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Moments In Time: Wolves Howl	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 1143 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, Hellboy, their characters, or any songs/movies/etc referenced; no money is made by this story. I DO own Alesha, David, and Daisy...and a hard-boiled egg.

Chapter List
- 1-Moments In Time: Wolves Howl
- 1
A/N: AWKWARDNESS ALERT! Ah, the Honeymoon period — that delightful time after a couple's first 'night' together, when everything's shiny and new, pleasure infinitely more intense, and you can't get enough of one another. Sometimes it can take weeks, months, or even years before you can see one another without his testicles saying "Wanna?" and your ovaries screaming "YES!!!" It can take even longer before your friends can see you together without the urge to vomit and slap you both silly. No matter how long or how brief this time is, it can bring oodles of awkward moments and endless fodder for teasing from family and friends. People age, circumstances change, and someday, you won't have the luxury of breaking the bed at any given time. A couple who still love each other madly when the shiny wears off their relationship could really love forever.

Like all of my fiction with the "MIT" or "Moments In Time" title, this is part of my 'Elementals' series, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. "Wolves Howl" occurs during the Hellboy/TMNT portion of the series, about halfway through Donatello and Alesha's ungodly long stay on the Willow Compound.
Dedicated to: My husband, Cold—a country mouse who puts up with city life for love.
Suggested Listening:

[Air Supply- “Now and Forever”]

[Lifehouse- "Hanging By a Moment"]

Moments In Time: Wolves Howl
Spring was in full swing in the Missouri Ozarks when Hamato Donatello finally reached the proverbial 'home base.' At one time, he and his brothers would never have believed that any of them would reach that moment. Then, it actually happened. The moment they tumbled onto his bed, tangled together beyond any hope of ever separating, Don was sure he'd still be wearing a goofy grin for weeks afterward. So far, a full seven days had passed, and he had yet to be proven wrong.
It had started out as just another stormy spring day, and most everyone in the Branson area had been chased indoors by the torrential rain. At least, all the sane folk had stayed indoors. Unfortunately, Alesha's adoptive mother, Daisy, was far from sane, especially when her animals were concerned. One of the calves had broken out, gotten lost, then found itself on a sandbar in the middle of the nearest creek, trapped by rapidly rising waters and scared silly by the downpour. By the time the stupid thing was safe in the barn with its unimpressed Mama, Don and Alesha were soaked to the bone and the grin was finally slipping.
How their attachment began no longer seemed too important, really...in hindsight, he felt it rather unsurprising he'd fallen for her. Her father's Latino blood had been quite kind to her, after all…warm, coffee brown eyes, lovely, soft hips, a pleasantly over-plump behind, and generous bust…even after all the weight she'd lost during her training, she still had curves, and he certainly loved curves. Even more than her curves, though, he loved her quick wit, her snarky, corny humor, her determination, and her confidence…confidence that had done wonders for his own.
It really wasn't fair, he thought almost sullenly as they lurched up the back steps, trailing mud and river scum all the way. They'd nearly drowned rescuing Daisy's stupid calf, and now his brain was threatening to short-circuit. It wasn't like she was baring too much skin — she wore a faded grey tank top, and her baggy brown cargo shorts went below the knees. After a thorough drenching in river water, though, the shorts began clinging like an oddly cut swimsuit, and the tank top lost some of its opacity from the water. Now, the sodden material hinted at a darkly colored under garment that he felt certain was her favorite bra – a simple but feminine number almost the same shade as his mask. He couldn't tear his eyes away...and she'd noticed. Granted, she'd been shooting him heated glances all morning, so at least it wasn't just him.
As recently as March, he'd have been stunned that she matched his hunger, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Now, though, he doubted nothing; they'd only grown closer since leaving the Bureau behind, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd become more comfortable in his own skin, and his self-esteem had improved, along with his disposition. He wasn't as nervous, didn't stress as much, and was more likely to laugh something off than before.
She'd grown as well, he mused as she fought the stubborn lock on the back door. She didn't curse nearly as much as she had when they met, and her eating habits had improved drastically. She didn't chug espresso-laced coffee by the gallon, and had gotten used to using sugar-free peppermints when she needed to concentrate. She didn't wheeze as badly when they ran, she didn't get as tired, and her insomnia had improved. The nightmares that plagued her for ten long years — nightmares of the morning she'd found her late husband dead, still curled up beside her — had finally begun to fade. Of course, some things would never change; though she'd done some growing up, she still had her immature moments — lots of them — and still tended to joke away unpleasant situations.
Finally the stubborn lock turned with a protesting screech, and she flung open the heavy wooden door with a grumbled, "Replacin' that lock whe'er Ma likes it or not!" He paused on the mud mat to unfasten his leather foot-wraps and knee and elbow pads, then tugged his glasses off. He'd intended only to hang his bandana out to dry, but the moment it was off and his glasses back on, he found himself all-but tackled. The worn purple fabric never stood a chance, hitting the muddy linoleum with a protesting 'splat.'
Needless to say, they still hadn't gotten around to putting on dry clothes. They'd just barely made it to Donatello's bedroom in time, and almost missed the bed. They were still working out all the technical details, even after a week of several-times-daily practice, but they were getting the hang of it. So far, no bumps, bruises, or bleeding, and they seemed compatible stamina-wise, so he wasn't too worried. The first time had been pretty embarrassing, but they were still improving. The obstacles they'd faced had seemed surprisingly insignificant....
That is, until today. Swept away by the intensity of the moment and exhausted from nearly drowning, the sudden explosion snuck up on him, and the unthinkable happened...the reason he'd always buried his face in a pillow and held his breath at the last…the one thing he'd sworn to himself he'd never allow in her presence...the only thing sure to chase her away, and smash their finally thriving love to pitiful, pathetic bits....
A loud, growling churr ripped from his lungs without so much as a 'by your leave.'
For a moment they just gaped at one another — he in horror, she in surprise, both rigid from the shock. Humiliated, Don went to scramble away, certain he'd see disgust in his lover's eyes. Unfortunately for him, his legs had chosen a horrible time to turn into jelly. A gentle telekinetic tug on the edge of his carapace, and he collapsed back on the mattress, too wobbly to attempt another escape.
'Ninja?' he thought sarcastically as he rolled onto his stomach weakly. 'How the mighty have fallen....'
"Y'okay, there?" she asked from beside him, herdark brown hair a frizzy, tangled mess. "Did...did I hurt you?"
"Hurt me?" he echoed in disbelief. "You seem to have turned my own legs against me, but no, I'm not hurt. Why?" To his surprise, she blushed. "Al—"
"I thought I hurt ya...ya growled when...I thought I kicked sumthin' important." For a moment, he remained silent, considering the odds of her NOT being grossed out by the truth. After what had just happened, though — all five minutes of it — he decided she deserved the truth, regardless of how she'd react.
"Churred." She blinked several times, more confused after the sudden comment than before it.
"Huh?"
"I didn't growl," he explained quietly, unable to meet her eyes. "It's a turtle thing...biologists call it 'churring.' I...I couldn't stop it in time. I'm sorry."
For a time, she sat silent, her dusky skinned legs crossed shamelessly, and her expression serious. When the suspense became too much, he finally tentatively raised his eyes to hers. A sudden smack on his shielded derriere, executed by an invisible hand, startled a jump and a yelp from him. How the heck had she even reached that?! His shell blocked it completely!
"Sorry," she grinned. "Couldn't help it. 's an Elemental thing...called 'telekinesis.'" The tables had officially turned. He stared at her as though questioning her sanity, but her smirk never faltered.
"You're...You're not freaking out," he stammered. "Why aren't you freaking out? Crud, the headboard! Did I—"
"I assure ya, Donatello, my brain is in the egg-zact same shape as before, give'r take a few 'ndorphins. I don't have a sex-induced concussion."
"It's not impossible, you know," he mumbled.
"Course not. Ya seem to've fergotten sumthin, though. Remember David, my late husband?" He flinched. Wasn't there some unspoken rule about exes and intimacy being kept separate? They were both still naked for crying out loud! Reminded by that realization, he discreetly tucked himself back into his shell, wincing at the sudden clamminess against certain temperature sensitive organs. "Don." She crept closer, wrapping her arms around him from the back. "Listen. What do wolves do...what do they do at night?"
"Prowl," he answered, confused by the sudden change in subject, and more than a little distracted by the feel of bare breasts against his exposed neck. Genius or not, no straight man could concentrate well when confronted with bare breasts. "They hunt, they howl—"
"Yes! Wolves howl!" Abruptly releasing him, she crawled around him, settling in his lap. "Wolves howl, Donnie," she repeated, anchoring his gaze on hers by framing his face in both hands. "Werewolves tend to howl during the moon's waxing and waning gibbous cycles, and especially on the full moon." It took a moment, but finally her words made sense.
"He was a werewolf," he confirmed. "I remember. No wonder you weren't upset."
"Darlin," she chuckled as she shifted in his lap. "There ain't a dang thing wrong with ya — you're a perfect mess, just like the rest of us, an' I wouldn't have ya any other way." His worries silenced and his discomfort eased, he leaned backward into the messy pile of pillows and scattered, still wet towels covering the sheets, one large hand holding her tightly to his stirring nether region.
"We have anymore obligations for the day?" he smirked, tangling his fingers in the frizzy brown hair spilling down her front.
"Hon," she quipped with an 'up to no good' grin. "'ntil mornin', you ain't leavin' this bed for more'n five minutes at a time for anythin' short of the apocalypse. Savvy?"
"What if I brought you coffee?" he teased, clutching the rear that had haunted his dreams since they first met.
"Who needs coffee? You taste better." He laughed, bucking beneath her. She practically purred at the warm pressure, settling herself contentedly on his lap. Hips rolled, spines arched, lungs gasped and sighed, and the dance began anew. Outside their cabin on the hill, thunder rolled a continuous percussion, lightning splintered across the sky, and the downpour intensified yet again.
As long as the rain fell, as long as the winds howled, they would remain undisturbed by the nosy people of the compound. Mother Nature, as though approving their hard-earned union, pulled out all the stops to keep everyone else indoors. The odd couple never noticed; their world stretched no further than the bedroom door.
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Moments In Time: Wolves Howl