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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 6
            Raph and Don lay tangled together on Donatello’s bed. Don was wrapped protectively in Raphael’s arms, his head tucked under Raph’s chin. Don was still dozing lightly, but Raph had awakened, his nerves too on edge to allow a proper, deep sleep to take him.
            He was starting to worry, really worry, about what was going to happen after Don had managed to get this latest outbreak contained. That Don would be able to solve the mutation problem was never a question as far as Raph was concerned; he had far too much faith in the genius’ abilities.
            Raph also understood better than most the incredible pull of Donatello himself, and that was what was giving his mind so much difficulty. He and Don had stopped short of going any further than some fairly heated kisses and light touching; both felt that the time and place didn’t warrant further exploration.
            The fact that there would be further exploration made Raph’s heart jump into his throat and his arms tighten around Don’s sleeping form. He had spent two years keeping his wants and desires for his purple banded brother buried as best he could, and now he didn’t have to hide himself from the object of his desire any longer.
            It was a gloriously promising feeling to know that Don returned that same devotion and need. Now the problem was to keep Don out of Bishop’s clutches, because the man was obviously as overcome with desire for Don as Raph himself was. Raph however, had managed to keep his longing under control; Bishop apparently didn’t have that same type of mastery over his hunger.
            Narrowing his eyes, Raph began to wonder if these feelings were new to Bishop. That would certainly explain how aggressive he had been with Don. Overcome with a rush of strange, body engulfing emotions would certainly account for Bishop’s behavior. Two years ago, Raph had felt that same rush, and had hurt Don in an adolescent sexual encounter that neither understood enough about at the time.
            Well, Raph was older and much wiser. Don would not get hurt this time; not by anybody and anything. Raph would do his damndest to make sure of that.
            Don shifted and snuffled into Raph’s neck, making the larger brother smile.
            “You awake Raph?” Don asked in that melodious voice that reached down to curl Raphael’s toes in pleasure.
            “Yeah,” Raph told him quietly. “Ya’ don’t have ta get up just yet. Ya’ could use some more sleep.”
            Don nuzzled Raph’s shoulder as he pulled back from his brother’s grip.
            “The longer I sleep, the more of a problem that mutating ooze becomes,” Don told him. “They’ve probably cleaned all the life off of that ship by now, and brought them all here into the holding lab.”
            “What happens after, Don?” Raph finally asked what was in the forefront of his mind.
            Don propped himself up on one arm so he could look down into Raph’s face.
            “After?” he responded, his brows crinkled together. “When we’ve found a cure? We go home.”
            “Are ya’ sure about that?” Raph asked. “Somehow, I seem ta remember ya’ saying ya’ needed to have a conversation with Bishop about that part of the deal. Ya’ were so het up excited with tackling a new challenge and getting ta play with a bunch of new toys, ya’ didn’t exactly outline an agreement on his letting us out of here.”
            “Of course he’ll let us leave,” Don smiled softly. “I told him if he was pulling some type of charade on us that I would never be available to him again if he had need of me. This current problem should be driving that threat home well enough that he won’t try to hold us.”
            Raph shook his head, his face still carrying a deeply worried frown. “That might work fine under most circumstances, but ya’ seem ta be forgetting one small problem. Bishop’s just figured out what his dick is for, and you’re the one that helped him make that discovery.”
            Don chuckled. “You have such an artful way of phrasing things, Raph. Bishop is much too goal oriented to let a little physical desire interfere with his greater ambitions.”
            “Yeah? Well I’ve seen bigger men than him give in ta their peckers, Don,” Raph said darkly.
            “You are really worried about this, aren’t you?” Don asked him.
            “Fuck yes I’m worried, and ya’ should be worried to, only ya’ ain’t. Ya’ got your head planted in this little problem of his, a problem he created I might add, and ya’ haven’t spent a second thinking about the situation we’re in.”
            “The situation I got us in,” Don said, sounding remorseful. “I’m sorry Raph, I was focused too much on the science I’m afraid.”
            Raph waved it away, using that hand to grasp the back of Don’s neck. “Ya’ didn’t force me Don. I could very easily have said fuck no and hauled your happy ass away from that rooftop and away from Bishop. I didn’t, and that’s on me. But before you go on about finding a cure or a way ta contain this mutation he unleashed, maybe ya’ should come ta some kind of understanding with that man.”
            “A sort of containment clause?” Don murmured, his eyes giving away the fact that he was in deep thought.
            Raph watched Don’s face and could almost swear he was seeing the wheels inside his big brain moving.
            After a couple of minutes, Raph broke in. “What are ya’ thinking?” he asked.
            Don blinked as though coming back to himself, and he lips curved into a smile. “I was thinking about how if this were the corporate world and I was a regular scientist, I’d have some sort of agreement with my employer, with all of my terms written out. I can’t really do that with Bishop, but I can stick my own clause into our agreement by holding out on him.”
            “What the shell does that mean?” Raph quickly asked, not liking the sound of that.
            Don chuckled. “Get your mind out of the gutter Raphael. All that means is that I stipulate to giving him a cure for this mutagen of his, in return for his agreement to release us. Only I wouldn’t actually hand him the cure until we were both safely out of here.”
            Raph thought about that for a minute and then said, “Okay, I like that. Only ta hedge our bets, ya’ better send Leo a message and tell him what you’re gonna do. That way if Bishop still has other ideas, we got a backup plan.”
            Don’s face softened, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “You know what Raphie? You’re a pretty good tactician yourself.”
            Raph grinned. “Don’t tell Fearless that, he’ll think I’m after his job again. And cut it out with the Raphie; geez, you’d think we were ten.”
            “I’ll settle for two years ago, when you made me yours,” Don whispered.
            Raph’s hand tightened on the back of his neck, and he pulled Don down, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Don opened his mouth at Raph’s insistence and Raph’s tongue swept in, quickly tangling with his brother’s.
            Donatello was panting by the time they separated, his eyes mirroring Raph’s in their need.
            “We should stop now,” Don managed to say. “The sooner I get back to work, the sooner we can get out of this underground prison and back to rediscovering each other.”
            Raph nodded and swallowed. His tongue felt thick and his body was aching for Don’s, but he knew his brother was right.
            “Gotcha,” he croaked out in a hoarse whisper. Clearing his throat, he said, “Yeah, ya’ got a point. But we gotta make sure ya’ ain’t alone with Bishop, ya’ hear me? I ain’t all that sure he can contain himself when he’s around ya’.”
            Crawling over Raph in order to leave the bed, Don said, “I’ll try to stay where there are other scientists. Though I really can’t imagine after this last incident that he’s even thinking about me that way anymore.”
**************
            Bishop pulled a fresh tie around his neck, tucked it under the collar of a fresh white shirt, and knotted it.
            He had a conference in ten minutes with Baxter Stockman. It certainly wasn’t his choice; he had enough on his hands at the moment, what with having his scientists replicate Donatello’s formula and then gathering together a group of soldiers to administer the drug to.
            They were delivering the cargo at this very moment, having infiltrated the ship and swept it for all forms of life. Anything and everything that had been contaminated had been rounded up and removed. The ship itself had been thoroughly cleansed of any residual particle of ooze.
            Bishop would have to answer to the disappearance of the ship’s crew sometime in the next twelve hours, he guessed. By that time, the Omani government would have pushed for the right to board the ship, and would discover that no one was on board.
            The last thing Bishop had time for was Stockman. But Stockman had not only been insistent when requesting Bishop’s audience, but had made a few veiled threats about Donatello as well. Bishop read enough between the lines of what Stockman said to remind himself he shouldn’t underestimate the mad doctor’s ego or his intellect.
            Sparing an extra fifteen minutes in his schedule, Bishop had taken the time to shower and change clothes. He was having a difficult time concentrating, which was highly unusual for him, and had finally realized it was because Donatello’s scent clung to his clothing and to his skin.
            His obsession, for there was no better way he could describe the feeling, for the olive skinned Turtle was becoming troublesome. A solution needed to be found immediately.
            Stooping to gather his dirty suit and toss it in a hamper, Bishop caught a whiff of Donatello’s distinctive musk and was caught off balance by the heady aroma. Jumping away from the hamper quickly, Bishop took several deep breaths to pull himself together.
            His cock was twisting and twitching from just that brief encounter with Donatello’s scent. Bishop balled his hands into fists and grimaced, his mind pulling up a mathematical equation in an attempt to curb the desire that was pounding through his blood stream.
            Bishop had masturbated in the shower, something else he hadn’t done in over a hundred years. Apparently, the release wasn’t adequate. It was becoming painfully clear that the only thing that was going to help Bishop overcome this intense need was Donatello himself.
            When he finally had himself under control, Bishop left his room and proceeded to the elevator, taking it down to the second level where Stockman was waiting for him.
            “Doctor, I can spare you ten or fifteen minutes at the most,” Bishop said, striding into Stockman’s laboratory.
            “That might possibly be enough,” Stockman answered, his robotic form turning away from his computer console. “If it isn’t, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
            Bishop frowned; Stockman’s voice had that unctuous quality to it that he’d come to know and loathe. Whenever Stockman addressed him in that tone, it meant that he was holding onto some choice secret that he meant to make use of for his own benefit.
            “Get to the point Stockman,” Bishop demanded.
            “My, my, always in such a rush,” Stockman smirked. “I’d rather show you than tell you, Agent Bishop. I always say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”
            Reaching for the console, Stockman touched a screen pad and a large holographic display sprang to life in the middle of the room. Playing on it was the interlude between Bishop and Donatello which had taken place only a few hours ago in the Turtle’s room.
            Bishop’s mouth was a thin line as he watched the taped video replay his attempted seduction of the young Turtle.
            “I rather like the quality of this myself,” Stockman rambled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “It helps the three dimensional aspect when you film from various angles.”
            Finding his voice, Bishop spat out, “So you’ve got spy cameras. I should have guessed you would do something like that as soon as I removed you from an active role in this project.”
            “So true,” Stockman acknowledged. “My genius is often overlooked by you. A shame really. Oh, wait, you’ll really love the audio; you helped with that so much by attacking the terrapin on his desk where my microphone is hidden.”
            Tapping another control, Bishop heard his own voice, “I’m going to take you, Donatello. I’ll make it good for you, I promise. Relax.”
            Despite his anger, Bishop couldn’t help the shiver that ran across his spine as he heard Donatello’s responding churr roll through the speakers.
            “What are you attempting to achieve by showing this to me, Stockman?” Bishop asked.
            “Here I thought you were beyond that sort of thing, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, ignoring Bishop’s question. “Imagine my great surprise to discover you bending one of those freaks over a table. If his brother hadn’t burst in on you, were you actually going to fuck the terrapin?”
            “Stockman . . . . “ Bishop said in a warning growl.
            “Fine, if you don’t want to discuss the niceties with me then I’ll just have to cut to the chase,” Stockman replied, turning off the video feed. “I want my job back. It’s as simple as that. I want you to expunge from my record any account of my being pulled off of this project. I want any and all discoveries credited to me. No mention is to be made of Donatello under any circumstances.”
            Bishop gritted his teeth. “Other than a source of minor embarrassment to me, this video is hardly a bargaining chip, Stockman. The people I report to expect me to do unusual things to achieve results.”
            Stockman laughed. “I’m sure they do. I am equally as sure that the people you report to would just as soon keep their involvement with you a secret. We both know that the President doesn’t pull your strings, but his displeasure with any of your activities will certainly cut off your funding.”
            Bishop eyed him warily. “Are you threatening me, Stockman?”
            “No, no, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, his humor quite apparent. “Or maybe I should say yes, yes. Is what I’m asking for so much that you would risk this little video getting into the hands of say, one of the President’s top advisors? My name still carries some weight in scientific circles.”
            Bishop thought for a moment. What Stockman wanted wasn’t going to cause him any grief; he wasn’t going to be able to put Donatello’s name into any of his reports anyway. Much better to list Stockman as the lead scientist.
            Narrowing his eyes, he realized that this might work out better for him anyway. At some point, questions as to why it took so long for him to contain the situation were going to be asked and Stockman would be as good a scapegoat as any other. Probably better, considering the history that the good doctor was making for himself.
            “How do I know this video will be completely destroyed if I agree to your demands, doctor?” Bishop asked.
            “Oh, I give you my word Agent Bishop. I do understand that you keep me around because I serve a purpose and that my genius is nearly indispensible. I’m also intelligent enough to know that crossing you would be an unfortunately unhealthy thing to do,” Stockman said.
            “I’m happy to know you understand that, Stockman. Since your last employer didn’t really leave any body parts for me to relinquish you of, the next step would be a permanent one,” Bishop told him.
            “Oh quite,” Stockman answered flippantly.
            Retrieving a small disk from the control console, Stockman held it out towards Bishop.
            “Do we have a deal?” he asked.
            Bishop hesitated for a moment, then stepped forwards and grabbed the disk. Stockman didn’t release his grip on it, his grin growing wider as he studied Bishop’s face.
            “Yes, doctor, we have a deal,” Bishop said, whereupon Stockman relinquished his hold on the disk.
            “Very good,” Stockman nearly chortled.
            “One more thing doctor,” Bishop said as he crushed the disk into small pieces and placed them in his pocket. “I want all of those miniature cameras of yours removed. Immediately. Furthermore, you must remain here for the duration of this endeavor. I still need Donatello’s brain on this situation; even you must admit his discoveries have been electrifying.”
            “I’ll grant you that, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, his smile diminishing. “Being a mutant freak himself, he was sure to have insights that I couldn’t possibly attain. And while we’re on the subject of mutants, I would like to make a second request of you.”
            Bishop had turned to leave, but Stockman’s words stopped him. Turning slowly, he asked, “What else do you want doctor?”
            “I want revenge,” Stockman answered, his voice dripping hatred with every syllable. “I want the satisfaction of pulling one of those turtles apart, bit by bit, just like the Shredder did to me. Call it scientific research if you like.”
            “I can’t accommodate you doctor. I’ve given Donatello my word that he and his brother will come to no harm under my guardianship,” Bishop informed him.
            “That is most unfortunate,” Stockman replied, his robotic hand reaching for yet another controller on his console. “I was thinking you might want to pursue something more intimate with Donatello, and I’m afraid that might not be possible.”
            Another surveillance video of Donatello’s bedroom suddenly jumped to life in front of Bishop’s eyes. This one showed Donatello locked in Raphael’s embrace, their mouths hungrily pressed together.
            Bishop felt a low growl creep into his throat and his hands slowly curled into tight fists. He watched Raphael’s hands glide along Donatello’s sides, thumbing his ribs before moving lower to ghost across those olive green thighs, and then back up to the delicate curve that formed Donatello’s ass.
            Donatello’s ass that belonged to Bishop. A rare heat seemed to come from nowhere to consume Bishop’s entire body. His head began to thrum with a resounding beat that pounded over and over with the same tune, “Kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.”
            Jerking his head back up to Stockman, he snapped, “Turn it off.”
            “Your wish . . . .” Stockman didn’t finish the sentence before killing the video.
            He watched with pleasure as he saw Bishop’s rigid stance, his hands clenched tightly and beating against his thighs mindlessly. The vision was glorious, more glorious than he could have imagined. There were uses for this video, people he could show it to who would be amazed at not only the Turtles existence, but at the fact that they were sexually evolved also.
            “The mating habits of the mutated terrapin,” Stockman nearly chortled. “I’m sure there are computer experts who could prove that I didn’t create this piece of video; and zoologists and crypto zoologists who would fall over themselves to see this footage. I would be more famous than I already am just with the showing of this one little bit of film.”
            Moving closer to Bishop, Stockman continued, “I want more than that, and I think that here we can come to some mutually advantageous agreement. If I show this film, all the world’s scientists are going to be looking for those Turtles. You won’t be able to continue to see your precious Donatello.”
            He watched carefully as Bishop turned his head finally in Stockman’s direction. The dark glasses prevented Baxter Stockman from seeing Agent Bishop’s eyes, but he was sure they were completely focused on him.
            “If however, I were to have Raphael; well, all the pieces of him anyway, to show instead, I would still claim the fame due to me. No one would ever have to see this film, no one would ever have to know of the existence of any of the other Turtles, and your major rival for Donatello’s affections would be gone.”
            Gone, gone, gone; Raphael would be gone. The words played, replayed and echoed wonderfully in Bishop’s clouded mind. He wouldn’t need to kill Raphael, Stockman would do that for him. His hands would be clean of the blood, and Donatello would turn to him for solace.
            “Yes,” Bishop hissed through his teeth. “I deliver Raphael; you deliver that film and keep your mouth shut.”
            “Forever. The secret would be ours; I wouldn’t want anyone to know there were other Turtles after I come forward and swear I had discovered the only one. That should be proof enough of my sincerity,” Stockman said.
            Something was eating at the corners of Bishop’s mind, and he shook his head, trying to clear it enough to think. Stockman saw the gesture, and hastily pressed the remote on his belt, bringing the film of Raphael and Donatello back to life.
            Bishop’s eyes caught on Raphael’s hands as they squeezed firm, round olive green buttocks and a red haze covered his vision. His rational mind caught and burned in the fire of Bishop’s jealousy; his only thought was to remove Raphael so he could claim Donatello as his lover.
            “Be ready doctor,” Bishop snarled. “You’ll have Raphael within the hour.”
TBC……
- 5
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- 7
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The Containment Clause