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The Containment Clause	By : hummerhouse Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 2278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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The Containment Clause

part 4
            During his exploration of the EPF’s underground facilities, Raph had discovered a small exercise room.
            Having finally talked Don into getting some sleep and safely tucking his brother into bed, Raph felt the need to work off some tension, and he availed himself of the free weights.
            Several of Bishop’s soldiers were in the room and Raph ignored them, although he didn’t remove his sais, something he usually did when working out. The soldiers were attempting to ignore him as well, but Raph could still feel their curious eyes on him as he worked through his weight routine.
            Don had made a minor breakthrough of some sort and having duly sent his report to Bishop, was preparing things for another round of tests when Raph put a halt to that. He had gently but firmly told Don that since he was at a good stopping point that was what he was going to do; stop.
            Although Don put up a token argument, Raph still led him out of the lab and into their bedroom. After making sure Don had fallen asleep, Raph had gone out, closing the door behind him.
            This was the first time in ten hours that Raph had left Don alone. It was the first time since walking into the lab and discovering Bishop with his hands on Donatello that he’d felt comfortable enough to leave his brother’s side.
            “Working a kink out of his neck my ass,” Raph thought. “More like trying ta get kinky if ya’ ask me.”
            The scowl he was wearing as he fumed about the situation proved to be too much for several of the soldiers, who quickly grabbed their towels and left the room. Raph barely even noticed.
            Bishop rushed through the corridors on his way to the main lab, Donatello’s latest report and lab results clutched in his hands. He was ecstatic with Don’s findings and was determined to tell him so, brother or no brother.
            He had been studiously avoiding contact with Don for several reasons, one of which was his large brutish brother. Bishop wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by Raphael; they had fought before and Bishop was quite physically capable of taking the red banded ninja down.
            The problem was that if he were to get into a fight with Raphael, then he would surely lose Donatello, and that was something Bishop could not abide.
            If the price for holding onto Don meant having to stay away from him, then so be it. That was probably for the better good anyway, as Bishop found he couldn’t be in the same room with the purple banded Turtle without certain feelings interrupting his thought processes.
            Feelings were something Bishop could ill afford to have or to give in to. Maintaining a strict discipline over his mind and body allowed him to remain focused on his goals. Aliens had deprived him of the life he was originally meant to have, and he was determined that they would not take over his planet as well.
            Donatello was not in the lab. When Bishop walked in and could not locate the Turtle, an infinitesimal spike of panic stroked along his spine. This feeling was also unfamiliar and unwanted.
            “Where is Donatello?” he asked one of the technicians in a slightly strained voice.
            “His brother took him out of here about ninety minutes ago, sir. He insisted that Donatello get some sleep.”
            Bishop realized he was crushing the papers that were in his hand and he reminded himself to relax. He nodded at the technician and pushed his glasses back up on his nose before turning to leave the room.
            Standing in the corridor, Bishop debated on leaving Donatello alone for a while longer. The Turtle was desperately in need of sleep, and he certainly had earned a respite.
            But the clock was ticking. The Omani consulate had begun making noises about the ship and were asking for details as to the exact nature of the forced quarantine. Thus far, the American Ambassador to Oman was dealing with the situation, but Bishop was not sure how long that would be acceptable to either side.
            He needed to discuss Donatello’s findings with him and get a feel for what the Turtle considered to be the next logical step. If it was something that Bishop’s scientists could begin working on, then Don could go back to sleep.
            Turning towards Don’s bedroom, Bishop reminded himself that Raph would also be in the room, and that he needn’t worry about being alone with the ninja genius. The feelings that were threatening to run rampant wouldn’t surface with the hot headed Turtle anywhere close.
            Outside of the bedroom, Bishop took a deep, cleansing breath, and knocked on the door. Waiting for a couple of minutes, he tried again, just a bit harder.
            When there was still no answer, the strange panicky feeling once again gripped Bishop. Raph hauling his brother off with the excuse that Don needed sleep was exactly the ploy Bishop would expect if the two were actually planning to leave.
            Bishop quickly tried the handle, and finding that it wasn’t locked, he opened the door and went in.
            His eyes went first to the bed and the feeling of alarm faded. Donatello was curled on his side, sound asleep.
            Glancing quickly to the other bed, Bishop frowned and removed his glasses. Raphael was not in that bed, nor was he anywhere in the room.
            Just for a second, Bishop debated leaving. This was not a scenario he had foreseen, having been positive that Raph would be in the room to act as a buffer between himself and Donatello. But Raph had gone off somewhere on his own, for whatever reason, and there was no way of knowing how long he’d be gone.
            Under those circumstances, Bishop decided it would be safe to remain and have a short conversation with Don. Since Raph could walk in at any moment, Bishop knew he didn’t have the luxury of giving in to any impulses he might have while alone with Donatello.
            “Donatello,” he rasped out in a hoarse semi-whisper and then berated himself for sounding so juvenile. “Donatello,” he said again, his voice stronger and more like his usual self.
            Don muttered something but didn’t open his eyes. He shifted in his sleep and rolled over onto his plastron.
            Bishop didn’t get tired, but he recognized what it looked like, and he could tell that the young genius was well and truly exhausted. As much as Bishop hated to do so, he had to wake Don up.
            Walking over to the bed, Bishop leaned down and touched Don’s shoulder so that he could shake him. Before he could move his hand, he caught sight of Don’s tail, just showing from beneath his carapace. Bishop’s breath caught.
            He froze as he stared at the small appendage. Eyes fully dilated, pulse quickening, heart hammering in his chest; Bishop recognized all of the physical manifestations of arousal. The problem was that it was Bishop who was becoming aroused, and that simply did not happen.
            Tired as he was, Donatello still felt a presence next to his bed and slowly pulled himself out of a deep sleep. He was sure it was Raph checking on him, and while Don appreciated the sentiment, he didn’t appreciate being awakened by Raph’s slightly overbearing concern.
            “Mmph, Raph, shell. Can’t a guy get a little sleep without you . . . .” Don got that much out before his eyes fully opened and he saw not Raph, but Bishop bending over him.
            For the first time since accepting Bishop’s proposal and coming to the underground laboratories, Don was truly frightened. Once before he’d had Bishop leaning over him like this, and that time Don was strapped to a table with a dissecting saw looming over his head.
            Don scrambled back away from Bishop so quickly his carapace slammed into the wall. Heart pounding in his chest, Don automatically reached for his bo, only to realize his weapon was leaning against the desk.
            Bishop pulled his hand away and stood upright slowly. His eyes travelled up from Don’s tail, across the heaving scutes, past the muscular neck where he could see the pulse pounding, over the wide sensuous mouth and into the warm chocolate colored eyes.
            “Donatello,” Bishop said, and this time his voice came out husky; his tongue heavy from the need that was coursing through his body.
            Don’s eyes widened. Raph was right in that Donatello’s experience with things of a sexual nature was limited, but it was not so limited that Don couldn’t recognize the hunger that was in Bishop’s voice. He had heard it before in Raph’s, two years ago when they’d had a secret one time tryst. Only then, the sound had sent delicious shivers up his spine.
            The sound of that hunger in Bishop’s voice did not have the same effect on the Turtle.
            “B . . . Bishop?” Don stammered, knowing he should probably make some sort of move rather than squatting with his back against the wall, frozen in indecision.
            The stammer more than anything else had the effect of tossing cold water on Bishop’s face. Blinking, he forced his legs to function, stepping back a pace and then another. Breathing deeply, he managed two more steps away from the bed and watched as Don visibly relaxed.
            “Pardon me for waking you,” Bishop said; his voice now under control. “It was not my intent to startle you so badly.”
            Don blinked and leaped from the bed quickly. Bishop seemed completely poised and so much his usual self that the purple banded Turtle began to wonder if he had been imagining things.
            “Has something happened?” Don asked, and then glanced around the room. “Is Raph okay?”
            “I’m not sure where your brother is at the moment,” Bishop said. “As far as I know he is fine. I just finished reading through your report and felt it needed immediate discussion. I really would not have bothered you if the time frame weren’t so critical.”
            Don crossed the room to where his bo staff was and retrieved his weapon hastily. Once the wooden staff was in his hands, Don began to relax a bit, willing his heart to stop beating so forcefully in his chest.
            “You haven’t seen Raph?” Don asked, the concern in his voice was obvious, but the deeper, unconscious accusation was not.
            Bishop noticed it anyway; he had spent his entire life training himself to the nuances of language.
            “I haven’t done anything to your brother, Donatello,” Bishop told him in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
            “I h . . . hadn’t meant it to sound that way,” Don said, slightly flustered and a little embarrassed. He flipped his bo staff into place on his back in an attempt to hide his discomfiture.
            Bishop watched in fascination as the olive green skin on Don’s face flushed with the tiniest hint of pink. He felt his hand begin to once more squeeze around the papers he was holding and had to will himself to relax. It was obvious his reactions to Don’s presence was having a negative effect on the Turtle.
            “This report,” Bishop said, tearing his eyes away from Don’s face, “says you managed to bind the adaptive molecule?”
            Don composed himself as his mind reverted to the problem they were battling. “Yes. I remembered reading about bacteria expressed from a cell secreted protein having an inhibiting effect on certain carcinogens and decided to try a modification of that on the adaptive molecule. When I tried a protein drawn from the muscular tissue of a rat, there was no effect on the molecule, but then I thought that if this thing is so easily transforming living animal tissue, the inhibitor has to be something organic, but not based on animal life forms.”
            Bishop glanced down at the papers in his hand and then back up at Don, his usually expressionless face showing obvious amazement.
            “So you took cell secretions from a plant?” he asked.
            Don shrugged. “A Venus fly trap to be exact. Don’t ask me why, I suppose I could have chosen anything, but somehow I wanted a plant that had the capability to sense things and move accordingly.”
            Bishop chuckled. “That, my friend, is the difference between a scientist and a genius.”
            Don blushed again and Bishop’s heart did another leap frog in his chest. “I didn’t find a cure yet, so don’t call me a genius. All I managed to do is find a way to keep it from spreading. The compound I created was injected into a rhesus and then we put the monkey into the containment cell with the mutated subject. The mutation immediately attempted to latch on to the monkey, but pulled back just as quickly.”
            Glancing up at the wall clock, Don said, “That monkey has been in the cell for over five hours now, and as far as I know, has still managed to avoid infection.”
            “I just came from the lab,” Bishop told him. “The rhesus is showing no signs of infection and the mutated subject is making no attempt to go anywhere near the monkey.”
            Don ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Now I just need to find a way to break down the molecule completely, so that it’s destroyed but still leaves its host intact.”
            “Do you feel comfortable enough with this to inject a team of my operatives so they can board that ship and gather up all the infected life forms?” At the look Don gave him, Bishop added quickly, “I wouldn’t suggest it except for the fact that the Omani government is threatening to send their own doctors to the ship. If we can transport all of the living evidence back to our labs, the Omani’s can be delayed another forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
            Don was staring at him as he said, “Politics.”
            His tongue flicked out to swipe at his lower lip and Bishop’s eyes fell to the movement, momentarily transfixed. Toes clenching inside his shoes, Bishop watched Don’s mouth move in what seemed like slow motion, and Bishop’s reaction travelled up from his feet to his groin.
            When Don spoke again, it barely cut through the fire that was slowly settling into Bishop’s blood.
            “I haven’t tried that compound on a person, Bishop. I don’t know that I’m comfortable with that idea,” Don admitted.
            Bishop was brusque. “Then let me make the call on that one. I have soldiers who specifically volunteered for high risk missions such as this one. I’ll have some of the scientists replicate your compound and we’ll send a task force onto that ship. You continue to concentrate your efforts on the ultimate cure.”
            Don blew out a long breath, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Once more Bishop’s eyes were drawn to the Turtles mouth and he suddenly found his feet moving again; this time towards Donatello.
            The quick movement took Don by surprise, and he backed away, only to be stopped by the desk pressing into the backs of his thighs. Before he could move, Bishop was right up against him, the papers he’d been carrying on the floor as one of Bishop’s hands wound itself into the trailing end of Don’s mask.
            As Don’s hands came up to shove against the man’s chest, Bishop’s other hand found its way behind the ninja’s body and grasped his tail.
            Don’s gasp of surprise was cut off as Bishop’s mouth covered his.
            The man’s warm, wet tongue swiped around the inside of Don’s mouth before giving chase to Don’s own, dancing against it once it had been captured. Donatello wanted to struggle; he knew he should be putting up some type of a fight, but Bishop’s hand was wrapped around his tail, squeezing and tugging on it so firmly that Don couldn’t think of anything except the warmth that was building in the pit of his stomach.
            Bishop pushed closer to Don, pressing his lower torso into the gap between Don’s legs and rubbing his body against the Turtle’s plastron. Maybe by luck or some previous study of turtle anatomy, Bishop managed to apply pressure to the hidden, softer part of Don’s plastron.
            The movement and the kiss began to stimulate Don’s libido and his hands danced ineffectually across the man’s chest as his hidden manhood became aroused.
            Bishop’s was losing control over his own body, and for the first time in over a hundred years, he let it happen. His tongue tasted Donatello’s mouth and was delighted by what it discovered. The hand on Don’s tail was moving by instinct, and Bishop could tell by the way Don was breathing that his tail was not only sensitive, but that it was enjoying the treatment.
            Pulling air in through his nostrils, Bishop pressed himself closer to the young genius, rubbing his pelvis against the Turtle’s rough plastron. He could feel Don’s muscular thighs squeeze around his legs, and he felt a growing bulge from between Don’s.
            Bishop had studied enough turtle anatomy to understand what he was feeling. It wasn’t exactly the same as a regular turtle, but then Don was a mutated life form; and actually right at the moment Bishop didn’t really give a damn about any of that.
            Right at the moment, Bishop’s penis was coming to life and growing unbearably hard and that was another thing that hadn’t occurred in over a hundred years.
            Don felt Bishop’s erection pressing against him and somehow found enough fortitude to shove hard against the man’s chest, trying to drive him away. Bishop remained where he was, his body rock solid and immovable, his mouth taking Don’s with heated ferocity.
            Feeling Bishop pushing him backwards, Don’s hands left the man’s chest and scrabbled for the edges of the desk, hoping to get enough leverage to prevent Bishop from shoving him back onto his carapace. He hadn’t fully understood after all the years of fighting Bishop just how strong the man really was.
            Bishop’s hand released its grip on Don’s mask, and slipped around between them, playing across the Turtles plastron as it traveled down. Don tried to twist his head away as he felt the hand moving along his center front line, sending up a wave of unwanted pleasurable sensations as it progressed.
            Don knew where that hand was going and desperately wanted to shout his disapproval, but Bishop’s mouth was unrelenting. Letting go of the desks edge with one hand, Don tried to catch Bishop’s wrist, but the man used the opportunity to shove against Don and the Turtle found himself losing his last, grim hold on his balance.
            Seizing the chance, Bishop released Don’s tail and grabbed the arm that was still holding Don upright on the desk. Bishop yanked as hard as he could, and Don’s hand slipped loose.
            With a startled cry, Don fell back, one arm pinned to the desk top and Bishop lying partly across his body. Bishop’s other hand found the bulging slit in Don’s plastron and began to rub against it with determined pressure.
            The warmth of that hand and its firm, unrelenting press against Don’s hardening cock made the Turtle churr, the sound rolling up from deep in his chest. Bishop finally broke the kiss and chuckled lowly, his face inches from Don’s.
            Don found himself staring into the dark depths of Bishop’s eyes. He had thought them to be black, but now it seemed to Don that he could see every color of the rainbow buried in their recesses.
            “Bishop,” Don gasped out, “w . . . what are you doing?”
            “I want you,” Bishop’s voice was guttural and full of long forgotten need.
            “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . this isn’t right,” Don managed to stammer out.
            “If it feels right, then it is right,” Bishop told him, and captured Don’s mouth again.
            Try as he might, Don couldn’t hold back his bodies reaction to Bishop’s hand between his legs. He felt his cock growing as the blood began to fill it, and he felt Bishop’s fingers reaching into his slit to wrap around his shaft.
            Raph was still mumbling under his breath as he stalked through the corridor on his way back to the bedroom he was sharing with Don. Reaching the door, he grasped the handle and pulled down, but the door didn’t open.
            Trying once more, he realized the door was locked. Raph knew he hadn’t locked the door when he left, and he couldn’t figure out why his brother would have gotten up to do so.
            Then he heard a sound from within the room; the deep rumble of a man’s voice and the unmistakable sound of a churr.
TBC…..
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The Containment Clause