Fine Laces

The door handle clicked, the door flew open and Mikey came in. Naturally without knocking.
Leonardo’s sixth sense had got wind of him just a second before that, saving his owner from a rough interruption of meditation. Leo had even had the time to consider whether to ignore Michelangelo, or arm himself with patience – after all, what could he want here?
“Hi Leo! What a nice place you have, will you share the crocheting patterns later? I’d love to decorate my room with such fine laces as well… Hey, I got an idea. Know how Don and me are inventing new sex positions?”
Turning red, Leonardo began listening to Michelangelo.
“I was just reading a couple of comics about Silver Sentry and I got this idea, but I ain’t sure if it’s gonna work.”
Mouth oddly dry, Leonardo croaked “Yes?” but it came out so weak that he couldn’t even hear it over Michelangelo’s chattering.
“The thing is, I came across a really nifty position, sweet and cuddly, but I have a fuzzy hunch that it won’t be the simplest one, not for us at least… It’s like… this… see?… like this and this… Hey, why don’t I just show you?”
A sudden urge to draw a katana and exorcise an evil spirit seized Leonardo, yet the moment he reached for the hilt his protective instinct revolted and made him lower his hand again.
“If you were so kind and lay down, milord…” And Michelangelo tried to lever him to the ground.
Of course Leonardo stuck to his guns. As opposed to Raphael, Michelangelo and (especially) Donatello, he had no weak points that would get the better of him if stimulated, so he was quite capable of fighting his little brother.
“Cooperate Leo, it’ll only be a minute! I promised Donnie this morning that I’d figure it out till he comes back in the evening, but when Raph’s with motorhead, Casey, get it, then the only one left is you. And I really have to find this out until the evening!”
Leonardo distrusted this logic, refused to accept it and defended himself vehemently against it. Unfortunately Michelangelo had apparently been learning wrestling holds behind his back and now was bringing him down so skilfully that tears were springing to his eyes.
“Let go Mikey!” Leonardo ordered, but Michelangelo didn’t give in.
“First promise that you’ll be pliant.”
“Pliant to what? Specify!”
“No put-offs, you know what I’m talking about. Promise me!”
Feeling a painful strain in his muscles that reported imminent damage and hoping that he wouldn’t regret it, Leonardo surrendered.
“I promise!”
“Word of turtle honour?”
“Yes!”
“Yahoo!”
Here we go. Leonardo took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had a vague feeling that if he had ignored Michelangelo, it wouldn’t have come down to this.
“Alright, lie on your side…”
Releasing him from their hold, Michelangelo’s arms eagerly turned him to the desired position. Leonardo resisted the temptation to curl into a ball or better yet to crawl into his shell (these irrational impulses attacked him from time to time, even though he never granted them) and lay resignedly.
Necessary to say, when Leonardo was forced to lie resignedly, his senses began to wind and sharpen, pushing him into a highly sensitive state regardless of his will.
And here Michelangelo was, lying down behind him and testing if the bottom of his plastron could reach Leonardo’s cloaca. It couldn’t.
“Bend over,” Michelangelo commanded with a frown, either not perceiving or overlooking the fact that the command made Leonardo’s breath hitch and he had to overcome it forcefully. (Raphael would notice the small difference.)
“More.”
The edge of his plastron brushed against Leonardo’s naked skin and the ninja masked a gasp.
“Ahh, looks like it’s working. But… hm. Stay as you are and don’t move.”
Did Michelangelo not realise that being ordered turned Leo on, or was he doing it on purpose? Leonardo desperately concentrated on answering this question because logical thinking helped him get rid of the inevitable consequences of such treatment. Meanwhile Michelangelo propped himself up on his elbow, examining Leonardo narrowly.
“Hm, you’re bent almost like on all fours. That’s a shame, ‘cause if you’ve ever heard about a position called ‘spoons’ (like you probably haven’t but there’s still a chance), well I looked at some photos and I liked it a lot. Too bad, seems like we can’t do it over those shells of ours.”
Obviously annoyed Michelangelo paused, and during this break Leonardo made the mistake that he didn’t dare to move until he was told to. Mikey noticed this several seconds long delay and turned his attention back to him.
“What’s up?” he mumbled. Before Leo gathered enough self-control to scramble to his feet, Michelangelo grabbed his upper arms and rolled him on his carapace. “Oh look what we have here!” he breathed out in surprise. In shame Leo didn’t know whether he was coming or going, because something was going up and Michelangelo had just found it.
“Leo my man, what are you trying to pull? I the righteous turtle come to try out a position and you welcome me with a bulge in your pants?”
Mikey’s genuine wonder was coloured with a tricksy undertone and Leonardo wished fervently that the ground swallowed him up along with the bulge. He didn’t answer that they did not wear pants at all, yielding to a wave of spinsterish embarrassment. (And Leo was no spinster. He just felt that way sometimes, when he compared himself to his brothers.) In contrast Michelangelo continued without the tiniest hint of abashment.
“Feeling the heat, bro? Should I relieve you somehow?”
Mikey’s fixed stare was digging into him and Leonardo couldn’t help but scolding himself for what he’d got himself into again.

Heh, a pak kdo je tady perverzák. Zpátky na fanfikce.