They’ve got the lair for themselves tonight: Donnie’s over at April’s (or possibly Casey’s, Leo can’t remember) and Mikey’s out partying with the Mutanimals. Considering the rare moment of total privacy, simply sitting down and watching TV together might have been an odd choice. 
But the latest Space Heroes rerun was tonight, and Leo really wanted to see it. He had had a devil of a time convincing Raph to sit and watch with him–at least, until he got creative. 
“You know,” Raph says, tossing back a swig of beer and adjusting his feet so that they press deliberately, irritatingly heavy against Leo’s shell. “That Captain guy is definitely fucking his second-in-command, or whoever that is.” 
Curled up before his brother’s chair, neatly bound, gagged, and plugged, his aching cock restrained between his legs because furniture doesn’t come or whatever excuse Raph had needed to lock his hard-on up this time, Leo lets out a low huff. 
Yes, maybe Captain Mindstrong had been one of his favorite ships growing up, and maybe he’d made a brief, sloppy edit of The Search for Mindstrong to “MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)” when he was young and confined to bed for three days with painkillers, but that’s not something you just admit. Especially with someone who refuses to connect with the show without hate-watching beyond a magazine (and because he once said he’d liked how happy seeing it made Leo, but good luck getting Raph to admit that pre-orgasm). 
“Yeah, I’d put even money on it,” Raph says. “Ryan probably lets himself get bent over that stupid fucking chair every week.” Leo actually starts to say that he headcanons Dr. Mindstrong as the bottom in the relationship, actually, but he’s interrupted by a) the gag in his mouth and b) a barrage of jarringly bright explosions on screen. 
“Ain’t space supposed to be quiet?” Raph asks, like he doesn’t damn well know the answer. Leo grunts in a way he hopes his brother understands as philistine and tries to turn his attention back to the show. 
But then his concentration is interrupted as Raph’s heels start to scrape back across his shell. “Hold still, damnit,” he hisses, bracing himself with one foot while rubbing the other across the lip of Leo’s carapace. “I’ve got an itch.” 
Leo does hold still, perfectly still, not even trying to raise his head to get a better look at the TV. He lets Raph’s motions rock him back and forth, back and forth, like he really is just furniture, an object. The movement pushes him closer to the ground, knees and elbows rubbed raw, and his hips… 
Oh. Leo swallows hard, trying to shove the impulse back down, but the heat between his legs is blossoming again, the gentle pressure of his cock against the rug at war with cold steel. Damn him and his goddamn kinks. 
“Something the matter?” Raph asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. Damn him, too. Leo would glare, but that’s not going to get him anywhere, so instead he twists his head as far as it can go and looks up at Raph with the most pleading look he can manage. 
Raph raises an eyeridge. “The hell you want?” 
Fuck. Leo lets his tongue peek out around the edges of the gag a little, needy and tempting. The gag he’s wearing is conveniently shaped a bit like a cock, so it’s easy to get the message across. He’s not wild about turning away from the screen, but he’ll be able to listen, and if he times it right, he can come during the commercials… 
“Siddown,” Raph mutters, shoving his head roughly towards the carpet. Leo curls in on himself with what he hopes comes off as a mournful, tall an order as that is through the gag. He waits, seconds slowly ticking by. 
“Fine,” Raph says with a groan. “You get to the end of the season without throwing a bitch fit, I’ll let you give me during the break, all right?” Heh. Raph doesn’t want to miss the show, either. “And if it ain’t up to snuff, you don’t come for a week, all right?” He gives Leo another shove. “Now watch the fucking show. Shit, I’m getting soft.” 
Dramatic as ever, but all right. Leo lets himself relax as much as he can….at least until he can feel the soft, repetitive rubbing start again. Grinding him down, and down, and down. 
He doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder this time. “I told you,” Raph says, not even playing at sincerity. “My feet’re itchy. And the show ain’t even close to over yet.” 
Fine, fine, whatever. Leo grits his teeth, trying to block out the sweet, pulsing torment between his legs as he focuses back on the screen. Maybe he’ll feel Ryan’s name next time Raph fucks him with the gag off, consequences be damned.