Anonymous prompted: Jhanna and Donnie things you said that I wasn't meant to hear
I meant for this to be no more than 1000 words, it ended up over 3000. -_- It uses winnychan's fanon as its springboard, and incorporates a bunch of the tropes that have become standard amongst this ship's loyal devotees!
ooo
"I don't know what to do."
Her voice was quiet and forlorn in the empty room, an unguarded confession she intended for no one but herself.
"What about?"
Jhanna started to hear Donatello's voice behind her, whirling around to find him standing in the middle of the palace's tactical command center, looking up at her curiously from where she stood before the data screens on the operations deck,.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her cheeks flushing hot. She raised her chin imperiously and peered down at him.
Donatello blinked and recoiled a little, but then stepped calmly towards the stairs, hands clasped behind his shell, head cocking a little to the side. "I came to find you," he said mildly, a small smile edging up his mouth. Bands of light shifted over his skin as strategic plans flashed across the holographic screens in the darkened room, the beads and medallions she had adorned him with sparkling as the glare intermittently struck them. His chestnut eyes were deep and earnest and intent upon her. "I missed you."
Jhanna narrowed her eyes at him. "Citizens are not permitted in the command center," she said sharply. Below her robes her heart hammered against her ribcage and she clenched her fists to hide their tremble. "You should not have come here. It is extremely disrespectful."
Donatello stopped and gaped up at her, eyes wide and incredulous at her harsh tone.
"I'm… sorry," he replied after a moment, unable to conceal his bafflement. "I didn't realise. It's just that you've been gone for hours. I really was missing you." There was a soft note of dismay to his voice and Jhanna realised he was offended.
She turned away from him and marched to the computer, her boots sinking silently into the plush carpet. She hit a button that switched off the screens, leaving the large chamber lit only by soft golden lights, nestled deeply in their sconces along the walls. "If you were anyone else, I would be forced to suspect spying and have you arrested," she muttered angrily, locking the computer systems with several rapid key taps.
Shock emanated from him in the cold silence that followed and though her throat tightened, she kept her back to him firm and straight, knowing the gleam of her taut musculature would impress upon him her displeasure and resolve.
"Jhanna - " he stammered at last and she spun around, her red robes skimming up in a furious flurry.
"My Queen", she corrected, fixing him with a glare that could blister even the tough hide of a triceraton.
Donatello's brow ridges furrowed, his eyes narrowing at her. "My Queen," he repeated heavily. "Forgive me my impertinence - " her own eyes narrowed at the sarcasm that laced his words. " - but you are completely overreacting here. All that happened is I came to find you and entered a room without understanding the proper protocol. My intentions were pure, I promise you. You must realise that. So, what's this really about?"
His hands were outstretched, palms turned upwards imploringly. She gazed down at him, into the warm eyes that met hers directly, seeking an answer to assuage his confusion and frustration.
She breathed deeply in, her breasts rising and falling beneath the gold chestplate she wore. "Donatello," she said evenly, placing a hand upon the bannister. "It is not your place to question me. Though you are my consort and much beloved by me, you must still obey the customs of my rule. I will grant you forgiveness upon this occasion, as you are still a comparative newcomer to my lands, but I will brook no dissent on this matter."
Donatello cocked a brow ridge and tilted his head to the side, eyeing her searchingly. He folded his hands behind his shell again and she did not fail to observe the curvature of his biceps, the strong lines of his thighs as he stood his place. His beauty made her heart quiver, but she did not betray herself.
"Is this because I overheard you?" he asked her quietly.
Fury lanced across her chest like a molten blade and she shook her braids back over her shoulders, the jewels that were wound within them tinkling brightly. Taking her robes in one hand she stormed down the stairs and came up flush with his plastron, staring down into his determined face.
"How dare you?" she raged. "How dare you presume to know my heart?"
Donatello did not quail, but met her wrath with strength that might have been admirable at another time, straightening up and lifting his chin.
"I am learning your heart," he retorted boldly. "Aren't I? Isn't that what we both desire? I have made my heart open to you." There was a sudden sadness twined in the words and he blinked at her with quiet, stormy eyes. At once her breath caught to see how readily vulnerable he allowed himself to be despite the rage she had turned on him, and she tightened her fists against the tumult that abruptly roared inside of her. "As I am doing right now - I hate to see you in any conflict, my Queen - it pains me, as your devoted consort, to witness your distress."
For a moment she considered striking him. The muscles of her arm quivered with the desire. But she was not a barbarian, and he was her beloved.
"You do not understand what you saw," she replied instead, her voice clipped and icy. She allowed her lip to curl with a sneer, folded her arms across her chest plate.
Donatello's brow ridges lifted delicately. "I believe I saw that you were experiencing conflict over the best way to negotiate a truce with the Katesh whilst at the same time establishing a defence system to protect the integrity of your borders that would not further provoke their volatile natures."
This time she had to turn away to prevent herself from slapping him. Mariah had been infamous for her brutality towards her consorts. Jhanna refused to be anything like her old rival.
"Regardless, it is none of your concern," she said testily. "These matters are for myself and my military forces."
Behind her, Donatello sighed. "But I might be of some assistance to you," he suggested gently. "I'm sure that I could be."
Jhanna looked over her shoulder at him, one brow lifted with deliberate contempt. "You? You are a consort. Your role under these roofs is to be my intimate companion, to pleasure me with your company and satisfy me with your attentions. Matters of state are beyond the scope of your capacity."
Donatello bristled, and now his fists were by his sides, his arms taut with indignance.
"Excuse me?" he said sharply. "'Beyond my capacity'? You know as well as I do that is - pardon me - total bullshit. I fixed your ship and used it to come here, remember? And that is only one example in a whole lifetime of aptitude and ability, to waste no time on false modesty. Jhanna, you know this. That first night - you told me yourself you had chosen me because out of all my brothers I was the most intellectually exceptional."
"For a male," she interjected with a sniff, and tossed her braids again.
Donatello rolled his shoulders back and stared at her with dismay where she stood on the last step, her chin high and her spine straight, her violently red robes spilling out over the plush carpeting.
"Is all this really because I caught you in a moment of vulnerability?" His voice was so soft it seemed to skim her skin and she turned away again before he could catch her shiver. "Jhanna, there's no shame in that. You know how deeply I care about you. My devotion is absolute. I would be honoured if you wanted to confide in me. I would do all that I could to advise you."
Jhanna gripped the banister and pressed her eyes shut. Her heart thundered and her breath was short and harsh. He did not understand. He could not understand - what it meant to rule an entire people. The fierce legacy she was expected to uphold. How infallible her strength must appear at all times, and how compelling her conviction.
"I do not require advice from a royal concubine," she said flatly. "Now, I command you to leave my presence - return to your chambers and do not come to me again until I call for you."
For a long moment there was only silence. Then the murmur of his feet upon the carpet as he turned.
"As you command, my Queen," he replied, his courtesy stiff and cold.
It was not until she heard the door quietly click shut that she allowed the tremble that gripped her core to overtake her until she sunk down upon the steps.
Donatello threw the holographic projection tablet of Omatran history across his bedchamber. It hit the wall then clattered to the floor, its digital display sputtering out as he leapt up from his bed and paced the room.
"Damned arrogant, prideful woman" he muttered. "I've never been so insulted - "
He caught sight of himself in the enormous gilded mirror that lined one wall and came to a stop. Donatello was not vain by nature and did not spend much time contemplating his appearance and it was only now that he really observed how he looked adorned in the trinkets she had gifted to him. He had welcomed each one with delight, happy to wear them as was the custom for one of his position here, revelling in the heady pulse of erotic euphoria the ritual had evoked. The past few weeks had been spent in a state of sexual intoxication that had eased his disorientation and homesickness, soothed his adjustment to life as a glorified house-husband in a strange new world with strange new customs.
But now as he gazed upon his reflection, the bejewelled thongs that twined down the tails of his mask, the golden cuffs that encircled his arms, the medallions that glittered against his plastron - all of them seemed now to mark him as an object. A thing whose personhood - whose mind - was inconsequential next to the services he could provide.
"Maybe this was all a mistake," he said softly, and his heart tore into ragged pieces at the thought.
Weary and sorrowful, he sat back down on the bed and slumped over, scratching his neck and sighing. He had come so far - across a thousand stars - to be with her. He had known it was a risk - it was his nature to calculate and analyse, to weigh possibility and account for every outcome and he had known there was a chance it could all go terribly wrong. He had believed it was worth the risk. That knowing for sure had to be better than gazing up into the endless fathoms of the night and wondering for the rest of his life.
But he had been desperate, then. Desperate for a shot at happiness. Even if he had to go to the end of the universe to find it.
Even if the pursuit only broke his heart.
There was the soft rustle of silk and his senses abruptly filled with the scent of her perfume, rich and spicy and causing an involuntary tug of his tail.
He lifted his face from his hands and looked towards the doorway, and there she stood, her braids released from their band and tumbling around her lovely face, softening its sharp angularity. She was stripped of her royal armour, clad only in a diaphanous gown that skimmed her curves, her neck and wrists free of jewellery. Her blue skin gleamed beneath the iridescent material, its folds gathered thickly across her groin, her nipples pressing against the soft silk. She gazed at him with eyes that glittered like the deepest reaches of the galaxy and her sensual lips were solemn and sad. She took his breath away.
"Donatello," she said quietly as she stepped into his chamber, and though he knew it was her right, still he felt a bolt of resentment strike his heart.
"I thought you did not wish to see me, my Queen," he said, and he could not quite keep the asperity from his voice. His pride had been wounded after all. He was only mortal.
She stiffened and he was afraid suddenly that she would go.
"But I'm glad that you came," he added quickly. In other circumstances, he would've fallen to his knees at her feet, laid kisses along the hem of her gown, following the path of her legs upwards, kisses that would make her laugh and shiver with delight. But he couldn't bring himself to, not right then.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I am sorry that we quarrelled, Donatello. It was not my desire."
He stared at her for a long moment then sat up straight and swallowed. "Not mine, either."
"I did not wish to offend you," she continued, her hips swaying softly as she moved across the room, the shimmering material undulating over her body. "I spoke only the truth according to my people. But perhaps I spoke too harshly."
Donatello watched as she moved, striving not to become too distracted by her sensual glide. "Jhanna - I can accept the ways of your people are different. I can even accept that to be with you means I cannot be involved in every aspect of your kingdom. But I cannot accept being treated as though I am of inferior intelligence - as though I am beneath such information, rather than forbidden it for security purposes. You must've known when you took me as your own of my ability and curiosity - that I wouldn't be satisfied without stimulation. I had thought - had hoped - it was one of the characteristics you found attractive in me."
Jhanna paused by the arched windows that overlooked the lavish palace gardens, the pale glow of twilight silhouetting her splendid figure so that Donatello felt a lump rise in his throat.
"It is," she replied lowly, and he was struck by the abruptly melancholy tilt to her head. "You are so - different - to Omatran men, Donatello. I am not yet accustomed to it, though I do rejoice in it."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it," Donatello said, a touch of frustration colouring his words. "Though maybe it's more that I don't behave the way Omatran men are expected to behave instead of being that different to them?"
Her chuckle was throaty and his skin prickled: "Perhaps."
There was a pause. He stared at her where she stood, turned away from him just as she had been earlier. But now there was something about her attitude. She seemed to have shrunk into herself, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed. It made him want to go to her, draw her into his arms and brush her braids back over her ears, lavish her throat and breasts with ardent kisses.
But he held back.
"Is the idea of having political counsel with me really so ridiculous to you?" he queried.
She turned to him, her face shadowed by the falling darkness beyond the window. "No," she said bluntly. "But nor can I allow it."
Donatello heaved a sigh, his plastron expanding. "Because of tradition, or because you just won't?"
She stood upright, her spine stiffening. Her eyes glittered in the shadows. "Tradition is important to my people, Donatello."
Donatello felt his mouth twist with a wry smile. "That doesn't answer my question."
Jhanna stepped away from the window, her brows knitting together, her full lips set firm. "You have no idea the pressures I am under as Queen of this world. Or the immense responsibility I bear."
Donatello opened his mouth to retort, then hesitated. "That's true," he admitted. "I have no idea what it is like to be a ruler, looked to for guidance over the lives of millions of people." Even as he spoke the words, his breath caught and his heart dropped. He regarded her with new understanding.
"But you could tell me," he suggested gently. Jhanna stared at him curiously, a guarded sheen in her gaze.
"Did we not just go over this - " she began, irritation lacing her voice.
"I don't mean tell me military secrets or ask my advice on royal affairs," he interjected. "I mean - you could just talk to me, about how you're feeling. It might help. I know how strong you are - you've done this alone for so many years now - but maybe if someone else knows what you're feeling - you won't feel so alone."
She was gazing at him with an indecipherable expression. "It is the duty of a queen to bear her burden alone," she replied steadily. "I cannot give my people any reason to lose faith in me."
Donatello couldn't help but smile, admiring her where she stood in her sheer gown, her braids loose, her figure strong and sensual. "But I'm not one of your people," he pointed out logically. "Technically, I'm just a guest. And it would be in my best interest to keep your confidence," he continued. "Any threat to your leadership and my position of comfort here could be at risk." He grinned playfully, but there was truth in his words and he saw her consider them, her head cocking slightly to the side.
"I - " she began and then swallowed heavily. "I have never thought that I needed anyone," she finished and her dark eyes seemed fathomless.
"Maybe you don't," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't use someone."
She stared at him a moment, her lips parted. Her eyes shimmered by the lamplight and quickly she turned away, stepping back into the shadows by the window. Donatello held his breath, fearful that at any moment she might become enraged again, resentful at the way he edged beneath her skin. All he wanted in that moment was to draw her to him and feel her body succumb against his, melt into him until she was eased of her burdens. Until she understood this was not weakness. Until he knew her down to her soul. Until she welcomed it.
She stood gazing so long out over the gardens, now dark but for the speckling of starlight, that he grew worried and began to rise from the bed, unable to resist any longer the urge to go to her.
"I am troubled," she said quietly before he could reach her side and he stopped short and stared at her carefully, his heart abruptly racing. "The decisions I must make are immense. I do not wish to make a mistake. But it is so difficult to be sure."
Donatello paused and carefully considered what to say, painfully aware this tentative concession could just as suddenly be retracted if he screwed it up. He looked at her and the quietly sad stoop of her shoulders and how the shadows seemed to soften and shrink her so that she did not seem so much the assured and powerful ruler of a people as she did simply a girl, as conflicted and fragile as any other. He hesitated a moment longer and then stepped over to her, his hands running up over her shoulders. She stiffened, and then, as his strong fingers began to gently knead the coiled muscles, she at once gave in, seeming to melt beneath his touch.
"My Queen is exhausted," he murmured against her braids, inhaling the heady scent of her. "Would she permit me to bathe her, so that she might feel restored once more?"
He drew his thumbs up between her shoulder blades and Jhanna shuddered, her head lolling forward, a soft sound escaping her lips.
"I would like that," she admitted, and her voice was hoarse.
It's a start, Donatello thought, and hope once more lightened his spirit. And a start is all we need.
Gently, he took her hand in his own and led her towards the bath chamber.
