Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3267 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 47
- 48
- 49
Great news, Folks! You're about to get your first dose of Farmhouse Shenanigans!
Warning for smut, and another for an uber-cringey Amber-Rant.
Suggested Listening: Skillet "Whispers in the Dark," Toad the Wet Sprocket "Architect of the Ruin," The Afters "Beautiful Love"

47: Burn with Me
September 17th, the Jones' family Farmhouse
The rising sun peeked around the edge of the attic's northern window, sending soft rays of light over the occupants of the old brass bed. Donatello still slept blissfully, mumbling into his pillow every now and then, each time sniffing then breaking into a comforted smile as though reassured of something being near him.
On the other side of the lumpy mattress, Amber perched on her hip watching the dreams flit behind his eyes and the light dance across his skin. This wasn't the first time she'd seen sunlight on Donnie's skin—at least not since they arrived at the farm—but she was sure she'd never tire of the sight. Someone as wonderful, as precious, as gentle and sweet as her Donnie didn't deserve to waste away in the underground, restricted to creeping out under dark of night like some sort of B-movie monster. Donatello, like the rest of his wonderful family, deserved the sunlight, deserved to relish the freedom of fresh breezes and warm rays of light so many of Amber's kind took for granted.
Finally, she tore herself away from the still-dozing genius, crept down the stairs, ducked into the bathroom to straighten the sex-hair she still hadn't earned, then stumbled down the second flight to the kitchen. It was there, babysitting the coffee pot, that another female presence caught her unawares.
"You look pretty put-together for a girl who just spent the night with a hunka-hunka-mutant-love." The corny jest—delivered in an over-the-top Elvis impersonation that would've made Mikey proud—made Amber laugh, and she greeted the other brunette with a bright smile. April had sex-hair, too, she recognized with a chuckle, but something told her the reporter stumbling to the table actually earned hers. After all, she didn't seem the sort to sleep in baggy men's sleep pants.
"Nice," Amber remarked as she searched the cabinets for coffee mugs. "I didn't wake up like this, though—I always wake up lookin' a hot mess, even when I sleep alone, an' didn't wanna give anyone the wrong idea or make anyone uncomfortable." The coffee maker let out a final belch of steam as Amber pulled down three mismatched coffee mugs, and filling one, passed it to April to treat as she chose. April silently thought over the admission while she doctored her coffee, then set it before her to cool.
"I'm confused, Amber." The other-worlder met her eyes silently, patiently waiting for her to finish her statement. "I thought you and Donnie were together—as in together, together, not just sleeping in the same room. You two certainly seem pretty affectionate around the rest of us…did I miss something?" Amber blushed, looking back down to fill the other two mugs of coffee.
"There goes my filter," she muttered under her breath; her mind was already halfway in the gutter, but April's innocent question sent it excitedly diving off the ledge into gutter-ville…and when she got dirty-minded, her brain-to-mouth filter failed.
"Pardon?"
"Nothin'." She winced. "Yeah, O'Neil, Donnie an' I are really together. We're sleepin' together mostly because I get night terrors. If someone's nearby while I'm sleepin', I can wake up from them without trouble; if that someone's Donnie, I can sometimes even get through them without wakin' up at all, but…when I'm sleepin' alone…" Amber cringed, embarrassed by the confession and irritated by that embarrassment. "Until he opened his room to me, I woke up with every passing subway train, an' almost every time, I woke up screamin'. The first time I fell asleep with him was the first time I'd actually slept through the night in this entire new life. He quickly figured out the connection, bein' a genius an' all, an' started tryin'a talk me into movin' into his room so I could get some sleep." She gave the reporter a sheepish smile. "I fought'im tooth'n nail over it, but it's obvious who won…an' it's worked every time."
"So you're just sleeping together for convenience?" April asked dubiously.
"Aw, heck no. Sure, it started for convenience but we're honestly, hopelessly stuck on each other." Amber shrugged, sure she was blushing. "At risk of being too blunt, we're just not at the point where I would be waking up with fresh-fucked hair if I wasn't already prone to it. My hair's got just enough natural curl to be frizzy but not enough to look anything but messy, so I always look like hammered horse-hockey when I get up."
"Lemme get this straight, Girl," April demanded after a quick swig of coffee. "You're not blind, you're a straight adult female without obvious mental or medical limitations or moral misgivings, and you're sleeping with Donnie, but nothing untoward has happened?" Untoward…did waking up naked with his head between her legs count as untoward? April shot a cautious glance at the doorway as if to check for approaching persons, then continued in a lower voice, "You've got eyes, right? You've seen those four, right? They're all absolute beefcakes—they've got the kind of muscles that make women swoon! Heck," she scoffed as if still finding it hard to believe, "If I hadn't found Casey, and if those four didn't feel so much like family to me, I'd totally have hit that!" Stunned by the unexpected revelation, but grinning in agreement, Amber asked,
"Which one?"
"Pick one, they're all tempting," April deadpanned. "They're all pretty handsome, green skin and shell aside…if I absolutely had to pick one most likely candidate…" She considered it a moment. "I'd probably have gone for either Raph or Donnie." Blue eyes shooting skyward, she contemplated her words a moment, then clarified, "Make that just Raph…that loincloth he used to wear could turn a nun into a nympho."
They laughed over the scandalous admission for a moment, enjoying the rare moment of feminine bonding. "I couldn't handle Raph," Amber admitted with a sly grin as she popped a packet of poptarts into the toaster. "We're too alike—we'd be fightin' more often than fuckin' an' frankly, brains're hot. Donnie's perfect for me, even if he wasn't such a sweet, gentle soul…" Her smile finally faded a little. "Not so sure I'm perfect for him, though…I've got a long history, another life with a lotta mistakes, an' I'm barely a step away from nympho myself. It's—It's hard waitin' and all…but Donnie's—he's probably never had another woman willing to let him do what comes naturally…I'm worried I'll push him too far and he'll regret it, or figure out just what a farkin' mess I really am…an' decide he wants somethin' better."
"Clearly he's pretty distracting," April finally stated when Amber fell silent doctoring the two cups of coffee. "That big cup's for him, right? Ya poured in enough sugar to send him headlong into diabetes—he takes his coffee—"
"Black like Shredder's soul," Amber cut her off with a crooked grin, "I know."
"So why'd you sweeten it?" Amber smiled, chuckling at a memory, and made her way over to the kitchen table to top off April's cup.
"Lemme tell ya somethin', O'Neil…my Da was a heavy drinker—a beer snob who enjoyed his lager too much. At the worst point, he'd plow through half a dozen bottles of his favorite beer a day, every day, and Sam Adams ain't cheap by the case when yer goin' through cases a week." The expense, as a matter of fact, was so stiff they actually had to choose between food pantries and taking out a loan a few times during the worst of it…and Douglas O'Brien, at the time, was unemployed again and tired of looking for work in a town with next to no work to be found. "Mum eventually got sick'a his drinkin' bankruptin' us, told 'im the store didn't sell it anymore, an' started buyin' him some nasty cheap crap she knew he hated. Lo'n'behold, he cut it down to a case every other week, sometimes even longer than that."
Her tale over, Amber shot April an impish smile. "I can be pretty ditzy and weird at times, Hon, but I'm not blind—I've seen Donnie slam back his usual coffee in one go without ever comin' up fer air, then a lil' while after, it's worn off an'e needs more, an' later that night he's either still hopped up on caffeine or he has heartburn from all the acid. Anytime I sweeten his coffee, though, he sips it as slowly as possible out of avoidance—the caffeine absorbs better, he doesn't need as much as often, an' he sleeps better that night."
"Huh." April considered the big purple coffee mug thoughtfully. "I…never thought of it that way. He hates it so much he makes it last?"
"Drags it out like a kid takin' medicine," Amber confirmed rolling her eyes. "It worked fer Da, too, fer a while…then he found out my uncle Bart sold his favorite beer from the tap at his pub, an' Da started drinkin' at the bar. It did get'im out'a the house more an' he wound up findin' new work a while after that but Mum never did let Bart live that down, bless 'is heart." She laughed, shrugged, and grinned at the memory of her short pudgy mother shrieking at her much taller and skinnier younger brother, seemingly intent on turning Bart's white hair grey. "I can't stop Donnie from gettin' his own coffee, but at least if I bring 'im coffee, I know he'll go easy on it…not like he can just pop into the corner coffee shop for espresso, right?"
It was meant to come out a tease, but the reminder made both women solemn instead. Fortunately, at that point, the toaster finally popped up the two poptarts and Amber hurried to transfer them to a plate, then the plate and mugs to a plastic tray from the counter. "You do know we'll have breakfast later, right?" April pointed out as Amber turned to leave. "Once everyone's up, Mikey usually goes all out with pancakes, omelets, and the works." Amber blushed at some inner thought—a deceptively innocent one, but in her gutter-brain, it seemed perverse.
"Yeah," she admitted sheepishly, "this is kinda our thing, though. Every Saturday mornin', I bring'im poptarts an' coffee a hummin'bird wouldn't drink, then watch 'im pretend to enjoy the coffee and steal bites of his pastries on the sly." She shrugged at the silliness; April laughed, shook her head at her, and gestured for her to 'get goin' already.'
One moment, Donatello was blissfully lost in a familiar dreamscape—a tall half-bald knob of a hill strewn with unfamiliar wildflowers and surrounded by mist in the hollers below it, and though he was curiously alone, an even more familiar crazy quilt spread out in the tall grass. The next moment, the bitter perfume of coffee stirred him from his sleep. In the very next, a cold draft at his waistline and a suspicious tug there tore him the rest of the way to consciousness. His shorts were being tugged down.
Going from half-asleep to fully alert and defensive in a split second, he lashed out for the hand at his waistband and gripped the wrist tightly in warning. Stunned silent by his sudden waking and reflexive movements, Amber crouched beside him on the lumpy mattress, her eyes wide. A closer look revealed to him that she'd only pulled away the sheet and snagged a loose thread on his waistband—she wasn't pantsing him in his sleep—and he carefully released her wrist, carefully checking for any sign he might have hurt her. All through his apologetic inspection of each sinew, tendon, bone, and joint, she just silently watched him, clearly confused by his reaction.
"Jumpy, much?" she asked curiously as he released her hand, but her face fell when he self-consciously hitched his boxers back up on his waist, making sure they covered everything. "Donnie, what's—"
"It's nothing," he cut her off reaching instead to collect her coffee cup from the bedstand and pass it to her. "Please don't push it. Good morning, by the way."
"Good…morning…" Amber stared at him blankly, scrutinizing his behavior and body language, stunned at what she was seeing. He was afraid of something…and she had a feeling she knew what. "Ya know," she remarked blandly returning her mug to the bedstand without ever taking a sip, "disregardin' the fact that you falsely assumed I was stripping you in your sleep without prior permission, you've already seen all'a me…if you were any other guy, I'd've woken ya up with head before ya ever offered the same."
Instead of striking a positive chord in him, though, the admission clearly horrified him; as his throat worked to swallow back his nervousness, Amber realized he was genuinely afraid of something, and determined to soothe that fear. "Donnie, I care about'cha—I accept ya as-is, warts an' all—even if ya somehow had farkin' tentacles or a five-foot elephant trunk in yer trousers, I'd still feel the same." The visual predictably made him cringe. "It's the man that matters," she insisted more gently. "His package ain't that important—it's just somethin' to help us drive each other insane, nothin' we ain't already got plenty of."
"Why is this an issue?" Donnie asked seriously, grumpy from the sudden wake-up and frustrated by both his own fears and her determination to love him despite them. "Can't you just accept I'm not ready to show myself? Is it really so horrible to want to stay clothed a little longer?"
"Yer the one who woke up freakin' out because I pulled a string off yer skivvies," she reminded dryly. "Yer helpin' me fight my fears, Donnie, an' my fears're a helluva lot more ridiculous than your nads. If you're afraid to open up, let me help—give me a chance to prove that fear's misplaced! If yer freaked out by the oral bit, whatever, that's fine, some guys get squeamish about it an' that's their choice—I won't do anythin' yer uncomfortable with, just—just stop shuttin' me out every time I get too close."
The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, one considering her words and the other waiting for him to make his move. Finally, he crumbled…he confessed. "I'm…Amber, I'm not like what you're used to," he admitted in a huffing sigh. "My brothers and I aren't like human guys down there, we're really…really different…"
"Hawd it, ya numpty. I'm a gutter-brained nympho who hasn't gotten laid since farkin' 2011, an' I've had unregulated internet access—I've probably deleted more questionable search history than you've ever accrued…I know what turtle junk looks like."
"We're not regular turtles, either, Amber Jean." He couldn't meet her eyes. "We were mutated as hatchlings—dosed with mutagenic ooze laced with human DNA! We're not human down there, and we're not fully terrapin, either—we're a really awkward combination and it's—it's just…" He was finally opening up, albeit only a little, and it encouraged Amber to do what she did best—provoke him into spilling the rest by making things awkward.
"What, have ya got a twat, too?" she asked sarcastically. "Two dicks? A shell instead'a foreskin? Maybe yer spunk's radioactive?" Before she could spit out another intentionally off-the-wall and vulgar suggestion, she accomplished her aim—he took a page out of her book and just blurted it out.
"A normal turtle's genitals retract into their tail when not in use," he snapped but his fire faded into embarrassment and he couldn't meet her eyes. "My brothers and I wear pants for a reason, Amber…we…we can't retract anymore, not since we were kids…we kept growing, but our tails stopped when we hit puberty. We're lucky none of us wound up stuck in them because it would've meant…" He shuddered. "…amputation. Some human males go through something similar with their foreskin—Phimosis, the foreskin gets too tight or stops growing and can't be retracted without injury or removal. Well, we're stuck with the opposite—it's harmless but we can't retract into our tails anymore, so everything's just…kinda…" He trailed off, sure he was turning beet red with embarrassment.
"Left danglin' like us mammal-types' junk?" She shrugged. "Ya can't tie it in a knot, can ya? Big whup."
"No, smartass," he grumbled, then admitted, "yeah, it's just—just there…there're a few differences, too, but…" Her arched brow and unimpressed expression spurred him on to finish the explanation, again quickly turning to stare at the bedspread instead of her. "We're…well, if we were regular turtles and our proportions were the same, we'd be too under-developed to ever successfully breed, much less attract a mate."
"Regular turtles can get pretty big I've heard," Amber commented with a visible shudder. "If you're small for turtles, that's actually a good thing. Compared to human males, though…" She glanced pointedly at his crotch and shrugged. "Compared to the average human male, yer obviously hung like a horse, but us human women don't lay eggs—we push fully formed babies out of our twats, sometimes in double-digit poundage, without too much fuss. Well, no fuss compared to gettin' ripped apart from the inside by an alien or somethin' but you've got the idea…fannies can take a beatin' an' still work." He gave a nervous laugh at the mental image that provoked.
"Yeah…uh…I mentioned we still have our tails, right?" He glanced furtively up at her then just as quickly looked away. "And we don't really have…external testicles…they're internal." Another glance revealed her reaction—a 'Meh' shrug, of all things, and he finally began to wonder if he really was overblowing the whole thing a little. "We—normally we all keep tucked up under our plastrons for protection—they're fully fused for the most part but there's enough room at the groin to tuck in if we're not…not fully erect. It hurts to stay tucked when you're not flaccid…and it still hurts getting kicked in the groin."
Amber waited to see if he had any more confessions—anymore supposed dirty secrets he wanted to air out, then finally, asked, "So that's it? That's what you've been hiding yerself over—what you've been freakin' out over every time I suggest returnin' the favor?" He nodded an awkward yes, unable to meet her eyes. She was sure he was secretly projecting his own fears onto her—silently convincing himself she really was as horrified as he thought she would be—and frankly, after so long of that happening, it irritated her. Normally, she had to sugar-coat things like this with Donnie…this time, though, sugar-coating wouldn't do him any favors. She'd tried many times before to help him realize she wouldn't judge him for being different, but it never worked…this time, she needed to go where she'd never gone before.
"Dee, you're so hung up on thinkin' I'm gonna be weirded out by you, but I'm not—aren't you weirded out by my nads?" Stunned, he finally met her eyes, and she launched into what might possibly be her most vulgar and awkward rant ever. "Genitals are weird in any species—human genitals are weird, too, Dee, an' there's a lot that can go wrong with'em. You know I wasn't a nun—you know I had several partners in my last life and lemme tell ya, I saw some friggin' nightmares in'em. One ex had no shaft, just a glorified clit. Another one had a hole in one side—he pissed straight and sideways an' always left it fer me find on the wall then blamed the cat—I didn't even have a cat! An' don't even get me started about that ninny who found a tick on his left nut an' fainted like a girl."
Donnie blinked at her, his only response, so she ramped it up a notch. "Even more often, you've got regular problems. Uncircumcised guys develop some pretty nasty stanky spunk~ under their foreskin that might cause cervical cancer. Humans got hair down there, too, an' it can get stuck in some pretty weird an' painful places. If ya keep it short, it's easier, but too short an' it feels like you're humping broken glass." Nope, still nothing. "An' God forbid yer a ten-second Tammy who pairs up with a two-hour Tommy—once ya get oversensitive, havin' a pair'a balls smackin' ya every time he moves really hurts!" Finally some response—a slight cringe, not nearly enough to shut her up but it was progress.
"Dicks aside, us female humans have weird bits too, ya know." She shuddered in emphasis. "Twats always smell funny to us no matter how well we clean'em but the guys never really seem to care. There's a delicate balance in there, an' if anythin's off, ya can wind up with an infection from it—even havin' too much sugar can make some women prone to yeast infections, an' those're a bugger to get rid of!" Another wince…still not enough, and honestly, she was finally feeling a little less stressed from all the verbal vomit.
"Not to mention periods—ARG! Every month we have to go through the horrors of painfully purging unused placentae, and damn that shite's foul! We get moody an' bitchy, an' guys start actin' like little boys afraid'a cooties! Ya can still screw on your cycle but it's a mess—couples who aren't willin' to put up with the mess an' pain end up goin' without for a week every time, an' more often than not, both parties still feel frisky despite it! Even if ya don't dive headfirst into Red-Wing Hell, ya can wait until it seems clear—days after any traces of red—only to find out, nope, ya weren't done, after all, an' he looks like he farkin' murdered ya with his nads! That sort'a 'oh shit!' look stays with a person, too!"
Okay…Donnie was looking a little greener than usual and she probably made her point. Belatedly deciding to skip the rest of the horrors coming to mind, she shot him a deadpan glower. "Y'all think yer junk's weird? Y'ain't seen weird 'til a licensed doctor actually tells ya to stuff yogurt up yer cunt if the antibiotics don't work." Pointedly ignoring the long awkward, horrified silence she created, Amber snatched her coffee and one of his Poptarts from the bed-stand, took a big bite out of the Poptart, and stared at him, chewing through her I'm so not bluffing stare.
The crickets that might have once filled the silence, she was sure, were all elsewhere now and needing therapy. Just as Donatello opened his mouth to speak, a distant voice rang out below—Mikey hollering that breakfast was ready. Without a word, the couple decided to table the conversation until they were both feeling less grossed out and upset and slouched down to meet the others for breakfast.
"Geez, Bruh!" Mikey piped up the moment he saw Donnie stumble into the room. "What happened? Ya look like yer about to chuck!" Feeling unusually devious—and honestly still pretty irritated at him for assuming she'd judge him over something he had no control over—Amber struck before he could answer. She patted the genius on his arm sympathetically, then turned to April who was digging through the fridge for something.
"Don't suppose we' got any yogurt, do we?" A loud choking sound filled the room and Donnie bolted for the back door; from the sound of it, he barely made it to the trash barrel before he started dry-heaving into it. The pathetic sound kind of made Amber regret the tease…but then again, she was still pretty pissed at him, too. Without saying a word, Amber took a seat at the table and started loading her plate with pancakes and bacon.
"What'd you do?" Mercy demanded with her arms crossed. Amber glared across the table at her.
"Curiosity didn't kill that cat—satisfaction turned it into street-pizza."
Donatello didn't return to the kitchen after his dramatic retreat, or show up for lunch; as day turned to dusk, he was still missing. Long after the plates were cleared away and as the horizon began to dim and grey, Amber sat slumped over on the brass-framed bed staring at his big purple coffee mug and the other poptart—still untouched—and ruminating. It was obvious even to her that she went too far in making her point—it was even more obvious now, that she probably made things a whole lot worse. Even if she hadn't totally screwed up, she regretted that she'd actually made the genius physically ill with her overload of TMI and that after even hearing about people pairing him up with his brothers was met with just a cringe and "Well, that's gross." The overload of cringey facts she dumped on him was worse than garbage…and she felt worse than even that for having dumped them on him, even out of hope it would help him realize he wasn't quite so weird compared to her species. On top of all that, she spilled unpleasant details about past partners—even though her previous relationships were normally kept out of discussion because they intimidated him—and even though she intended only to help, she probably made him wonder if she'd someday spill details about his junk to someone else, too! She'd never spoken before of such details to any partner, but he couldn't know that…and it shamed her.
One thing was certain: Amber needed to apologize…but to apologize to him, she had to find him first, and no one had seen hide or hair of him since he bolted out of the kitchen. Amber had searched all over for him but to no avail, worried sick he might really be hurt or missing…only one place was left untouched, and that was the one she had intentionally avoided. Donnie was so excited to show her the barn's loft yesterday, but now…just inviting herself up there now might be incredibly unwelcome. Checking her other options and finding none, she turned to the second, untouched poptart, still waiting for him. Finally, steeling her resolve, she snatched up the pastry and the mug and stalked down to the kitchen, paused long enough to toast the other packet of poptarts, dump out the coffee, rinse his cup, and pour him fresh. Sure she was about to make yet another monumental mistake, she slipped out the back door and headed to the barn.
It took some coaxing to convince her to mount the rickety steps to the loft—more out of embarrassment and shame than fear—but when she reached the top, sure enough, she found her quarry. Silent, still, he slumped over at an old metal corner desk and stared down a foot-and-a-half-high stack of empty noodle cups, the topmost crammed full of empty food wrappers; he didn't give any sign of noticing her even though the doorway was wide open and the stairs creaked with every step. "So that's how ya skipped lunch after missin' breakfast," she mumbled without greeting him or taking the last step up.
"I tend to get pretty involved in my work out here," he mumbled without looking at her. "I keep a food stash on hand just in case…it didn't last as long as I hoped. If anyone ever ends up trapped in here, their chances of survival are pretty low without adequate foodstuffs." They fell silent again, both lost in their thoughts and trying to find a way to get past the elephant in the room.
"Uh…ya never got your poptarts or coffee this mornin'." She shifted in place, eyes darting from the loft floor to the door downstairs and back again. "I brought'em up…an' some fresh coffee…it's unsweetened." The elephant in the room seemed intent on smacking the stuffing out of her, so she backed a couple steps downward and set the cup and plate on the floor. "I'll just leave'em here for you."
"Or you could just bring it over instead of running off like I'm going to vomit on you." She looked up again, this time finding herself eye to eye with him…and to her absolute confusion, he almost seemed like he was teasing her like she so often teased him. "Please?" That word got her brain working again. She cleared her throat awkwardly, bent to retrieve the dishes again, and carefully made her way up the rest of the steps and over to set them on the desk before him. He glanced casually down at the plate, registering that the untouched poptart from that morning was joined by two more freshly toasted, and he met her eyes again with an arched eyebrow.
"Those were for tomorrow...figured you'd need'em more now." He reached out to the mug, gave it a suspicious sniff, then took a tentative sip and frowned.
"You didn't sweeten it?"
"You don't like sweet coffee." Amber refused to meet his eyes. "If it's sweet, you don't guzzle it…I just figured you shouldn't have to suffer the sugar this time." His expression perplexing, he shoved the mug back toward her, dug through his apparent 'snack drawer' for a pile of little white packets, and dropped them on the table next to it in a silent hint.
"Every Saturday," he reminded her with a faint smile, "even when we were fighting, you've always brought me Poptarts and too-sweet coffee on Saturday mornings. Is one incident really worth ruining that record?"
"But you don't—"
"It's grown on me, Braids." He shrugged, giving the pile of packets another hinting nudge toward her. "Humor me—dump all those in the coffee, please?" Was this—was this some sick way for him to get back at her? He did tend to get passive aggressive when he was angry, but this didn't seem passive-aggressive…it was just weird…but…he did say please… As requested, she dutifully shook down and tore open each packet, and one by one dumped their contents in the coffee cup. When she finished the last one, Donnie snagged a plastic spoon from the snack drawer, stirred the cup, and raised it to his lips for another sip. "That's better," he remarked. "Completely disgusting and completely perfect."
"Have you been drinking?" Amber finally demanded visually comparing the dilation of his pupils and sniffing the air for any trace of alcohol or drugs, or anything that might be making him act so oddly.
"Just my too-sweet coffee." He gave a half-shrug. "I'm not sick or under any influences, either."
"Then why're you being so—so farkin'—nice to me?!" This demand was almost spat at him, but it carried an undertone of hurt. "I can take it, Dee—ya don't have to butter me up before ya bawl me out!"
"I'm not being nice to you, Amber," he insisted softly even as she shook her head in denial. "I'm just…" He heaved a sigh, dug his fingertips into the back of his neck, and tried to find words that weren't coming.
"I'm sorry, dammit!" The moment the words slipped out, she turned away so he wouldn't see her watering eyes. "Ah'm sorry fer—fer dumpin' all'a tha'—"
"Don't apologize for telling me what you did." The sudden appearance of the sharp tone she'd been expecting startled her. "I would've figured it out on my own anyway, and some of it I already knew…I just didn't realize you were so—so—"
"Oot ma nut?" Amber supplied over-emphasizing the unfamiliar pronunciation sarcastically.
"…hurt," Donnie corrected, reaching out to lay a hesitant hand on her back. "I never considered about how you might feel about my fear of our differences—or how it made you feel when I kept pushing you away then blamed something that never even entered your head. You're not a judgmental person, Hon, and I know you'd never judge me lacking for being different…you'd never do the same thing others did to you as a kid."
"That was different," she grumbled. "That was human beings judging another human being for talkin' funny, actin' odd, an' not fittin' into their preconceived notions of normal, not—"
"It's not different." He bodily turned her back to him. "I'm only partly human, granted, but all this time, I've been convinced I was Amber and you were the townsfolk. I assumed you'd be put off by so many things that just make me who I am—my eyes, my tastes in music, my attraction to you—" He shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. "This was just one more incident of assuming you'd react with disgust rather than acceptance, even though you'd never given me any sign you'd do so. You finally told me about your world, about the ugly truths you tried so hard to keep from me, and I told you not to assume you know how I'll react…as if I haven't been doing the same thing to you this whole time."
He turned to stare at the mug of coffee, scowling weakly. "I've been a hypocrite and you called me on it. Don't apologize for that, Braids. If you really want to be sorry for something, be sorry for being so bloody patient with me, for not calling me on it sooner, and for taking responsibility for the whole mess when half of this 'pooch' was mine." Amber had to snort at that.
"I'm usually pretty adept at screwin' the pooch all on my own," she admitted with a dry laugh. "Sharin' one's a new experience…any clue who had the end with teeth? Cuz they might need a rabies shot." Cringing at the mental image, Donnie threw one more demand at her.
"Who cares? Don't forget to apologize for eating my poptart, either. Pastry-thief." She shot him a 'seriously?' expression and he shrugged. "What? You know blueberry's my favorite…and you forgot to sweeten the coffee, too."
"Well, sah-ree fer yer poptart," Amber drawled. "An' you'll regret the coffee bit—next time I'll dump the whole shaker jar in it instead'a just half!" Finally, sensing that the air was cleared between them, he held his arms open for her and waved the hesitant brunette over; a breath later, he pulled her down to perch on his knee like so often before, holding her close and petting her hair, and nuzzling her scalp contentedly. "Is this where you turn into some weird Freddy Kreuger creepoid an' cut off my face in retaliation?" He laughed aloud rubbing noses with her with a goofy grin.
"Nah. This is where I admit I was an idiot for assuming you wouldn't do your research before you moved in with me…and that you were right…humans are the weird ones." His eyes grew solemn, and he seemed to work himself up to something; the hand not cradling her to him lifted to her cheek, his knuckles brushing along her jaw then teasing the corner of her lips back up into a smile. "It's…it's also when I say I'm…ready to—to get past those unfounded fears…ready to let you prove what I should have already known…and ask if you're…uh…ready for that, too."
Surely he wasn't…no, he…no way! No matter how she turned the statement in her head, though, she still came up with the same answer. "You're—yer ready to move on? To let me—"
"You lay yourself bare to my scrutiny without hesitation," he reminded, breath shaky and voice cracking, "and I'm ready to lay myself bare to yours, now. I am...I'm yours." Floored, Amber realized there really was no possible way to misconstrue his meaning again. Still, she didn't want to push him—pushing him was what caused their fight, after all.
"Eh…ya mean…when we get home? Or…um…"
"Unless you'd rather wait, not really…I'd…I'd rather not have someone else in earshot this time." He caught up her wrist and studied the unmarred skin pointedly, and she winced. For several days after the first time let me take care of you was actually physically followed by taking care of her sexual needs, Amber's wrist bore a distinctive bruise pattern from her own teeth…At the time, it was too hot to wear long sleeves and the rest of the family picked up on the significance pretty quickly when Amber started wearing Lefty's bandana around her wrist. Even now, while the general catcalling and teasing from the others was over, Mercy still sometimes razzed her about it when she knew no one else was listening. Best friends really could make life a living Hell…but boy it was worth it!
"After what happened last time," Amber admitted with a sheepish smile, "it's probably best we don't wait for an audience. I just—I just don't wanna rush ya, Dee, I waited a—" A callused fingertip on her lips silenced her.
"I know, Honey. You waited a lifetime for me and you'd wait as long as you had to if it meant keeping me…but we've done that dance long enough by now—you're going to keep me even if you don't wait anymore, and frankly, haven't I made you wait long enough?" His eyes dropped to her lips and the fingertip on them traced them thoughtfully, slowly veering across her cheek. "Aren't you ready to quit waiting for me to catch up and start dragging me along with you instead?" He gave her a nervous smile; she reached up to entangle the fingers sliding along her jaw and stole the smile from his with a kiss. She was ready—more than ready.
Everything was well again between them…everything would be alright. Finally content that she didn't ruin everything, Amber let herself fall into her old habit of teasing Donnie. Running her hands over his bare shoulders she turned to straddle his lap instead of perch on his knee. Despite her initial skepticism, she could feel the truth—there was no denying what his body told hers. She dipped one hand down between them to cup his swelling groin.
"Gantin' fer a lay,♦ are we?" The tease came in a soft voice and a sly grin, her lips trailing to the sensitive part of his neck where his pulse raced; he sighed and arched into her touch, his breathing shallowing. "Me, too, my sweet speccy," she whispered against the fragile skin just below the thin cartilage shielding his ear. "I've been wantin' ta git those breeks off'a yer backside ever since we met…even before then, if I'm honest with meself."♦ When she sat back to take in his expression, she saw eagerness, affection, and naked, unabashed desire rather than fear. Much better.
Donnie's eyes darted across the loft to the far wall, where an old bifold futon sofa was tucked up under the low pitch of the roof, already lying flat like a bed after his nap earlier. This glance was Amber's only warning before the world turned topsy-turvy; a moment of rapid stomach-turning motion later, she found herself inexplicably relocated across the room onto the mattress, still in his lap. She couldn't wrap her head around how he managed such a thing and asked simply, "Ninja?"
"You know it," he teased, then urged her off of his lap. Clearly intent on approaching the unveiling of the uglies like ripping off a band-aid, he shakily reached down to his fly to yank at the zipper. Gentle hands stilled him, pulled his hands away from his pants and guided them instead to her hips.
"Relax, Sweets." She crawled back into his lap and pushed him onto his carapace in the musty pinstriped sheets. "You can rush lust, but ya can't rush love-makin'. 'Til I met ya, it was always just scratchin' an itch, but as long as I've been yours, it's always been more about feedin' the burn." Her right hand trailed across his plastron seeking out the faint fu-whump of his heartbeat, and she guided his opposite hand up to her own heart; illogical as she knew it was, she could have sworn they were beating in time to the same drumbeat. Before he could ask what she meant, she swept down to meet him, brushing her lips over his. "Itches go away in time and it's not so tough gettin' rid of'em…fire won't go out until it's given no other choice—until it's smothered from mistreatment or until it's left you a pile of cinders…any scratchin' will just fan the flames, an' every bit'a contact makes the heat rise."
She saw it in his face the moment he finally figured out the meaning behind her riddle, her words between the words. His eyes widened and misted over, his lips tightened and his Adam's apple lurched in a forced swallow; trembling, he drove his other hand up into her hair and beckoned her back to him.
"Amber…" Between brushes and nips he whispered her name against her lips, relishing the pheromones and the heady scent of her eager body. "Il mio bellissimo amore…♦ My sweet, precious, confusing little Celt." The new endearment—melodic in rhythm and husky in tone—sent armies of gooseflesh pillaging her skin. Yet another confession hidden behind a borrowed tongue, and yet another that sounded almost familiar. Hazel eyes locked on hers, veering golden green in the light from the window—Amber's breath caught in her lungs, dependent on his next words. "Burn with me?" She had only one answer…
"Always."
Time moved strangely for the lovers in the loft—it surely mustn't have been much time at all but it seemed years passed with each moment, each age marked by another shed item of clothing. Cloth wraps were spilled on the floor like forgotten party streamers—a particularly cumbersome brassiere lay crumpled somewhere across the room, hurled to its death by resentful hands—his ever-present cloth mask hung off the bedrail and her glasses waited on the shallow windowsill. By the time only two articles remained—her simple cotton briefs and his sensible black boxers—both felt lightyears away from what they were when they first sprawled across the thin mattress.
Amber didn't rush him—the journey was half the fun, after all. She first explored him through his boxers, then, when he was ready to tear them off from impatience, she slipped her hand past the hem and acquainted herself with the feel of his sweat-damp skin. When she finally peeled the garment away, the chill of the air startled a gasp from his lungs—a gasp he buried in her hair while she snuck her first real look at him. For a moment, she felt nervous—worried and intimidated, and concerned that he might actually be big enough to do her some lasting damage—but she silenced that fear and gave it to the goosebumps parading up and down her skin. Donnie was always careful with her—he'd never be reckless with her. Fear had no place in these stolen moments, let alone fear of what could go wrong. One thing was certain, though: she'd never manage to get her mouth fully around him past the head, not with her small jaw and harsh overbite…still, that realization excited more than worried her. She couldn't wait to climb that nerd like a tree.
When she first started easing herself down toward his feet, Donatello followed every inch of the way, not yet ready to relinquish her lips. Ultimately he wound up propped up on his forearms with the pillow behind him forgotten; with bated breath, he stared down at the perplexing woman curling up between his spread thighs, watching in both fear and anticipation as she acquainted herself with the secrets bared to her. Long, gentle strokes of soft fingers—eager breaths teasing his sensitive, overheated skin—when finally he felt the first lazy lap of her tongue on the crown, it felt like his more intelligent head combusted from the shock. Before he could do more than register the cold air again, that wet warmth returned tenfold—smooth lips stretched around his head, her always sharp tongue soft and teasing at the pronounced dip in his glans. A guttural, raspy moan ripped from his lungs, rattling at the end from another of his mutant oddities—the churr he'd always managed to suppress or muffle. The little minx responsible took it as an encouragement, if the grin in her unfocused eyes was any indication. It wasn't long before she was learning and exploiting his every weak spot, determined to ruin him.
Time slowed even further—it slurred into an endless jumble of suckling lips, careful teeth, and a teasing tongue. His hands tangled in her hair marked the seconds and the spastic twitching of his tail, the minutes. Hoarse moans and rattling churrs counted down to the point of no return and pleased, hungry whimpers and whines against his over-sensitive skin urged him onward. The next point of reference came as an almost painful spasm in the region of his pelvic muscles—a warning if he ever felt one. Donnie shuddered, one hand clenching in the musty sheets and the other lashing from Amber's hair to grip her shoulder. "Get up here," he croaked. She looked up in question but never released him from her lips. "Please, Honey, c'mere!" Her teeth scraped as she pulled free, wrenching a sharp hiss from his lungs.
"Are—" Amber didn't get to finish the statement; instead she found herself hauled up to his chest and bodily turned toward his feet. Relief rushed through her at the frantic hands yanking away her underwear—a pinch at her hip, then the sound of a ripped seam—and fingertips digging into her soft, full hips. He wasn't trying to rush their first time. He always seemed more comfortable frying her brain than receiving one-sided pleasure himself; he was lost in her, drowning and overwhelmed, and he wanted to reciprocate. No complaint.
Normally, he eased her into their encounters—he tempted her with soft, teasing nuzzles, licks, and kisses before pulling out the stops to send her skyward—normally, however, she wasn't sending error codes and overload warnings through his conscious. Amber's legs turned to jelly as her lover dragged her down to his mouth and threw himself straight into sucking, nipping, and digging his nails into her hips and rear. It was all she could do to take up her own end of the torture again—all she could do to keep from clenching her jaw and digging her teeth into his hyper-sensitive skin when his near-constant groans and churrs sent electric jolts straight from her clit up her spine.
He dug his fingers into her channel without preparation—first one on its own followed by a few quick tugs to each point of the compass, then a few quick pumps later, both at once. The first several times, it had hurt to take both thick fingers at once even when he went slowly; now it was easier, and mostly painless after the stretching. A guttural utterance of her name punctuated the first of a series of flicking come-hithers, and a curse muffled in her curls followed the clenching of her muscles. "You're…killing…me…" he grit out. Amber couldn't even string two words together, and settled for squeezing one tense thigh. She didn't release her quarry to answer, but she had to agree with him…he was killing her, too.
The tides turned in the blink of an eye—it was too strong to hold back and came on too fast to do more than yank her mouth off of him before her jaw locked. Searing fire spread from the lips still worrying her clit all throughout Amber's body, from her curling toes to her heaving lungs and burning eyes. Tense, over-sensitized, shuddering and alternatively clenching and falling limp, she cried out for him—sobbed his name in a voice that went straight to his heart and groin. Before he could even manage a warning, the world fell down for him, too, exploding in a shower of light, heat, and fire that fairly blinded him.
By the time his rattling churrs were fading into sated groans and his wet leavings were cooling on their skin, he finally came back to himself again only to find his teeth sunk into a fleshy cheek. Amber was panting like she'd run for her life, collapsed against his front and shuddering with aftershocks, but she said nothing. Silently chastising himself for losing control enough to bite her—an evolutionary hangover he hadn't expected but probably should have—Donatello carefully pried his still-clenched jaw loose and his teeth out of her glute. She wasn't bleeding and the skin wasn't broken but the teeth marks imprinted in her skin were sure to leave a nasty bruise; somehow he was too drained to be too bothered by what could have happened, and he let his head fall back into the pillow with a gusty sigh. Freed, she rolled off to the side and collapsed onto the mattress beside him—too sore to care that his feet were by her head and too tired to favor her stinging rump.
"You bit…my arse." She gave a breathless chuckle and feebly shook her head. She didn't seem upset; maybe she foresaw that instinct?
"You bit me first," he retorted, blushing and embarrassed, but he didn't really feel the shame he thought he should. Of course, the unintentional scraping of teeth on his head stung but it wasn't liable to leave any marks. Amber gave a tired shrug.
"Wha' can I say?" she slurred reaching over to pat his bare thigh. "Yer damn good at that—pure fit tae kill me then brin' me reit back."♦ Though he was driven to exhaustion, Amber's teasing brogue sent tremors along his skin and blood racing through his veins. The linens were ripe with scent and pheromones, his and hers mingled together—an addictive blend if he ever smelled one. Before his brain could clear enough to contemplate the alternative, he dragged himself between her legs again and hefted her trembling thighs over his shoulders.
"You've gotta be—" The tease fell short in a surprised cry, then a soothing nuzzle to her flushed mons softened it to a sigh; her hands drifted to his scalp, cradling and caressing. "Fer fook's sake, Dee, yer insatiable!"♦ He didn't answer her—he just chuckled against her slick lips, grinning smugly at how the vibrations made her jolt, clench, and pitifully moan. Amber was sure this was his way of saying, 'you know it.'
When the shrill beeping first started echoing through the farmhouse's ground floor, Leonardo was bewildered and couldn't think of any possible source. That changed when he set aside his book intent on checking the smoke detectors, only to find the weather radio sitting on the end table going ballistic. Surprised to see it there instead of glued to Amber's hip—wherever she was at the moment—Leo switched the dial from 'alerts' to 'weatherband' and turned the volume down to hear the forecast warning.
"A possibility of Severe weather has been forecast for this area starting Monday afternoon," the automated report stated in a canned, robotic tone. "Expected hazards include high winds...severe thunderstorms…and damaging hail. Mild to moderate damage may occur to vehicles…and buildings. This is a radar-indicated threat…and—"
The hinges on the front door groaned in protest, startling Leo into action; he shut off the broadcast station and turned the radio around so whoever came in wouldn't see the flashing red alert light on the front. Sure enough, the screen door creaked open and Amber and Donatello stumbled through attached at the hip and positively reeking of one another. A few places on Donnie's bare plastron looked much…shinier than usual…like something got smeared on it…and was left…to…dry… Bile rushed up Leo's throat; he grimaced in realization of what must have happened out in the barn. It made his skin crawl realizing what his little brother was up to, but at least he didn't have to hear it in the room over his. Upon seeing him in the living room witnessing their walk of shame, Amber froze, turned beet red, and tried to hide behind the taller mutant; Donnie gave his brother a sheepish smile and grabbed at his neck. Leo responded with an awkward, forced smile—more of a cringe, really, but they weren't going to tell him so—and he glanced pointedly at the stairs.
"The others are out on the porch—the bathroom's free." Amber winced at the unspoken order. "You know where the towels are." The abashed couple mumbled their thanks and hurried upstairs to scour off the stickiness and fresh-fucked smell. In their wake, Leo turned back to his book, breathing through his mouth and trying to convince himself he didn't just run into his younger brother and pseudo-sister reeking of sex and still covered in…
No. Do not go there, Leo! They were out in the barn, Donnie's got projects out there—it's probably grease or something. …nope. That didn't help any. He was scarred for life. At least they'd be returning home the next afternoon; the couple tended to be more discreet with their affections at home.
Dinner was like any other dinner the odd family shared—Mercy and Raphael flirted outrageously just to annoy the rest, Mikey talked almost non-stop, Leo shot his brothers constipated frowns over lapses in manners, and everyone ate far more than they should have. The only unusual occurrence was Amber repeatedly squirming and shifting in her seat as though favoring a sore buttock. Leo refused to contemplate the reason and pointedly ignored her blushing and the creaking of her chair. Unfortunately, someone didn't get the message.
"You okay, Sis?" Michelangelo asked after yet another loud creak; in her embarrassment, the brunette dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter and tried to cover up her embarrassment by taking a long swig of water. Red-faced with embarrassment, she nodded in answer and tried to focus on keeping her filter in check. Perhaps misinterpreting her reaction, Mikey turned a glare on Donnie, completely missing the brainy turtle's cringe. "Bruh, I told ya you need'a bug-bomb that loft," the youngest scolded. "Somethin' probably bit her!"
Amber choked on her water and started hacking it back out of her lungs; though he'd normally assist by whacking her on the back, Donnie just gaped at his brother in silent horror. "We don't need Sis turnin' into Spider-Dudette over some radioactive spider bite from your mad-sciency stuff out there," Mikey continued uncontested despite Leo viciously kicking him under the table. "That kinda stuff never works out well, even in comics!" Still coughing and beating her chest, Amber screeched her chair back from the table and rushed out of the room before she embarrassed herself further.
Mercy glared at her friend's retreating back. She recalled the suspicious tooth-marks on Amber's wrist not too long ago…and she suspected this was another such incident. Grinning slyly, she hollered out the door at the fleeing woman, "Didja at least bite it back?" A gruff Scots curse rang out on the stairs in reply. Donnie was practically purple in the face and hiding the worst of it in his hand, his shoulders quaking in smothered laughter. Mercy silently interpreted this as a 'yeah, she did.' Meanwhile, Mikey continued on in his tangent about radioactive spider-bites being a menace to public safety and started listing off the first signs of having been bitten by a radioactive spider. Leo wouldn't look at anyone and he seemed to have lost his appetite.
Mercy turned to Raph, glanced pointedly at the mortified genius and Amber's empty chair, then shot her boyfriend a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Raph, easily following her train of thought, cringed in disgust and elbowed her in the side. Supposedly oblivious to the tension filling the room and not connecting the dots for himself, Mikey continued his rant unhindered. An unusually loud and nasal snort slipped through Donnie's fingers followed by an almost painful wheeze.
At least, Leo considered as he stared down his half-empty plate, Amber and Donnie were stinking up the barn this time instead of the pantry.

UP NEXT: coincidences or patterns in Did I Have a Dream, or Did the Dream Have Me?
Glossary

♦ Hawd it, ya numpty – Scots "hawd it" – stop that/hold it, "numpty" - lovable idiot, denotes affection and teasing.
♦ Fanny / Fannies – Scottish slang for either female genitals or a person's backside; Amber usually uses it with the first meaning.
♦ Oot ma nut – Scottish slang out of my head or rather gone crazy, or being ridiculous.
♦ Gantin' fer a lay – "Gantin'" – Scots slang for yearning for/begging for sex and "lay" – general slang for sex.
♦ Breeks – Scots pants
♦ Il mio bellissimo amore – Italian, My beautiful love, hopefully correctly translated. Remember, Donnie's a boredom-triggered polylingual genius. Extra: the song for this scene, "Beautiful Love," features this endearment (in English) along with several instances of comparing love to fire.
♦ Wha' can I say? Yer damn good at that—pure fit tae kill me then brin' me reit back. – What can I say? You're damned good at that—you're talented enough to kill me then bring me right back from the dead.
♦ Fer fook's sake! – For fuck's sake!
- 47
- 48
- 49
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A New Lease on Life