Casey ate pavement before he really registered Leonardo's voice, the bullets stitching the wall overhead, the shriek of steel on steel and sparks showering in front of Casey's face as he scrambled farther into the alley.
Fights didn't normally become this chaotic. A few beers, a motorcycle race to hype himself up, two hockey sticks and a lot of blood splashing on the wall and call it a night. Sometimes there were guns, sometimes ninjas with swords, sometimes a monster crawling up out of the sewers, three times as big as Casey, and the streets were a little safer. Then he and Raph would head back up to the rooftops, watch the sun come up and share another six pack.
Sometimes more.
But tonight the Foot clan and the Purple Dragons were in a war over territory with Diablo Puerto, and gang warfare with ancient weaponry and firearms was a chaotic nightmare of gunshots raining from fire escapes, windows ten stories up, hurled cinderblocks, shuriken and throwing knives and decapitated heads—
Michelangelo lay nearby, taking shelter behind the dumpster as he quickly bandaged a gash on his upper arm, biting the cloth to pull it tight. Donatello was somewhere behind them, shell to shell with Raphael, struggling to disable the Foot clan's satellite targeting systems while his brother kept him guarded.
But Leonardo stood at the mouth of the alley, a wall between Casey and the death and carnage in the street. His blade went through arms and throats and chests without effort, and he twisted scant inches to dodge gunfire. Nothing got by him unless it was as pieces tumbling to the ground.
Casey never really thought about Leonardo except as the older brother, the stick in the mud who insisted on the rules and outdated ideas of honor. The boring one. The annoying one.
Not as the one covered in blood and having to flick aside body parts with his sword.
When the two sides had lost enough people and vanished into the night, Casey gathered up his bat where it'd fallen, broken in half over a gangbanger's head. With a sigh for his dear departed slugger, he let it lie and instead found his mask, the bottom edge cracked where he'd fallen.
The cheering to his left caught his attention, four teenage ninjas laughing and celebrating another night alive. Donatello was tending to Michelangelo's gash, more thoroughly wrapping it for the trip home, and Raphael...
Casey blinked.
Oh.
Raphael was resting against the wall, smiling indulgently as Leonardo poured bottled water over a stab wound to where his shell met his plastron. Blood barely trickled from the thick keratin, probably didn't even hurt all that bad, but Raphael allowed the fussing without comment. The look in his eyes was obvious.
Grudging affection. Exasperated fondness. Growing lust moving across bloody highlights on Leonardo's skin.
Casey understood. Raphael had a type—athletic, a fighter, throwing their whole heart into the fight.
But Casey knew he couldn't compete with that. And, if he had been honest with himself in that moment, couldn't compete against Raphael, either.
Climbing over the foot of the bed, Leonardo crept up over Michelangelo, obediently delivering a kiss that his brother quickly wrested control from, invading from below. His brother's hand came behind his head, holding him close, not allowing any escape as the kiss became crushing. A moment later, Michelangelo nipped the corner of his mouth, then kissed the wound to soothe it.
"A slow blow," Michelangelo whispered, lightly brushing Leonardo's mouth with his fingertips. "And you tell me how amazing I am while you're doing it."
Quirking an eyeridge, Leonardo nevertheless slid back along the bed, laying down between Michelangelo's legs, lowering his head between his thighs. His brother's cock was already growing hard, but Leonardo spared it little attention beyond a few light kisses.
"You are..." he murmured, giving it a small lick, "an amazing brat."
"Leo..." Michelangelo warned.
"Your poor slave does all your chores," Leonardo said, working the cock with his hands. "And your free time is spent playing around."
"You're askin' for it..."
"So sorry, master," Leonardo said, and he gave the cock a few more teasing kisses. "Of course you're magnificent, so much bigger than Raphael and smarter than Donatello, a genius, a tank, a—"
"That's it," Michelangelo said, putting his hand behind Leonardo's neck and pushing him down. "Swallow that cock, and don't you come up for air."
Michelangelo's hand didn't let up, forcing Leonardo down until he gave a muffled cry, bobbing his head and dragging his tongue up in broad strokes. He braced himself on either side of Michelangelo's legs, but his brother didn't show any mercy, holding him as he came. When he did let Leonardo up, it was only to lick away every drop...and then a last teasing kiss as Leonardo quirked his eyeridge again.
"Satisfying, my most amazing master?"
"The toybox," Michelangelo said. "Get a gag."
Chuckling, Leonardo leaned over the bed and reached underneath, pulling out the box of tangled straps and ropes and fishing out a ring gag, a bit gag, a cock gag—
"That's the one," Michelangelo said. "Lock it on."
Pouting, Leonardo gave him a long look and didn't move until Michelangelo's hand started sliding toward the homemade whip of knotted leather. With a theatrical sigh, Leonardo sat on the edge of the bed.
"No no," Michelangelo motioned to his lap. "So I can see. Make it a show."
Rolling his eyes, Leonardo moved to straddle Michelangelo's hips, tilting his head back and bringing the cock gag to his lips, sliding the five inches of rubber down until the broad leather strap covered his mouth. Then he brought both ends around his head, fumbling for a moment as he managed the buckle.
"Tighter."
With a huff, Leonardo pulled the strap further so that it pressed into his skin, shoving the gag as deep as it would go.
At Michelangelo's crooked finger, Leonardo leaned down and bowed his head, allowing his brother to thread the padlock through the reinforced notches in the leather, clicking it shut. The gag muffled Leonardo's complaints as he tugged at the gag, trying to get a little slack, his tongue pinned down in his filled mouth.
"Now," Michelangelo said, laying back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. "After all that work, I'm feeling like a massage. See to it, slave."
Giving his brother a look that promised murder, Leonardo obediently began at his feet, slowly kneading the muscles under the calluses. Then easing between his legs again to work each one separately, digging with the heels of his hands. Halfway through, Michelangelo simply flipped onto his plastron and moaned as his brother's practiced hands found every knot or sore spot and soothed it away.
By the time Leonardo reached his hands, individually tending each finger, Michelangelo was about to melt into the bed.
"Gonna nap a bit," Michelangelo murmured into the pillow. "Polish my shell and wake me up when you're done."
Leonardo fought the urge to smack the back of his head. Any retaliation would have brought severe punishment worse than he was suffering, and he'd agreed to this besides. He'd looked forward to this. And he'd look forward to another session like this again, if he was asked.
So he dutifully dug the chamois cloth and brush from the toybox and began to work, starting in small circles in the center of his brother's shell, following the natural whorls on the surface. Then buffing in the same motions, rubbing up under the edge where it met Michelangelo's skin.
When he was done, he leaned over Michelangelo and nuzzled his cheek, giving a faint murmur through the gag. There was a long intake of breath as Michelangelo woke, stretching, then relaxing bonelessly. Michelangelo saw him and smiled, tapping the gag over his mouth.
"All polished?" he asked.
Leonardo dutifully nodded.
"Good. Good slave. You want that rubber out of your throat?"
Leonardo nodded again, quicker this time. He backed up to let Michelangelo climb out of bed, heading across the room to the row of keys hanging on the wall. Each one was clearly labeled with all the locks hanging on each gag or shackle, and there were copies of each one for safety's sake. Michelangelo looked over his shoulder.
Still on the bed, the chain around his brother's throat lay along the mattress and locked around the corner of the steel frame. Long rivets secured each foot of the bed to the floor. Leonardo's hand held the chain, worrying it between his fingers.
"...nah." Michelangelo left the keys, going back to Leonardo and taking his hands, kissing the backs of his hands, then his eyelids. "You look too cute like that. Just sit back and relax."
Leonardo's groan and a frustrated stomp of his foot made Michelangelo chuckle.
"Hey, you know slaves don't get a choice in anything. Besides, if you're bored, it just means you're eager for someone to walk in and use you. Now, you be good..."
Since Michelangelo hadn't let go, Leonardo stood and followed him toward the door, with a plaintive look begging for a little mercy.
"...put away the toys..."
The chain pulled taut, halting Leonardo in his tracks as Michelangelo backed up to the door, holding it open.
"...and one of us will come play with you a little later."
Michelangelo closed the door behind him. Then came the sound of a lock being turned and a deadbolt being thrown. The door didn't need any locks, but they were loud and heavy purely for the psychological effect on Leonardo who wouldn't be able to escape even if he did slip the chain.
He returned to the bed, sitting on the edge. After a few minutes of rest, he gathered up the toys that had fallen under the bed, putting them back into the box, untangling everything and sliding it back under the bed. There were no sheets or blankets to arrange, but he could straighten out the fitted sheet and the pillows. And then there was nothing else he could do but sit on the cushion on the floor and wait.
Without a clock, he had no idea how long it had been when he heard the lock turn. Despite himself, his tail began to wag.
"The issue isn't that you had sex in the garage. God knows I've...well. The issue is safety."
Sitting on the floor of the garage, Leonardo gave a long suffering sigh, allowing Donatello to take his right arm and begin winding the duct tape. The staff lay across his shoulders, long enough that it passed his fingertips as Donatello taped his wrist securely to one end.
"We're two trained ninja," Leonardo said. "The garage just has some things on the floor and machines to watch out for."
"Exactly, loose and moving parts." Donatello bit off the tape and patted it down, then began around his elbow. "A recipe for disaster."
"Honestly? I'm more scared of your lab. All those glowing test tubes and burners..."
"Those are all inert substances. I would never take you near the more dangerous experiments. And the burners were all shut off."
Donatello finished that side and moved to Leonardo's left, taping his wrist to the other end of the staff.
"I would never do anything that might hurt you. Raphael might like getting rough and Mikey's crazy enough to try anything once, but I prefer being the sane one of the bunch."
Leonardo smiled. "Does that include me?"
"You're the one doing anything you're told."
"You didn't seem to mind it," Leonardo murmured, "when you left that machine going for like an hour—ack!"
Leonardo yelped as his mask was yanked, pulling his head back. Donatello stood and stepped over his arm, coming around in front of him. Obviously the process of tying his brother had made him progressively hard so that he could immediately stuff his cock into Leonardo's mouth, already wide open and waiting.
"You're getting...too comfy...with this sex slave thing." Donatello struggled to keep his thoughts clear. The weeks after discovering their brother's preferences had meant hours of practice of all things sexual, and Leonardo had always been a dedicated student. Compared to those first days, Leonardo was doing things with his tongue that should have been impossible.
But Donatello was not the brains of the family for nothing, and he managed to keep his mind even as his brother brought him over the edge. As he shuddered, catching his breath, he tightened his grip on the staff taped to his brother's arms.
"You can't just...let everyone do crazy stuff to you regardless of the consequences."
Visibly swallowing, Leonardo looked up at him, resting his head on Donatello's plastron.
"You three aren't going to hurt me." He lowered his head and found the tip of Donatello's cock still retracting between his thighs, pressing a light kiss to it as it pulled away. "And so far I don't mind the consequences."
To hell with it. Donatello only had so much strength. His brother ended up with a sore jaw and light bruises on his throat when Donatello held him still as he finished a second time.
"Okay," Donatello gasped, almost shaking. "You got me with that one."
When he was back in control of himself, Donatello finished the last few wraps of duct tape around his arm, better securing the staff, then tore two more strips of tape. These formed a perfect X across Leonardo's mouth.
"But if you're going to be in here often, tied up, gagged, in the dark, whatever, then the garage has to be a lot safer. And that means picking up all the scraps on the floor. And that means..."
Here Donatello slid a bucket on either end of the staff and taped the handles in place. Without being too rough, he then took the staff and lifted his brother to his feet.
"...you are helping."
Leonardo frowned. He had no clue what anything in the garage was, let alone where it belonged.
Then Donatello bent, gathered several handfuls of tools and gears and parts and dropped them into the buckets. Leonardo grunted as the weight increased—not enough to be a burden, but enough to drag on his shoulders. When Donatello dumped several more handfuls into the other bucket, Leonardo made a muffled complaint
"Hey, 'slave', punishments don't have to be just sexual." Donatello sprinkled in a few last bolts. "If I have to clean up this whole garage, you aren't getting out of helping."
Leonardo's grumble made clear what he thought about that, grumbling again when Donatello simply snapped his fingers for him to follow.
