Rude Awakenings
Epic Saga - Scene Sixteen
((NC-17 warning))
wut-the-chuck:
Gradually Michelangelo becomes aware of amazing sensations. He doesn’t know what’s going on yet, but he is suspended in an ocean of warmth, filled with a lazy contentedness. It’s like hiding in bed on a long Saturday morning, a feeling of being perfectly happy to keep his eyes closed and burrow deeper into pillows and blankets, neither awake nor asleep but slipping in and out, dozing on the cusp of oblivion or chasing after half-remembered pleasant dreams.
But it’s not usually so incredibly cozy under a cool-blooded creature’s blankets. Something in here with him is positively radiating warmth. It’s like the hot water bottles Splinter had tirelessly changed out during the coldest winter nights when they were still small enough to pile up in a single nest. And before he is even having any conscious thoughts about it, Mike is snuggling closer, trying to wrap his body around it. He was the littlest one, so the others would nudge him in first and pile on or around him. Snuggling the warm thing was his birthright.
Mike wriggles closer. It’s fluffy and warm and so unexpectedly nice that he impulsively slides on top of it.
The turtle is fuzzily delighted to feel the hard contours of a man’s body beneath a plush veneer of silky fur and makes an involuntary mmmmnnn sound deep in his throat. He presses more of his weight down and slides around, and winds up nosing at Usagi’s neck with his beak, and then teasing a cloud of fur with the edges of his mouth.
The vibrations from the muffled sound that escaped Michelangelo's lips as he nuzzles into the ronin’s neck brings a soft groan that fills the air between the shinobi and the rabbit pinned beneath him. Blankets are caught in battle worn paws which clench at the teasing of Mikey’s mouth, the rabbit pressing more firmly against the turtle as his back is arched upward slightly.
Soft and groggy purrs of sleepy contentment rumble through the barely conscious ronin, sending subtle vibrations through the plastron of the turtle above him as fur covered hands snake upward along Michelangelo's well toned arms until the calloused pads of Usagi's fingers press into the shinobi’s shoulders with just the slightest bite of claw.
Oh, man. Oh, wow. Even in total darkness, Mike is able to recognize the cheek floofs he is nuzzling. It’s a pleasant jolt, and not enough to really get him rationally thinking about any of this. He’s just got a thing for floofs, apparently, and now he’s happy to confirm that these are, in fact, the best floofs. My god, it's him. This is happening. Who the fuck cares how or why?
Those claws... The turtle recognizes those, too. He got to study them up close that very first morning together, when he was bandaging Usagi's knuckles. Mike can picture them exactly, curved and black, kind of exotic. He never thought before about how they might feel dragging hard on his shoulders. Splayed over his throat. His next breath has gone ragged.
His tail was already hard and full, as it generally is early in the morning. So it really does not take too much more of this intense stimulation before he starts wondering what that soft silky fur will feel like against the hyper-sensitive, softly scaled underside of his tail. He nuzzles under the ronin’s jaw and then slides up a bit, just enough to set his tail against the ronin’s fur. His white coat is shorter and more velvety there, and it feels amazing. He rocks back again, presses his freckled face against the rabbit’s chest and groans.
The ronin’s head tilts back slightly as Michelangelo presses his face into the thick fur on the his throat, the purrs that the shinobi was drawing out of him grew louder, their vibrations more noticeable. The fog of sleep was still thick, rationality not quite settled in, but the intimate attention was beginning to rouse Usagi.
When Michelangelo had settled onto his chest, greedily stealing his body heat beneath the shabby blanket they share the turtle is able to immediately feel the hare’s body tense slightly, the grip of his claws loosening just a bit.
He makes no attempt to move from his submissive position, merely clears his throat awkwardly, the sound a sharp contrast from the pleased moans he had given before.
Mike peeks up from the pristine snowy landscape of Usagi’s gorgeous abs, having frozen in place. His blue eyes search the darkness for Usagi’s face. Apprehension fills his eyes and goes to war with the gleam of lust that had already been there. He’s already dropped, just a moment ago, pressing a snarl of satisfaction into that fluffy chest hair, and now… now it might stop here. Now they might have to come to their senses.
But he wants. He wants. Wants all of this.
Michelangelo slides back up the ronin’s body, feels his way until he knows they are face to face. His breath is rough and panting, stirring floof and causing whiskers to twitch. “Usagi,” he rasps, “I didn’t mean to. I just woke up, and -- I didn’t know. We were already--” He’d been keeping most of his weight on his hands and knees, but now he rocks against the pinned rabbit again, the nudge of his thighs-- and something else -- gentle but insistent. Making known his ongoing willingness. “Like this,” he huffs, unable to help himself and grinding again.
“Truth is, dude... I have been hardcore into you. Like, ever since this started.”
The ronin’s eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, the amaranth orbs visible even in the limited light. Bucked teeth nervously chew on his lower lip as the shinobi explains himself, his chest rising and falling somewhat more rapidly than usual. Usagi opens his mouth as if to answer, but any words he may have spoken are lost in a muffled groan as Michelangelo presses against him, causing him to reflexively grip the boy’s shoulders once again.
The older warrior’s head turns away for just a moment before he lets out a soft sigh, catching his companion’s eyes and replying in a voice that is low, still thick with sleep and tinted with breathlessness, “Mikey-kun… I am your yojimb--”
“No,” Mike corrects, cutting off his friend mid-sentence by impulsively seizing his mouth with one large green hand, sealing his palm over it. His eyes blaze directly into Usagi’s for a moment. He pulls his hand away, but only to begin kissing the ronin aggressively. There is more dominance in this kiss than affection. He would have submitted to any number of excuses -- but not that one.
The gruff lip-lock doesn’t last very long -- Usagi has time to realize it’s happening before it’s over. He just wants to have the warrior’s undivided attention as he insists, “Dude, I will accept a whole buncha reasons. Tell me that turtles just don’t do it for you, like we’re too different. I get that. You can give me some stupid crap about honor. Maybe you’re screwed up from the last person you got with. Maybe you’re worried about what my asshole big brother is gonna think. Maybe I smell bad, maybe you got a headache! It could be any of those reasons.” He brings his face in very close now, close enough for Usagi to feel the punctuation of his breath as he reiterates, “But I don’t need a goddamned yojimbo right now. I can take care of myself. I been taking care of myself. But…”
Mike’s shoulders deflate, some of his aggression subsiding as his challenging gaze finally drops. He shifts onto his side but doesn’t disengage completely, tucking his face against the ronin’s shoulder and breastbone and sliding a questing hand over his companion’s downy stomach. “God... I’m so lonely, Usagi.”
Usagi tenses once again as Michelangelo’s lips crash against his. The kiss is brief but it leaves the ronin gasping for breath when the shinobi pulls away. He is left to catch his breath and listen as he is berated by Michelangelo who still has him pinned firmly to the futon beneath them.
His nose wrinkles slightly, his whiskers twitching as the young warrior positions his face mere inches from his, each breath disturbing the tufts of fur which border his snout. The hand that traces the contours of his chest and abdomen is met with flexed muscles and an involuntary exhale of breath. With another soft sigh he replies in little more than a whisper as he lifts a paw, gently resting it on the turtle’s shoulder, “I am lonely as well, my friend.”
“Yeah,” Mike remarks, shifting his weight to his hip and one elbow. A touch of mirth creeps into his voice as he agrees, “I kinda figured. Don’t think I’m half as lonely as you are...” His eyes are following his hand now, watching it glide lower at a pace that is achingly slow, until it disappears beneath the blanket.
Oh, but he’s going for it. He’s giving plenty of warning, but unless otherwise hampered, Mike is determined to wrap that hand around his very first rabbit cock. His gaze slides up to check Usagi’s face. Plennnnnty of time to stop it.
Mike turns his head to press several kisses onto the ronin’s collarbone and upper chest, his scratchy voice pitched just above a whisper, his hand still slowly moving lower as he insists, “But we don’t gotta be.”
Usagi gasped lightly as Michelangelo’s hand ventured further south in his body, arching his back up into the touch. The hand that is clasped onto the shinobi's shoulder grips more firmly as he watches the turtle, his eyes fixed on the boy with a look on timid anticipation.
The rumbling in the samurai’s bosom that had subsided began anew as if to meet the gentle kisses that were trailed across his chest. Usagi let his paw slip the the back of the turtle’s neck, teasing the scales there momentarily with his deceptively sharp claws before dipping his head down to press his snout gently against the ninja’s cheek.
“Ohhhyeah,” Mike exhales as his hand finally closes around his goal, this intriguing new plaything. He doesn't look away from where he is nuzzling Usagi’s face, not wanting this unexpected and magical affection to end. He feels it out blind.
His three thick fingers slide down the tapered length and then up again. Mike mutters soft encouragements as his rounded cheek scrapes over the whiskered chin. “There you are. I'm gonna make you feel so good.”
The ronin’s grip on the back of Michelangelo’s neck tightens, his hips buck upwards as soon as the shinobi’s fingers find his length. A choked gasp escaped his lips but the noise soon transforms instead into deep and throaty purrs from deep in his chest.
The turtle's cheek is met with an enthusiastic and whiskery nuzzle from the hare who pressed forward until he managed to cut off the whispered sentiment by catching Mike’s lips with his bucked teeth, pulling the younger warrior into a breathless and gentle kiss.
Michelangelo blinks in surprise at first, then surges forward to meet the kiss. His whole upper body presses closer, with just a tiny pocket of space between them to allow for the motion of Mike’s hand snaked between them. He can feel Usagi’s hot little tongue smashing and sliding against his. It strokes his own arousal, making his head spin and his cock throb. The turtle’s mouth parts from Usagi’s and he gasps the ronin’s name. He pulls in a lungful of air, enough to fuel the next round, before diving back into the make-out session with enthusiasm.
In his passion, the muscles in Mike’s tail spasm and react with a few involuntary thrusts that cause the spade-shaped tip to bump up against Usagi’s leg. He shifts back onto his knees and straddles one of Usagi’s legs so that his penis can sometimes slide into the space between their thighs. It feels good when that happens, enough to make his breath catch and his eyelids flutter.
Mike’s kiss is deep and passionate. With his tongue pressing and twisting against Michelangelo’s, the ronin tried to match the much younger man’s enthusiastic pace. The purrs and moans coming from him were impeded by the heated exchange, making them manifest much more as muffled intakes of ragged breath.
The samurai began to shift beneath the turtle, his body moving in time with the shinobi’s hand stroking his hardened member. His padded feet dig into the futon beneath them as he lifts his body upward to press himself more firmly against the boy. Usagi breaks the kiss at the added friction, letting his head fall back into the pillows softly calling out the ninja’s name.
Michelangelo looks on as the older warrior breaks the kiss and rocks his head back. A little grin creeps onto his face as he regards what is looking like a job well done so far. He had been getting a little distracted with the poking and prodding going on down beneath the blankets, but the sound of his name being murmured in such an intimate way -- and by this beautiful creature whom he has come to admire -- it refocuses his efforts on pleasing rather than being pleased.
After a minute or so of tugging on Usagi’s cock the natural lubricant has mostly been spent on Mikey’s dry palms, so he darts his hand up quickly to spit into his hand. He tucks his face downward as he does this, trying to be quick and stealthy, knowing it will make the sliding of his palm feel immensely better.
His teeth dug into his bottom lip, physically biting back moans of pleasure that threatened to escape him as the turtle worked his hand along his shaft, the deftness of years of wielding his nunchaku evident in the fluid like movements of his wrist. The ronin’s body had begun to tense further with each measured stroke of that reptilian hand but the samurai practically deflated when Michelangelo pulled his hand away. An almost pathetic whine passed his lips in the moments that it took the turtle to coat his hand with saliva, pleading amaranth eyes opened slightly, imploring the turtle not to stop, but they were slammed shut when the cool scales once again enveloped him.
He was unable to stop the primal sounds from filling the air now, his claws gripping the shinobi tightly by the shoulders as Mikey’s efforts began again, now aided by the slick lubricant that the boy had so generously provided. “Oh gods, Mikey… please don't stop. Just… Just like that.” he begged between heaving breaths.
Mike doesn't stop -- not even to wonder how they came to be here. What became of his earlier resolve not to flirt? Well, they seem to have moved way past flirting. Probably best not to question it. There is no way he is backing off now, when Usagi is literally begging him not to.
“Shhh… I got this, dude,” he soothes. “I am not going anywhere.” Michelangelo ducks his head to stroke the tip of his beak along the ronin’s furred jawline while his fist continues to pump furiously.
Usagi’s hips quickly begin to rock, every thrust matching the pace of Michelangelo's stroking hand and each accompanied by another grunt of pleasure. His grip became more firm and the samurai called out again as he released onto the shinobi’s plastron, collapsing onto the futon gasping for breath. The ronin’s knees were shaking as he lay, slowly opening his eyes to take in the turtle above him.
He gently lifted his head, pressing another soft kiss to Mikey’s lips before letting out a contented sigh. After just a moment or two of catching his breath the older male shoved Michelangelo roughly, forcing a switch in their positions -- quickly climbing on top of the boy, straddling his waist between his own fur covered thighs.
“Boku no ban desu. (*)” The ronin teased with a devious smirk before scooting down enough that he was able to grab hold of Michelangelo’s exposed member with his sword calloused hands. Usagi’s grin remained on his face as he lowered his head, running his tongue along the gargantuan length before finally taking the spear like tip into his mouth.
(*) “It's my turn.”
Michelangelo flips over onto his back with little resistance. Just a blink of surprise, and he does manage the quick reaction of scraping his hand over his lower plastron as he is being toppled sideways and rolling onto his shell.
When Usagi states his intentions, Mike brings his hand up to take a noisy lick -- of course, it’s just covered in the rabbit’s cum. Then he beams impishly and agrees, “Kay!” It’s actually hella sexy that the ronin can just flip him around like that.
And now he’s -- ohhh.
First the blue eyes get wider as the older warrior makes his true intentions known. Then they get very heavy, as the real action starts. His long neck strains to rock his head backwards and he breathes out, shuddering and slow.
His amaranth eyes were trained on Michelangelo as he worked, never leaving the turtle's face for more than a few moments, his rump was high in the air, cottontail twitching excitedly as he dipped down lower, letting the boy slide as deep into his throat as he could manage before he had to pull away to catch his breath.
The rabbit recovered quickly and continued to tease the tip of Michelangelo’s cock with his tongue and lips, letting saliva and precum drip along the length to lubricate the hardened muscle. Both of his paws were wrapped around the base by Mikey’s tail and would slide up the turtle’s shaft to meet Usagi’s lips each time he took more of the ninja into his mouth.
Michelangelo cannot do much more than moan with pleasure where he lay, gazing up at the yawning black above which must be the unfamiliar ceiling. Sometimes he tries to peek down past his plastron to catch a glimpse of what is going on down there, but all he can see is the faint shape of Usagi’s bobbing ears, the normally gleaming white reduced by the darkness to a velvety grey.
It is an intriguing sight. He watches spell-bound for a time, but eventually cranes his head back again and suckles at another of his slimy fingers. His tail thumps gently to meet the rhythm of Usagi’s strokes as the salty scent and taste of sex fills his head.
The pace of Usagi’s strokes becomes quicker, his paws tightening their already firm grip on the thick muscle. The ronin’s head moves in time with each of those measured strokes, taking as much of the length as he can manage, his teeth lightly scraping Michelangelo with each movement.
Without interrupting his almost feverish pace the hare slides one of his paws further down to take the boy’s tail into his palm. In a gentle manner that is quite the contrast from the attention that Mike’s cock is receiving, the samurai gently strokes the appendage with the pads of his fingers. Eager amaranth eyes flick upward, taking in the shinobi’s reaction.
Whooaaa there, Bunny Teeth… Mikey’s eyes pop open as he first feels them starting to graze some of his most vulnerable flesh. But it doesn't hurt. It still feels so good, actually. Just a tiny reminder of the risk, though. He could probably chomp right through it in one bite with those teeth… A shiver runs through him at the thought -- though whether it is because he is spooked by this or turned on, he can't exactly tell. It seems kind of fucked up that he can't tell.
Michelangelo spends a few beats gazing into the darkness toward the ronin, even though he can't see anything in the black beyond Usagi’s ears and the lovely shifting silhouettes of his strong shoulders and back. But suddenly the shadows change.
When Usagi looks up, the young turtle is already looking in his direction, huffing with pleasure and looking decidedly spellbound. But the meeting of their eyes forms an instant connection. A smile breaks onto his features and he murmurs, his voice husky and unsteady with lust, “If you keep that up… fair warning, dude! You are gonna wind up paying for another trip to the bath house.”
Usagi lifts his head away from the turtle's member at the words, casting a mischievous and youthful smirk at him. The ronin deftly begins to crawl upward along the shinobi's body, his shoulders shifting like a tiger stalking its prey as he moves. When he is once again straddling Michelangelo’s waist he presses a soft kiss to his beak before straightening up and whispering to the boy in a low voice, “Might as well make it worth the trip then.”
Usagi lowered his paw behind him, grasping the swollen muscle protruding from Mikey’s tail, carefully pressing it against himself as he sank down onto it, letting out a deep moan as he is penetrated. After taking only the span of a few heartbeats to adjust the samurai started to roll his hips against Mikey, building up to a steady rhythm.
Michelangelo gasps as Usagi descends and his cock slides into a place of exquisite heat and pressure. It feels good enough to make his toes curl up and his hands become fists. In all the commotion taking place on the futon now, the blanket has been shaken off.
Blue eyes flutter open. Michelangelo can see his friend better now from this vantage, gleaming above him in the near darkness. Then the furred warrior is moving, a steady grinding rhythm. A turtle’s hips can't actually do that, so there is no upward thrust in return. Instead Mike’s tail is instinctively facilitating to slide and reposition as needed, happily serving its evolutionary function of helping to drive his phallus home.
Mike has no deep thoughts to spare for these mechanics nor the reasons behind anything that is happening. He is rapidly reaching a place where higher thought becomes elusive. He can only fuck and feel and grunt and thrust and breathe.
Usagi bit down on his lower lip to muffle the sound of rumbling purrs and moans coming from him as he rode the young shinobi. Each time he rolled his hips the turtle would slide further into him, causing his muscles to contract and tighten around the thick cock.
The samurai bent forward to drag his claws along Michelangelo's plastron as he dipped his head down, catching the turtle’s lips with his. The hare continued to rock his hips back against the turtle as his tongue snaked into the ninja’s mouth.
Oh, the lovely claws. Michelangelo can feel through the plastron -- though the sensation is muted, like tapping the top of a human fingernail. Still it serves to ramp up his excitement, feeling the drag of them over his plastron, the quiet click and scrape as they traverse each section of keratin.
His blunt teeth nip playfully at Usagi’s lower lip when he dips down for a kiss. Mike’s eyes are bright and flashing. “You are so insanely hot,” he breathes into the space between them once their mouths have parted.
The older warrior’s lips spread into a satisfied and devious grin at the words spoken by the turtle beneath him. He gives no verbal response but straightens himself once again, bringing his paws up and using them instead to deftly untie the fabric which held his ears into their signature topknot. Usagi shook his head lightly as his long ears fell loosely on either side of his head, framing his face in the dim light.
The samurai widened the placement of his knees on either side of the shinobi's body to bring Michelangelo deeper within him as he gradually built to a much quicker pace with his rolling hips. His eyes shut as his momentum sped up, his lips parted slightly, deep moans escaping from them with each enthusiastic gyration.
He cannot even find words at this point -- and that is a rare state for one such as Mikey to find himself in. There is no way the far less experienced turtle is going to be able to take much more of this incredible, relentless friction. His head rocks and his tail drives upwards to meet the impressive pace and rolling force being set by the beautiful samurai warrior.
It is as though every impaling downward motion of his new lover’s body is stoking a growing blaze inside him. A shivery anticipation and rising pressure is pooling deep in his gut. He knows that feeling, knows exactly what it means, and he is too far gone at this point to prevent the inevitable. His perspective fish-eyes, the backdrop of their rented room falling away until there is nothing but Usagi: his lean, muscular, gorgeous body, his silken fur sliding over Michelangelo’s skin, and the heady musk of semen and male sweat that hangs thick in the air around them.
The churring he hears is distant and distorted at first, dissociated from his current situation and frankly easy to ignore considering how swept up he is in the moment. It's not until Mike has already begun to cum that the sound sharpens, becomes personal, a mating call that is unique (they all have their quirks, in this regard) and distinctly recognizable as his own.
There is a jarring moment when Michelangelo realizes that the sound is coming from him -- not because it isn't a normal reaction, but it should have started sooner. That’s weird… His brain sort of stutters on the thought only to wipe blank with pleasure in the next moment. Suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore. He is in that long, golden moment of ecstasy, a rush that expands and pulses in time to each spurt of his orgasm.
As it finally starts to ebb, his tail reflexively shoves as if it would keep him lodged as long as possible in spite of his ebbing erection. His eyes start to flutter. The thrust feels off, his softening cock expecting tight warm flesh and instead feeling wet, slimy linens. Nothing is quite falling into place -- not until he thinks he hears someone calling his name.
Oh, no. Oh, no no no…
Usagi had barely managed to get himself into his own bedding when he had finally situated Michelangelo into his sheets for the night, and had rid him of the wet clothing in order to prevent the turtle from catching cold. As he collapsed into his own soft blanket the ronin did not even bother to shed his kimono, he simply fell asleep a few moments after his head hit the pillow, the swimming and heavy sensation of intoxication quickly giving way to a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
While the samurai used to enjoy his dreams very much it had been far too long since the night had brought him anything that was not painful, memories of his lost love and a life that was stolen away from him due to no fault of his own. So a night where he was simply lost in the void of unconsciousness was more pleasant than he could possibly put words to. The only problem was that his reprieve from that profound loneliness was cut short, much sooner than he would have liked it to have been.
When he woke it was to nearly distressed sounds that his companion was making in the bed beside him. The rabbit was lying diagonally across his bed, one of his geta still hanging loosely on his toes and no small amount of drool matting the fur on his cheek. He brought a paw up to wipe his face as he straightened himself the correct way into his bed and turned to face the shinobi who was tossing and turning slightly in his bed.
In a voice that was still thick with sleep the samurai quietly called out, “Michelangelo-san… must you make such a racket so early in the morning?”
This cannot be happening. Michelangelo pushes himself half upright and looks around in confusion and dismay, taking in all the details which now stand evident -- the most obvious being that Usagi’s voice is coming from too far away.
“Shit! I’m so sorry, dude! I… I was dreaming about somebody...” Mike is not about to admit that Usagi was the subject of his dream. He doesn't want to make things awkward… okay, well, it’s actually far too late for that. But he doesn’t want to make things permanently awkward. And by now he has recalled all the reasons he had originally decided not to pursue his new friend actively.
“Somebody I lost too soon,” he further embellishes the lie. This particular one comes easily, because a very real part of him wishes it were true. I'm sorry, Danny…
After all, isn’t that who he should have been dreaming of? He loved Danny with all of his heart, didn't he? Seven months does not seem like a very long grieving period. It feels like a betrayal of his dead lover’s memory, that Mike would already be having sex dreams about other people. And so the tears that spring suddenly to his eyes are genuine, even if his accompanying words were not.
If Usagi were to give in to his own selfish desires he would have simply dismissed the turtle’s confession and fallen back to sleep. However, that was not the type of man that Miyamoto was, so he instead slowly pushed himself up into his elbows and gave in the boy his full, albeit sleepy, attention.
“I can empathize, my friend. It is not easy to think back on the people who have left our lives. Particularly when those memories are brought about unexpectedly.” The ronin sat up fully, stretching his arms above his head before he added, “How about I go downstairs and fetch some tea? I always find that a hot cup of jasmine helps to soothe after unpleasant dreams.”
“Yes! You should totally go make tea,” Mike agrees, looking up hastily from the soiled blankets. “Ungh, jasmine. That's like the best kinda tea, too. I like it really strong, so you should steep it… a lot.”
This is going to take some luck, but maybe he can escape this humiliation.
As soon as he can get Usagi down the hall and out of sight, Michelangelo is racing back in to gather up the soiled linens in a giant armful. Spying a young girl who is carrying an empty tray and leaving one of the rooms, he rushes towards her.
“Ahh… ahhh… embarrassment! Please help!” Mike begs her in broken Japanese. “I have a… a dream mistake! Please fix the blankets. Soon my friend returns, please help!”
Usagi nodded sleepily and agreed through a yawn which he hid behind a snow white paw, “Hai. I prefer my tea strong as well.” The ronin rose from his bedding, clumsily stepping back into his geta and straightening his kimono. “Do try not to dwell, my friend. I will return shortly and we can talk about it, if you wish.”
The hare proceeded out of the room, wrapping his arms around himself to stay warm and trying to keep his footfalls light as to not disturb any other guests that may still be sleeping. As he made his way down to the kitchens he found himself smiling back at the pleasant festival that he had been able to spend with his charge. Even though there had been a few ups and downs the evening was the best that he could recall having in many seasons.
It had been far too long since he had been able to spend time with a friend and actually enjoy himself. He had become quite adept at hiding what could only be described as his misery behind a stoic mask. But those closest to him had even begun to see through that in the years following his and Leo’s parting ways.
The pleasant night and the peaceful sleep did however also painfully remind him of how he relied so heavily on the numbing haze of sake to get him through the pain of losing Mariko in his youth. It had become habitual, for a time, to drown those feelings of betrayal in hot wine - a habit made only easier with the aid of Gennosuke, who always seemed to have a ready supply.
The samurai shook his head lightly to dispel those memories as he rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame of the kitchen and asked for a pot of tea. He watched the leaves slowly steep into the water, turning it from clear to a murky brown, silently assuring himself that it would not become a problem again.
Kachi was not, in fact, extremely thrilled with the particulars of the naked turtle man’s urgent emergency. She recalled, however, that this foreigner’s companion wore the swords of a true samurai. Though merely a ronin, she presumed that was still a far step up in station from that of a barbarian foreigner. This one’s strong desire not to disgrace himself in the eyes of his master is completely understandable, even commendable! That is what the girl reminds herself as she drags her gaze up, away from his nude form -- away from his disgusting, wadded blanket, which is not only soiled but starting to drip, and -- Kachi must steady herself. She works very hard to plaster the gentle and accommodating smile back onto her face.
His situation could not be more clear to her, in spite of the fact that she has barely been able to understand his frantic tumble of badly pronounced words. In spite of his startling appearance, the young man’s eyes were kind and relatable. Even in his desperation, they seemed more honest and harmless than they ought to be, according to stories she has heard about blue-eyed devils from across the sea.
She huffs with growing impatience and must gesture for him to be silent. Thankfully, he seems to comprehend. Kachi held her arms out to accept the bundle, hoping that her clipped bow and the fall of her hair will be enough to mask her distasteful grimace. With a bit of creative re-folding to ensure that worst of the mess is contained, she ensures her spotless garb will not soiled as she tucks it under one arm. The other alights upon the naked green devil’s strong shoulder to gently but firmly steer him back into his room before the sight of him can disturb any of the inn’s other patrons. “Chotto matte, kudesai,(*)” she speaks softly, slowly, not sure if he might be slightly daft, then turns on her heel and hurries out of sight.
The blanket she returns with is not freshly laundered. She is not going to be lured into doing extra work for the sake of this foreigner. The sun is only starting to break over the horizon, but several patrons have already departed. It is from one of these rooms which Kachi snags a blanket. It may not be fresh -- it smells faintly of Bull, actually -- but it far more fresh than the soiled one she leaves in its place. Let the lonely old farmer be blamed by the washing wenches, and let her be done with the horrible matter!
By the time Usagi returns, Michelangelo is sprawled out innocently on his fresh-ish, grassy smelling blanket. He has a sketchbook open in front of him, lazily sketching a picture of Kitsune from memory. He pushes up off his plastron and shifts into a cross-legged position, flashing his friend a sheepish smile.
(*) Please wait a moment.
Usagi pushed open the door to their room with his shoulder, as his hands were full with the tray on which he had placed the lot of tea and several glasses. When he made it over to his friend he once again kicked off his geta before gracefully lowering himself into a lotus position next to the turtle.
“It was still too early for me to get us any breakfast, but the cook said that they will have some ready within the hour. For now, we will have to make due with just the tea.” the ronin said as he went about pouring each of them a cup.
Miyamoto glanced over at the sketch book in Mikey’s lap as he took a sip of his tea and quietly commented, “That is quite good. I am sure that Kitsune would approve.” With a slight shrug of his shoulder he added, “I have never had so much talent when it comes to art. I must admit that I am somewhat envious.”
“Riiight,” Mike grin at Usagi. “Because you don't have ANY enviable skills that I can think of…” He glances down at his picture. Truthfully, he’s only just started working on this sketch so it is still quite rough. It pleases him that Usagi can already tell who it is supposed to be.
Michelangelo closes his journal and sets the pencil aside before leaning to pick up his tea cup. “I’m pretty sure you are awesome enough already! And you better be careful, because if you are like, ‘aw, man! I wish I was a better artist!’ then the gods are gonna be like, dude! We already made you a master swordsman and a yojimbo and a really good fishmonger and a camp builder and a pathfinder and a forager and a diplomat and probably a whole slew of other skills that I haven't found out about yet! And if you keep it up, they’re gonna be all, yo, that bunny is getting greedy! Yeah? Let's mess with him.”
The young turtle finally stops talking long enough to sample his tea. It’s actually pretty good! He didn't used to be a big fan of tea -- and he’ll probably never be wild for it like Leo -- but Mikey is coming to appreciate subtler flavors lately.
Usagi sipped his tea, his head cocking to the side slightly as Michelangelo spoke. After a moment he let out a soft sigh and quietly replied, “That is actually rather good insight. You are truly wise beyond your years, Michelangelo-san. I would do well to take my blessings as they have been presented to me and be grateful to the Gods for them.”
He gave the shinobi a sleepy but genuine smile, nodding towards the sketchbook which has been set aside, “Though I will continue to admire your talent, my young friend. You do truly have a gift.”
The ronin drained his cup of tea and set it on the tray in front of him before looking up at his companion, bringing a paw up to scratch at his neck and awkwardly stating, “Michelangelo-san… if you would like to speak about your friend, I am more than happy to listen. But I shall not pry.”
Michelangelo smiled politely and even thought to dip his head in a casual bow of acknowledgement and thanks for the compliment, even though the words give him that same bittersweet twinge that he usually feels when someone praises his artwork or his writing. He’s got no faith to put into any of these pursuits, which will always come second to his pre-written destiny of being a ninja and an outcast. He will never know what it’s like to stand before his work in a gallery on opening night. He will never be able to walk into a comic book shop openly, so the idea of walking in to see his own published work available on the wall amongst the other new issues is an even more fantastic dream. But of course, he dreamed it anyway.
Does Michelangelo want to talk about Danny? Hell, why not? It's already shaping up to be a melancholy sort of morning, now that the excitement of the festival, that passionate dream, and the panic of a nearly mortifying situation are all behind him. He might as well embrace it.
“Danny,” Mike sighs. “His name was Danny. But I wouldn't actually learn that for a really long time. It wouldn’t even be a romance, for a really long time! The first time I met him… well, he couldn’t have been more than fourteen and already hustling in Chelsea. That's, um -- well, it’s one of the two neighborhoods where I live in Manhattan that are considered kinda gay. Like, plenty of dudes looking to hook up with other dudes. And Greenwich Village has gone all rich and commercial, but Chelsea… it’s one of those places where you gotta stick to certain streets. It's all art galleries and hip cafes and trendy bars and dance clubs on one street, right? And on the next it’s just row after row of housing projects. That's, like, when ya got real poor people all packed too tight into the rooms of these shabby buildings that are stuck together in a big long row and they all look exactly the same. They're kind of depressing, and they can be dangerous -- not to me, obviously, but to most people.”
Mike relates his tale with wistful calm, gazing down at his tea for the most part, with occasional upward glances. Now he pauses to sip from his teacup before continuing. “He wasn’t technically a street kid, I guess. After his dad tossed him out, he found some older boys who let him crash with them. They lived together in the bad part of Chelsea, and were showing him how to make a living flirting with the good part, you know? Hitting up dudes who are leaving the bars and clubs on their own. Learning how to spot somebody with money, somebody who looks lonely enough that they might wanna pay for some company.”
Mike peeks up at his friend and smirks faintly, wondering, “You follow all that so far, or did I lose you using too many modern words?”
Usagi nodded slowly, “I think I have got it. I am growing more accustomed to the way you speak. A few details might be lost on me, but I understand that Danny was a boy of unfortunate means, in an unfortunate area, with unfortunate acquaintances, learning to make the best of an unfortunate situation by seeking those of good fortune for temporary companionship in exchange for money.”
The ronin then refilled his tea, deciding to fully commit himself to wakefulness as to pay the proper respect to the deeply personal story which his companion was making him privy to.
He took a sip of his drink before adding with a soft sigh, “It is a story all too familiar for many, regardless of the world you come from. Please, continue.”
Michelangelo nods faintly. His gaze is trained down at the contents of his teacup, but at the same time they are very far away. “My brother Raph always took a special interest in a neighborhood called Harlem. Got so he was sort of a local legend in that part of town. There’s a dive bar in Harlem still gotta sign in the window, says ‘The Nightwatcher Drinks On The House.’ Which I think annoys him, cuz he hasn't gone by that name in ages, but that's still what they wanna call him. Anyway, I haven't been nearly so flashy about it, right? But lately, I like to look after Chelsea…” The smile he flashes Usagi is vaguely fond as the flashbulbs of several remembered victories go off before his eyes. He has to physically toss his head before he can shake them off and refocus.
“But it wasn't all about fighting the wicked, I gotta admit. Maybe I also wanted to peek into galleries after hours and listen to what songs the clubs were remixing and just… I dunno.” He finishes the remaining tea in his cup and sets it down, wondering if maybe this will sound creepy to Usagi, like he is some kind of voyeur. “I also just wanted to people watch. See people living their lives, out and proud… maybe it was all the time, or maybe just in that part of town, for a little while. It was still good to see, somehow -- even if I couldn't much take part.
“So, the first time I saw Danny, he was working. And there was no reason to interfere. He was just making money, and damned if he didn’t seem to be having fun with it. Still, I could tell he was just a kid. I thought it was kind of a shame, that he had to be out working instead of… I dunno, having impossible high school crushes or trying to sneak into those clubs with a fake ID. Er, that's… like, forged identification? To prove he was old enough to be dancing and drinking at sort of a rowdy adults only tavern with music that is always playing real loud.
“Anyway, Danny was pretty careful for the most part. But he became one of the high risk kids I looked out for in particular, along with a couple other homeless strung out kids and all three of his friends. And even though he was young -- like, way too young, I knew that! But even still, he was… he was kind of ‘the pretty one’, to me. God, he just was. I couldn't help it. He was in a lot better shape than the other boys. Beautiful skin. So, uh… yeah. It's still kinda dangerous work, and eventually his luck runs out. And holy shit, I am just stoked at the chance to step in and be this kid’s hero. My entrance is just -- ugh, so flashy. Stealth, what the hell is that? This entrance is parkour extraordinaire, man. We’re talking, five flips minimum, stick the landing, so fucking sexy. You shoulda seen it.
“I hit the concrete and bounce into an aggressive stance. I’m ready to fucking rock this asshole who thinks he can waltz into MY part of town take whoever he wants without handing over any money. And I look around and realize, to my incredible shock, that this kid apparently doesn't NEED my help because he's already incapacitated the motherfucker. Turns out, before he left home, this kid was really into mixed martial arts.
“Danny’s panting over this dude's fallen body, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out if he might have to take me out next. Cuz I'm just like, ta-da! Here I am! The world's least stealthy, most flat-footed ninja, appearing before you for no goddamned reason apparently…” In spite of his grief, Mike winds up laughing.
Usagi cannot help but to chuckle along with Mikey, being able to imagine the dramatic entrance and awkward encounter as it vividly reminded him of a younger version of himself who had climbed on top of a statue in the Hall of Champions for the sole purpose of leaping down from it impressively in front of Leonardo to assist him with a fight he did not truly need help with.
“I am sorry that I missed that entrance, Mikey-kun. I am sure it made quite an impression on your young friend.” the ronin added playfully. “I take it though that this Danny did not proceed to pummel you.”
“Naw. Not that night, anyway.” The turtle shakes his head. “But we didn't become besties, either. He didn't know what I was about, you know? Jumping outta the shadows like that. I can't blame him for spooking. Nah, he wouldn't pummel me until later… after he’d been recruited by the foot clan.”
Michelangelo’s smile has gone rueful, twisting at the edges. “I'll be honest. I might’ve let him, a little bit. I didn't want him to think he was doing badly! For a human, he was doing great! I mean, obviously he had too much skill for the work he had been doing. But it just sucks that they got to him. I keep wondering, what if I’d approached him sooner, or found a better way? Maybe if I hadn't scared him… but I did. So, you know... when the Foot Clan is asking these new recruits if they’ve heard of their most dangerous enemies, these mutant turtles, of course he’s gonna be like, ‘Yeah! I seen a turtle.’
“That intel, that I was hanging out in Chelsea, was probably good for raising him an easy rank or two in his new clan. It was a pretty good trap they set. I escaped, obviously, but I was sweating for a second there. Didn't kill any Foot that night. Guess in spite of everything, I was still trying to make a good impression.”
When the information came to light that this school boy crush of Michelangelo’s had become a member of The Foot Clan of ninja the ronin could not help but give an empathetic pained hiss, understanding fully well the implications of the boy joining the only rival clan of the Hamato’s. At this point in the story things were not boding well for his young friend.
So too was the story of The Foot, and Danny’s assault on Michelangelo painful to listen to. Particularly with the knowledge that the terrapin had taken a liking to the boy.
The ronin raised a brow and leaned forward slightly, letting himself become immersed in the story, even though he knew that this tale was not going to have a good ending. “And did you? ...Make a good impression, that is.”
“Not that night. But… eventually? Yeah.” Michelangelo’s eyes had been very far away, but now he breaks into a smile. He’s looking right into Usagi’s eyes as he admits, “I can be real persistent. Once I’ve decided that I want something, I'll wear ya down...” Fair warning, samurai.
“I kept haunting Chelsea after that, even though they knew to look for me there. If there were too many, I wouldn't engage. But every chance I could, I would isolate him -- take down his buddies, as gently as possible -- and then we would fight. Drawing it out, keeping the banter going. It had to be obvious that I was toying with him. His Foot buddies gave up after a while, but he kept coming back…”
In just a few sentences, Michelangelo is completely wrapped up in telling his story, his blue eyes lost in memories. “One on one, our fights felt more like sparring matches than battles. I started correcting the mistakes I saw, or I’d demonstrate what I thought he'd been trying to do. At one point he straight up told me that he learned more in an hour with me than he did in a week with the Foot Clan. He kept telling me that I was a fool to train him, because someday he would use those skills to kill me.”
Mike reaches for the tea pot, refreshing Usagi’s cup first and then refilling his own.”Someday… it became sort of a running joke. Even after a year of this, when we had dropped most of the other pretenses and could just hang together, he would still say that sometimes. I’d do something to annoy him -- or do something way too nice, something he couldn’t repay, and he would just look at me and go, ‘Someday, Mikey... you better be careful.’”
Michelangelo pauses, gazing into the steam for a moment before he says in a lower voice, “All lies. I must have given him a dozen different chances…”
Usagi cannot help but smile, thinking back to his own relationship with Leonardo. How their spars gradually had become intimate and true demonstrations of their affections for one another, he could only assume that it was the same way for Michelangelo and his young love. The flutter of anticipation before the fight began, how each landed blow might as well have been a kiss or a gentle embrace.
The happy little bubble of memory that he had allowed to surface quickly burst, reality settling back around him as though it were a storm cloud cresting the horizon, blocking out the summer sun with it’s impenetrable darkness.
No matter the fondness he had for those times, they were gone. His happiness and any future he may have had with Leonardo officially lost in the ether of the realms of ‘What If?’
His shoulders visibly drooped, but only slightly. This was his karma. The sooner he truly accepted that, the better.
He gave his companion a brief smile, but it was one that did not quite reach his eyes.
“How long did you get with him?”, he asked, knowing that he may actually regret having the answer. There was no way that Mikey got the time that he and Leonardo had gotten. He doubted that the boy could even count the change of seasons that he got to spend with Danny on his three fingered hand. Which was unfair, that people that may have actually lasted together got so little time, while he and Leonardo who had fallen apart so easily got to spend so many years at one another's side.
“It shouldn't have been any days,” Mike admits with a sigh. “It wasn't supposed to be about that. That's what I kept telling myself, anyway... I wrote pages and pages about it in my journal. I just could tell he was worth saving, and I really thought I could, so… so I had to! It was the heroic thing to do.”
A blush spreads across Mike’s cheek as he adds sheepishly, “But eventually he, uh, well. He had other ideas. And think I stayed real strong, all things considered! I planned to at least wait until he was seventeen -- that's, well there’s these ‘laws of consent’ where I come from? Younger than seventeen and that is basically considered rape on the part of the older dude. But honestly, I didn't care so much about that as I cared about him still being in the Foot Clan. Even if his heart wasn’t in it, and all that. Clan law means a whole lot more to me than human laws, anyway. That's what kept me strong. So I told him, no way. Not even when you turn seventeen… not if you’re still rolling with an enemy clan. I can't follow you to the Dark Side, I told him. But if you come with me, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. And he… he believed me. He actually came.”
Michelangelo lowers his eyes and shakes his head heavily. The second cup of tea is going cold, untouched in front of him. “But I didn't do enough, I guess. Because… four days. That's all we got. For four days, he was free and he was mine. And then… and then Leo got him killed.” His hands become fists as he says this and his voice becomes very flat. “I was out trying to get us supplies when they found where we were hiding. They grilled him, but he didn't know which way I’d gone. And then Leo decided they should leave him there, alone and undefended. Lead the Foot Clan right to him.”
As the turtle beside him spoke it felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck the samurai, realization coursing through him as profoundly and as painfully as the crackling electricity would have.
He had not even thought about the possibility of these 'laws of consent' throughout his years with Leonardo. Their relationship was, on his world, perfectly legal and even commonplace among his social class. But now… this knowledge that Leonardo had let him remain unaware of the implications of their relationship in the shinobi’s world… the fact that he would be seen as little more than a rapist to the turtle’s family… it made his skin crawl.
The cloud of despair and hurt that was now cast over him was one that even Usagi was aware of, but try as he might he was unable to remove the pained and ugly grimace from his normally handsome features.
“That is horrible.” he muttered, trying to cover his own feelings with the guise of being only upset for the circumstances that his friend was forced to endure. “I am sorry for your loss, Mike.”
And truly he was. It was awful that Michelangelo was deprived of a life with this boy who had meant so much to him. However, actual thoughts of Mikey’s grief were definitely muted by his own spiral of self-deprecation and anger.
How could he have done this to me? To us?
It is no wonder that he was ashamed to admit what I was to him, why he refused to let his family know. Because for them I would only have been nothing more than a pervert, guilty of molesting their brother.
Is that what he thought of me? What he thinks, still?
Perhaps he simply grew weary of being abused and being taken advantage of.
I always wondered why he would not let me stay by his side, why he abandoned me. I suppose I need not wonder any more.
“I wish that things had been different.” he concluded grimly, to himself more than his companion, only barely masking his own hurt.
Michelangelo looks up quickly at Usagi's tone. His natural reaction is reassure his companion -- to tell him it's okay -- but it's not, of course. It hasn't been okay with him for quite some time. So he opens his mouth, then closes it, cutting off whatever dishonest platitude had been about to spring from his lips.
He winds up lingering too long in Usagi’s gaze. It almost feels like his hurt becomes worse somehow, more profound. He drops his eyes quickly, trains them on the tea cup and centers himself as Leo taught him, in an effort not to look any closer than he should. For once, this effort is mostly successful.
Mikey dislikes having inspired such pain in the older samurai… but at the same time, it is touching that Usagi should empathize with his tale on such a deep and personal level.
He doesn't know what to say, and winds up saying nothing.
Usagi let out a deep sigh, his eyes focusing on the light ripples in the surface of his tea. He found, with a small pang of regret, that he wished he had, instead, sake to wash away these tumultuous feelings that had surfaced.
He lifted his cup to his lips, draining the scalding contents in a single gulp before setting it in front of him and looking up to his companion. The ronin forced a small smile before adding softly, “It does not do to dwell in the past, however. Regardless of the hopes we may have had for our futures our only true option now is to move forward in life’s path, yes?”
He quickly stood up, bottling his feelings deep within him, for now, and went about straightening his kimono.
Michelangelo nods hastily, knowing the ronin is giving him good advice. “That which does not kill us makes us stronger, yeah?” It's almost like something his father would have said, and he almost blurts this thought aloud but changes his mind at the last moment. Thinking too long about his dad is a quick way to lead himself into further sadness, and hasn't there been enough sad talk already this morning?
“That's a thing people say, back on my planet,” he supplies instead -- once again mistaking alternate dimensions for other worlds. They are from different versions of the same planet, but Michelangelo still struggles to wrap his brain around this concept. It's like, he KNOWS it's true. Mike could even roughly outline Leo or Donnie's wildly varying and equally boring definitions and complicated explanations about what the multiverse is and how it’s supposed to work. He could pass an Official Lesson on the topic, but actually understanding it like they do? Bigtime nope. At least, not enough to pull it off unscripted, or remember during a casual conversation. It doesn't help that this place is so very alien... The rocky coastline and lush, unspoiled landscapes are so unlike the urban sprawl and subterranean tunnels that Mike has always associated with home. He also regularly forgets that he has not traveled into the past.
Usagi nodded grimly at the quote from turtle’s world, letting the boy’s revision of his own thought sink in for a moment. He supposed that the phrase was meant to fill a person with hope about their own suffering, to assure them that the things they have gone through somehow made them better for having experienced it. But the old hare was not entirely sure that he could buy into that.
He had never felt as lost or weak in his life as he did now. The samurai could not honestly say that he felt as though he had has grown strong in his life, he had merely suffered long enough to see his delusions of hope shattered before him.
He felt that his own experience much more aligned with his own turn of phrase. He was not growing stronger. He was merely moving forward.
The old ronin gave the boy a half hearted smile that was quite obviously forced and softly addressed him, “Wise words, my friend... Now, I do believe it is best that we are off. We have a long way to travel and have dawdled too long. The Geishu province awaits us.”
Usagi quickly made his way to his worn rucksack, throwing it over his shoulder with a gentle flick of his wrist. He did not bother to turn back to make sure Michelangelo was with him as he left the dim inn room or made his way out into the busy streets. If there was one thing he knew the Hamato’s were capable of, it was their impressive speed. He was sure that the boy would be on his heels in short order.
He took a deep breath, appreciating the sting of salt water in the air. It helped to clear his head, even if he wished the blasted sun did not have to shine so brightly. As he passed through the city to gather their supplies and find a caravan to work for the ronin pulled the aviator sunglasses that Leonardo had given him so many years ago out of the folds of his kimono, setting them on the bridge of his snout.
