Leonardo practises his calligraphy. On Donatello. Warning: Slash & incest.
Author: Crabapple Red
Beta: Kelriia Frettlar
Warnings: It's gay turtle incest.
Disclaimer: Don't own. No money being made.
Author's note: Apparently, I just go further and further down the road to hell. Or something. Anyways, this is a little short I cooked up while trying to finish something else. It works on the assumptions that Leo and Don are in a relationship, and the rest of the familly know and are (relatively) ok with it.
Breathe in, breathe out. Leonardo loved calligraphy. Loved the elegant lines, the grace of the brush strokes, the strange conflict of concentration and relaxation. Loved the way the black ink shone wetly in the dim candlelight, sharp contrast to the olive skin he was drawing it on . . .
"That's right, Donnie," he said. "Nice and still, so the ink doesn't run."
Don murmured some wordless agreement. Leo smiled down at him proudly. Though Don's hands clenched and twisted in Leo's bedding, his legs stayed spread, immobile.
Leo dipped his brush in the ink again and finished his calligraphy: three short lines of verse drawn in the trailing sousho style, spilling down the inside of Don's right thigh. It was one of Leo's favorite poems.
Don didn't make a sound as Leo finished the last kanji with a flourish, didn't even twitch as Leo pressed a kiss to the inside of Don's knee, careful not to smudge the ink. Leo had commanded stillness, silence. Donatello wouldn't disappoint him.
Not that Leo wouldn't push. He glanced up at Don's sweat-beaded face and his mouth twitched with a grin. The urge to see how far Leo could go before Donnie lost control was irresistible. Naked and splayed out like this on Leo's futon, Don was just too much of a temptation.
Leo rinsed the last of the ink from his brush in the jar of water on the floor. Shook it dry. Slipped the handle into his mouth, and soaked it with spit. Then he leaned forward, bracing himself on the center of Don's plastron, and slowly pushed the brush handle into Don's ass.
A muffled gasp and the twitch of Don's shoulders was the only reaction. His eyes didn't even widen. Leo let his smile bloom full force.
"Perfect, Donnie." He moved the bush a bit, in and out, teasing. Don stayed quiet and still, breathing ragged but deep, regular. In control. His hands even relaxed in Leo's bedding.
Impressed, Leonardo let go of the brush and moved upwards, claiming a kiss. "Suck me off," he whispered, and rose to kneel over Don, cock dropping out of his shell. Don took him into his mouth.
Their loving was quiet, slow, and cautious, as Leo kept Don still and silent through his climax, through Don's. Careful all the while not to smudge the ink.
The next morning, Don woke alone in the nest of Leo's blankets. He stretched, frowned muzzily, and dragged himself out of Leo's bed to the low table where he'd left his gear last night.
Leo's calligraphy brush hung from it's peg on the wall, right above Don's stuff. The sight of it made Don bite his lip, caught him up in memories of the night before's passions and made him clumsy. As he grabbed his gear, he knocked over Leo's bottle of ink.
Ninja reflexes saved the bottle. He was about to put it back when recognition bobbed to the surface of his sleep-muddled mind.
This is. . .
He dropped his stuff, uncaring, and ran out of Leo's room. "Leo!"
Leo fidgeted. Somehow, the blank face of the bathroom door managed to look furious, a looming force of rage and destruction.
Or maybe that was just Donnie's aura leaking through.
"I'm going to burn all your poetry books. Today. Your calligraphy brush, too."
Leo winced. "Look, Don, I know you're upset, but don't you think that's kind of extreme? It was an accident!"
"You've written a love poem on the inside of my thigh with indelible ink. I think I have a right to be upset," Don shot back venomously. The sounds of his shower stopped. Leo tried hard not to think of him getting out, wreathed in steam.
"I- You- Can't you just cook up something in your lab to get rid of it?"
"It's set. The only way I'm getting it off my leg at this point is if I take the skin off," Don said, tone dangerously patient. "I specifically designed this ink to withstand sewer conditions. It isn't going to come off any time soon."
Leonardo swallowed, leaning weakly against the door frame. "I see."
"Dude, what's the hold up? Other people need to use the bathroom too, you know."
No, Leo thought, eyes widening. Not this. "Mikey? Aren't you supposed to be making breakfast right about now?"
"Well, yeah, but I kinda need to use the little turtle room. So, like, move it or loose it, ok? Cuz I've really gotta go."
"Um. Can you, uh, wait?"
"Why?" Mikey's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And who's in there, anyways?"
"Donnie. I- You see-"
"Leonardo," said Don, voice somehow still cutting despite being muffled by the door, "decided it would be a brilliant idea to practice his calligraphy. On my thigh. With the heavy-duty ink I use for the labeling in the lower tunnels."
"Wait. You mean you used that weird ink Don makes? The stuff that can write on Jell-O and needs acid to wash off?"
"I ran out of the stuff I usually use and borrowed a bottle of Don's. I had no idea Don's ink was like this!"
Mikey snickered. "Leo, it's one of Donnie's toys. You know he always makes stuff about a thousand times better than it has to be. You should have just tattooed the words to his ass; it'd have probably been less permanent."
"No-one is tattooing erotic verse on my thighs!" snapped Don.
"It's porn?" Mikey grinned, thrilled at this new tidbit.
"No!" spluttered Leo, "Nothing like that! It's about a lotus blossom opening-"
The bathroom door slid open, revealing Donnie in a whoosh of air and steam. "Oh please, Leo. If you think for one moment I don't know the duel meanings behind those haiku you're so fond of . . ."
"Ah, well . . ." managed Leo, too distracted by the sight of the unmarred perfection of the kanji scrawled on Donnie's inner thigh to say anything more coherent. The skin around the poem was flushed, probably from Don's attempts to scrub the ink off, and the black lines stood out in stark contrast.
It made Leo want to lick it.
The beads of water clinging to Donnie from his desperate shower didn't help.
"Hey, what's with the pow-wow in front of the bathroom, huh? You guys- Whoa! Donnie! Nice ink." Raph whistled in appreciation as he came closer. "Is that what all the yakkin's about?"
"Leo did it," said Mikey, leering. "In Don's super-ultra-indelible ink. By 'accident'."
"It was an accident!" Leo snarled.
"It had better have been. . ." grumbled Don.
"No kiddin'?" Raph glanced at Leo. "Pretty hot, Fearless Leader. Nice way to mark your turf."
Leo choked at that, spluttering useless protests as Mikey dissolved into a fit of sniggering. Don looked ready to bite something.
"'Mark his turf'? Exsqueeze me? I'm not some-"
"What is going on here?"
The four of them froze as Master Splinter's voice sliced through the air.
Leo's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Raph and Mikey suddenly found the new interest in the floor. Don seemed to be seriously contemplating digging himself a hole and burying himself in it.
Their father nudged Raphael aside and took in the scene, bushy brows twitching upwards at Donatello's unwanted new markings.
"I see," said Splinter. "Leonardo."
"Er, yes, Master Splinter?"
"It is beautiful calligraphy, my son. But really. Fuyutsuki Masao? I thought you had better taste in poets than that."
It took almost three weeks before the writing faded enough to be illegible. By that time, Don had cooled off enough to admit that, if nothing else, the spill of words down his thigh had served as an effective distraction for the Foot when Don tried to kick them in the face.
And Leo had picked out another poem.