The Scent Of Sunshine After A Storm

(Author's Note: This story features sex. SEX. Detailed, graphic, technical SEX. With descriptions. Plus technical terms. Running with the fanon idea that our boys are more human than turtle on the, well, bottom.)

"So she thoroughly taught him that one cannot take pleasure without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every last bit of the body has its secret, which brings happiness to the person who knows how to wake it. She taught him that after a celebration of love the lovers should not part without admiring each other, without being conquered or having conquered, so that neither is bleak or glutted or has the bad feeling of being used or misused." ― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

It wasn't supposed to be quite like this, but it was, and screw convention or routine. He came tumbling through the huge open window, the rain clinging to his skin like a wrap, and she grabbed a blanket and wrapped him in it, and led him to the larger bathroom with huge tub, and wordless, she undressed him and then herself, turned the water to hot, got him in the tub, turned the showerhead to emit a twisting spiral waterfall spray. With a tiny whimper, he raised his head to it, as the grime and blood went down the drain.

She soaped him up, taking care to scrub his scutes and the grooves in his carapace. His eyes, no longer clouded, watched her, his clear eyes trailed up and down her body as the fine white fur on her arms, legs, and décolleté wetly stuck to her. Her cat claws flexed and sheathed under her fingernails nervously. They had taken showers before, they'd had shower sex, why was she anxious? Was it the blood? Was it the cracks in his plastron and the cuts along his shoulders? She made sure to keep those as clean as possible.

And Michelangelo had his huge muscled arms around her, and Gaia paused with the loofah between them, and they held each other. His heart was pounding beneath the keratin and cartilage and she ran her hands up and down, and he grunted softly. Bruises here and there.

Gently slipping down, Gaia began to carefully lather up his lower shell and his legs, the power of those muscles rippling catching her breath. She reached to the back of his thighs and felt his tail flick and shudder.

See, and that was the fascinating thing, after she and Rhea had talked about the boys' unique physiology. They really were more human on the inside. Their reproductive organs were humanoid. Turtle tail, humanoid anus, turtle cloaca as a slit-like pouch to encase the penis and testes. The penis was slightly more human, though dark purple and more slanted at the end, and larger than the average large human penis. They had prostates – she'd learned that early on.

And knowing this, as she watched the soapy, grimy, bloody water flow down his legs, Gaia very carefully, very slowly, reached with two soapy fingers and made a lighting quick swipe from the tail to the cloaca that rested under the lower plastron, and Mikey made a sound between a moan and a whine, and soon he was clean. He turned and turned, rinsing thoroughly.

When their eyes met as she stood, he enfolded her again and grabbed her favorite shampoo, the "all natural" all-in-one with coffee and cocoa in it, and lathered her entire body head to toe, and he circled her breasts with red-furred areola, and his fingers trailed over her waist and her fine white-furred belly and the fine black-furred mons pubis, and her clitoris was already exposed, and his huge finger flicked it, and she grabbed his arms and gasped.

Mike chuckled, low in his throat. He grabbed the matching conditioner, and then she smelled like mocha latte, and he rumbled that she was good enough to eat, and after thorough rinsing he wrapped them both in big towels, and because her left leg was trembling he lifted her out of the tub. And he rubbed her down until her fur was fluffed and it made them laugh.

And she murmured, "You need peroxide and antibiotic ointment" and he smirked and did so, and then he scooped her up and she felt so tiny in his big arms, and he was rumbling as though he could purr.

And there was her bedroom, right next door, and he removed his towel, spread it out on that queen bed, and lay her on it, sprawled, and she licked her lips and bit her lips and she wanted to stim and flap and giggle, so she did, and he giggled too, a jar of coconut oil in his hand already. And Gaia was glad to be sterile and have a lover who probably wasn't reproductively compatible anyway.

The sensation of a huge finger slicked with oil pressing through her labial folds, into her vaginal canal, made her arch her feline flexible spine and purr with a groan at the same time. She watched Mikey crawl to her, knees planted on either side of her hips. Gaia grinned. "S'hmm," she muttered. "My sisters are working real late tonight. They did say that if this happened to clean up our messes."

"Oh, I'll clean up," and Mike's voice was husky. "I have a great tongue."

"Better that mine?" and she opened her mouth wide and stuck hers out, emphasizing the rough side, the sharp canine teeth.

His only reply was "Hnnnmm."

She gently ran her fingernails down his lower plastron, to the fascinating bulge, the cloacal slit that was not quite chelonian, not quite human. "Feels like someone's ready to drop."

He threw his head back. "Gaia…!"

"Mikey…?"

And he dropped down, the penis unsheathing and presenting itself, the tip pressing against the crease between her groin and thigh. "There we are," and she purred, in various registers, and his head snapped down, his eyes widening to stare at her, and then her hips were lifted, her ankles were pressed against his broad shoulders, and her inner labial folds twitched and parted like flower petals, and the head of his penis pushed through.

And their sounds echoed each other, and he was slow, and she was slow, and he pushed in a little more, a little more, until her vaginal tract lengthened and she took more of him in, over halfway,;and then, carefully, he began to pump his hips, slow thrust after slow thrust, and the chemical sizzling rush danced up from her groin to her head, and she shifted her hips until he managed to hit all those alphabet spots. When he came up against her cervix, she keened wildly and he gasped as though in happy shock. She purred and moaned and groaned and keened and cried out, and he did the same, and then it became so intense she was on fire, and she unsheathed her claws and dug them into his thighs, and his voice rumbled above her, and she shivered, and that made him shiver, and as the orgasm ripped through her and rippled across her lower body and tore a growling sob from her, she heard him scream, round and guttural, and Gaia felt heat and liquid mix and flow, and her body literally collapsed, her muscles shaking. Michelangelo fell to the bed, penis withdrawing, and she grabbed a part of the towel to wipe him down before wiping herself.

"Th-thank you," he stammered.

"Thank you," she gasped. Her left side muscles were still in spasticity. She mentally yelled at them to shut up.

Eventually, she would have to go back to the bathroom to pee out the rest of the semen and splash water on her face, but all she could do now was crawl pathetically to the pillows, with his help, and collapse again, head against his plastron while they wrapped their arms around each other.

"Do…do your brothers know…you're here?" she asked.

He nodded. "I told them…I'd text…when I…felt less upset."

"Oh, Sunshine," she murmured.

"Yeah, Kitten?" he murmured back.

"I'm so sorry you have to put up with all this deeper darkness in your emotions."

"Yeah. But I have ways of helping myself. I have coping mechanisms." He hugged her tighter, as if she were a wisp that could fade.

"I like being a coping mechanism."

"And I like being your coping mechanism too."

"Depression and PTSD is so weird, isn't it?"

"Totally." He was silent for a moment. "So. Um. I'm not ready to leave…"

"It's fine. If you sleep, you get to make breakfast." She purred.

He smiled against her forehead. "I'm thinking waffles. I'll text Leo and tell him that. You know, like, just a single text with Waffles. Let him figure it out."

She grinned. "Yeah. Waffles. With yogurt. 'N fruit. 'N chocolate coffee…"

"Hey...Gaia?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

He raised his head to look at her. "I love you."

She blinked slowly, and then his mind and thoughts touched her, and she found herself grinning.

"Yes. I love you too."

"Mean it?"

"Mean it."

Then there was the kiss that was deeper than passion, and exhilarating joy filled them until it exploded and they had to lie back down and laugh and laugh until they were sore from kissing, and that little shiver of I love him and he loves me! echoed through her, pouring feel-good hormones and chemicals all over her body. Look at us, we are in love! And that silly smile would not go away. Because no one expected this, and it felt so good, and everything was okay.

By the time Gaia had fallen asleep, she only barely felt someone pull a comforter over her, up to the neck, and she snuggled deeper into Mikey, who smelled like fresh earth, and chocolate, and spices, and petrichor. The rainstorm outside was still going, the remnants of a rooftop battle washed away, and eventually clouds parted just enough to let a sliver of sunshine through.