The hardest part is the end.
Leo's good at holding together during their "sessions," as it were, good at gritting his teeth through pain and humiliation. He'll moan, he'll cry, but there'll be that place inside him that stays intact. He can convince himself that it's another kind of training, even when logic and memory assure this nothing like what happens in the dojo.
And then, the aftermath. When they've both had their orgasms and Leo's left burnt over the table, or on his knees, or resting under Shredder in a tangle of blankets. When he's covered in fresh bruises and has more cum dribbling down his thighs, dribbling in time with his beating heart.
That's when the trembling usually starts, brutal and relentless in an earthquake. He'll hold himself if he's able to, but otherwise he'll just quiver in his fixed position, wracked with frigid cold and strangling numbness all at once.
Shredder usually leaves him for the first few minutes, focusing on wiping off his own cock, changing his clothes, and getting a sip of water. He'll be left alone, and that will hurt, even though Leo knows that he shouldn't demand to be looked after like a child. He should just be grateful for the kindness he's given.
But still, he feels himself going limp, breaths coming fast and painful in his heavy chest. The sense of wrongness that sometimes pushes in at the edges of his consciousness hits Leo like a tsunami, driving the breath from him.
Someone touches him and he whimpers, twisting away as much as he can. He's wearing the blindfold again, and it feels far too heavy on his tear-stained face, to the point of causing pain.
"Leonardo." He curls in on himself, because he doesn't want that name, he wants his brothers, he wants to be Leo, the leader, laughing and defiant as they fly over the rooftops like nothing could ever touch them, like he could never touch them.
(He? Which he? Who is your monster, child, the rat or the--)
The blindfold is pulled away and he blinks, eyes watering. His Master kneels before him, composed and serene, not a hair out of place. Leo blinks, feeling the ugly thoughts clear away just enough for him to breathe.
"You've done well," Master Shredder says, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. The soft touch is a balm soothing away his dark thoughts, at least a little. Leo lets a soft moan of gratitude as he's unbuckled, picked up, and carried off to the bathroom.
He's lowered into the tub, wincing as his bruised skin touches cool metal. Leo aches all over--his limbs, his torso, his poor spanked bottom, even his cock throbs wearily as he tucks it back into its protective slit. The warm water cascading from the taps is sweet relief.
Master strips and climbs in after him, and as always the sight brings to mind hazy memories of a tangle of bodies in a tub, people whose names Leo doesn't know. But he always finds himself thinking of them as a family, bathing together according to the traditions of their culture.
He doesn't know why he thinks of this, of them. His life with Saki is the only one that matters, and there is nothing familial or traditional about the way Saki looks at him as he picks up the sponge.
Master cleans Leo off, occasionally planting a soft kiss on a particularly nasty bruise or welt. The brush stings a little, especially when Master Shredder doesn't remember to be gentle, but Leo doesn't complain.
Saki parts his buttocks, letting the cum flow out of him. Leo squirms, embarrassed, while Saki chuckles. Leo knows it's silly but sometimes he has dreams
nightmares
about Master SHredder's seed taking root in him, creating...something. He doesn't know. He'd never want to replace Mistress Kitsune, but sometimes he thinks it would be nice to grow and tend a part of Saki, close to his heart.
Master Shredder takes his time cleaning Leo's intimate parts, his slit and the curve of his ass, with a washcloth. It hurts, sometimes, especially when he spends more time there than strictly necessary. That's okay, though. It's just how Saki shows his love.
By the time Leo's clean his mind is sharper, cleaner, his limbs better able to move on their own. He washes Saki, even though he never really gets that messy after they "play." He rubs his cloth over his master's large, muscled body, careful and efficient, tracing it over the web of scars that have piled up there over the years.
Leo treats the large pink cock between his master's legs with special respect, fascinated as it always is by its testicles. It twitches when he rubs it and Leo freezes, trying to disguise his knee-jerk free with a giggle.
Saki just smiles, patting him on the head. "Not yet, chunin," he says. Leo reminds himself not to be relieved about that.
Master Shredder helps him out of the tub, handing him a towel. Leo leans against the wall, drying off as Saki wrings out his hair and runs a comb through it, shaking out the dark strands. It's so normal Leo wants to laugh (or cry. or scream).
Afterwards, he follows Saki out of the bathroom, but hesitates at the door. "I..." he pauses, hands fidgeting at his sides.
Saki glances over his shoulders as he goes to put the night's toys away. Leo swallows, knowing he shouldn't push his luck.
Because at least this time he didn't mess up. At least this time he didn't make Shredder angry enough, to shove him, slap him, say stop whimpering, you little whore, get out. At least he didn't have to get out of the restraints on his own. At least he'd didn't have to stagger down the hall, praying he wouldn't be seen or drip cum on the ground like a slut.
At least he didn't have to wash off, alone, in the too-cold shower. At least he's not crying and shaking worse than ever, drowning in his own skin, wishing that he could go back to--
He shouldn't push his luck.
But Master Shredder knows him so well, he just smiles. "Yes, Leonardo," he says, generous as ever. "You may stay."
Leo lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and bows his gratitude. He climbs into bed beside Saki, snuggling up under his arm and breathing in his arm scent. He lets himself enjoy Saki's heat, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. He tries not to calculate the probability of waking up tomorrow with a cock already inside him.
The important thing is that tonight, he won't dream of severed heads and haunted gardens (he hopes). He's warm and protected, curled up besides someone who loves him (he's sure). This is exactly where he belongs, and he will always be safe here.
(Probably).