A Few Soft Sounds

A few soft sounds is all it takes.
They’re like a drug to each other. Donatello cannot stop and Leonardo doesn’t want to stop, so they stumble through every day, eating each other greedily, afraid that one day they would have enough.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re my leader.”
An innocent answer to an innocent question, which brother do you like the most? Oh Don could have said Michelangelo, because he was making life a better place, and Leonardo could have said Raphael, because he drove him to be better, but no, they chose each other because for that moment, for that one short moment, they looked at each other honestly and noticed something about the other they hadn’t realized before.
“I love you.”
And of course it was Leonardo who said it first. Always the leader to be followed, ever the responsible one to take the blame. They did not get blamed. But they were still afraid of it.
From stealthily touching each other, both very, very aware but always guarded, to holding hands when they were alone. Gazing each other in the eyes and seeing a vortex of thoughts just like their own, they never spoke of permission. They only took as much as they were willing to give.
“You know, your eyes have a green tint to them.”
“So do yours.”
So gently, so slowly moving their hands across the other’s skin. Relishing the warmth. Loving it. For the sake of himself, Leonardo could not find the willpower to pull away when Donatello offered his hand. He stroke his shoulders, thoughtfully, deliberately. Brushing pressure points enough to send the nerves jittering, not enough to calm them.
Leonardo stroke Donatello’s cheek one day, and put their foreheads together. They found themselves unable to pull back.
Touches stolen from family. While training. While eating. Always touching each other, so furtively, making sure the other didn’t leave.
And then hours that Leonardo spent topside began to shorten. And Donatello’s projects failed to hold his attention for his mind turned to his brother every few minutes, like an obsession, like falling in love. They began spending hours together, sitting close to each other in dark corners, huddling under a blanket by the television or leaning against radiators. They both loved the warmth they provided.
“I love it when you hold me.”
Old-fashioned. Shy. Going slow. Perhaps because they realized they had too much time. Entire life of being together, for what could make them part? Why rush the beginnings, when the beginning only happens once, the magical beginning.

Bože, tolik LD, až se mi z toho točí hlava a padám zpátky na fanfikce.