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You’re not exactly sure… how you got here. And, to be honest, you’re not exactly sure you want to stay here, even though moving—if you were capable of it—feels anathema. It’s a bit like torture. Or hell, maybe. Perhaps you died, and this is your eternal punishment, licked by the flames of damnation for all of time.
…Well, licked by something, certainly.
“Doing good, sweetheart,” Leo murmurs, voice strained, skin dripping with sweat, mouth and chin glistening from where he’d spent the last half hour between your legs getting you nice and ready to take him. Not letting you come, no, the actual dickbag; just stretching, fingering, tugging, pulling you apart. Over and over and over, leaving you here to grip the pillow above your head and pray he's finally going to let you come. You’re still shaking, and he’d even been nice enough this time to give you a few seconds to breathe.
One of his huge hands digs into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you open as he slides his thick cock inside, finally, finally. The other hand covers your mouth, keeping you quiet, pinning your spine to the couch and your noises to the back of your throat; an appreciated gesture, since the fearless leader has decided the couch in the middle of the lair is an appropriate place to start rutting between your thighs.
God, he’s such a bastard, sometimes.
Fuck, he’s so big. Filling you up just to the limit of what you can take. Making you immobile with one hand. Keeping you where he wants you with the other. You can’t wrap your legs all the way around his shell as he slowly slides out, then back inside, wetly fucking in and out as the sticky glide of him sounds so, so loud here in the common room.
Fucker. Asshole. Prick. Bastard—
Your eyes clench shut for a moment as he pauses his lethargic thrusts, grinding in at the base, rolling his hips as if savoring the place where his slickness meets yours. Dizzy pleasure makes you tremble; it feels so, so good. He feels so, so good. This bruising, claiming grip, the weight of his blue eyes on your face, the girth of his cock stretching you from the inside… all of it. Amazing. Fucking incredible.
Meanwhile, he looks drugged, fucked out, but… also a little frustrated. It hits you then, through the haze, his conundrum. Wanting to rail you hard because he likes the squeaky sounds you make when you can feel him in your throat for how deep he gets. Needing to fuck you fast so you can get out of here before his brothers decide to come watch a movie. Having to keep his movements slow so the sounds of sex don’t permeate the lair any more than it feels like they already are. Hating that he’s having to keep you quiet when he loves, maybe more than anything, the sound of you whining his name when you get close.
(Oh, god, fuck, you’re never going to be able to sit on this couch again if he makes you come on it like this—)
The moment you tighten around him with your mortification, he hisses out, hips moving again. Pumping slow but steady thrusts into your cunt, his thighs quaking against yours, smearing your mess, making a new one you both share.
“Quiet,” he bites when the tiniest little whimper passes his palm. The pressure of his hand increases over your mouth. It would feel like an admonishment, maybe, if you didn’t feel the way he trembled in response, the way his cock twitches inside of you.
Oh. Oh.
Feeling a little like you’ve lost your mind, you meet his sex-blown gaze before you close your eyes, letting a little tiny keen catch in your throat. A small sound, one he hears, one that has his lips curling in a hungry grimace. His shell rumbles with a churr before he chokes it back, but the next thrust is hard, loud, soaking wet. The next is the same, then the next, the next. Each one rattles your bones in your body, and your little game instantly becomes a genuine attempt to keep silent again.
“Like that, just like that,” Leo pants. His voice is low, catching your chest and making it tighten. Fuck, he sounds so good like this, you think, knees going to press together despite the fact that there’s a giant turtle between them. Fucking hell, you’re going to die like this. You’re going to come all over his giant turtle cock, here on this couch where you watch stupid movies with his little brothers, and have to look them in the eye and not combust. Look him in the eye, little fucker, knowing already the way the smug bastard’s going to do everything he can to remind you of what you’ve done here. Sit close, get his arm behind your shoulder, lean in and ask if you can smell the spice of your arousal still or if it’s just his imagination.
Oh, fuck, that has your fingers curling even harder into the throw pillow behind your head, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re going to come, you’re going to come and he hasn’t even touched your clit since he stopped sucking it like it was a milkshake through a straw.
“Oh, yeah, you about to come, beautiful?” he asks, leaning in, fucking you harder, fucking you faster, because of course he can tell. No one knows your body like Leonardo, and certainly no one can do this to you as well as he can. You feel what he can feel; the way you’re shaking, your chest stuttering trying to get enough air through your nose to stay conscious, the soaking wet place between your legs where he’s rutting like he’s in heat. You can’t even nod, you’re so close, you’re so close, one more just like that—
And then—he stops.
Desperately, feeling the wetness of your eyes where you’d apparently been nearly on the edge of crying for how intense it was gonna be, you wail a muffled protest into his hand. Annoyingly, he just grins, ducking down, sinking his teeth into the edge of your jaw as he pumps his cock in, then out, slowly, so fucking slowly.
“Shh, breathe,” he murmurs, shifting a little so that his plastron rubs against your clit and makes you nearly vibrate beneath him. You’re so close, but you need him to fuck you. “You’re being such a good girl. Nice and quiet. Now… Think you can come without making any noise?”
You’ll fucking spontaneously learn how to unicycle if that’s what he wants, you think deliriously. You nod as much as you can with his hand pinning your skull to the couch cushion, blinking through the tears that still cling to your lashes.
“Hm. I don’t know. You’re usually pretty loud,” he hums, and, oh, you are going to bite the shit out of him the moment your mouth is free, you think, glaring at him hard. He’d best get back to it if he wants to walk tomorrow with how deep you’re gonna get your fingers in his cloaca the moment you’re allowed.
Leo seems to get the message. He laughs, ducking his head down a little and sucking a pretty mark on your throat before he gets a thumb on your clit, rolling slow, infuriating circles around it as he starts to thrust again. It’s still slow, but the dual touches make your brow furrow, blood still hot from the last orgasm he’d smothered with the efficiency you expect of a Hamato.
“This good?” he asks, making you open bleary eyes to look at where he’s hovering over you. Thick, sticky glides of his cock; maddening friction, mixing with the relentless caress of his thumb on your clit, the smell of sex even you can pick up on, the way he’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you one bite at a time. Dumb, unable to speak even if he weren’t silencing you, you nod your head, curling your fingers into the pillow and holding on dearly.
And it is so, so good. Different from that brutal fucking from before, this is something thick and sweet as molasses in your veins. A steady build, rolling like his thighs between yours, curling over you like his spine within his shell. Oh, fuck, it’s going to rend you, you think, eyes fluttering closed, lungs quivering when you can’t quite get any air.
“Fuck. Look at you,” Leo breathes, but you can’t think past that. He keeps talking, saying something—praise, probably, or some cute pet name filled to the brim with affection, knowing him—but you can’t hear it. All you can do is feel the pleasure creeping up, the ecstasy just on the horizon. Blood rushes in your ears, so, so, so close to coming, shaking apart at every seam. Every nerve in your body strings tight like rope, holding you hostage, keeping you as pinned and taking taking taking as his hand. It’s so good, it’s so fucking good, god you’re gonna come—
Your orgasm bleeds into you like spilled wine. Each stroke fills your body, spreading the honeyed pleasure into each cell that barely holds you. You feel your spine arch, teeth clenching and tongue pressing hard into the roof of your mouth with each burning wave that laps at your senses. Over and over you quake, clenching around him, soaking his cock, letting it slip inside where you want to feel him come and claim. You want to beg, to cry, but you don’t; except for a hitch in your breath only he’ll ever hear, you’re completely silent, just like he asked you to be.
Leo, on the other hand, is not. He groans under his breath, rapidly fucking into you, letting the wet slaps of his hips concuss your rattled brain. You don’t even care, at this point, too boneless and blissed out to care. Instead, you just open your eyes and meet his own, sure that your pupils must be shaped like little hearts for how he moans when he sees them, choking out your name as he shudders and fills you with his spend. Hot little threads of come tickle deep inside, again and again, thick strings you imagine he’s going to want to find with his fingers when the two of you make it to his bedroom.
It hits him hard, his orgasm. You watch as he trembles beneath its weight, brain fully vacated, drool tracing out of the corner of his panting mouth. He’s so fucking gorgeous, you think, clenching your cunt on him a little meanly and chuckling beneath his grip when it makes him wince.
“S… Stop that, you villain,” he wheezes. Then, “Oh. Sorry.”
Pulling his hand from your mouth, he lets you take your first deep breath you’ve had in the last half hour. It fills your lungs, making your nose wrinkle. God. Even you can smell what happened here. “…This was so fucking stupid.”
“Stupidly hot. Fuck, sweetheart. You soaked me.”
He moves his hips a little, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks when you feel that, yep, you very definitely made a mess of him.
“Leo. This is the public couch.”
“Sure is.”
“…Your brothers sit here.”
“Yeah. They do.”
…It hits you, suddenly, what this was maybe all about. A vague memory of a blue glower when Mikey got a little too touchy during movie night a few days ago. An innocent touch, you’re sure—everyone knows you and Leo are a thing—but, well. Maybe he’d wanted to make it a little… more obvious.
“…You actual creature. You fucked me here so they’d smell it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, though it’s in that dismissive tone that means yeah what about it.
“Leo, I—I smell like you. All the time. No one else is hitting on me, dude.”
Rolling his hips once, you snatch your hands to grab his wrist when it hits your overstimulated clit and has you gasping out erotically when your nerves go white with too-much sensation. “Nope. They sure aren’t.”
You roll your eyes. Impossible. You forget, sometimes, that he’s just—a guy. A Knicks fan, even. A ninja, yes, with swords and a guilt-complex the size of Manhattan, but a fuckboy nonetheless.
…God help you, you love him anyway.
“You’re cleaning the couch,” you tell him, wincing when he peels away and leaves you feeling hollow without his huge cock stuffing you full. Hm. Maybe you can convince him to have a little bit of shower sex after this. Get clean, then get all messy again. That sounds fucking great, actually.
“Of course,” he says, so simply, and you remember—oh. Right. Leonardo.
And so, like the hybrid cross of the gentleman-slash-cretin that he is, he picks you up sweet as pie from where he nailed you into the public couch, carrying you off and getting just the most pleased expression when you start planting your idea about the shower thing.