Archive of Our Own ^beta

The smell of rain and the still-fading, morning bustle of people tumble through New York’s deep city streets. A light drizzle pours over April’s head; too faint to have brought an umbrella but persistent enough that she wishes she had.

She kicks the muddy sidewalks indignantly.

It’s not her fault that mutant silverfish had to infest the Italian-style cake shop she was working at.

Well, maybe it is. They’re attracted to mystic energy, after all. But she had used the same flaming green baseball bat that had lured the little beasts to smash them all to oozing grey pieces, so, no big deal, right? The kitchen had been damaged in the process, sure, but it would have been irreparable if she’d let the silverfish have their way.

Still, her boss refused to even consider reconsidering the consideration to her keep the job.

April groans at the memory, still fresh in her brain. Her fingers curl into the edges of a maintenance hole cover, pulling it back and slipping into the sewers. The rusted ladder steps stretch downward, cold and damp, leaving behind the cities, already-dim light.

She’s shrouded in darkness for a minute, a slimy limbo between Brooklyn’s grey sky and the mismatched, homey glow of the turtle’s lair.

Really, she came to complain to Donnie about being fired, but as soon as she stomps into his lab, the familiar, unspoken, obligation to not jostle him out of his thoughts washes over her. He does, after all, have three brothers that provide enough jostling for a lifetime.

April fiddles with her jacket absently as she winds through the cluttered machines and shelves of gadget paraphernalia to find her friend.

Donnie’s standing, with his back turned to her, observing a piece of unrecognizable tech on the ground. He steps forward to adjust something, hesitates, thinks better of it, and resumes observing.

Instead of walking around, April pitches up on her tiptoes, leaning against Donnie’s battle shell to peer over his shoulder.

He flinches and draws a sharp breath at the surprise contact, wrist flicking towards where his staff would have been.

“Hey," She greets. "Whatcha building?”

“Really wanna know, or are you just gonna zone out?” He teases, settling in comfortable familiarity.

“Fair point; I’m a visual learner.”

A soft chuckle bubbles past his lips. “Duly noted. You can read my blueprints.”

“Man, I have better things to do than read blueprints,” April says, but she doesn’t walk away. Something about leaning against his frame, lithe and steadfast, had always seemed like an entertaining activity on its own.

“Mm, like making money perhaps?” Donnie interrupts the thoughts she is not having.

“Huh?”

“You’re supposed to be at— I mean… I’m, by no means, saying I put trackers on you. But if I, hypothetically had, I’m fairly certain that a pattern in which— “

“Cut to the chase.”

He scoffs quietly at her impatience. “What are you doing here; don’t you work on Wednesdays?"

April grins for a second. It's nice that Donnie memorized her schedules even if they change every time she's fired. (Which is practically every two weeks if she's honest). She sighs dramatically. “Work? For this mutant magnet? I wish. Your favorite human is job hunting… again.”

“Gasp, job hunting in my lab?” He teases, tilting his head slightly to look at her. "How dare you even think about it without exhibiting at least three, very impressive, PHDs." 

She wraps her arms around his waist absentmindedly and runs her fingers across his plastron. "Donnie, you haven't even graduated high school." 

"Eh, I'm a fast learner, and the mystic library teaches more than High School ever could." His voice is sarcastically nonchalant as ever but his breath hitches as her fingertips dip into each arch and curve. A barely audible churr slips out of his mouth. It’s quiet and if there had been another sound in the lab, she wouldn’t hear it at all. But the rare content simplicity is undeniable.

April smiles a little at the idea of Donnie not only tolerating her touch but liking it. He's never really been at ease with letting the cautious trail of her hands try and comfort him until recently. He still doesn't reciprocate but it's nice to see her friend less on edge. And maybe this is the bridge to affection. "Hm, I have the sneaking suspicion that the library you're not allowed to talk in doesn't do a very good job at communication skills." 

"Maybe not, but as a m─" Donnie tenses as her fingers run over his belt. "Mgh─ ah," His tone betrays its usual flatness in favor of sheer surprise. If she weren't so familiar with his usual discomforts, she might be tempted to tease him for how much it sounds like a─

The next moment is a blur of motion as he peels himself from April’s arms and turns around to face her.

"What's wrong?"

His voice is hushed and sheepish. “I just... Sorry I… wow– um…” He rubs his hands together and blows on them as it if the lab's temperature had suddenly taken a nosedive. “It’s… It’s March, right?”

“No, I’m April.” She jokes back. When it doesn’t hold, she adds. “Yeah. The tenth I think. Maybe the eleventh.”

He narrows his eyes at the cold ground in contemplation, muttering “Seems early,”

“Early for what?”

Donnie looks back up. “Just a… science thing. Biology, really. And you know I’m more of a physics guy so you should– you should go. For safety reasons.”

April blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Just… go.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Three (uncomfortable) days later.

Donnie rubs his temple with one hand while the other tenaciously scrawls down blueprints on whatever paper he can find. Graphite arches and falls into the familiar shape of words. He watches them weave their way into plans with a faint smile. Still, he can feel a dull cold growing inside of him. 

Of course, he knows this is his body's natural attempt to make him seek out another individual, but he still blames the March chill. It is early after-all. 

A familiar sound buzzes in the background and the light patter of Leon's feet stepping into his lab from whichever room he portaled from follows. 

"Hey Don-tron," He says in a casual voice. He's been getting better at masking his concern lately. Too bad the two have always had a knack for reading each other. "You uh... want some food?"

"The doors locked to keep out unwanted visitors, you know." Donnie doesn't even try to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

Leo hops up onto his desk. "Good thing I'm a wanted visitor then." When theirs no reply, his smirk fades into a soft frown. "I brought you some dinner." He holds out a plate of risotto, pressing it to Donnie's plastron. "Mikey cooked, it's good."

"Leave it on my desk, I'll eat in a bit." 

"Ai, Tonto, I'm trying to start a conversation here. What have you been up to?" 

"Well, my dear brother, I've been doing the exact same thing as I've always been doing, and you've never taken interest in any of that."

"You know what I mean. You've been cooped up in your lab for the past three days, I've barely seen you." Leo flicks his palm up in a concerned little gesture. "Have you been sleeping?" His gaze flickers across his twin's shivering frame.

Donnie leans further back into the swivel chair, resting his hands behind his head. "Yes." It's a pathetic lie, but it's not like trying to sleep does much anyway. He stirs in the dark for hours sometimes, listening to the silence, unable to turn his brain off. It's useless most of the time. Working helps more, any piece of technology he can get his hands on. It takes him away, and eventually, his mind is heavy enough to pass out against his desk. "Have you?" 

The shadows under Leo's eyes answer for him. "Of course." He smirks with a small nod of the head, there's an almost sad air to his lie. It's even worse than Donnie's, but no matter how thinly veiled, the veil is always made of flowing silks and satins. It was, perhaps, one of the biggest differences between the two. Leo's always spoken smoothly, and confidently. "I mean, I certainly was last night." He grins. "You can't wake up screaming if you're already awake." 

There was a teasing sort of solidarity between the two. Of course, they keep things from each other, but he suspects Leo opens up to him a little more than with anyone else.

"Ah, nightmares, the brain's cruelest invention." Donnie chuckles quietly even though laughter should not correlate with the emotion he's feeling or trying to express. "Brings you right back, doesn't it?" 

His twin frowns a little. "I'm not the only one slipping back into old habits." It's not a question.

Old habits; Sounds funny to hear him say it. As if the miasmic cling of what the Krang invasion left with any of them had ever truly gone away.

It only took sixteen nights back when the lair was rebuilt to understand that something had changed.

Sixteen nights of the monsters yelling and tearing and taunting in their dreams. Sixteen nights of listening to choked sobs and warnings, wishes and retributions drift through the walls. Sixteen nights with little sleep, and less peace of mind.

After that, Donnie agreed to build soundproof doors in each of their rooms, plus the lab. It didn’t stop the nightmares or the sobbing or the times so dark and leaden that nobody could manage either, but at least they could all pretend.

Back then, all their shiny new coping mechanisms had been new habits.

Mikey tested the limits of his mystic powers. Leon actually wanted to train, in fact, he did almost nothing else. Raph had repaid his few moments of possession with more apologies than the average lifetime could win.

And Donnie? He’d… broken.

Every invention, every gadget was destroyed. He'd disemboweled his children of metal, excoriating himself for every mistake, and remaking them entirely.

And then, he safeguarded everything. Even the safeguards had safeguards. Weapons and shields and plans for every breed of catastrophe that may rise into the chaos of their lives.

His work had a funny way, back then and now, of latching onto him with its thousand desperate claws that stick and ooze. The ones that only know how to drag him away from the rest of his life and hold the hunger and exhaustion at bay long enough to finish just a little bit more.

And, as much as Donnie hates to admit it, that's the only distraction that's ever worked. The fact holds true, even now, with his chilling desire to press April's warm lips against his own. "I'm not relapsing," He finally says. "It's just spring."

"Spring?" Leo relaxes a bit, clearly relieved but still apprehensive. "This early? Why? Usually, it's not until... April." His eyes widen and he gives a chuckled snort. "Oh, the other April triggered it, didn't she?"

Donnie looks up, surprised and embarrassed. He didn't like talking to his brothers about this sort of thing in any sense, but getting into the specifics was almost mortifying. "What? How did you─ how did you know?"

"Because you've been crushing on her for-like-ever." Leon shrugs as if that is a well-known fact with scientific proof. "And she's basically the only person you let touch you, other than us."

"I─ do not have a crush on April," The cold in his stomach harshens at the thought of her.

His brother doesn't even take the time to disprove him. "You could always ask her for... you know, help."

“And absolutely humiliate myself for the rest of eternity?” Donnie yelps dramatically. “Not happening. I’ve never been very good at this whole socializing thing, and I’m not going to risk my friendship with the most amaz–” He flushes, cutting off the compliment. “I’m… I’m not going to risk my friendship with April just because it’s that time of the year. Okay?” His fingers twitch anxiously against his tech gauntlet. “She's too important to me… and scaring people off really isn’t that fun.” 

"You'll change your mind." Leo shrugs. "Dragging yourself through spring like this is anything but fun and you know it."

"I didn't change my mind last year." He says. 

"Yeah, well last year, mating season wasn't thrown into you by force."

Donnie internally withers in embarrassment at the formal entailments of the phrase mating season. Of course, he doesn't want to come onto April, they're friends, best friends. But mating season was just that, and he doesn't know how well his desire-filled mind will be able to hold once it progresses.

This is just the beginning after all.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

It's a warm, spring morning, ripe with anxiety splashing off the pedestrians who are hurrying to work, and slick with boredom oozing off of the ones who aren't. April slides back down the sewer rungs to the turtle’s hideout.

Mikey and Leo are perched on opposite sides of the atrium’s skate ramps, arguing over who would make a better action movie star.

She whistles to get their attention.

Both look over. “Hii April!” Mikey waves enthusiastically. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

“Need anything?” Leo asks.

“No, Just bored, thought I’d stop by.”

“Well, we can un-bored you.”

April narrows her eyes with a contemplative hum. As fun as graffiti and sparing sound, she doesn't really feel like being the most responsible person in the room this early. “I think today it’s an itch only a nerd can scratch. Have any I can borrow?”

“Nerds? In this economy?” Leon teases playfully. “I’m not sure. Check the kitchen, we might have some spare.”

“Thanks,” April rolls her eyes but goes to check anyway.

Sure enough, she can see their violet-themed techie through the doorway from her spot in the hall.

Donnie is leaning against the kitchen table, contently gazing down at an open book in his right hand while a six-ounce box of flavorless juice is dwarfed by the other. He's wearing his sweatshirt, which is unusual to see inside the lair, especially with the rising temperature. 

April smiles as she slowly pads towards her friend, quiet as she can.

The warm yellow hue of the kitchen’s faded string lights pool over Donnie’s lean figure; It livens up the rich, dark green of his skin and compliments the purple accessories.

Her steps quicken unabashedly once she reaches the doorway and April throws up her arms. “Think Fast!!” Before he could react, she tackles him into a hug, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist.

He utters a surprised “Oh!” and the book and juice box drop out of his hands as they instinctively reach up to keep her from falling.

“Too slow,” April grins as she drapes her arms over his shoulders, pressing their foreheads together teasingly. “Now you get torture.”

For once, Donnie doesn't push her away with a peeved, ‘Eeeww, your sticky human sweat is getting on my shell.’ or 'Ack, Hold On! Five minutes' notice before physical contact!’

No.

Instead, his eyes reflect an unrecognizable fogginess as he sets her down. “April,” He murmurs, voice more sensuous than she’d ever remembered it being.

April immediately pushes that thought away. "Yeah?”

Donnie cups her face with one hand, letting the other fall to her back, keeping her close. “You’re… so warm.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Uh... thanks.” Sure, the turtles, as mutants, are only luke-warm blooded, but she still finds it an odd compliment. (But odd is to be expected of Donnie, regardless. Especially when it comes to affection.)

“...Can I…?” His question fades out and instead of waiting for the answer that she doesn't know how to give, he dips his head down and nuzzles her cheek with a quiet churr. A jolt of pleasure rushes through the room. 

April stands there, frozen but burning, not knowing what exactly to do. Each subtle shift of his hands seems like a caress, setting her nerves aflame.

Donnie had never let his touches linger, ever. Sometimes, April likes to disappoint herself with the fleeting wish that he would.

But now... oh boy. It really seems like a waste that he never had before, because a deep, pulsing part of her soul wishes the feeling will linger for a long time. His fingers curl around her like they were made for nothing else; they're long and cool, settling into the curve of her back. It feels, in an essential and natural way, intimate.

April rubs her thighs together involuntarily, face brushing the crook of his neck.

Fuck. He smells like copper and old libraries. Why's that so arousing? Why's all of him so arousing?

Her stance starts to falter, wobbling.

Donnie’s hand instinctively slides down to keep her up. He angles his leg to rest supportively between her trembling thighs. As soon as she presses against it, the friction sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure up her core. April's never felt anything so flustering. (Well... that's not entirely true, she has. But only in sex. Slow, intimate, penetrative sex. Not nuzzling, not kissing, Hell, not even quickies make her body clench and quiver in anticipation like a caged animal.)

Donnie mumbles something that could have been ‘perfect’ under his breath, nuzzling closer. “Warm.”

Right. He's cold. Unusual in his heating methods, maybe, but not soaked and dripping with desire the way she is.

April suddenly grows guilty for being turned on; it feels like she's using him for her own personal satisfaction. “...donnie…” She murmurs, reaching up and pushing lightly at his plastron.

He does not step away. His hands keep holding her steadily and his face keeps brushing against the pigtailed curls of her hair.

The built-up tension in her lower abdomen cruelly beckons her to self-indulge. “Donnie,” Her voice is louder now, more forceful, biting a wavered moan back into her throat. “Let go. I’m not your own personal hand-warmer.”

His churrs grow thicker as if he isn't listening to her actual words.

“I said~ Let. Go.” She shoves him away, which doesn't do much distance-wise, but it gets his attention.

Donnie blinks back into focus, hands still loosely draped around her.

At once, the disinhibited softness in his eyes vanishes. He looks horrified, surrendering his grip immediately and stumbling back. “I– I didn’t… it was all fuzzy. I couldn’t focus.” He presses himself against the wall, studying her flushed face before his eyes slowly, anxiously drift down to the bottom hem of her dress, which had been pushed up from the hug. “Oh god, did I…” His breath hitches for a second. “...Did I feel you up?”

She fights back the urge to raise an eyebrow. Of course, he didn’t feel her up; he would know if he felt her up...

Shit.

Her eyes widen, mortified. Donnie matches her expression. 

Maybe he's asking if she’d considered it sexual. Maybe he knows that she's aroused. 

April steps back and boosts herself up onto the kitchen counter. Nervously, she wishes she could reach a hand up the apex of her tights and make sure she hadn’t soaked through onto Donnie’s thigh. Embarrassment courses through her veins, mixing with her desire. If she's damp, Donnie would have noticed. He notices everything.

She reaches over to the half-full coffee pot in distraction, pouring herself a mug and watching the liquid slosh around its new environment.

Donnie paces back and forth, muttering apologies. The tips of his gracile fingers ghost over his tech gauntlet to make sure it's working alright; his usual pacifier. And even then, his eyes twitch anxiously; some mental nerve braided and raw and drilling holes in his ability to speak.

April sips her drink, sharp and piquant, and it burns her tongue with its heat.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

By the time April escapes to privacy, any dampness that would have spread through her tights has already dried, leaving her uncertain.

She bumbles aimlessly around her house that night. The memory of Donnie’s hands running over her is wrapped in bright yellow caution tape, drawing the focus.

She’s had sex with guys that yielded less of a physical reaction. Just thinking about his comfortable precision makes her blush.

For the second time that day, a familiar heat starts to pool in her lower abdomen. “Are you kidding me?” April grumbles in annoyance. She drinks a cup of water, she takes a Benadryl, she even tries to meditate.

No dice.

This feeling, this untamed desire, makes her hands quiver in anticipation.

Bed only makes it worse. Of course it does.

April twists and turns, gripping the blankets and burying her head under the pillows. 

At midnight, she finally gives in and a restless hand recedes into her pajama shorts. A sigh of relief slips passed her lips. She isn't amazing, never has been; hasty at best, sloppy at worst. She ruts her hips up to meet the movement of her hands.

Her imagination wanders, reaching for a fantasy.

Donnie.

She can still practically hear his voice curling through the air like smoke, feel his hands trail down her back.

The memory makes her whimper involuntarily, clenching around her fingers. April tries to let the image dissipate. Not Him. Anyone but Him. He's her best friend, it feels like blasphemy to get off on his dorky antics.

Ironic process theory; Her mind marinates in the idea of Donnie’s long fingers fondling her sensitive skin and his almond-shaped eyes gazing down at her with the same affectionate attention he devotes to his work.

April shivers at the thought and another wave of pleasure laps and roils. “Mgh– please… please…” With her other hand, she reaches up and cups her cheek the way he had. “…yeah, right there…”

A haze of want and sensation swallows her mind, all she can think about is how good his fingers felt, and that she'd never wanted it to stop.

“A–Ah… Donnie!” April gasps. Her legs tremble as she comes. Hot, forceful, oozing. A moan pushes through her lips, a guilty pleasure.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

They both avoid each other for the next few weeks, maybe out of guilt.

It’s easier than expected since Donnie, at some point in the very recent past, decided to cut himself off from the rest of the world.

On the rare, fleeting moments that April sees him, he’s twitchy and stressed… more twitchy and stressed than usual, at least. He pours himself into his work, day and night, barely bothering to interact. She heard that he’d been relying more on his tech during fights, nibbling at food without interest, slipping out of conversations like an eel in oil. He doesn’t even go off on his usual microphonic tirade when Leo claims the broken radiator in the kitchen is communicating in morse-code.

Still, no matter how stubborn the genius tends to be, Raphs entirely unwilling to sit back and watch caffeine and sleep deprivation commit completely willing, brain cell genocide.

Donnie still challenges the notion, naturally. He keeps pushing his limits only to be inevitably dragged back to bed by his brother, usually tucked under the covers and muttered goodnight like a rebellious kid past their curfew.

But even then, sleep is a debatable outcome.

“It’s not all bad,” Mikey anxiously points out as he colors in a train. April had let him draw the front pages of her articles for school. Photos would be nice, but her phone has a nasty habit of jumping out of her hands and onto the glass-shattering (i.e soul-shattering) concrete. “I mean, he’s makin’ all sorts of tech upgrades.”

“Mhm,” She cranes her neck towards the entrance of Donnie’s lab, not bothering to stand up from her comfortable spot on the edge of the skate ramp.

Ten minutes ago, Raph had groaned in annoyance and went to retrieve his younger brother, to which Donnie had yelled “Over My Dead Body!” A phrase that he, apparently, intended on keeping.

There was a crash.

“No, no-no, no, my baby!” The softshell yelps protectively which makes April and Mikey short in concerned laughter. “Please, just– put down the circuit boards. You know how easily the conductive ink chips.”

“If you agree to take a break,” Raph says. “And you leave your Bo staff here.”

There’s a groan, and a small shuffle, and the two emerge from the open doorway of Donnie’s lab.

Raph gives Mikey and April a relieved thumbs up. His brother is behind him, dragging his feet.

Even as Donnie steps into the atrium’s reddish light, the shadows under his eyes refuse to fade. He crosses his arms as Raph leads him down the stairs to his room, visibly agitated to have peeled himself from another unfinished project.

He had always stressed over any persistent interruption of his work. Even back when they met when he was just a clumsy nine-year-old teaching himself to make wind-up toys and laser pointers that would be meticulously fiddled with no matter how long they took. He'd never done anything by halves, and probably never will.

As soon as Raph is a few feet ahead, Donnie stops, testing his brother’s attention. When he doesn’t turn around, the petty scientist takes a quiet, tentative step back toward his lab.

He moves so slowly and carefully that April decides he must have either mastered ninja stealth, or he is about to devolve back into a turtle.

Regardless, Mikey interrupts. “Uhh, Raphie? He’s trying to sneak away.”

He turns around with a should-have-known sort of frown and scoops up his brother like a kitten he’s scared might scratch.

Donnie bats his fists tiredly. “Noo, I’ll lose my train of thought.” He protests to no avail. “I’m supposed to be a brilliant scientist… no time for napping.”

“You are a brilliant scientist. But right now your big brothers gonna get you to bed.” Raph scolds, “And besides, nappin’ is great. Dad isn’t even snoring during the day.”

Donnie protests incoherently in reply as they step into his room.

“What’s up with him anyway, Man?” April asks, leaning back onto her hands when Raph returns.

He sighs, rubbing his brow ridge. “Oh, you know how he gets in the spring.”

She does not. “...mhm.”

His shoulders sag in fatigue, grateful for the contrived solidarity. “He just doesn’t have any idea how to deal with it. Or– I guess he does have an idea but even I could think of something better than doing all that techno-stuff til’ he just about drops.”

“That’s no surprise though,” She mumbles back to him with a half-hearted smile. "He always puts his work first."

“Almost makes it worse.” He sighs. “I hate to see him slipping back into old habits."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Donnie can’t sleep.

It's the peak of spring and he’s too cold, freezing. The room is flat, grey, and without his contacts in, painfully blurry.

It feels wrong to lay here without a distraction, without his work. Exhaustion shouldn't have to get in his way, nor should this mating season business. He feels like a half-measure; An effete turtle who can’t finish the job. One bad day away from becoming the villain of his own story. One bad day away from becoming—

Great. Now he's guilty about April again. 

The last time they had touched, still near the beginning of his heat, when the yeaning was mild and endurable, the hug had still seemed to evaporate his discomfort. Still, his mind had been clouded by his instincts, and he had violated her in the haze of pleasure and warmth. Even if the action had slipped his memory and failed to slip past April’s lips, Donnie remembers the horrified expression on her face.

There’s no other scientifically plausible explanation for it. He must have let his fingers trail lecherously down to stimulate her.

Donnie groans at the memory, guilt, and longing flooding his shivering frame. He gives up tossing needlessly in bed and slinks to the bathroom, empty, thank god, and starts a bath.

Steam rises as it fills. Hot water splashes, and sprays little white bubbles, before they suffuse across the basin.

Donnie clicks off his battle shell with a sigh. He rolls his shoulders and sinks into the bath, wincing a little at the burn of it.

The heat doesn’t reach past his skin. There is no comfort for the dull, freezing ache of his head, or the stabbing pain of his heart as if icicles are growing off his ribcage.

But at least, on the surface, there is an inkling of warmth. And it's enough for his heavy eyes.

Later, and how much later he doesn't and will likely never know, Donnie stirs awake. His eyes flutter open for half a blurry second, but the rare comfort beckons them back closed. For the first time all month, even though the bathwater has cooled to the temperature of the room, he doesn’t feel frozen and brittle. His body doesn’t need a desperate distraction from itself.

Then April starts to talk and his mind is struck with the branched lightning of emotions. It’s entirely overwhelming, his eyes snap open, and the half second that he registers her before his instincts take hold is incredibly, gutwrenchingly…

…Peaceful.

April is sitting criss-cross on the bath mat. Her left hand is intertwined with the one he’d let fall out of the tub. In her lap is both a half-empty bag of Easter-just-ended clearance candies and her car’s mini pocket-instruction manual; the one she scribbles her interviews down on when she forgets her notebook at home. She's complaining about something, quietly though, as if not to wake him, and she looks absolutely divine. 

His mind starts to cloud.

He wants to reach out and capture her in a kiss, to hold and bite and… well, fuck her. Donnie’s always resigned sex to the term love-making. It’s a nice, productive-sounding euphemism, but now, it doesn't feel quite right. He craves something fast and fiery, he wants to see the haze of an orgasm flood her eyes before the surprise has even left them. It's so indecently easy to imagine, pulling away her clothes, pinning her hands above her head, diving inside her.

April. That warm, wonderful creature. That pretty little thing.

His friend.

The thought is barely a whisper in the back of his mind but he latches onto it with every fleeting fragment of thought he has left.

He sits up and the movement draws April’s attention. The moment their eyes meet, and the last lucid moment Donnie may get if the touch lingers for any longer, he wrenches his hand away. It feels like he’s ripped from a part of himself. He curls up with his knees pressed against his plastron, resting the side of his head on his knees and staring at the wall opposite April.

“Donnie?” Her voice isn’t light and soft, it never is, but there is a dripping supply of concern.

He doesn’t reply. The aching cold is so profoundly overwhelming, everything crashes back down on him at once. 

And then April’s hand is on him again, rubbing comforting circles in his exposed shell. It’s as if the whole world thaws.

She might as well have been caressing some erogenous cluster of nerves. Eager, passionate heat floods his body, and a whimpered moan slips past his lips.

April ceases movement, “Does that hurt?”

Donnie furrows his eyebrows even though she can’t see his face. “The– the scars.” He forces himself to form a coherent excuse. “They’re still sensitive.”

It was only a half lie. The surface of his shell is still mottled with marks from each oily tendril that the Technodrome had coiled in. It hadn’t hurt at the time but ever since they were ripped out, his strung-up nerves had ached with a deliberate emptiness. Even now that the wounds have healed over into pale scars like drips of off-white oil paint, Donnie sometimes feels uncannily incomplete.

April believes him, evidently, and drops her hand back to her side.

She doesn't say anything for a while, instead fiddling, barely audibly, with her notes.

It’s not that Donnie ever considered himself an especially lucky person to begin with (not that he'd ever relied on luck when he could rely on science instead) but… he’s lucky to have a friend like her.

Alas, the blissful silence has to end and some point.

April clears her throat. “Raph says you’re slipping back into old habits... And I think I agree.”

A pitiful chuckle slips past Donnie’s lips and he’s so, so glad to be facing the wall instead of her. Aching tears build behind his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You're overworking yourself."

"That's nothing new," He defends before realizing that old habits weren't anything new either.

"You're acting like last time, shutting people off, shutting everyone off. Even yourself."

With a sigh, he lets down his knees and sits cross-legged in the slightly cramped bathtub, looking down at his hands. They're painted in cuts, callouses, and burns from his recent nonstop work. All too often, he finds blood smearing from his fingertips; and all too often he can’t bring himself to care.

Just like last time.

Scars that match the fresh gashes with scary similarity have etched their way into his skin with rent-free permanence. They curl down unabashedly and he suddenly longs for the secretive protection that his gloves and tech gauntlet provide for his hands and left wrist.

Old habits.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Donnie finally says. “There’s just a lot on my plate.”

April's hand reaches towards his shoulder supportively.

He jerks away before her warm fingertips even manage to brush his skin. "Don't."

She knits her eyebrows and leans closer, shaking her head. “Donnie, I'm serious, are you okay? Are you…” her lips pause uncertainty, on the edge of murmuring ‘having another breakdown?’ But instead, she just repeats “...okay?”

“I just don’t want to touch you.” He replies coldly.

“oh,” She sits quietly with him as the minutes tick by, picking at grout.

Donnie doesn’t dare look back at her. He doesn’t know why she’s acting so friendly after he felt her up and he doesn’t have the guts to ask.

A terrible, grinding shiver builds in his frame. His mind treads in the icy depths of unrequited desire. It aches, too saturated almost, as if his head might crack open and let the terrible thoughts spill out in front of him.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, even silently reciting the periodic table doesn’t calm him. In fact, the long confusing stretches of time that he’s left struggling for recall are almost horrifying. “April, you have to go. You’re too close. I can’t think.”

"I think someone should stay here with you."

"Fine. Get one of my brothers."

There’s a sigh. “Is this about what happened last time? When I... you know, hugged you?"

The shallow breath building in Donnie’s throat freezes. He doesn’t want to talk about all the places his hands could have traveled and caressed while his focus was clouded out of comprehension. But it's not his accident to avoid.

Despite the exhaustion settling into his limbs, the long days and sleepless nights, and weeks of slow starvation, he forces himself to lift his head and turn it towards her, gaze apologetic. “Yes,”

April frowns, flushing a deep rufous. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

“I wouldn’t have, but your face… I could tell from looking at your face.”

“My face,” She repeats, almost skeptically, putting a hand to her cheek. "Funny. You're not really a nuance-in-facial-expression, sorta guy."

He shrugs, huffing out a half-amused half-offended breath. "While it is true, my amygdala tends to process faces with a similar salience as objects, you were... practically the type specimen of fear."

"You're not, like, grossed out, are you?" 

Grossed out. Donnie can't help but find the phrasing odd. He's disgusted, of course, guilty, embarrassed, uneasy, but grossed out seems too plain. "I wouldn't word it like that, sigh, but I guess."

"You are?" April's tone fades straight to annoyance. "You know it doesn't mean I'm attracted to you or anything."

“Right— I know that.” His knuckles start to pale from the force of his grip, a tense celery-heart sort of green. "Of course I know that." 

"It was just a thing that happened."

"An innately sexual thing. Aren't you sickened?"

"Sickened?" She scoffs with pure vitriol. “I get that friendship is a delicate dance or whatever, but what happened was completely involuntary. We’re all victims of biology.”

Donnie rubs his temple. “It– it feels different though."

"You're making this bigger than it is! What happens between my thighs is my own business and the fact you were there is irrelevant. Do you really think that's a good reason to keep avoiding me?" 

"The fact it could happen again is a good enough reason to keep avoiding you!" He protests. What if next time the fog clears too late and his seed is dripping from her warm core and onto the ground? What if next, the burning memory of his teeth digs along her neck in animalistic love bites that sink too deep? It was irresponsable. “I’m alright– In private. But when we’re together… the feeling… the idea of doing that to you.” He sighs. “Especially now; It’s at its worst now. Just stay away…”

April mulls over that statement as if looking for weak points or loopholes. “Sure.” She finally mutters, balling her hands into fists, and walking out of the bathroom. “Take your time.”

Her voice draws Donnie’s focus back to the feeling that he’s still missing something, a miscommunication maybe. Only he can’t pinpoint what’s wrong over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, the sound of his own breath, his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage, the cacophonous ring of the bathroom door slamming, and April’s fading footsteps. his senses dazed, overstimulated, overwhelmed.

What was he missing?

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“And he’s avoiding me all because of a thing that I did on accident!” April complains to Leo and Mikey. She’s sitting on a chair with her feet propped up on the kitchen table.

“Well, what did you do?” Mikey asks from the seat across from her. He’s aiming a piece of popcorn with one eye closed. His target, Leo, is perched on the counter a few feet away.

April flushes as she tries to come up with a convincing lie. “I was… sweating.”

“Sweating? Well that’s not that bad, he was probably just grossed out, you know how he is.” The popcorn misses entirely and he grabs another one, apparently undeterred.

“But it’s not fair,” She seethes. “I wouldn’t have been sweating if I wasn't hugging him. So it’s his fault.”

A kernel bounces off Leo’s forehead and he stops hanging his mouth open for a second. “Maybe he’s just nervous about being near you, and not grossed out at all.”

“He told me himself.”

“Well maybe…” He tries to clamp his teeth around another projectile popcorn, only for it to land in the stove's burner. “...You two miscommunicated. Just talk to him again, it’s not like you have a finite supply of conversations.”

“I–”

“And, don’t sweat it.”

April stubbornly refuses to laugh at the pun. “I think–”

"Who wants pizza?” The eldest turtle steps into the kitchen, holding three boxes. “Because Raphs got it.”

“As soon as we do this,” Mikey throws another piece of popcorn to Leon and, this time, it doesn’t even land near his face.

“I’ll have some,” April pinches her fingers in theatrical eagerness.

Raph gives her an awkward smile and she realizes that she’s in his seat. (Not that there were specific rules, but he had always been the type of person who liked to sit in the same place every day.)

She hops up and takes a box off his hands.

He gives a grateful nod and endangers the now empty chair, pushing the remaining two pizza boxes onto the table.

April backs up and hops up onto the counter next to Leo, only to be immediately flicked in the side of the head with a piece of popcorn.

“Gotta’ shut my eyes fr’ a second. Jus’ save me a slice... n' one for Donnie too” Raph slurs, half-asleep, head in his hands.

She leans towards Leon concernedly. “Is he sick?”

“Nah, he’s just busy with all the chores.” The slider replies.

“And why is he doing all the chores?” She means it in a why aren't you helping him sort of way, but Leo doesn’t get the message.

“Well usually, he does like seventy percent of the chores while Donnie does the other thirty. But like you said…” Leo opens his mouth for Mikey to throw another piece of popcorn in, when it misses he grumbles slightly and picks off this lap. “...It’s that season for spiny softshells so he became the chore. ”

“Season? What do you mean season?”

“Girl, It’s baby makin’ time,” Mikey interjects bluntly, tossing another popcorn to Leo. It fails again, landing in the sink. “He’s all outta sorts.”

“Like… mating season?” She’s embarrassed to call it that. It frames Donnie as some sort of wild animal, abandoning his mind in favor of carnal instincts.

Leon shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah,”

She narrows her eyes and fiddles with her jacket. “Well, I don’t get it. Softshells are the only type of turtle to have a breeding season.”

“True.” He replies smugly, cracking his knuckles. “But apparently, they’re the only ones supremely lame enough to never fix that problem.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Losers. Can’t. Get. Laid.” He crinkles up his face in mock disgust as if sex and his brother aren’t allowed in the same sentence, even in opposition to each other. Distraction comes by trying and failing to catch another kernel. “I mean, if it was still just New York, I’d get it. Humans are stingy– no offense. But the hidden city…” Leo pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. “That’s a different story. We fit right in with those yōkai, if you catch my drift.”

“So you’re telling me he’s jerking it in his lab all day?” April protests.

Leon gives her another grossed-out, some verbs should stay away from my conversation about the family look. “He’s working on his tech, distracting himself. Spring is different, it’s more about the longing for someone in particular than… you know… generalized gratification. Don’t worry about it, the season’s almost over anyw–” As soon as he opens his mouth for the long, drawn-out a in anyway. Mikey throws another piece of popcorn.

It lodges in his throat. Leo coughs and sputters in surprise as his brother erupts with cheers.

“Oh Yeah Baby!” Mikey shouts. “We did it, took a while but Mission Accomplished!” He leans half off the chair towards his brother, holding up his hand in exuberant anticipation. “High three?”

“Sure– Buddy,” Leo croaks, still trying to hack up the buttery, yellow kernel before it permanently dissolves in his windpipe. He swats the air at random trying to find Mikey’s palm; It circles around like the payload of a crane swinging at the end of it’s cable.

April ducks out of the way and scitters from the kitchen. ‘It’s more about the longing for someone in particular,’ The words echo in her head as she makes her way to Donnie’s lab.

Now it’s even more hypocritical for his to have been grossed out by April's arousal. He’s been pining for someone all month!

Her footsteps are brisk and echoed against the concrete floor and the moment she steps in, the atrium’s warm light retreats, just barely peering into the doorway as she submerges herself in the lab’s heavy purple glow.

Donnie's not hard to find, even if his labyrinth of inventions seems to change every time she enters.

He’s hunched over his desk to her right, fiddling with a daisy chain of backplane boards with one hand, while the other flicks back and opens his filing cabinet, shuffling through a sea of (alphabetically organized) beige files. Without even looking back to confirm it's the right document, he plucks one out with mechanical precision.

April watches, half in awe at the intelligence he emanates, the way it pools at his fingertips. She almost forgets that she's preparing to confront him when he leafs through his papers, mumbling “B-12, B-12…Right. This means I have to completely resynchronize the backup turbines.”

She mentally slaps herself to refocus. Right. “Hey, Donnie,”

He doesn’t reply, which was to be expected, really.

When working, he becomes so consumed by his projects that even the recollection of having a body seems to fade. It’s a loophole; dissociation in every sense but literal.

“I should reroute the power to the autosequencers for now,” He continues to mumble to himself. The very tip of his tongue sticks out in concentration as he writes something down on the back an index card.

April rolls her eyes and walks over to the desk. She swivels his chair around, gripping his knees to stop its turning once he faces her.

Donnie yelps in surprise, flinching. “April! I uh– I mean…” He clears his throat. “April… hey.”

“Hey,” She says grudgingly. “Talk to me.”

“Not now,” He takes the statement at face value, as if ‘talk to me’ was a means of starting small-talk and not a shorthand for ‘I know somethings wrong and I know it’s too important to have slipped from conversation by accident.’ “I’m busy.” His eyes keep flickering to her hands, which were still on him.

“Hm? What was that? You’re mumbling” She replies innocently, leaning forward and sliding her hands further up his legs.

He gasps a moan before slapping a hand over his mouth. He looks mortified enough to evaporate; eyes widened, cheeks dusted in a generous offering of blush. “Mm– sorry. That was a… sneeze… I said– I have stuff to do.”

“Right.” April trails her fingers caressingly across his skin with a vengeance as she backs away, listening to him swallow another moan.

“Thanks,” Donnie sweeps his palms over his thighs as if she’d left crumbs on them. He swivels his chair back to his desk and looks down at the tech, pulling his goggles over his eyes. “So uh… what’s up? whaddya doing here?”

“Just checking in, making sure you’re not too sickened,” April said with a hint of bitterness.

“Oh, right.” His mouth curls down slightly. “To be completely honest, I'm not sure why you're offended. I just– If I were you, I’d be disturbed by what happened too, probably more.”

“Right, because you’ve never been horny before.” April sneers at his contradiction.

Donnie flushes. “Well, scientifically, I have been…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “...Aroused many times. Still, by nature and custom, I’ve always had the courtesy to keep it away from you.”

As if April doesn’t have courtesy. She crosses her arms, “So what? You’re still gonna keep avoiding me?”

“For now,” He says. A spidery robot hand unfurls from his battle shell and takes a screwdriver from a pigeonhole in his desk. Donnie thanks it quietly, taking the tool and continuing to fiddle meticulously with his work. "Until it's over."

"Your project?"

"No, not my project." He offers her a sorry frown before the allure of his gadgets pulls his gaze back. 

“Breeding season?”

Donnie stops working, his hands, which were always busy, tapping or fiddling or twisting… just freeze. They’re locked in place, perfect, silent precision.

April almost swore that time had paused in the second before he turns to her. The red and blue goggles obscure his eyes before he finally pushes them back up above his brow. “yeah…” There's an almost shy lilt to his voice.

She's surprised by his reply. “Yeah? That’s it?”

“Well, do I have to spell it out to satisfy you?” He protests. “You already know it's that season, you already know that I'm attracted to you; I mean we had that whole conversation about it.”

“Conversation? What are you talking about, we never had… any...” Realization hits April like a mystic weapon. “...Conversation.” Their argument in the restroom. He wasn’t talking about her, he was talking about himself. “Shit.”

“What?” He mutters.

“You– in the bath. I thought you were talking about me.”

“Why in the world would I be talking about you?”

“I was all…” Wet. Dripping. The most aroused I’ve ever been without the heavy help of alcohol and an experienced partner. “...flustered. I thought you knew, I thought it grossed you out.”

Donnie processes her words slowly. “No I– I felt you up. That’s so much worse April, It’s gross-ness ratio meets top emotional priority.” His long, vigorous fingers anxiously reach up and toy with his tech gauntlet.

“Donnie,” April walks over to him and before he can stand up, wraps her arms around his shoulders, easing herself into his lap. “You didn’t feel me up, Idiot. I just, ugh…” She hugs him tighter.

The softshell tenses under her touch, quietly whimpering at every slight shift of her hips. “I’d– I– I didn’t?”

“No, you just nuzzled me,” She laughs against his neck. “Cuz you’re a total weirdo.”

He must be intending to voice his newfound understanding, but the “oh,” that pours out of his mouth sounds more like a moan. “That–that’s good… or preferable, at least. Still embarrassing.”

April bites her lip at his attempt at civil conversation. Despite his heat being almost over, she can tell it’s affecting him, at least somewhat.

He sighs in a way that parts his lips, melancholy but slightly suggestive. “April, I… I need you to go...” She can smell the cinnamon-laced coffee in his deliciously warm breath; too much sugar, as usual. He's been living off the stuff, although she can think of a few better ways to keep him up all night. 

A sudden spark of affectionate longing jolts through her body. “No," She says, wrapping her arms around him. "I think, this time, I'll stay."

“Are you sure?” He asks, face barely an inch away. “I won’t be able to stop once I start.”

April tilts her head forward and met his lips in response. The warmth of the kiss trickles down her throat like the sand of an hourglass, pooling in her lower abdomen.

A low moan hums in the back of Donnie’s throat. His hands glide down and unclip the last two buttons of her green letterman jacket, slowly sliding it off her shoulders. Next is her dress.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, unclasping her bra. “So warm. Fuck, you’re like sunshine.” His eyes fog over with dark arousal for a second, but he blinks them back into focus.

She smirks. "It gets warmer,"  

Donnie churrs as his long fingers trail over her skin. He cups her thighs and slides her body up onto the middle of his desk, kneeling over her. His eyes are tentative, but she can see an animistic need that laps over them in a soft haze. “Lay back.” The susurrate command is still a command, even with his quiet authority.

The work surface is smooth and too cold against April’s bare back. She grits her teeth for a second, pressing her sweaty palms against the glass of the projector and its surrounding metal.

Donnie dips his head down with a smile and speckles soft kisses down her neck. Then, affectionately, he trails down and nuzzles her now exposed breasts. He presses his lips to one, cupping the other.

"M—more," She starts to pant, barely audible moans bubbling up. 

Donnie thumbs along the line of gentleness, trying to keep his instincts down, to ensure it didn’t get too heated; too dangerous. Still, he lets his teeth brush, even bite her skin before lapping a tongue out to soothe it. Marks start to speckle her neck. 

“My mouth is getting jealous,”

Donnie smiles against her collarbone and she can feel the contemplative hum in his throat vibrate against her. “Well… we wouldn’t want that.” He tilts his head up and captures her lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss; just as slick and searingly hot as the rest of her feels.

His right-hand stops cupping her breast and shifts its focus… lower, inevitably.

April shudders, arching up impatiently.

Donnie slips his hand into her tights, pushing the thin barrier of fabric away. He drags a finger across the seam of her underwear. Slowly.

“Ngh, you’re— teasing.” She informs, quiet and intoned.

Apparently, even sex can't sift the tricksy glint out of his eyes. “I’m aware.” He purrs, ghosting over her clit.

“Can’t help yourself,”

“True. All true.” Donnie presses a finger down to her most sensitive pearl, rubbing it slowly like he's trying to make a perfect circle in window frost.

April feels like molten lava is running through her veins. Not in pain, but in pleasure. The desk had stopped feeling so cold. “Co–come on. I’m getting old here.”

He churrs and she can practically hear the smile on his lips. “Is that right?”

“I’m– practically on my– mgh… death bed.”

Donnie runs his fingers through her hair with the hand that isn’t kneading against her clothed warmth. “Oh, but you want a little death, don’t you?” Anticipation hangs heavy in the air around them. “You can say it,” He says. “In fact, please do. Tell me what you need.”

“I… need it.” April gasps.

“And what exactly is it?”

She gives an incoherent mumble as he slides her dampened underwear down her thighs.

“Hm?” His hand hovers teasingly, (And very annoyingly) out of reach, waiting for an answer.

The apex of her legs aches against the cool air, pulsing with a need for more attention. “Gah– You!” She seethes. “I… need you to touch me…”

Donnie seems satisfied with her answer, but her mouth stays open and the words keep spilling out.

“Your hands are– so nice; careful… They're in my dreams… more than I'm going to admit.”

He smiles bashfully, looking away with a soft churr and quiver of his frame. “...oh.”

April has never seen him blush so profusely. She would have rolled her eyes but she's worried they might stay up there, rolled erotically back.

Donnie’s hand comes down and starts drawing loops across her sensitive flesh. Slow and methodical. His thumb works at her clit while a finger teases along her entrance, hesitating for a moment before dipping fervently in.

Her inner walls clench and flutter around it, practically vibrating with pleasure.

“Mmn, you’re perfect, you know that? Tight and warm.” Donnie mumbles, curling his digits slightly, dragging extra friction against her tightening core.

April gasps out a breathy moan, bucking her hips up towards him.

It feels amazing; unusual. His long fingers reach soft depths that April can’t when touching herself. And they're so meticulous. She can feel the effect of every hour he’d spent building gadgets that required a hundred times more precision than her body would ever need to orgasm.

She tips her head back with a louder, more unrestrained sound. Her eyes slam shut and the only thing that drifts into her focus is the pleasure blazing through her and the mutant who's causing it.

Fuck. She's so close.

April clenches her thighs together with a half-sob, curling her fingers against his desk. But as soon as she does, Donnie’s movement slows to a halt.

In confusion, she opens her eyes to be instantly met with his. They're wide, intelligent, and anxiously studying her every reaction. “Sorry, did— did that hurt? You looked hurt.”

Oh, the poor, naive virgin.

“No… it was good,” Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. “Really, really good.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound like he really believes her. “But... tell me if it's too much alright?”

“Donatello,” She chastises, running her hands down his plastron suggestively. “It’s perfect.” Her fingers start drawing light circles on the inside of his thighs, tracing the subtle outline of dark-green scales.

The worry in Donnie’s eyes melts into arousal, dark and thick. He drops his head to her shoulder with a moan that sends a bolt of pleasure through her core. “Fuck. You– you’re… so perfect… you can just– oh…” He babbles dizzily against her neck, warm breath fanning over her skin, thumb rubbing faster against her clit, fingers kneading sweepingly inside her warmth.

April’s back arches towards him, the orgasm building back up teasingly, waiting for just the right stroke. “Wait…” She reluctantly pushes his hand away, wanting nothing more to hear the low, syrupy sounds of his pleasure again. “I want… with you…okay?”

Donnie lifts his head up, gazing down adorably with those perceptive eyes. The chartreuse irises, pale and tinged with yellow, halo his pupils. “Okay.” He cups her face in both hands, and presses a burning kiss on her lips, curling his fingers along her jaw and into her hair as if he'll never need to breathe again.

April is so caught up in the dizzying pleasure, that she doesn’t even realize that his cock slipped out until the tip was brushing against her folds.

Donnie tilts his head away to break the kiss. “Shall I?”

April reaches up and strokes at the purple markings etched into his shoulders; not quite birthmarks, not quite not that. Donnie shudders amorously at her touch. She smirks mischievously. “Well, are you ready?”

“Scoff, You can bet your momma's subatomic particles I am.” His wavering tone betrays the false confidence.

April raises an eyebrow. "Sure about that?"

"Yes... I- I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous but still..." Donnie presses a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm ready." He watches her hesitantly for a second, eyes radiating a focused brilliance that makes her heart skip a beat.

April sways her hips up teasingly, coating his tip in her arousal.

Donnie moans and takes one more deep breath before burying himself to the hilt.

The sharp jolt of pleasure courses through her like a stray bolt of lightning; sudden and electrifying. She clenches around him, throwing her head back with a moan.

“Binomial heaps,” He mutters under his breath, nerdy as ever. “Are you real?” His hand presses into her waist to steady himself.

She fumbles to correct her glasses, which had skewed up into her bangs when she tipped back her head. Being a journalism major, April generally didn’t agree with the notion that a picture is worth a thousand words; But at this moment, she's entirely convinced that the mental picture she's taking of Donnie's flushing face is worth more than anything.

The first shy roll of his hips comes as a surprise, which it really shouldn’t have because sex is, by no means, a stagnant thing.

“Ah–ahh…” April gasps, voice catching each time he strikes her deepest points. “Donnie, please…” She grips his shoulders until her fingernails start to dig in. “Faster…” The resonance of pleasure vibrates through her body, clouding her mind.

“Not yet.” He murmurs, kissing her neck between each moan and teasingly delayed thrust.

"Please..."

"We have all the time in the world." The words come out thick, poured with a slow ladle. “Plus, you look... so beautiful right now.”

She crinkles up her nose and narrows her eyes in a petty attempt to look as not-beautiful as possible.

Donnie, for a second, holds his earnest expression before his face lights up with an uncharacteristically bubbly chuckle. “What's that for?”

“You’re… taking to… mgh long.” She rubs her thumb back and forth over his shoulders. 

“Hm, so needy.” He pulls back, slowly, then his length sinks in once more, filling her at that same relentlessly slow pace. 

April keens before looking back at him in annoyance. She sticks her tongue out in childish defiance.

Donnie kisses the tip of it with a low churr.

“Ew,” She says jokingly, falling into a smile before leaning up and pulling him into another kiss. Her tongue swipes over his lips and they part obediently. The building pleasure draws a little closer with every flick of his tongue. April’s jaw loosens, and she feels the coiling heat building and tensing.

Donnie moans against her mouth as he delves back in, striking exactly where she wants him to, if only he'd do it faster. 

Maybe it's her body's need for release that sparks the decision to change her tactics, but April remembers how weak Donnie is to praise; how much he chases it. "You're doing so- Mmn..." A slow moan slips out. "Good, just like that."

Damnit, he looks genuinely surprised. 

"Make me come," She pulls him back into a quick kiss. "Please, you know exactly how to turn me on..."

"Really?" The affectionate gaze of his chrysoprase eyes washes over her. 

"How could you ever... even doubt it?" April can't help but giggle a little. She doesn't understand sometimes, how a genius like him misses such obvious emotional cues. "You're so meticulous— fuck— you could unravel me without even taking off my clothes."

"Without even taking off your clothes... interesting theory." He gives her another kiss. This one is gentle, playful, placed on the very tip of her nose. "I'd like to test that out sometime. I'd see how fast I could make you collapse," His voice pours against her ear, quietly, a lewd desire reserved just for them, sacred plans. "Sweating, trembling, seeing stars."

April clenches at the thought. 

"And I'm a creature of habit, you know. I might get into a routine of pulling you aside and perfecting my technique, finding ways to make you come before anyone realizes you've left the room." Finally, his thrusts start to grow shallow and choppy and he presses a firm, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point along her collarbone, sucking slightly, leaving a mark. "We'd even have time to spare..."

Pleasure burns through her nerves, roiling and tightening. The tension inside her builds a little higher with every thrust that she rocks up to meet until she's completely unraveled.

April comes with raw, vibrating, unrestrained intensity; clenching and spasming around him. She babbles Donnie’s name through moans and curses as each desperately quick thrust prolongs the feeling longer.

There's a deliberate inward jerk of Donnie's hips and the rich, mindless arousal of his instincts seems to blend with his keenly medical determination, the two swirl together in his eyes as he watches the orgasm flood April's mind, the excess spilling out as moans.

It's a silent, hopeful request to come inside of her. She understands immediately.

"Yes! yes... ahh Donnie, please!" Her keening slurs into words. 

He jerks forward, holding her closer, hands tangling into her hair. His breath hitches. "...April."

A pulsing heat runs through her as Donnie gasps and shudders, releasing warm essence into her core.

She can feel the slight tickle of it, flowing and pervading, easing her out of her orgasm with one last ripple of pleasure. "...oh..."

Donnie presses his forehead to hers as they recover from the aftershock. Breathless, intimate, the way not-quite adults and just-barely adults tend to while they remember where one ends and the other begins.

April grips his purple elbow pads (and definitely doesn't wipe her sweaty palms on them) to preserve the post-coital euphoria for a little while longer.

Donnie is the first to move, slipping out and sitting up. His feet press against the floor as if preparing to stand before thinking better of it.

April does the same, although her legs are too short to touch the ground so they just dangle, swinging lightly at the edge of the desk. She grabs her jacket off the back of his swivel chair, ignoring her other clothes.

“Woah, we just had sex.” Donnie breathes, gazing back at her with a charming awkwardness. “And I found it enjoyable.”

April fights back a snort at how simply put he’d always described emotions when everything else that left the softshell's mouth was too complex to even try and wrap her brain around.

When she only smiles in reply, Donnie raises an eyebrow expectantly. “How would you rate it? In comparison to your previous experiences of course.” He holds up a finger to make a point. “I can say, fairly confidently, that this hasn’t been your worst, so I’ll cut right to moderately satisfying, very satisfying, extremely satisfying—”

“It’s gotta be up there with some of my best.” She replies.

His eyes widen, practically glowing with pride.

April scoots from the hard desk to his lap, leaning her head against his plastron. “Do you take constructive criticism though?”

“In general? no. But since your body is indisputably your own area of expertise, I'll make an exception.” 

“Your desk is so uncomfortable,” April complains drowsily, snuggling into him. “Please cushion it.”

Donnie hums and his hands tiredly reach up under her jacket and massage any stiffness from her back. “That would be so inconvenient for my work. If I needed something soft, I’d just lay on my bed or the couch.”

“Great, write those in the to-do-on list.” Her tone is joking, but her eyes flicker mischievously to her right. Donnie’s lab is drowning in potential with all its odd surfaces, contraptions, and seductively rich purple glow. Perfect for discoveries of all kinds. “Assuming there will be a next time.”

“There will be.” He kisses her lightly. “Um– speaking of which, should we talk about… you know, uh… dating?” A flush paints his cheeks at the suggestion. “Unless that’s too–”

“Yeah.” April interrupts. “We can talk about dating.” She nuzzles his neck to hide the grin spreading across her face. “I think I’d like that.”

“Kay.” Donnie murmurs. His voice is syrupy and tired. A post-euphoric smile rests on his lips. “But just a warning, dates will include a lot less breathless compliments and a lot more tangents about my work.”

“Man, I thought torture was illegal,” She quips back.

He rolls his eyes. “Gasp, I have never met anything more offended in my life." 

"Never?"

"Never."

The two hold serious expressions for a moment longer before busting into laughter.