~Odd Men Out~
By: Melissa the Damgel


The day Leonardo and Michelangelo stood before them, hands intertwined, and announced that they had been seeing each other romantically for a number of months and were finally ready to tell them all; it was the day Donnie had stopped talking. 

He looked from the taller Michelangelo then to Leonardo and then to his hands, forcing a smile, forcing the cheer and the congratulations. He said all the right things because they were half truths. He was fine with it. He wasn’t against this step in their family. He had often wished for it himself.
 
But to see Michelangelo laugh and then lean down to hug Leo, kiss him in joy as their family responded positively, it left Donnie empty inside and he kept the smile on his face till he disappeared into his lab later that night and sat in the soft glow of his workstation. 

Sure, he talked, he didn’t become a mute. But Donatello didn’t actively participate. He sat to the side, smiled at the appropriate times, laughed, and said the right things, making jokes if he forced himself hard enough; but that was just it, he forced himself. 

It wasn’t Leonardo’s fault. It wasn’t Mikey’s. He had just stayed quiet instead of trying to win his heart. To see Mikey so happy; he wanted to be happy for him, but he couldn’t because when he saw his laughing face and that glimmer of love in Leonardo’s eyes, he hated them a little because he wasn’t going to have that. He was destined to remain alone forever. 

Several weeks later, when Raphael came into his room and sat down on the edge of his bed, silent and sullen, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast; Donatello realized he had ignored the only other one who might understand. 

“I was in love with Mikey.” Donatello whispered, his head bowing, his shoulder just barely touching Raph’s.

Raphael grunted, his thumbs tapping. 

“Leo?” Donnie asked, peeking at him, his face unable to form any other expression but a frown overshadowed by despair.

Raph looked away for a moment and shrugged his shoulder. But the way he looked to the floor, off to his side then down at Donnie’s toes answered his question. He had wanted Leo.

Donatello nodded and swallowed hard, hunching his shoulders, curling into himself with his hands between his knees. He wanted to pull into his shell. So they sat in silence instead and Donatello closed his eyes to hide himself. 

“We could pretend.” Raphael’s voice was so low, so hushed, Donnie opened his mouth to ask him to repeat that because he wasn’t certain he had heard him right. But he didn’t ask, because Raphael didn’t look at him. In fact, he squeezed his eyes shut and growled, hands curling into fists. 

“Raph…”

“I don’t want ta die alone.”

Donatello considered being logical and explaining that he wouldn’t. That they would all be together no matter what. But he wasn’t going to insult Raphael like that. He knew what Raph meant and he nodded, his throat closing up and choking him. Tears misted over his eyes and he swallowed hard, his fingers fidgeting. “I don’t want to either.” He admitted, words strained and guttural, his head bowing forward. 

It had hurt before, but that was because he had felt like he had missed his chance, like he had given up the love of his life without a fight, and all because he never said anything to him. He still dreamed about him, wished for him, fantasized that Mike and Leo would have a fight and break up and he would be there to pick up the pieces and be able to be with Mikey in a sweeping fairytale ending of two hearts finding each other in the end. 

But he could tell already it wasn’t going to be like that. Leonardo had worked past most of the details already concerning their relationship and his leadership; and Michelangelo was already showing improvement in so many areas of his life. They fit. They worked. And he hated that because it meant in same way, he was lacking, whatever it was that Mikey had needed, Leo had it.

And that meant Donnie wasn’t good enough.

Raphael shifted on the bed and Donatello looked away, trying to dry his eyes before Raph could see his weakness. 

“I don’t want ta be alone the rest of my life. I…I want him,” His voice trembled and Don raised his eyes slowly, taking in the twisted brows, the half open mouth of his brother as he tried so hard to find a way to say what he wanted to say in a macho way, only to fail. “But, I don’t want ta have nothing just because my turtle-luck decided to fuck me over.”

He turned to him, the bed dipping a little, their shoulders brushing and though he didn’t look him in the eye, Raphael at least had the decency to face him. 

Donatello shifted as well, nodding, encouraging him to continue.

When his amber eyes caught his, daring him to speak against him, Donatello’s stomach flipped and his blood ran cold. His eyes were wild, desperate, so needy with dimming coals because the fire in his belly had fizzled away by all of this. Not even the stubborn one could hide the fact that Leo and Mikey turning to each other had hurt him. “What if we pretend? You pretend I’m Mike and I’ll pretend you’re Leo. No strings or nothin’, but, we can fuck, pretend for a minute and at least have some comfort. Have something they have.”

He knew Raph was embarrassed, he was embarrassed too. Raphael’s eyes darted about now that he had gotten his distasteful request out of the way. He didn’t know what to say. His request was….almost pathetic and yet it was an option – possibly the only option they had.

“Shit. Forget it.” Raphael grumbled and stood suddenly, tripping over his own feet on his way to the door.

It was so hollow and empty. He had essentially proposed that they become each other’s booty-calls late at night because they couldn’t do it with who they wanted – and yet….

“Okay…” Donnie found himself saying, his eyes catching Raphael’s surprised gaze with his own. Once Raphael processed his consent, processed that Donnie was okay with the idea, Donatello saw the flicker of sadness cross his face. He figured he had the same look and he didn’t try to force a different expression. Why bother? They were there together, in the same boat, wishing someone else sat across from them. 

He stood from the bed, moving closer to him. Raphael’s throat bobbed and his golden eyes remained a fraction wider than usual as he watched him approach. Standing before him, inching a step closer, Donatello reached around him, toward the door, and he flicked the lights off. Raphael’s breathing filled his ears, the heat from his body washing over him as they stood there, eyes adjusting to the faint light coming from the screen saver of his laptop sitting on his desk. 

Donatello’s stomach flipped, his cheeks flushing as the lock clicked into place. 

In the darkness, in the secret places of his mind he allowed himself to draw on that fantasy, allowing himself to pretend as a hand touched his shoulder. It was easy to do; Mikey had gotten taller in the past few years, becoming their big-little brother seemingly overnight. Raphael matched him in height, and Donatello trembled, eyes wide, breath fluttering between them, and Raphael leaned closer, his other hand resting atop Donnie’s other shoulder and gripped him. 

His lips fluttered across his cheek and Donatello inhaled sharp, his skin tingling as those strong hands caressed down his body, gripping his elbows, then his wrists, and then the leather strap that crossed over his shoulder. 

“Leo…” Raphael whispered and Donatello’s brow twitched, his face twisting at the name. 

He reached up, his palm pressing to Raphael’s lips firmly. “Shut up.” But a second later, Donatello found himself lifted, twisting, shoved against the wall with hands grabbing at him, forcing his legs to part and their lower plastrons clicked and rubbed and he shook, gasping for air. 

They didn’t talk after that, Donatello closed his eyes as lips and teeth nipped at his neck and his fingers clawed at Mike’s….Raph’s….shoulders. He inhaled sharp and whimpered, twisting against the wall, shell scraping and hissing against the bricks. Fingers probed him with nothing but spit to lead the way.

They panted and gripped, tugged, pushed, writhed and thrust; and though it burned at first, though the hands were a tad too aggressive, though the shoulders were far too broad, Donatello’s head snapped back and he cried out, bucking his hips as his climax crested, sweeping over him, leaving him seeing stars and feeling Michelangelo’s answering churr against his throat where his lips were pressed hot and moist, his cock twitching inside of him and flooding him in warmth that washed through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Trembling, clinging to the other, Donatello opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened, filling his lungs, his lips quivering and his skin on fire with shivers of post-pleasure. He tried to calm his heart even as he clung to Mike, soaking him in, remembering the feel of his body around him, his arms under his hands, his hands along his sides.

When the realization of what they did seeped past the coital joy, Donatello closed his eyes again and lifted a hand, hiding his face. He grit his teeth, his lip trembling. What were they thinking? How was this going to help?

Raphael pulled out of him, slow and careful – for that he was grateful, but he would still be sore for days. Don clung to him as his feet touched the ground once again, leaning heavily upon him to keep his jelly legs from giving out on him. He didn’t have a choice in the end because Raphael ‘s shell hit the wall next to him and they sank to the floor. 

Silence encased them, all but for their breathing and the inch of space separating them. It felt like a canyon gorge between them, alone even as they sat there together. Donatello’s stomach flipped and his fingers touched his belly, coming away covered in his release and he stared at his palm and the faint sheen of milky liquid there that the light from his computer was able to illuminate. 

He couldn’t let this tear them apart. They had both agreed to this – even if perhaps it was ill done in a fit of emotional turmoil. 

Leaning into him, his head resting on Raphael’s shoulder, Donatello shivered, his eyes burning. 

“Sorry…”

This wasn’t exactly how he had envisioned what sex would be like. Well, the aftermath anyway. But then Raphael’s words came back to him, the heartache, the loneliness, the realization in himself that Raph was right – that they would die alone otherwise. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Donatello whispered then he shifted, his soiled hand touching Raphael’s plastron as he turned where he sat and flinched as his backside burned. He sat up on his knees while Raphael watched him closely with dull eyes. 

Even though they weren’t who they wanted, they were all they would get. Donatello wiped at his cheek, ashamed the tear had fallen, but Raph wasn’t looking any better. So he pulled Raphael’s arms open, sliding onto his lap and he curled against his chest, a hand wrapping around his neck. “We’re pretending. Remember? No strings attached; no obligations. Just something for just the two of us to bask in. Just because we ended up the losers in the game of love, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the benefits of….of a good friend.” He whispered. He just didn’t know what to say, even this sounded hollow. It lacked what they wanted. Meaning. It was empty; but it was all they had.

“Yeah…friends with benefits.” Raph whispered and wrapped his arms around him tighter, his head dipping to press his nose to Donnie’s brow.