Chapter Text
The exhilaration Splinter felt everytime he managed to get off using Purple without the turtle’s knowledge was better than any drug he’d tried. And he had not been shy during his Lou Jitsu days about trying new things.
Splinter ran more “testing”, kept occasional and obscured as necessary to “determine whether Purple is healthy and up to standard”.
He was up to standard, all right. Despite his social awkwardness and odd behaviors, even after turning 8, that led Splinter to think his child may be disabled in some way, he was more than efficient at getting Splinter off without even knowing what he was doing.
Throughout that year, he was so careful to couch all of his doings under layers of lies and omissions.
Seeing his son come to him, agreeing to do more testing with trust and love for his father in his eyes? It fed his ego and his lust twofold.
However, the more “testing” they did, the more Splinter yearned to go even further. When one accomplishes something satisfying, wasn't it normal to want to take more chances, more risky activity to see just how far you can go?
This line of thought led him to plan his most ambitious act yet.
…
“You wanted to help, right, Purple?” Splinter asks, and he looks so earnest.
Donnie knew he hadn’t had the greatest time during the testing, but clearly that was his stupid body’s problem, because he loved his Papa. This would be different, he wouldn’t be testing today, papa asked him to directly help him!
His stomach still dropped when Splinter took off his robe. And when his hoodie started to be pulled over his head, Donnie began panicking and gasping. He couldn’t breathe, he was stuck with it half-off, he-
Splinter pulled it off. “Purple?”
Donatello rubbed at his snout, which had been irritated by his hyperventilating and the rough pulling of the fabric had pressed his glasses uncomfortably into his face.
“Mmmm. How does taking off our clothes help me… help you?” Donnie is panting a little bit, attempting to calm his rapidly thrumming heart. He can handle this.
Splinter laughed. “Well, you weren’t grown up enough to help me in this way until now, that is if I’ve judged you correctly.”
Donnie nods so hard his glasses skew, and before he can fix them Splinter plucks them right off his snout.
Everything went blurry.
“Well, little one. Remember how you like to do your special movements?”
Donnie flapped one hand almost subconsciously, then realized and pointed with his other hand to the motion.
“Precisely. You are so smart, my son. And when a father is all alone and needs someone to help him feel good like you do when you do those movements, where is he to turn?”
Donatello thought hard. There’s no other adults in the Lair, so his father’s only options for help are to turn to his turtles.
“To me?” He asked, after considering hard. For some reason, thinking about any of the other turtles helping their father in this way rang false in his head. Mikey was too distractable, Leo similarly so, and Raph was the oldest- but required a stuffy and usually another brother with him anywhere he went. This was his job, as the most mature.
Make him happy.
Donatello shivered a little. It was a bit cold to not be wearing clothes. “Can we play dress up instead? Would that help?”
His father laughed, and picked up Donnie as he chuckled. “No, child. I need to do some moving, like you. Remember?”
“Ah- uh huh. Okay, papa. I can do what you need to help you.”
Splinter deposited Donnie on a soft surface, which after closer inspection of the texture, turned out to be his father’s bed.
Donatello supposed it made sense, when he did his hand flaps he liked to be comfortable. Most of the rest of splinter’s room wouldn’t be ideal to be comfy on.
Splinter got on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress so that Donnie wobbled in place, pitching towards his father.
Arms wrap around him, scooping him and lifting Donnie just enough so that he lands squarely in his father’s lap.
Fear strikes through him, fast as lightning.
Donatello shakes his little fists, trying to get rid of that scared feeling. He’s fine, his dad is holding him and just because he didn’t like the testing that much doesn’t mean he won’t like helping his dad this way.
“Purple, are you paying attention?” Splinter asks.
“Yes Papa.”
“Good. The movements that help me are kind of like dancing. You like dancing, don’t you?”
“Yes Papa, I love to dance!” Donnie smiles and wiggles.
“Well then you should enjoy helping me this way. Ready to have some fun helping your Papa?”
“Affirmative!”
“So Purple, the movements that help me are led by the hips.” His father’s hands rest on his hips, and pull him closer, then push him back.
“Mm, okay.” Donnie furrowed his brow and wiggled, but mostly with his hips this time.
“Not quite, Purple. Like I showed you, more towards me than side to side, okay?”
“Hmmm.” Donnie hummed as he tried it that way, giving hesitant little movements of his hips, angling towards his dad.
“Good start, Purple. Now I will do some, and we will do it together, okay?”
Warmth flooded Donnie’s chest. He was doing better already? He would be so good at helping in no time!
Splinter’s hands started roaming. From his hips, trailing up his arms, over his shoulders and stroking down his soft shell, which makes Donnie shiver.
Their hips move, out of sync but Donatello tries to match his dad’s rhythm as those hands return, pressing on the turtle’s hips to line them up better. This is basically just dancing in his father’s lap, right?
It feels fine, even a bit fun to have this sort of bonding activity with his papa where 100% of his attention is on Donnie. It’s invigorating, since there seems to be large swaths of time where his father is just too busy to even acknowledge him.
Donnie flaps his hands again, hoping that them moving together will help his father in the way he needs.
But then the hardness from before returns, a blurry shape from his father’s lap presses between his legs again.
Disbelief crosses his mind- how is this helping? What is that?
“Papa?”
“Keep going, Purple. That is what happens when you are doing a good job helping me. It will go away when we are done.”
“Really?”
“Yes. That is what happens when I feel good. You are- mm, you’re being such a good boy.”
Donnie’s eyes shone. He loved being his papa’s good boy. He could help like this, couldn’t he? He was doing good! It was a little scary, a little uncomfortable, but he could handle it. He was a big boy. A good big boy.
Splinter lined up that hardness with Donnie’s special area, and rubbed against it as their hips both moved.
Dad took Donnie’s hands and placed them around his neck, like a hug. This brought them closer, chest-to-chest, and their hips kept moving.
The sensation had felt odd to start with, but this motion, gripping each other close, started to feel like his other motions a little. There was a certain rhythm to it, that once he started was a little rough on his muscles that weren’t used to this kind of movement, but Donnie felt it would be worth it to help his dad. It had to be.
That hardness slid against him with every rocking of their hips, twitching and throbbing in a way that fascinated Donatello. Why was it doing that? His scientific mind wanted to study it, but his nervous system felt like he was running a marathon away from a scary monster.
Their rocking increased in pace, Splinter returned his grip to Donnie’s hips and held him tight. Dad pushed him down on that hardness, at the same time as his own hips pushed up, up, up.
Splinter groaned.
“Papa, are you hurt?” The hips slowed, but the pressure was firm.
“N-uh, no, it feels good. Those are good noises, Purple. If you feel like making noises, that’s okay too.”
Donnie puzzled over this as his father thrusted against him, his own hips giving little spasms and movements as best as he could manage with how strongly papa was holding him to move as he liked.
The rub got faster again, they moved as Splinter liked, Donnie along for the ride.
Splinter took a hand off Donnie and grabbed his hardness, moving it to slap against Donnie’s slickness.
Donnie panted. “Papa, ugh. What’s getting us wet?”
Splinter held his hips once again, his breath growing ragged. The thrusting returned, hips moving faster and more powerfully than before.
“We both are, Purple.”
Those hips drove against him, Donnie shaking in his grasp and whining a little with how much all this was.
“Yes, you’re so wet aren’t you? Those noises- You’re such a good boy for me- ahh, yes! Good boy, good- mmh!”
Wetness gushed between them, and now Donnie could feel it coming from that hardness.
Pulse after pulse, he could feel it all surging against him as it grew softer and began to retreat. But Donatello cringed at the sensation of all those pulses splattering onto his bare skin.
He almost wanted to hold his breath. The sensory experience was not what he wanted, he didn’t want to dance when he was all sticky.
But dad said it would go away when they were done, so was it over? Had he helped?
“Papa? Did I help?”
Splinter took a moment to control his breathing.
“Yes, Purple. You did very well. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He picked up Donnie and led them to his bathroom, sticking him in the tub and running the water before getting in with him.
Splinter washed him, hands running all over his body even though the touch was making him feel like his skin was on fire. At least the water helped.
When his hand dipped between his legs and touched that sensitive area, Donnie jumped a little, sloshing water around the tub.
“Whoa, Purple. Stay calm, Papa’s cleaning you. I’m gonna make it all better.”
Donnie hummed. He felt like he was being silly. His papa knew best.
His papa’s hand slipped between his legs again, fingers finding his slit and swirling.
“Aah!” Donatello yelped. Those fingers rubbed him, in motions that felt practiced.
He stared at a blurry ceiling tile, wondering when this would be over.
Splinter stroked and pressed, pressure undulating like a wave. That touch had an odd effect on him, Donnie thought that maybe his body would dissolve into bubbles and fuzz and whatever else little boys are made of disappearing into the soapy water.
There was that sensation again, of building and building and oh, what? What was-
Donnie gasped a huge breath, and shook apart in his fathers arms. His slit clenched and his insides writhed, and his breathing came out in little “ah, ah, ah”s until it was over.
“There you go, sweet boy. Good boy.”
Donatello found he couldn’t speak again. It was so bizarre, but his father helping him, and helping his father, sometimes made him speechless.
It’s okay, because it’s Dad. He knew best.
“Okay, Purple. We’re all done. Time to dry off!” Splinter stood, and tossed a towel his way as he got out of the bath.
Donnie smiles and nods, and does as he is told.