#but instead of him just doing his best to maintenance it by himself. donnie is actually there to help again. :-]

[h0n04rys3n10r]

casey's tech! finally letting myself post this instead of waiting for a fic that'll likely never be written

[copias-thrall]

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

[fanatic-scribe]

A Bottle and Some Cards

Chapter 1/?

Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012)

Word count: 2,484/2,484

Ao3: Here

Characters: Donatello (main), Casey Jones (main), everyone else

Pairing: Donatello/Casey Jones

Warnings: Aged-Up Character, Drinking Games, Slow Burn (kinda)

Ch 1 / / Ch2 (coming soon) / /

Summary:

Ethanol is the intoxicating part of alcohol and its molecules are so small that they can actually pass into the gaps between brain cells. There it can interfere with the neurotransmitters that enable all the brain’s activities. If you drink fast, alcohol will start to flood the brain. Alcohol affects parts of the brain responsible for self-control. And that is why Donatello did all this dumb shit to himself.

A/N: Just something fun I made for the hell of it. There may be other pairings in this but Idk yet.

This work will be tagged with #B&C tmnt

Chapter 1: Salt and Lime

“Pussy.” Mikey huffed at Casey as the human chugged down his cup of beer. Casey stuck out his middle finger as he drank.

“I’d say sensible,” Donnie chimed in, “the dare said to ‘drink a concoction of whatever the opponent makes using whatever they can find in the kitchen.’”

“Yeah so?” The other’s looked at him dumbfounded. Flashes of Mikey’s bizarre “food” concoctions from when he was a young chief, and them too worried to crush his dreams, flash in their minds.

Taking turns they began to reminisce of his old creations. The ‘Squid Oatmeal Pizza.’ that Raph still swears he saw an eye on. But, as Donnie pointed out at the time, “It could be a raisin. You know, from the the...oatmeal...part?” at least that's what the boys keep telling themselves. They ate the entire pizza that night.

And who could forget the ‘Apple Pizza Pie Suprise’ with ‘All the wonders of both pies together with a twist!’ Poor April, who had not yet tried his creations and was too late to hear the turtle’s warnings, found the twist quickly after chewing on the bite only once. The brother’s had watched helplessly as their best friend’s soul left her body to the depths of hell. The pizza part of this creation was a classic Mikey order that she has seen only once; double anchovies, roasted garlic, chocolate, cappuccino pizza. The only thing that had stopped her from spitting it out before Mikey had walked away was the shock of the taste, it had paralyzed her. All she could do was open her mouth to let the food fall onto her plate and push it directly into the trash next to her. None of the brothers could blame her. She remembers her bite having a certain pop to it that she tried many years to forget.

‘Asian cowboy fusion calzone dude!’ Is what had gotten Karai. By this point, Mikey was a better cook, he would make odd foods for himself all the time still but no one had told Karai. She took a small bite that Mikey offered her but immediately spit it out, much to the turtle’s amusement as he was laughing. She found out later that to Mikey “cowboy” meant beans and s’mores and “Asian” meant teriyaki sauce, ginger, and shrimp. Karai learned an important lesson that day, never trust Mikey’s original cooking.

“And that was all him being nice and trying to cook.” Casey added pouring himself another cup of beer, “This would be him making something bad for my dare.” Everyone shuttered thinking about the horrors that could have been. Except for one bubbly laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right dude.” Mikey took a drink from his cup, “I get creative when I’m drunk so I probably would have killed you.” They all chuckled at this, everyone would have rather drunk.

They loved their weekends together because they got to do this, have fun and laugh. April was in college and spent a lot of time studying, even if she came to the lair at least four times a week. Casey wasn’t in college but he had a job at his local ice arena, he helped teach young kids hockey and did general cleaning and maintenance, that kept him pretty busy. Karai was always busy, over the time she took over the Foot Clan had reclaimed their good name but she was still having to deal with certain people still loyal to Shredder or mob bosses who saw her as an easy hit. Even if they were busy they still would try to gather together every weekend to relax and half fun together. This Friday night, with alcohol already clouding their minds, they were playing Truth, Dare or Drink.

Leaning forward Casey took hold of the bottle and spun it, still leaning forward he plucked up a dare card not looking at the words yet. “Wow, Casey Jones picked dare.” Donnie chaffed, “Did not see that one coming.” Casey smiled cheerfully at the turtle with wide eyes, gap teeth, and a middle finger on both hands. There was a chuckle at their banter, Donnie had become comfortable with it and often looked forward to his time with Casey. They had truly become good friends.

As the sound rolling of glass slowly dulled so did everyone’s voice until both were silent. The neck of the bottle pointing, if a bit vaguely, at Donnie. Mikey oohed with excitement like Casey Mikey enjoyed movement rather than talking so he always preferred dares. Hopefully, this dare won’t be a drink instead.

Dramatically, Casey lifted his arm to point at the turtle, “Donatello! The cards dare you to,” He lifted the card up to read aloud, “do a body shot off your opponent.” There was a chorus of laughs and oos from everyone as Donnie shook his head.

“No, no. I’m not doing that. I’ll drink.” Everyone turned to boo him. “BOOO!” he answered.

“Donnie you haven’t done one dare!”

“Mikey, I’ve only gotten one other dare.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T DO IT!” Mikey was having a hard time trying to understand what Donnie didn’t get about this very simple topic. Just before Donnie could say anything Raph leaned forward from his spot on the couch interjecting their argument.

“Hey come on, it's fine. This is Donnie’s choice.” He paused for a second taking a drink from his cup as everyone looked surprised. He smirked as he pulled the cup away, “And he’s choosing to be a fucking killjoy.” There were a few laughs as Donnie just rolled his eyes, he reached for his cup leaning forward from his spot on the floor.

A hand reached out and stopped his wrist, he followed the hand up to April who had walked over to him from her seat next to Karai. She was crouched down sitting on her heels, he ninja training with the other girls must be going great, he had not even heard her move. “Look, Donnie,” He’s heard that tone of voice before, “if you don’t want to do this that’s fine but you had two easy dares. Just have fun no one will make fun of you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Did you see us make fun of anyone else?” Thinking back Donnie could remember everyone laughing at crazy antics but then just more celebrating all together. When Leo had to let Raph draw on his face with a sharpie everyone was laughing, even Leo now sporting a lovely penis across his forehead among other drawings.

Donnie sighed, might as well give the people what they want, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” he said throwing his hands up. Before he could even stand up Casey and Mikey had already hoped up and started moving to the kitchen laughing and cheering. As everyone else stood and made their way to the kitchen Casey was sitting on the table, legs dangling over the sides, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it to the side. Bent over the open fridge Mikey was looking for the tequila Casey had brought over with the beer. The salt and lime already in his hands as Mikey grabbed the chilled bottle and placed the items on the table. Soon the rest of the group joined them at the table just as Casey began to pull his shirt over his head.

Donatello couldn’t help but see how the human had really grown into his frame, as a scientist observes an animal grow and mature. His muscles were more defined from when he was a gangly kid, his abdomen had the defined lines of muscle. His hips made a V just before his pants, this was accented further due to a small patch of hair leading from his belly button to bellow his pants. Donnie realized this felt different than observing and animal grow and mature, ‘Must be the alcohol.’ he thought to himself, because what else could it be? A shout from Mikey quickly shook him from his trance. “Dude, what the hell!”

“What?!”

“What the fuck is on your nipples?!”

The turtle’s had seen Casey shirtless before but something had changed. Now there was a visible bar of metal going through each nub where there hadn’t been last time. “Oh yeah,” Casey chuckled looking at his chest, “I got my nipples pierced.”

“Well, that part is obvious!” Shouted Raph, “When did you do this?”

“A little after the tongue at a shop.” Raph had known about the tongue. They had gotten their tongue piercing done together by Slash. Sure it may have been a ‘teenage at home piercing’ but it was straight and healed up just fine, that was almost a solid year and a half ago. Donnie rolled his eyes as he got to work cutting the lime, being very careful as he could feel his body sway.

“It’s just body modification, lots of humans do it.” Even though his words were indifferent his eye’s lingered on Casey’s chest, a slight amount of dark hair contrasted with the sparkling silver rings. There was something fascinating about it that just drew in Donnie’s attention, they suited Casey.

“Dude, it’s so weird looking!” Mikey reached forward and poked at the human’s nipple. Normally Casey was cool with being randomly touched by Mikey, especially in a party situation like this. However, as soon as he pressed down on Casey the turtle had his hand pushed away as Casey scooted away on the table with a nervous hum, laugh. He had reached up to covering his nipple with his hand and other arm held up to keep Mikey at a distance.

“Whoa! Ok!” There was still a chuckle with his words, “Hey Mikey lets not touch my nipples ok.” There was a questioning look in his eyes as well as everyone else, Casey shrugged, “They made my nipple more sensitive than I'm used too.” There was a slight pinkness in his cheeks as everyone briefly discussed this new topic. Donatello could feel his face heat up as well, ‘Must be from the alcohol.’ he thought.

Raph snatched the lime slice Donnie had cut and ran the fruit next to Casey’s belly button and poured salt over it, the crystals clung to the lime juice on his skin. After much debate, the group decided to pour the shot into the dip made by Casey’s pronounced collar bone when he leaned his head back. It wasn’t enough to fit an entire shot and he wasn’t allowed to move or he would pour the tequila but it made the body shot feel more authentic, whatever that means. Casey complained slightly about the cold fruit and liquor but no one really cared enough to change anything, besides it was already too late to change anything. So Casey just sat there, neck stretched back, leaning on one arm with a lime slice in his mouth waiting on a certain purple-clad turtle.

Donnie stepped between the human's legs a bit reluctantly, they looked at each other, well as best they could without Casey moving his head.  Donnie with his arms crossed, he waited for Casey to back out because surely he would by this point. But he just sat there, lime sticking out of his gap teeth surrounded by a shit-eating grin, Donnie couldn’t let that grin win. After a few more still, silent seconds Donnie took a breath and bent down.

Donatello’s rough tongue ran over the area of salt on the human’s stomach, he could feel Casey tense slightly under his tongue, he could feel the soft, warm skin as it contracted against muscle. Donnie ran over the slight dip were his abs were more defined, he couldn’t taste the human over the tart lime and salt but some animalistic part of him wanted to. Some inner part of his brain wanted to bite the human. Vaguely in the distance, he could hear hoots of encouragement but they were drowned out by the sound of hot blood rushing to his head. Still, they pulled him back to the task at hand, already forgetting his primal thought.

As Donnie stood he rested his hands on either side of Casey on the table, he leaned forward and touched his lips to the human’s collar bone and the tequila. Donnie could have sworn he heard Casey’s breath hitch over the chorus of cheers when his tongue lightly ran over the soft alcohol wet skin. With a loud, almost comically, disruptive slurp Donnie had swallowed the alcohol, it burned his throat but the salt helped.

Moving on, he leaned forward to take the lime from the other’s mouth, he bit down and pulled only to be met with resistance. Casey held onto the lime with a smirk forcing Donnie to play a game of tug o’ war for the lime, very annoying.

The turtle looked up to glare at Casey only to find black eyes already looking at him and it felt like time had frozen. Donnie wondered if he had ever looked at Casey’s eyes. Donnie thought that he had eyes like the deepest water, black and bottomless pools of onyx trying to pull the turtle in. For a moment he thought he could explore those eyes for hours trying to find their end and never get tired.

Snapped out of his daze by Casey letting go of the lime causing Donnie to stumble back from his own tugging. This earned a chuckle from the group followed by pats on his shell and congratulations. Smiling and laughing with everyone he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat faster and harder in his chest. He glanced over at Casey and saw him putting his shirt back on and laughing with Raph about how he jumped off the table and almost fall.

Everyone was using this time to talk about what had been happening in the game and to grab more snacks and drinks. Also to pet Ice Cream Kitty, like a lot. A few people cried. Petting Ice Cream Kitty is serious business. Donnie was pouring bags of snacks into different bowls when his eye’s drifted to Casey once or twice, looking for something. He was standing in front of the open freezer having just put whipped cream on the sugary cat, he then tipped his head back to fill his mouth with whipped cream. Donnie watched as his long neck stretched back, Donnie remembered how soft his skin felt against the harsh salt taste. A more animalistic part of his brain said something but it was muffled in the back of his mind.

“Don, you ok?” April’s voice pulled him out of his daze and he realized he has spilled quite a few pretzels.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine just lost focus.” He smiled and worked to clean up the spilled pretzels. Why was he so fascinated by Casey?

‘Must be from the alcohol.’ he thought.

Notes:

Hope you liked it! I know nothing happened yet. Bummer. Well, the next chapter will be coming soon! Sometime next week Maybe