Don woke slowly, to the completely unfamiliar and wonderful sensation of being warm and comfortable - almost floating. A thin blanket offered nothing compared to the luxurious furs enfolding him and the soft futon beneath his shell. He very nearly drifted straight back to sleep and then the memories struck him of the previous day and he sat up carefully, feeling groggy and weak - and stared. He had gone to sleep on the floor of a tent and woken up in a palace … or at the very least, the most beautiful room he had ever seen. Spacious and cool, the walls were some kind of roughly polished pale creamy stone, the floors covered in heavy mats woven from fine reeds. A few tapestries hung down the walls but one was completely given over to a collection of weapons, most in sizes and shapes that he had never seen before. The furniture was all intricately carved and finely polished - much better quality than he had ever seen before.

The main door was a solid wood, but there were two inner doors of a delicate paper and wood framework. A sudden need gripped him and he wondered if one of them led to a privy. A nervous, unsteady exploration yielded him success behind the first paper screen where a special seat had been carved over the chamber pot. Don took care of his business and then tested the wooden door. It was locked solid as he'd suspected it might be and the other sliding door led down a dark hallway he was too nervous to explore. With nothing else to do and his legs feeling weak and unsteady, he climbed back into bed and within moments of the furs enfolding him sank back into deep dreamless sleep.

A few hours later he woke at a soft bang and struggled upright to find he was no longer alone. Golden eyes were watching him from the low-set polished table in the middle of the room. Don froze in apprehension, anxiety coiling his guts in a tight web, but when the soft bang sounded a second time it ended the awkward moment and Raphael rose smoothly to open the door. The warrior spoke a few words to someone out of sight and then closed it behind him, now carrying a small bundle in one hand and a plate in the other.

The warrior didn't smile, but his eyes were soft as he jerked his head in a clear 'come here' gesture, reclaiming his position on the cushions at the table. Reluctant to leave the nest of blankets and face his new owner, Don slowly climbed free and moved to sit where the emerald turtle gestured. He kept his eyes downcast, the chains rattling uncomfortably on his sore wrists. He was aware of Raphael's body moving in close to his and froze again, only to have his wrists taken as the warrior studied the shackles.

The emerald turtle picked up the bundle, flicking the edge and making the leather kit unroll smoothly across the table revealing sets of small tools in sewn pockets. He picked a few, muttering under his breath in the language of the clans. Don studied him in confusion as the terrapin tried to get a good angle into the locking mechanism. How was he supposed to behave with a Master who spoke a completely different language? The slightest mistake had always earned him a cuff or a blow. How was he going to survive when he barely understood … and when his new master looked like he could probably snap him in half without even trying?

Raphael wore only his black hakama and by anyone's standards he was powerfully built. His impressions of the previous day were only confirmed now that he could see the beautifully carved muscle on the terrapins arms, the broad chest filling his vision. Don had never seen anyone in such good shape before and he shivered to be in the proximity of such strength. He realised he was staring and looked away to distract himself, his gaze settling on the plate. It was loaded with slices of pale brown bread with crusty edges, slathered with butter beside wedges of a creamy white cheese and slices of fruit. Hunger hit him so hard he felt his head swim dizzily. When was the last time he had eaten? Almost 48 hours ago now … he swallowed the saliva that suddenly flooded his mouth and tore his gaze away unsteadily. If he had to sit and watch his master eat that, there was a fair chance he was going to pass out.

The other muttered a sharp curse, holding up a snapped tool and his eyes narrowed. He released Don's wrists and then tugged on one arm higher up. Confused, Don obeyed the guided pull on his arm until he was sitting between solid warm thighs. Those arms came around him from behind, until their bodies were pressed so close together Don could feel every hard, warm line of his master's body and fear was beating a rapid tempo at his throat. He was still naked … slaves were always forced to go naked and he felt a hot flush travel up his neck as his captors head peered over his shoulder in order to see what he was doing - using the position to angle his lock picks better. Don was too weak to hold himself up for long so he relaxed nervously into that hold, his head resting against the solid shoulder as emerald fingers worked deftly at the stubborn shackles.

A familiar scent teased his senses and he realised it was the same comforting musk of the blankets he'd been sleeping in. There was no clinging mustiness or bitter odours from fur that needed to be washed more often and brushed out. No residual scent of fear or filth, or the oddly sour scents that his old master had carried from some kind of skin allergy he had always been scratching at. Raphael's skin was smooth and hair free, and warm … so warm. And that scent … a healthy, pleasant muskiness. An alpha's scent, telling his body with chemical messages what he already understood with his eyes. Strength, health, virility and dominance. Subtler messages woven into a unique signature that encouraged any other terrapin to submit to a strength greater than his own. Don found himself relaxing, despite the fear. Being able to identify the nature of the message didn't make him immune from its effects.

Then … freedom of a sort. A grinding click and a grunt of triumph, and suddenly he was gasping in pain as the metal cuffs unclasped, pulling harshly on his abraided skin. Raphael carefully lifted Don's inflamed wrists away from the metal and then turned his attention to the back of Don's neck. Gentle fingers pushed his head forward and he shivered as the tools ground and clicked in his ears. Don held his throbbing wrists that suddenly felt so featherlight and then blinked in shocked relief as in the next moment, the collar gave a reluctant creak and the whole lot fell into his lap. A slave was never supposed to be left in these harnesses. It was punishment for something he could no longer remember … punishment that had lasted an entire month. A month of not being able to extend his arms properly, flex his hands without it hurting or sleeping without the whole lot cutting into his flesh.

Rage came out of nowhere and suddenly the harness was sailing across the room, crashing into the stone wall as he panted in fury. Behind him Raphael said something, the words making no sense, but the tone layered in approval and Don felt the emotion drain out of him, too tired to maintain it. When he tried to get up and swayed unsteadily, he was firmly tugged back against that solid chest. His master said something low and gruff, pulling the plate towards them and Don stared at it with wide eyes, his stomach trying to gnaw a hole out through his plastron. When he didn't reach out to take the food Raphael swiped a piece of bread off the plate, wrapping it around a wedge of the soft white cheese and pressed it into Don's hand. That was all the permission he needed.

It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. The cheese was rich and smooth and the bread was still warm and crusty, the butter wonderfully salty. When he was finished with that Raphael growled softly until Don made his hand move toward the plate on his own. His strength returned as he ate - more of the rich bread and cheese, slices of melon and a hand-full of red and purple berries that burst sweetly on the tongue. He ate until his stomach had begun to strain and he couldn't have managed more if he'd tried. Raphael got up at one point and when it was clear Don wasn't going to topple over went about his business, packing up his tools and tucking them into a carved chest, dumping the shackles outside his door with a grimace of disgust.

There were never any guarantees as a slave. As a general rule you ate as much as you could when you got the chance, because who knew where or when your next meal might come. Don stared wistfully at the half full plate - he knew if he tried to eat any more he risked being sick and whatever punishment might follow for being greedy. He no longer felt like he was going to topple over but the sensation of having a full belly was enough to bring tears to his eyes. He blinked them back and jumped when one of the inner screen doors suddenly slid open and the blue-eyed slave from the previous day bounced into the room cheerfully.

He flashed Don a smile and a 'Good morning!' then turned and wrapped his arms around Raphael's arm, tugging playfully. The warrior waved him away in irritation and Don flinched, but Mike just laughed as he settled next to Don.

'Oh, you left me some, how considerate.' he grinned irreverently and stuffed some bread and cheese into his mouth, cocking his head as Raphael growled something low, then studied Don as he chewed, his eyes more serious.

'You look a little better. Sorry about the sleeping brew - I forgot I should have halved the dose since you're so skinny, but at least you missed the long boring trip back home. You don't have a headache do you?'

He spotted Don's raw wrists and winced in sympathy. 'Told you Raph'd get them off, he can pick just about anything. We'll have to do something about those wrists later, they look sore.'

Don wasn't entirely sure how to respond to the tirade of questions and comments. Raphael was standing by a higher table in the corner of the room flipping through a leather folder and seemed completely unconcerned, but was it really ok to speak casually in his presence? He licked his lips nervously, shot a wary glance at Raph who continued to ignore them and cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from the previous days smoke.

'Is this .. normal? For the slaves here?'

'Is what normal?' Mike blinked, clueless and Don swallowed again.

'The … food. Us talking. Is this really alright?'

Mikey gave him a gentle, lopsided smile. 'Nobodies going to punish you for talking, whether its to me or anybody else. You're in Terra now and the 'slave' thing is a whole different ballgame here. This is more snack food than a standard breakfast but we figured your stomach might not handle anything too complicated for a while. Speaking of which, Raph's given me strict instructions to work at fattening you up so we're not moving until you clean up the rest of the plate and trust me - you don't want to tick him off first thing in the morning, he's a grouch.'

He said it seriously but there was a clear twinkle in his eyes that Don was starting to appreciate as a message in itself. There was no fear in the small terrapin's demeanor. No anxiety, just an irreverent and open personality that seemed perfectly at ease in his masters presence. Don had never met a slave that didn't fear his owners, so he found it difficult to believe Mikey's attitude was completely genuine. The leaf-green terrapin reached out and deliberately slid the plate back under Don's snout. Just minutes ago it had been making him drool - but there was still a fair bit there to eat and his stomach had shrunk from so many small meals over the years.

'I'm not sure I can eat anymore without being sick.' he said weakly.

Mike reached out and snagged a slice of melon, stripping it with a flash of practiced teeth. 'Now you've only got a little bit left. I know you can do it, just take it slow.'

It seemed to take forever for him to get the last of the food down and his stomach strained uncomfortably with the load but after a few minutes of discomfort where he wondered if he was going to hurl it all back up again, he began to feel ok. His malnourished body was determined to hold onto the food and Mike grinned again.

'See, I told you you could do it. We gotta get you eating decent sized meals again or you'll never strengthen up. Lots of mini-meals until your appetite comes back properly, I think. '

The blue eyed turtle pulled Don up with him as he stood and herded him towards the door he'd come through. Raphael set down what he was doing and moved up behind them, his eyes following Don's every movement, watchful but not threatening. It made him nervous and he decided to risk it and accept Mike's insistence that he was allowed to talk at face value.

'Are you the only one that speaks common here?' he asked anxiously. 'I mean … If he doesn't, how am I supposed to know what to do?'

'It's bathtime dude, no questions at bathtime only play.'

Don blinked. 'Play?'

Mikey nodded but his serious expression was ruined by the twinkle in his eyes. 'And boring personal hygiene of course, but mostly play. After that you can ask allll the questions you want.'

There was nothing to do but accept this so Don gave himself over to the situation and whatever was to follow.

Raphael nudged him from behind and he moved quickly to get out of the largers' way only to have Mike grin at him and link arms, pulling him along.

'You're going to love this.' he told Don with a grin. 'We've got the best bathhouse in the clans.'

He was right. They emerged into a spacious chamber with high ceilings, the walls opening out onto a view of rainforest mountains that made him gape with awe. Red-tipped Feather ferns had been allowed to creep up the walls, creating a gently shimmering ceiling of moving fronds living off the condensing steam and minerals. Delicate orange-tipped orchids weaved through the foliage, entwining with another vine whose gigantic spotted pods swayed from the ceiling like pale lanterns. The baths themselves were fed by a hot spring welling from a rock recess in the wall at one end of the room and flowed from there directly into three individual pools that emptied into each other. The first was a fairly shallow basin where steam and ominous bubbles burbled on the surface. From there it flowed over a shallow dip into the larger central pool lined with a darker stone where steam wafted lightly off the surface at the deeper end. It was easily large enough for five or six people and channels cut at the shallow end emptied into the last and smallest pool before flowing away out of the room through a drainage channel that went through the wall.

It was incredible.

He wanted to submerse himself in that steaming water and soak every aching muscle in his body but Mikey gently pushed him over to some low stools he hadn't yet noticed and made him sit.

'No offense, but we gotta get this residual slave off you first.' Mikey said, wrinkling his snout. 'We always wash here first and then rinse in the lower pool, then you can soak in the middle area. The top one's just for cooling the water so don't accidentally step in it or you'll be hopping for days.' he grimaced and pointed at himself. 'Speakin' from experience here.'

Don understood instantly. Each pool held a different temperature of water depending on the depth and its distance from the source, and the constant overflow helped to keep the water fresh and clean. By washing first and then rinsing in the lower pool, it would carry the suds and dirt away, leaving the middle area fresh and clean to soak and relax in. He wanted to keep studying the incredible design of the bathroom but Raphael moved toward him with two lightly steaming buckets and said something to Mikey.

'Close your eyes.' Mike translated. Don did as he was bid and shuddered in pleasure as the water hit the top of his head in a gentle stream. It was warm and clean. The second load bathed his shoulders and shell until he was saturated.

When he opened his eyes Raphael was holding out a bar of faintly spicy-smelling pale soap and in his other hand was an odd looking scrubbing brush. Mikey said something to Raph who shook his head and moved to take a seat behind Don, gently tapping Don's shell.

He looked at Mike in query and was rewarded with a slightly envious look. 'Don't freak out or anything, he's just going to scrub your shell. Trust me when I say it feels sooooogooood.'

Mike broke off to say something else to Raphael who grunted response and poured something slick across the top of Don's battered shell, spreading it with his hands. Don listened as they spoke back and forth, running the bar of soap through his fingers to get a good suds.

It was clear the two of them were very comfortable with each other. Mikey said something in a teasing tone and the turtle behind him growled in response. When the blue eyed turtle crossed his arms smugly, there was no warning, just a sudden blur of movement as an emerald leg shot out and then a resounding splash as the blue-eyed turtle hit the water. Don almost laughed at the dark snicker of amusement in his ear and then Mike emerged spluttering curses in common that made Don pale. He waited for the mood to change, for Raphael to stand and punish Mikey for crossing a line of respect … and nothing happened.

Raphael only grunted in satisfaction and turned his attention back to Don's shell. Don sat there stunned, running the soap up one arm slowly as he tried to understand this strangely flexible social order - an order he had no experience dealing with. Then a sensation on his back sent tingles all the way from this head to his curled toes. He gasped and jerked, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. Golden eyes met his with an amused smirk and the warrior waved the odd looking brush, the bristles already tipped with whatever filth was ground into Don's shell.

Don shivered and turned back slowly, fixing his eyes on Mikey who had chosen to dump his sodden clothes on the edge of the bath and just float comfortably, but his entire being focused on the sensory banquet as Raphael set the brush to his scutes and began to scrub. The vibrations from the movement created waves - rippling tingles of pleasure that spread through his entire body until his toes were curling, the sensation so incredibly good that a helpless moan worked its way through his lips. He opened his eyes to find that Mikey had propped his head on his arms at the edge of the bath, watching him with a knowing smile. He didn't dare turn his head to see the look on his masters face, so he swallowed nervously and dipped the soap in his bucket of water to get a lather.

Occasionally the emerald turtle paused to splash water over the areas he had worked on and Don could only stare numbly at the dark blackish water draining beneath them. He'd gotten so used to being filthy that he'd stopped thinking about it. Humiliation flushed him at the sheer amount of dirt coming off his skin. He picked up a slightly scratchy sponge lying nearby and ground the soap into it then set to work, scrubbing everything he could reach until his skin was raw and tingling, and the entire time Raphael worked patiently away at his shell, paying careful attention to the groove of each scute. That was confusing in itself. Why was a master helping him scrub the muck off his shell … it was certainly work beneath an owner - more suited to another slave.

The number of questions was starting to build up behind his teeth, but Mike had said questions soon so he held his tongue and focused on removing a years worth of dirt, paying careful attention to his sore wrists, even daring to pull himself out when Mike had submerged himself and give his privates a good lather. It felt wierd pulling himself back in with so many bubbles still clinging to his sensative skin, but he wasn't about to walk around with it hanging out. Raphael had not touched him in that way yet, but he might see it as some kind of invitation. He endured the tickle of the suds and focused on cleaning other private areas that needed attention, desperate to be clean, completely clean despite the fact he had an audience, though his master was pointedly ignoring whatever he was doing as he focused on Don's shell.

When he was done, Don waited patiently for the careful ministrations to finish, signalled by a another light tap on his shell. Raph nodded to himself in satisfaction and set the brush down, then pointed to the final pool. Don moved to the water, carefully slipping in. It was warm but not much warmer than his skin temperature. He slipped under, rubbing his entire body down until he could almost hear his skin squeak and watched as clouds of dirty suds swirled away and were sucked over the slipway into the drain. When he came back up he felt strangely raw and somewhat fragile. As if the dirt had been helping to hold him together and washing it away had left him more exposed.

He turned to see Raphael move towards him, naked and completely unselfconscious as he held out his hand to help Don get out of the water. Don stared at him apprehensively, an unfamiliar feeling tingling through his belly. Raphael's legs were shapely for a male turtle, his thighs powerful slabs of solid muscle leading up to narrow hips, plastron sloping down like shaped armour over his broad chest. Realising he was staring, Don forced himself to reach up and Raphael pulled him out the tub easily and led him to the deeper pool. Don tried not to stare at the solid, sleek tail resting lightly against the terrapin's hard flanks. An instant later he was distracted by the sensation of the water as it enfolded them, body temperature at the lower end, then warmer then almost too hot to bear as Raphael pulled him deeper.

It was bliss. Pure, sensory pleasure in its most basic form. As a turtle he loved water, craved water sometimes … to live covered in dirt and so rarely be allowed to bask or swim or even bathe had left his body malnourished of many elements, vital for a turtles health. The water soaked into his skin as his body absorbed moisture it desperately needed, the swirling heat penetrating his muscles and found aches he hadn't been conscious of anymore - gnawing at them and then triggering some kind of release. Parts of his body that had been tense for the last ten years started to unravel. Relief followed pain, release leaving him weak as aching tension was gently, blissfully sucked out of him. The heat was like a power source and his body soaked it in hungrily, absorbing it until he felt comfortably hot. Eventually he remembered to open his eyes, only to find the other two as lazy-eyed and relaxed as he was … not that it lasted long. As soon as he realised he had an audience, Mikey began to plot. Don watched the smaller move over to Raph and sling careless arms around the broad shoulders, nuzzling with a complete lack of shyness. Raphael suffered the attention for a moment and then gave a warning grunt. When that was ignored he pulled the other close for a second, nipping some place on the smaller shoulder before dunking him with a satisfied smirk.

Mikey came up with a splutter, completely unfazed and then turned his eyes on Don in evil mischief. The splash caught Don full in the face and he coughed in surprise, frozen between a sudden uncharacteristic desire to retaliate and fear of what the punishment might be if he did. Raphael said nothing, slinging his glistening arms over the edge of the pool and eyed him lazily, then his head moved almost imperceptibly in Mikey's direction.

Don hesitated and then his eyes narrowed on the smaller turtle. He cupped his hand into a curve and then dug at the surface of the water. His splash shot off the top in the shape of an arrow and smacked Mikey in the forehead hard enough to make the smaller yelp and flounder. Raphael roared with laughter and pushed off the wall, moving to Don's side with a wicked grin that sizzled all the way down to Don's toes. He'd made his master laugh … made him smile … Raph curved his hand and struck the water in an imitation of Don's move but failed to gain the same effect. He said something to Mikey who was sulking, only his eyes visible above the water and the smaller translated with bruised dignity.

'He wants you to show him how you nailed me.' he muttered.

Don managed to look at the emerald turtle shyly, an odd feeling swelling in his chest. Everything this morning had been like a dream. He was clean and his stomach was full of good food, he'd slept well and warmly and his chains had been removed … Nobody had hurt him, yelled or even asked him to do anything yet. His new owner had done nothing worse than growl occasionally, his manner gruff but somehow non-threatening - and completely eclipsed by the way his face warmed when he smiled … and now he was going to teach his master how to do something? He had never been asked to teach anyone anything before. The emerald turtle moved closer to him and Don was suddenly too warm. Didn't they realise this was a bath? They were all naked. Naked and wet … water droplets were sliding down Raphael's body, tracing the curves of muscle beneath his skin, following the lines of his body. Don blinked in confusion. Suddenly he was so thirsty … and the larger emerald turtle's skin was so damp. Confused, the beginnings of his smile faded with the realisation that this couldn't last and the return of fear … he was being too trusting.

'Hey, are you ok?' Mike asked, all earlier signs of mischief gone. Don realised they were both watching him and nodded cautiously.

'I'm just not ... used to ... this.' he finished uncertainly. Mikey just nodded and translated for Raph whose eyes gleamed knowingly - but there was no pity there and Don felt a small surge of confidence push back at the fear. Clearly the meaning of the word slave was different here and as far as he could see the changes were all positive.

Don turned to the emerald turtle a little more confidently and held up his hand, demonstrating how he used the heel of his hand to strike the water and the direction of his cupped fingers to guide the flow. Raph moved to watch Don do it again, though this time Mikey ducked underwater. Five minutes later the door opened once more and the water fight of all water fights ended sheepishly as a fourth terrapin appeared, his gaze penetrating and faintly amused to find himself already half drenched upon entering the room. He passed a few words with Raphael, his gaze sliding over Don as Mikey moved to his side.

'This is Leonardo, Raph's Brother. Leo is the Hamato clan leader and Raph's his second in command. The Hamato's have been the leaders over all the terrapin clans for the last two hundred years. Their rooms connect through the bathhouse so we're often in here at the same time.'

Don vaguely recalled seeing Leo the previous night and found himself moving closer to Raphael, the earlier lightness chased away by those obsidian eyes that were so difficult to read. Leo was a clan leader, which made him the most powerful man in this region and men such as that were generally men to be feared. Anxiety returned as he waited to see what would happen.

Raphael said something to Mikey who snorted and Don saw the clear irritation flicker across the emerald face before the entire scene exploded as a shell shot past, a wave of water smashing them all with a hot, stinging slap. Leo's grin was deadly as he emerged from the depths, steam rising from his shell. Raphael snarled something and tackled him roughly and Mikey followed. And Don could only watch in quiet awe from the edge with a better understanding of 'playtime' as the three-way wrestling match erupted … until Mikey suddenly tackled him and he found himself drawn into the chaos, spluttering weakly as he was dragged under, only to emerge panting and shove someone else beneath the water at the next opportunity. For a few precious moments he almost forgot who and what he was until he gripped a pair of broad shoulders and dunked someone … and realised it was his new master. He stopped and gripped the pool edge, out of breath and feeling overwhelmed.

Leonardo was laughing openly as Mikey struggled and failed to wrestle him under, the leaner's muscles failing to budge the Alphas superior strength. As Raphael emerged with nothing more than a soft snort of indignation and a swiped splash in his direction, Don realised there was no way he was strong enough to dunk Raphael or any of them … unless these people were allowing themselves to be.

He felt something small and warm bloom in his chest … what kind of men were these? He couldn't trust them, not yet, but for the first time in a long time he felt like he wanted to.