his ground, gripping the back of the chair all the tighter and swallowed hard.
Raphael held his eyes, stepping forward slowly, hands down and open, and Don felt like a wild horse ready to skirt away. He felt silly, but by the look on Raphael's face, there was no need for him to feel like a young colt meeting his first saddling.
He stopped in front of him, eyes soft - curious - but there was no rush in his body language, and it helped him relax. Raphael settled his hand atop his, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "Gotta say, can't wait for your bathtub to get delivered soon."
"Me too." Donatello whispered, a shiver running down his spine.
"And thank you fer dinner." Raphael leaned forward, but with a slowness that kept him from jerking away and giving him enough time to close his eyes and savor every second. Raphael pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"I put the chili peppers on the table." He blurted out and dropped his eyes.
"Thanks." Raph said, and touched his elbow before he sat down across from him, pulling a bowl of chili his way and reaching for the extra spices.
Donatello sat down slowly, like he expected something to happen to him if he wasn't careful. He poked at his meal, thinking over what he knew for certain in his life. When he did finally take a bite, a rush of hunger took hold and he dug into his meal, shoveling the beans into his mouth and focusing on the simple act of eating. Eating distracted him, kept him from questioning his own insecurities.
A warm hand settled over his wrist, pausing his motions. Donatello lifted his gaze to Raphael, feeling a little trapped and understood all at once.
"Don't rush yourself, Donnie. I told ya once and I'll say it again, I ain't goin' anywhere. I'm stayin' by your side, through thick and thin." His eyes burned into him, golden and honest. Donatello had never met anyone else who so easily told the truth. He lived his truth, even now, even with a sense of destruction looming over them both if the town ever truly understood their commitment.
A full year of dancing around one another. A full year of small touches and even lighter brushes of their lips. Raphael never was the one to take things too far. For all of Raphael's rough exterior, Raphael read him like a book and always backed away when his breath became short or his shoulders stiff like a deer caught in the cross-hairs.
He smiled then, small but genuine. "Thank you."
They finished dinner and cleaned the kitchen, the silence comfortable and intimate, and after the day closed and the night settled the prairie around them, Raphael offered a small smile, touched his hand, then headed out to the barn where he had made a bed up in the hayloft. Donatello stood on the porch, the lamp in the kitchen casting an early golden glow out into the yard, and he watched him go - and he wished he wasn't so far away. Though it scared him a little, the tragedy of watching him go hit him a little harder than it had in the past. He missed him already.
Living so far out of town made it hard to attend church some weeks, but the new priest had announced he would wait till the noon hour to start his sermons because everyone deserved a leisurely Sunday breakfast; the twinkle in his eyes told him it was more for his sake than simply sleeping in. But it had given Donatello time to ride into town and attend; if he felt up to it.
The last few weeks, since Raphael's return home from the cattle drive, he had felt strong enough to make the ride back to the town, sitting in the back row of the pews to listen to the new priest's sermons. It had taken three failed priests to finally find Father Splinter. The old rat wandering into town with an old carpet bag and weathered clothes that had seen better days, but he had fit into their broken town, saying the things they truly needed to hear without driving their wounded hearts away. He didn't condemn, but he wasn't afraid to remind the town where they had lapsed or remind the town of the good a pious heart would bring. Donnie liked him, and since Father Splinter was officially hired on, he worked harder to make the meetings every week.
"Should we pass judgment on Peter for denying Christ three times? Should we think less of him? Should we hold him accountable for his actions?" he paused and a few heads in the congregation bobbed in agreement to his words.
But Father Splinter simply smiled as if to children who were not understanding the full picture. He gave them all a moment to focus back on him, to lean forward as if they just weren't hearing him before he continued.
"I do not see it as such. Christ knew Peter would deny knowing him, and that just confirms to me that the Son of God knew all, and He knew in order for Peter to live through the night, Peter would have to do so. Peter was just a man, a prophet of God, surely, but he was still just a man. We should view Peter as a brother, a fellow man of mortal flesh who was able to raise himself up and become a great man of God because he had to face himself after he had sinned. He was told he would do so, and it came to pass. Did that stop him from repenting? Did it prevent him from following Christ? No. He trusted the Lord. We should all remember even Peter wasn't perfect, but that didn't prevent him from being a disciple and prophet of the Lord."
Father Splinter's voice filled the church in his soft-spoken fatherly way that warmed Donatello to hear his words. To once again feel the Word of God and be assured that mortal life was hard and unfair with sin slithering into the lives of even the most holy of men. He no longer felt as if he wandered alone in the darkness of hell.
Raphael shifted on the pew next to him, fidgeting with his hat on his lap. The turtle was always a little restless in church, explaining he had not attended for so long it took some getting used to. Donatello appreciated the fact Raphael went with him, a solid and protective force at his side who helped keep him calm. He looked down at his hands, feeling his stomach flip as Father Splinter's words played through his mind.
He was a sinner, and yet, God still loved him. Right?
Was he wrong?
"It's good to see you, Donatello."
He jerked his head up to Father Splinter. He glanced around, hoping no one had seen him, but the church was empty and Raphael also gone.
No doubt the whole congregation saw him.
He breathed deeply several times—something that Usagi had taught him—and he calmed himself enough that he no longer wanted to rush from the church.
The Father smiled, calm and patient, and eased himself down onto the pew beside him with a hint of creaking old bones. He offered him a small smile, resting his hands in his lap as if copying him. "Did you wish to ask me something?"
He shook his head, but his warm brown eyes cajoled his conscience. Father Splinter reminded him of his mother's calm and gentle way of coaxing his words out.
"I'm confused about…" Donatello stopped and swallowed hard. "I'm scared that what I want, to be happy here in mortality, will damn me in heaven." He whispered.
He stared at his hands and he felt his entire body tremble. He hadn't felt this terrified since the morning after he killed Hun. He had been like a stag with hounds on his heels, jumping at every noise, afraid the town was descending upon him to finish what they started. Walking on eggshells was no way to live. Thus his move out onto Jenkin's land.
"That is a serious matter indeed. To sin knowingly is far worse than sinning through temptation."
Donatello nodded, studying his hands. He knew all this—and of course he knew Father Splinter did as well. Donatello had been asked to greet the priest after his arrival, to discuss the town at length, explain each family and person in the town, the losses they suffered, where they were spiritually, and their needs—and Donatello came away impressed with the new priest, for he actually listened to him and followed his advice in his own unique way.
The old rat sighed heavily and Donatello dared a glance at him. The priest gazed toward the front of the church, his whiskers twitching in thought. Without turning, Father Splinter raised a hand and placed it atop Donatello's hands. He didn't reinforce the gesture with a comforting squeeze or a pat, he simply laid his hand over his, a warm weight atop his knuckles that sank into his bones and anchored him to the here and now for the first time in months.
Donatello looked away, rapidly blinking his eyes.
"Some would say it is my job as the interpreter between man and God to lecture and steer you away from the pain you may cause yourself. But, I've never been a very good priest." He smiled, turning to face him. Donatello really looked at the old rat, and his heart hurt from the small smile that hid at the corner of the priest's eyes. "I will advise you to think long and hard about this matter of yours. Pray and truly seek out God's answer - you may realize this momentary happiness is not worth the price it will cost you in the heavens above."
Donatello's heart sank. Though he knew better, he had hoped Father Splinter would have a different answer.
The rat hummed, leaned back against the pew, and sighed as he shifted about. "These pews are so very uncomfortable."
"It's to help keep people awake."
"I find such a concept counterproductive. If one came to church to truly embrace the word of God, why would uncomfortable seating be needed to remind the attendees to stay awake? I do not think God would mark in his book of slights any practitioner who dozed off during a particularly boring sermon." Splinter shifted once more, his frail fingers gripping Donatello's momentarily.
The pair didn't move, and Donatello bit his lower lip to keep still.
Father Splinter exhaled and sat up straighter, his back popping with the movement. "I believe that God gives his children only the pain and hardship that they can handle. But, having said that, I do believe that he is happy for any comfort and joy his children are able to eek out of this mortal life. I know man is human and they tend to be swept up in the sin of earthly belongings and can become slothful if they indulge. But, a comfortable seat on Sunday seems a simple enough pleasure."
"But one pleasure can lead to another." Donatello reminded him.
"I suppose." Splinter bobbed his head, his eyes trained toward the front of the church and on the front wall with the cross. "But, I also believe that a little comfort, such as a padded pew, can teach man that God also provides small comforts because he loves his children. Seeking out pleasure so one may simply indulge is the sin, but seeking pleasure with the love of God in mind, that is never wrong."
Donatello blinked rapidly, his heart beating against his ribs.
"I cannot tell you what you should do, Donatello, nor will I ask you to give me the details for I have the impression that this matter is yours to decide. You are more than capable of listening to the Spirit of God and hearing what it is you seek an answer to. Your answer may be a double-edged sword, and it may be that duality that, in the end, you will need to sacrifice something to gain another. Or, perhaps, you will be blessed and when you stand at the gates with Saint Peter and his book, you will be judged and still found worthy. I do not have the answers. No one does. Only God. Perhaps your actions will never be found worthy here on Earth and you will find yourself an outcast; but the heavens are so very different. We are not perfect, but God's love is perfect. And I believe that a perfect love includes loving the person despite their sins."
"How do you know?" Donatello's voice trembled.
"I don't. But I want to believe in a loving Father in Heaven." And the way that Father Splinter turned to him and stared back at him, perhaps a little broken himself but having had years to repair the wounds and find peace, said it all.
Donatello's throat closed up into a painful knot and he slid one hand out from underneath, and delicately laid his fingers atop the priest's. Donatello bowed his head and sniffled.
He should have known better—he always found the answers to his life's questions while in church.
He found Raphael at Mikey's saloon. He entered through the back, still unable to truly look people in the eyes. Donatello spied the pair chatting at a large table with Leonardo and his new wife, the former Miss Milo. He hesitated, stopping at the curious looks of some of the patrons. He hadn't meant to become a recluse, but seeing them and flashing to their rage filled and screaming faces made his feet feel like iron and just as heavy.
He didn't know how he'd make his way out into the saloon and not feel as if he were being stopped in his tracks with looks and whispers. Yet, Raphael always seemed to find him. He turned abruptly, saw him, and stood, interrupting his brother mid-sentence and leaving him to make his way to him.
Donatello's stomach gave a flip, and his face felt warm as Raphael motioned over his shoulder in invitation with one thumb, the other hooked in his pocket. "Ya goin' ta join us?"
Bile rose at the thought, and he glanced back at the table, longing to sit down and catch up with them, but it was the others in the room, the whispers that began to grow. He hesitated, shook his head, hated how he wanted to join them so badly, but he also knew he couldn't step past the hallway. "I can't." He said, and his words sounded the way he felt inside—distressed and grieved.
Raphael nodded, studied him, then slowly leaned back against the wall beside him.
Donatello saw Usagi wiping the bar down, dressed in a white button-down shirt and black pants and vest. He looked no different from any other man in the saloon, and it seemed so strange suddenly to wonder how long it had taken the rabbit to shed his traditional clothing form his homeland and assimilate to life in the west. Usagi paused to bow respectfully to Leonardo and his wife, who both smiled in return with shy expressions on their faces and fingers linked together in the way only newlyweds and married couples after years of hardship indulged in.
And watching him from the same table, Mikey raised a brow and flicked his eyes between Raphael and him. Donatello took a step back into the shadows of the hallway, and he tried to breathe. Some days it wasn't this bad, others— like now— he wasn't certain he would make it out alive.
"Hey now, no need ta worry none. Let me just say a goodbye to the boys and we'll get a move on. It's gettin' late anyhow and we don't want ta be ridin' in the dark." Raphael said.
Donatello's shoulder hit the wall; a hand pressed to his heart. When he didn't feel like running back to the horses to try and leave that very minute, he looked to Raphael in thanks and offered a miserable smile. "Today isn't a good day."
Raphael reached for him, then paused and redirected the motion to rub his palm over the top of his head. He pushed away from the wall and walked back to the table with a hunch to his shoulders.
He couldn't hear them from the hallway, but he saw the farewells being exchanged. Mikey stood and hurried toward him, his limp nothing more than an occasional discomfort when it rained, and he slowed to a shuffle as he inched his way into the hall and leaned against the wall beside him, his head bowed and hands buried in his pockets.
"It's good ta see you. You shouldn't be such a stranger." Mikey said, bumping his shoulder against his.
"I don't want to be." Donatello whispered.
"You know I'd let you stay with me. I won't tell no one neither."
Donatello smiled. "I know."
"You… you know you're safe… with me, right?" Mikey asked, and Donatello felt guilty when those blue eyes met his, sad and hopeful all at once. He felt like a kid all over again when Mikey needed confirmation that things were good between them after they had had a scuffle.
Donatello bumped his friend's shoulder right back. "I know, Mikey. It's just the town that makes me… uncomfortable."
"No blamin' you there." He agreed, relaxing.
"I'm… going to try and make this year a better one for me. I'll be coming into town more. I promise." He hadn't, but he didn't want to lose his friend. He didn't want Mikey fading away from his life like some of the others had throughout the years.
"I think I can accept that." Mikey grinned, and that spark of life swept him up like a dust devil on the plains. "Just remember, you promised you'd help me figure out how to start makin' my own beer and where to get ingredients."
"I will." He said.
This felt good.
"So, you two… you two good?" Mikey asked, his eyes darting away then back to him, brows raised a little higher than necessary, and Donatello's lips twitched at the oh so subtle question his friend was asking.
"Ready ta head out?" Raphael's voice cut through the dim hall, dragging his eyes up to meet his golden gaze.
"Yes." He said, his heart skipping a beat. Looking back to Mikey, he really did smile then, smaller certainly, a smile that needed mending, but it eased the tension in his friend's shoulders and make Mikey smirk as he looked between the two of them. "And yes, Mikey. We're good."
Mikey nodded, then punched Raphael in the shoulder, a shit eating grin if ever he saw one. "Good for you, big guy. Don't be a stranger." He winked and turned, flouncing back to the table where he actually made unflappable Leonardo snort into his drink and wipe at his chin with a stifled laugh, making Venus in turn giggle into her hand with shining eyes.
Raphael scowled, rubbing his shoulder. "What the hell is he on about?"
"He simply approves." Donatello said, and turned, leading the way out of the saloon through the back entrance.
"Approves of what?" Raphael needled, and Donatello allowed himself to smile simply because he felt like doing it.
Summer drifted away into the first weeks of fall, leaving the pair busy preparing for the coming winter months. The house remained half a home, mostly just a place where Donatello was required to go when he needed to cook or sleep. He spent most of his time in the barn or driving the wagon to and from town with Raphael to get stocked up for winter supplies and long-lasting food like beans and rice.
They spent the morning chopping wood and stacking it along the side of the house, and the rest of the day framing a wall in the barn to section off Donatello's forge and workshop, they washed up come evening and had some left-over stew from the night before. They ate quickly, their elbows brushing now and then, and only after their bellies were happily full, did they lean back in their seats and discuss expanding the barn, possibly gathering up river rock come spring to finish the forge's by laying stone against the newly built walls of the barn and make it as fire resistant as possible. His anvil sat alone and forgotten in a corner of the bar, and Raphael often found him staring at it longingly.
Donatello began washing the dishes, feeling as though he was reliving those few amazing days in his family home all over again, inhaling sharp when Raphael stepped up beside him and began drying the dishes.
"Yer all quiet."
"Just thinking." He said.
"Thinkin' so hard I thought you were tryin' ta hatch an egg."
He snorted at the notion and Raphael smirked, drying the plate offered him before he stacked it up above on the shelf.
"I wasn't thinking that hard."
"Didn't hear me comin', did ya?"
He huffed and pushed the bowl into his hands a little harder than he intended.
"I can tell yer feelin' better about somethin'."
Donatello's hands stopped moving in the washbasin, considering Raphael's words. He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip. "Yeah, I… I think I've come to terms with myself."
He saw Raphael's face twist up, confused and curious all at once.
"I just mean…" He shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. He glanced over his shoulder as if someone had sneaked into their home and he needed to know if he should hold his tongue or not. He shook as he pulled his hands from the water, heat spreading across his neck and cheeks, and he hesitated, eyes lowered and a hand gripping the edge of the table. Raphael touched his wrist, and it made him jump. He jerked his head up, caught the momentary concern on Raphael's face, and a shiver ran down his spine. He reached for him then, with wet hands sliding up his biceps. He burned with embarrassment, and just as quickly as his bravery came, he shied away and dropped his hands back down, gripping Raphael's wrist instead and clinging to him with a pounding heart.
He didn't drop his eyes. He wanted to look away, let himself blush and squeeze the man's fingers because he could. But, it was Raphael, and his eyes had always mesmerized him, and they captured him this time with how they flashed with surprise and joy.
Raphael smiled, warm and wonderful, and Donatello wanted to see him like this always.
The fire crackled in the hearth, flickering light along the walls. It was so warm standing so close, their fingers intertwining.
"Thanks, Donnie." Raphael whispered, leaning closer, his lips touching his temple.
He nodded, a quick up and down motion, and he tightened his grip, leaning ever so faintly into the brush of his skin. He wanted to soak this feeling up, live in Raphael's warmth. He didn't want this to end. So, he held on, for as long as he could.
Donatello stood on the porch, watching Raphael head back to the barn all bundled up in his coat and scarf. The barn itself was relatively warm with the heat from the animals; yet, to make him sleep out there…
He shivered and rubbed his arms, turning back into the house. He shuffled about the kitchen, paused in the middle of the room, scanned his eyes around the area, and the lack within. The emptiness hit him. Not just the room, but the entire house. It didn't feel like a home, and Donatello frowned, hugging himself all the tighter as he glanced to the washbasin on the kitchen counter and the folded towel draped over its edge to dry.
Raphael had kissed him. A soft, fluttering thing that drew him closer.
He had leaned into the press of warm lips, allowing the feeling to seep down into his bones. The way he held his breath, his fingers curling in Raphael's thin shirt—but then he shivered and Raphael pulled back as if he had hurt him.
And maybe that in itself had convinced him of how far he was pushing Raphael away. He was gentle, patient—which on any other matter he would have thought impossible. Raphael was the type to shoot first and ask questions later. But not with him. He never rushed him.
Donatello glanced to the guest room, stared at the foot of the claw-foot tub that had finally made it out to the farm, and his throat closed up. He had never made this house welcoming. It wasn't a home. It was a building he slept in at night and jumped at every noise when alone. When Raphael stayed, he changed the building into a home. He missed having that.
Turning he took his coat in hand and rushed out the front door. He hadn't even put his coat on before he found himself inside the barn, dropping it by the door, and climbing the ladder to the loft. He stood shaking beside the ladder; eyes locked on Raphael's surprised face. Donatello stood no more than five feet from him, yet a canyon would have been more accurate. The other turtle stood by the edge of his bed, pants undone, shirt half unbuttoned, and brows raised.
"Donnie?"
"I…" and he felt his face twist up, his hand pressing into his belly.
Raphael rushed toward him, concern twisting his features up, and Donatello melted.
"What's wrong? Somethin' happen? You all right?" he demanded, reaching for his bedpost where he hung his guns at night.
Donatello moved to his side immediately, caught his hand, and pulled it away, shaking his head as he tugged on his arm and gripped his wrist, trembling where they touched. Raphael grunted in a mix of surprise and annoyance at the interruption, but he didn't fight him, focused solely on him with a twisted brow.
"Everything is fine. I'm fine."
"What's wrong?" Raphael took him by the shoulders and leaned forward so they were nearly nose to nose.
He shook his head, reached for him, and he cupped his cheeks. Donatello leaned into him, closing his eyes with a shaky exhale as he took a moment to just hold him, feel him close, and wash the memory away of that lonely house across the yard.
"Donnie?"
"You're the only one who calls me that."
Raphael didn't respond, his warm breath mingling against his.
Words left him, and the idea of speaking terrified him. If he didn't say anything there was no fear of rejection, no fear of being pushed away, or fear of being told he was still fragile after everything that had happened. He shook a little, staring at Raphael's mouth, his heart thundering in his chest.
Even now, he still hesitated. He hesitated because in some way by taking this step everything would become real like glass shards in the palms of his hands. This moment could cut him, make him bleed, make him feel agony and loss. Yet, it also hurt to do nothing, like the pricking of the shards were a promise of even greater pain should he fling this moment aside. Raphael would inevitably tip-toe around him for the rest of their lives, and he would step on those shards, hurting with every step till he finally left him, leaving him bloodied and alone.
He gasped for a breath and Raphael pressed a hand to his cheek, tilting his head towards him, eyes so gold and filled with concern he reminded Donnie of why he had run through the cold to his side.
"I'm scared." He whispered, his voice trembling and sounding so small to his ears.
"Why?"
"Because, I…" the words stuck on his tongue, his throat closing over them and locking them in his chest. So, he pushed forward, not wanting his momentum to wane away. He kissed him, strong, confident at first, but he wavered, hesitated, and he pulled back, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his brow to his. "…love you." He whispered.
A small laugh tickled over his lips. Donatello shifted his weight, meaning to pull away, but Raphael wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close, his hand guiding his chin up and he kissed the corner of his lips, leaning into him till he took a step back to catch his balance. The kiss broke, leaving his head floating and his skin tingling.
"I ain't goin' nowhere."
"I'm not broken." He blurted out, and his palms felt sweaty where he still cradled Raphael's face. He felt a blush rise to his cheeks, but he clung to him, unwilling to stop touching him.
"I ain't ever thought of you as broken, Donnie."
He bowed his head.
"You got kicked around something awful and I didn't want ta add to the bruisin' you got. After everythin' you and that town went through, I thought that maybe I ought ta give ya some time ta heal the wounds. But, I ain't ever thought of you as anythin' but strong."
He nodded, stepping closer, backing Raphael up till he sat down abruptly on the edge of his bed with a grunt. Donatello smiled ever so slightly, and he stood between his knees, allowing Raphael to sit up straight and meet his eyes. Still, he remained so very scared, his stomach flipping and a bit of sweat gathering on his brow.
"Get rid of them thoughts, Donnie. I'm here with ya. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want ta be, ya hear me?" His mouth twisted to the side in that half smile of his, and the determination he carried with him like a badge of honor settled over his shoulders and wrapped him up in it at the same time. "You'd have ta chase me off with a shotgun and dynamite ta get rid of me."
A small smile curled his lips. "I only have the shotgun, and I don't plan to purchase dynamite any time soon."
"Then get used ta me bein' around."
Donatello nodded, heart beating faster in his chest. "You should sleep in the house." He blurted and his back stiffened, startled he had felt brave enough to think it, let alone have the words slip out. He held his breathe.
Raphael ran his hands along his arms, squeezing his elbow with gentle pressure. Throat bobbing, he nodded once, rubbing his thumbs along the inside of his arms. "I… I reckon that is a possibility."
"It's what I want."
Raphael smiled, eyes lowering.
He looked breathtaking— handsome and so very sure of himself. Donatello brushed a thumb along his scarred cheek, following the smooth skin to just under his eye. Raphael leaned into it, lids fluttering shut, and he sighed against his wrist, warm and slow.
This, between them, wasn't scary.
Stroking the delicate skin, Donatello urged his face upward, drinking in whiskey rich eyes and parted lips sighing his name.
"Donnie-"
Bowing over him and bumping his nose against his, Donatello brought his other hand to his cheek and held him close. "Shh,"
Raphael's hands tightened on his elbows, gripping him as if preparing for the unknown. It was fair, Donatello thought with a shiver, because he himself didn't know what to expect. Neither pulled away, neither moved. Donatello hovered before him, a wraith of his former confidence, a shadow of fear dressed in the cloth of the living, standing before the divine host of gut-honest truth and scarred mortality. He held life in his hands, burning hot and real, and Raphael…
Flesh warm against his palms, puffs of air tickling his lips, Donatello closed his eyes, cheeks warm, and he felt his fingers tremble against Raphael's cheeks.
"I'll always want you around." Donnie whispered.
His voice a trembling leaf, he pressed forward, his nose bumping his, and Raphael breathed in, drawing him close, one hand settling on his hip, luring him in with the whisper of a breath, and Donatello's lips tingled at the pull, sensitive, as if never once in his life had they felt the touch of another. And perhaps it was true. Nothing compared.
He kissed him.
-((-))-
Lips brushing. Fingers curling. Mouths tasting. He gasped for breath, and fingers tightening on his waist. In the same way a stray drop of rain splashes across flesh, Donatello pressed a lingering kiss to the mouth of the only man he ever loved and left him weak in the knees.
Donatello slid an arm, slow and quaking, about Raphael's wide shoulders. The grip on his hip tightened, the lips against his searching and begging, and all he could do was sigh against him and give in to his weak knees. Raphael pulled him close, lips parting against his, kissing him in return, tasting him and holding him, and Donatello tightened his hold. Because this—it felt right. He was content with his choice, all his anxiety and all his fears evaporating with the unity that settled over him once his heart and soul merged.
He slid one knee onto the bed, sucking in a breath as he grew hot under the collar. Raphael pulled back, breaking the kiss, and Donatello's mouth tingled from the loss. Golden eyes gazing up at him, and Donatello swung his other knee to the other side of Raph's hips before he talked himself out of it.
Hovering there, suddenly mortified and uncertain of himself. He gripped Raphael's shoulders, staring at him with slack lips, and he felt so exposed. Vulnerable. What was he thinking?
Raphael trailed his fingers long his arm, and down past his elbow where he made the jump and joined his other in squeezing Donatello's hips. He licked his lips, and Donatello watched him trail his eyes down from his face along his neck and chest, his hands sliding up his waist and then back down to his hips where he gripped his thighs tight. "Donnie…"
He squeezed his eyes shut, cupped Raphael's cheek, and he sat down in his lap, burying his face between Raphael's neck and the arm he had looped around his shoulders. Hiding himself in the only place he felt safe.
Donatello didn't know what he was doing. He knew enough about how a man and woman came together—but why was this so awkward? Why did he tremble with anticipation yet want to pull into himself and hide? The conflicting emotions, the dual sensations wracking his body… it confused him—
"I love you, too." Raphael said, and nudged his cheek with his nose. Before Donatello knew it he stumbled into another kiss, falling into it and the warmth and assurance till he clung to the confidence he felt in Raphael's sure hands. He kissed him till he didn't know anything else but this moment, this wholeness. He kissed him as Raphael's hands push his shirt away and he kissed him as he vaguely realized he fought with Raphael's half opened one. They kissed till their breath grew hot and fast, and their hips began to move, grinding and rolling against one another. Donatello kissed him till his lips felt swollen, and even then, Raphael latched onto his neck and offered up a whole new set of pleasures that rushed up his spine.
He didn't remember being laid out on the bed, but he came back to himself when Raphael pulled back, hovering over him, eyes dark and ringed in fire, his cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and a hand squeezing his hip. "You good?" His rasped.
It took him far too long to understand what Raphael was asking him. He wanted to cover himself; he wanted to reach for Raphael and hide away in his skin; he wanted to agree to anything just to keep him for one moment longer. It was the thought of Raphael never knowing and one day leaving that made him nod, nodding quick and sure, even as his fingers tightening on the back of Raphael's neck, holding on with desperation.
Raphael's brows furrowed and he brushed the back of his fingers along Donatello's cheek, and the chill flash of tears brought a cold shock of humiliation washing over him. He dropped his hands to hide his face, gasping for breath. But Raphael pulled his hands back, kissed each of his wrists before luring him back out of his shell and by his side till Donatello didn't shy away from his kisses and lingering touches that made his hips lift off the bed and his fingers tighten on flesh.
"I'm askin' again. You good?"
"Yeah." He whispered, and it felt true.
Raphael stared at him, lips shiny and full looking and begging for more kisses. Donatello felt relief that he wanted to be the one to grant the request.
"You sure? We ain't got to do anything-"
"I want to." He said, honest enough. "Because it's you." That truth settled in his bones as solid as a cornerstone. "I won't lie, I'm scared, but not of you. Never of you." And that felt right. That felt pure and real, and it made his stomach twist and his heart jump with flutters because feeling Raphael's weight over him, the rise and fall of his chest, the callouses on his fingers mapping his collarbone with such a delicate touch with that imploring look in his eyes— Raphael's actions grounded him in the moment more fully than any words of promise and assurance.
Donatello nodded, raising a hand to brush across Raphael's brow and trace the curve of his smile across his cheek—because he knew he was safe. The warmth of the barn, the glow of the lamp washing over them, and the way Raphael chased his every shadowy fears away. There would always be shadows in life, there would always be the threat of darkness creeping closer along the corners of the horizon, but a single flame would always offer hope and safety, and that flame flickered in Raphael's eyes.
He smiled. It cracked something inside him. It loosened the coiled ropes of terror that had gripped his heart so tight he could hardly breathe. Raphael smiled back, and it was all Donatello could do to gentle his needy hands, to slow the twist of his hips and the arch of his neck towards him, and Raphael met him in the middle.
Raphael kissed him, falling over him, sliding an arm under his neck just to hold him close, and Donatello wrapped his arms around him, holding him just as tight and sure. He basked in his attention, he drowned in the rising heat racing through his body, making his toes curl and gasps of pleasure to burst from his throat. He whimpered, and Raphael groaned into his mouth, and Donatello arched his back and began kicking his pants and underthings off, wondering when Raphael's hands had undone them.
Raphael pulled back abruptly, leaving a rush of cold air to fill his space, and Donatello shivered, curling his arms over his chest, legs splayed and thighs trembling. Raphael smirked at him, all shoulders and power above him. Donatello drank in the sight of him stripping himself between his legs, baring himself just as Donatello lay bared to him.
Daring to press a hand to Raphael's stomach, he trailed his fingers down along his plastron, feeling the divots and cracks from scars and battles he only knew of from stories, and his eyes settled on the proof of his desire for him—a twin ache and need burning to feel more.
Staring down at him, Raphael panted for air, dropping his clothing off the side of the bed, and somehow, the soft hiss of cloth hitting the weathered wood of the barn made Donatello feel raw and real, reminding him what exactly it was they were doing right here and now. The slide of Raphael's palm along his thigh felt good, made him gasp and drop his leg open further, and Raphael slid back over him, moving into the space as if he belonged here, and Donatello couldn't argue against it. Donatello held his arms out and pulled him close, breathing in his scent and enjoying Raphael trailing his large palms along his body.
It was new, it felt primal. He shied away when fear threatened to overtake him, and, yet, he begged for more when Raphael soothed his hurts with soft kisses and fluttering touches. Raphael was very good at finding the places that made him skittish, and he whispered comfort and love into his ears till he no longer feared his touch along his many phantom hurts.
When Raphael took him in hand and stroked, Donatello gripped his wrist, whispering for more as sensations skated across his flesh, teasing, testing, breeching, and filling, and Raphael kissed him through it all and it was wonderful.
Donatello loved his kisses.
He clung to Raphael and moaned, his knees clenched around Raphael's waist, his back arching off the bed and panting against his lips, welcoming Raphael's body to his as they slid together, wet and sure, hard and hot against each other's hips, and Raphael's fingers squirmed between them, gripping their lengths together, and Donatello moaned against Raphael's harsh exhale of pleasure. Hips thrusting against his, Donatello clung to Raphael and his whispers of affection against his lips chased every nightmare away leaving behind only wonder and security. Pleasure grew till he thought himself mindless and would only ever need Raphael to survive— his vision whited out, his cry a keening sound that left his body twisting and ridged, his toes curling into the bedding, his head tipped back and throat exposed to sucking kisses, and Donatello shuddered as he released into Raphael's hand. He bucked his hips, shaking and squirming against him, clawing at his shell and shoulders. He moaned and Raphael groaned right back.
Donatello arched under him, eyes hooded, watching Raphael's brows furrow, mouth dropping open, and head bowing over him. His hand dropped away, releasing them both, and his soiled fingers gripped his hip, jerking him closer, holding him in place as he thrust against his thigh, sliding through Donatello's sticky mess and into the space between thigh and groin that rubbed against him just right that more shocks of muted pleasure rolled through him and heightened the afterglow. A full-bodied churr escaped his throat and filled the space between. Raphael churred back, and that sound did things to him. Raphael moved against him, his thrusts stuttering, hot and powerful, till he bowed his head and kissed him with a churr that made him squirm. Donatello cupped his cheeks, arching against him as he bent his knee, pressing into his next thrust, and he kissed him deep and hungry. A groan punched out of Raphael against his neck, moving his hips quick and grinding against the space between his thigh till he slowed with one last push that sprayed warmth over Donatello's belly and made him moan with him as he held him tight.
They caught their breath, breathing into one another, little nudges of their noses and dragging of lips reminiscent of a lazy Sunday morning. Slow kisses, fingers grazing skin, and shivering aftershocks that Donatello never knew could feel so wonderful.
He nuzzled his cheek and Raphael's golden eyes closed, trusting and happy, and Donatello brushed his lips across his brow and along his shoulder, hugging him close.
He loved this man, and he couldn't imagine anything more perfect and right.
-((-))-
Three Months Later
Donatello stretched, slow and full bodied, his toes curling as he felt the ache in his limbs, a reminder of last night—let alone the past several months— and everything he and Raphael took the time to discover about each other. Last night had involved Petroleum jelly and Donatello blushed at the memory, the feeling, the way he realized halfway through the experience he would quickly find himself forever addicted to the act.
He trailed a hand down his thigh, remembering the careful way Raphael washed away the mess. He also remembered the kisses, the silence after, the buried question of if he was alright.
And Donatello pulling him close and assuring him he was.
Bacon drifted to his nose and Donatello hummed, pulling himself up from bed, and he inhaled quickly, his backside warm and tender. He eased himself to his feet and dressed, padding out of the bedroom and into the main living area where Raphael stood over the stove, shirtless and his pants low on his hips, whisking a fork in the pan to break up eggs and flip bacon in the second.
Shuffling closer, feeling his cheeks flushing despite everything new and explored the night before, Donatello eased a hand over Raphael's hip and pressed his forehead to his shoulder, holding him from behind.
"Good morning." Raphael grunted—but it was a happy grunt, the type of grunt that made his toes curl and his cheeks turn red. "Coffee's on the table."
It was possibly the only thing that could make Donatello release him, and he supposed it was for the best. He didn't want Raphael to burn himself. He kissed his shoulder, pulling away, only to get an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled back in for a real kiss and a hum of contentment.
"Morning." He whispered against his lips, and Raphael smiled.
Emotion roiled in his gut, making him feel sick, and Donatello clung to him a moment more, staring up at him, not wanting this to ever go away, yet scared of so many things outside the door of the house.
Home, he reminded himself. This was their home.
Raphael eyed him, taking the eggs off the heat. Despite the weight of the cast iron skillet, Raphael didn't seem to notice it and instead focused on Donatello and his lingering grip on the edge of his pants. "No worries. Yer safe. No one's around neither. Checked when I went to feed the horses this morning."
He blushed, but his shoulders relaxed, his eyes dropping to his chest. He nodded and accepted the kiss Raphael pressed to his brow. Donatello smiled, his shoulders relaxing.
Leaning into it, Donatello sighed and soaked in his musk with hints of hay, bacon and himself. Such a solid form pressed against him and he struggled to pull back and smile. He backed away and purposefully took a mug out of the cabinet to pour himself a cup of coffee, distracting himself with something just as wonderful. "What are your plans today?"
"Begin the rebuild on the barn." Raphael muttered into his own mug of coffee, eyes carefully avoiding him.
Tilting his head, Donatello stared at him, lowering his mug to the table as he slid into his chair, and sucked in a breath, holding still then easing himself down. Raphael watched him with the skillet of eggs once more cooking, and he could swear Raphael looked smug.
He stirred a bit of sugar into his coffee, refusing to acknowledge Raphael's look, but blushed when the slightest move made him shiver and want to spread his legs and ask Raphael to do it again.
He blushed harder when he honestly considered doing it for real.
"Toast?" Raphael asked.
"Yes please." He nodded, sipping at his coffee and leaning back in his chair comfortably. "What in the barn needs to be fixed?"
Raphael shifted on his feet, taking the moment to dish up the breakfast onto two plates and reaching into the oven to slide the pieces of toasted bread onto each plate next, effectively stalling for a full minute. "Don't gots a kitchen for one… and could use some stairs up to the second floor for another."
Don stared. His brain swimming between the word's kitchen and bedroom. Raphael's eyes flicked to him then back to the plates where he set one down in front of him and took his seat across the table with a grunt, his cheeks ruddy and he stabbed at his eggs immediately.
"You… you're going to build the barn into a house?"
Raphael didn't look at him, just shrugged, scraping his eggs around his plate. "Don't seem right for you ta live in here." He waved his hand vaguely at the small house Mr. Jenkin's had lived in.
Where Hun and his men had kept him and the women captive.
"You should live somewhere nice, with all the room ya need for workin'."
His throat closed up on him and Donatello sifted through that information, holding onto the fact Raphael wanted to rebuild what he had lost in town.
"Figured, since you got the forge done, I can finish walling it off today and start on the upstairs. I started buying the timber a few months back, so I should have plenty ta get me through. Thought maybe we don't need a lot of walls. Could leave the downstairs open for living with just the one wall and door opening out to yer workshop. Then upstairs, it'll be walled off, for our… for the bedroom…." He coughed, grabbing his coffee and shifting in his seat, "bedrooms… and a room for washin' up. It'll be a damn big pain in my ass ta get that tub of yers up the stairs, but it'll be nicer there than downstairs-"
"Raph…" Donnie whispered, and the tremble in his voice drew Raphael's eyes to his. He could recognize the hint of panic in his expression, the way his jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as if waiting for a blow, the darting of his gaze off over his shoulder before forcing it back to his face. Donnie knew him, just as he apparently knew him.
And he had said 'our.'
Studying him, Donatello's heart jumped at the shy look Raphael threw his way then back to his meal. Warmth washed over him and a smile crawled over his face with an emotion he only stumbled across now and then, but something that lingered for longer stretches of time the longer Raphael was home. Joy. He looked to his coffee; the smile interrupted only as he nibbled his lip.
Raphael cleared his throat, fidgeting with his fork. "You… ah…. gonna help me get that wall built?"
"I'll do what I can. Can't guarantee I won't need a lay down after last night."
Raphael choked on a cough and Donnie hid his smile in his coffee.
Breakfast tasted wonderful—for an out on the range cook, Raphael wasn't half bad.
Raphael sat across the table from him like usual, something familiar, something that was their ritual. So when Donnie shyly reached out to settle his hand over his wrist, it felt like something settled, the last brick in a wall he had unknowingly built that signified 'them.' Strong and sturdy, a solid assurance in his bones. Considering what he had been through and how he still jumped at the shadows around him, Donatello squeezed his wrist and drank in the tenderness in Raphael's eyes.
After breakfast was washed up and put away, after they bundled up in their coats against the winter chill and they both wandered the barn and laid out a few planks to mark the rebuild, and the discussion of needing to build a floor on the inside. The momentary blank look on Raphael's face made Donatello laugh, a small thing behind his hand as the realization finally dawned on the other man. Raphael grumbled in annoyance over such an important detail, and he scowled as he mentioned he would need to make yet another order for timber.
Donatello looked around the chilly barn, considering the barn's hard packed floor. "We could always tear down the house outside and use the good lumber for the floor."
Silence met his suggestion and Donatello turned around to check Raphael, his head bobbing, and a far too satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Nah, I want ya walkin' on new flooring. You deserve that."
He felt himself blush and he bowed his head, hiding in his scarf. "Even… even so, we'll have to rebuild the barn." Donnie sighed, frowning at that extra bit of work.
"We can tear that house down and use the timber ta rebuild the barn instead." Raphael nodded again, eyeing him with a hint of stiffness in his shoulders. "Yep. Maybe by summer we could even ask the town to come by for a barn raising."
His spine went ridged, and his heart galloped in his chest. He swallowed hard, palms moist, but as he stared back at Raphael, taking each breath one at a time as they spoke without words, Donatello licked his lips and nodded, the buzzing in his head spreading out and clearing the longer he thought about it.
"That would be helpful. We should mention it to Mikey on Sunday and the whole town will know by next week."
Raphael smiled, and he return the look.
After the two decided how exactly the barn-to-home renovations needed planning, and spending a little too much time up in the loft discussing bedrooms and washrooms and promises that the second bedroom would just be for show, Raphael insisted Donatello rest before they began on finishing the forge's wall and doorways.
They didn't start work till past noon. Donatello was right; he was addicted.
Donatello sat beside Raphael at the back of the church as the wedding got to the best part.
"I do."
Father Splinter smiled and turned from Danny, "and do you, Angelica Montenegro take, Daniel Pennington, to be your husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part, according to God's holy law?"
Angel smiled, a small laugh escaping her as she wiped at her eyes, nodding vigorously. "I do!"
The congregation laughed and Danny turned red clear up to his ears with his chest puffed out and a grin on his face.
Donatello looked to Raphael just as he glanced his way. His stomach flipped and his face warmed at the sight of just how handsome a cleaned-up Raphael looked dressed in his best. Raphael shifted his hand toward his, their hands sheltered in the small space between their thighs, and Donatello felt Raphael thread his pinky finger through his to hold him tight in the gentlest of gestures.
He couldn't stop the quick glance to his side to see if anyone saw, but Raphael smiled, small and subtle, and Donatello's heart fluttered. He dared to slide his hand closer and curl another finger around his, eyes once more focused on the bride and groom and the near buzz of happiness the two youths radiated. He felt it, because he understood that sort of love. He held it in the palm of his hands and felt it whispered against his skin in the dead of night. He knew that kind of love, and he prayed for every one of God's children to be gifted with that kind of love.
"May you always hold each other and give strength to each other to hold onto during the storms and stresses of life. I pronounce you man and wife."
Angel threw her arms around Danny's neck and kissed him. He nearly fell, stopped only by his groomsman's hand on his shoulder.
Laughter filled the church, and Donatello held Raphael's hand for as long as he could. Even when they stood and clapped for the bride and groom, Raphael bumped his shoulder against his, a smirk on his face and in his eyes— eyes that burned like the noonday sun— were meant only for him.
Donatello Malone was, indeed, a blessed man.
~Fin~
Author's note:
While I was editing this, I was listening to Heather Nova's It's Only Love - thought I'd throw that out there if anyone wants to listen to it. I feel like it really sums up the ending; hauntingly beautiful and painful, but so hopeful and honest all at once.
I feel like that was where Donnie was near the end, so ready for love, but still coming to terms with how this one emotion could change absolutely everything in his life.
Plus, his PTSD and trauma. I didn't delve too deeply into it, but I wanted to at least address it and not sweep it under the rug. So I hope I at least was respectful concerning that.
This story truly did take a portion of my soul. I'm not sad about finishing it. I'm so very happy. But, I also have to say goodbye. It's finished. ((Yes, I am rewriting it so I can get it published, but it's sort of like working on this story's older brother. Different, and in a different place in its life.)) With all the blood and sweat I put into this story, I'm so very happy with how it turned out. This one really meant something to me. I can't really place my finger on it, but Confessional really did drag some ugly truths out of me and made me really think about some things. And I'm glad it did. In a weird way this is the story that made me go, "I really can do this. I really WANT to do this the rest of my life." Because, my truth is, I want to write.
So many things happened during the writing of this story, and so I see those pains, I see those cuts and bruises scatted throughout this story when I reread it or think about it. It's a time-capsule of my life. Confessional was my own confession in a lot of ways. And one of the largest confessions I admitted to myself is that... yes... I can stop writing, but is it healthy for me? And the answer is No. Writing this story saved me. I lost my brother during the writing of this story (thus why there was such a large hiatus in the middle of this story), and facing my own fears... I could put those fears into Donnie and suss out how another felt about them, about wanting something so much but fearing it would tear you apart... This story saved me when I needed it most... and I didnt' realize it till just now.
That's why I need to write. That's why I want to pursue this creative outlet. Because it makes me a better person.
I love this story. I love what it has done for me and to me. I look back on it and I think, "ugh, I'm so wordy." "why do I have to write so 'big' when a simpler sentence would have done better?" and yet... that's what this story was; and I love it for it.
Thank you to everyone who read this story, and Thank you to everyone who will read this story in the future. I hope you enjoyed it.
~Melissa