Brothers Abound

-Brothers Abound-


So his brother had a fetish.

It was nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, his brother most likely expected him to be too consumed with his online games to go browsing through the computer's files. When will Don learn that you should never underestimate the curiosity of a bored ninja turtle? As the impromptu 'youngest brother,' it was Mike's sworn duty to snoop around his siblings' personal lives. Even when the results ran along the line of chains, bondage, and ballgags.

His brother was a closet BDSMer.

Pictures, stories, reference websites...it wasn't surprising that Don would go all out on the research for a subject that interested him. Mike had managed to look through most of the files before Donatello caught sight, sputtered, and closed them all out. He attempted anger, for privacy invaded; the only thing he succeeded in was painful embarrassment before banning the younger turtle from the lab. The techno genius had been in a funk every since.

That was three weeks ago, yesterday.

Whereas Mike's ban had been lifted weeks ago, Don's mood had not. To be honest, the brainy turtle had been keeping to himself more than usual even before the intrusion. It just seemed to have gotten worse over the last few weeks. His answers were short, curt, and sometimes even snippish.

He needed a Mikey intervention.

All of his previous attempts to make his brother laugh were shrugged off and discarded. Maybe it wasn't laughter that his big brother needed. Mike couldn't deny having entertained erotic thoughts about his brother, even before this black sulking cloud settled over the laboratory. But to actually propose the idea...if anyone would understand, it would be Don. Afterall, he could see things for what they were, without being overwhelmed by emotions or traditions.

So why was Mike nervous?

He couldn't for the life or love of pizza, figure out if Donatello preferred the submissive or dominate role of the fetish. He was an engineer, a scientist, and had an overall love for experiments. He liked to control and predict outcomes, to create certain stimuli and record their responses. Would he enjoy the same sexually? To be in control, experimenting with a partner...

Mike shuddered just thinking about it. What would it be like, bound and gagged, at the mercy of such a creative mind?

Of course, Don had always been the pacifist of the four. Letting his brothers take action, while he offers aid, expertise, and support. Would it be easier if Mike made the first move? Would Donatello only be able to enjoy it if he was the one being taken advantage of? The more Mike thought about it, the more certain he became that Don would die, rotting in his adolescent release-deprived funk before taking advantage of his little brother, sexually or otherwise.

That settled it. Mike would have to be the aggressor, if he wanted it to happen at all. He wasn't against the idea; far from it, actually. The thought of Donnie restrained, unable to move or speak, laying on the bed just waiting to be pleasured...

He felt a stirring beneath his shell. Just thinking about it was exciting, and Mike could only hope that his brother would feel the same. He couldn't help but to muse on the convenience of it all. Master Splinter was at April's, watching an American Idol marathon. Originally, it had no appeal to their sensei, but once April compared it to a soap opera...well, the rest was history. Leo and Raph were both out on a training run. In the rain. Mike didn't believe for a second that they were always so happy returning from their private training sessions because of a good workout. But then again, he had been wrong before. Mike had the nagging impression that to insinuate such a coupling when it's not true -or even if it is- would earn quite a beat down. A brotherly beat down, but a beat down nonetheless.

But back to the issue at hand. The convenience of an empty lair. The convenience of spare rope, chains, and other peraphenelia strewn about in Don's lab. The convenience of being the 'innocent' little brother.

The rejection? The embarrassment? Mike tried not to think of those possibilities. After all, he was supposed to be the optimist of the family, right?

Mike knocked on the door then let himself in. Afterall, Don's impression of a snapping turtle had been rather impressive lately. Said turtle was at his usual chair, typing away at something on the computer without any acknowledgement that he had company. The orange-banded brother looked around, grasping for something to begin an innocuous conversation with.

"You don't have anything under your bed, bro."

Don responded without looking up. "Your observation skills are as astute as ever, Mike."

He brushed off the comment and continued without hesitation, "I keep my drum set under the bed, and it saves space, you know?"

The typing ceased as Don leaned back in his chair, giving his younger brother his full yet somewhat impatient attention. "It doesn't happen often, but I'm getting the impression that you have a point..."

Mike was taken aback by that. Condescention was expected from Raphael, and even Leo on the rare occassion, but not Don. Never Don. Something must have shown on his face, for the purple-banded turtle heaved a sigh and rubbed his own face, removing the mask. "I'm sorry Mike. I don't mean to be rude, it's just that...I suppose I've been on edge lately. I'm not really the best company right now." He placed the strip of cloth on the desk. "Did you have a question?"

Mike put a smile back in place and gave another attempt at being jovial. "Okay, then. Why is your bed so high, if not to save space?"

"So that I can sleep."

The answer was simple, but still didn't make sense to the younger ninja. "You need frequent flier miles to sleep?"

While waiting for Don to reply, he took a moment to pick up the stray rope he had seen on the floor the day before. He made the movement casual, as if his hands just needed something to do.

"It's not necessarily the altitude, but the difficulty." Don leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. Mike was just concerned, and who could blame him? He had been acting rather stand-offish lately. He just felt so, frustrated. So alone, in a home full of people.

Mike noticed his lack of attention and took the opportunity to move a little closer, oh so casually. "But it looks like it would be more trouble than it's worth when all you want to do is go to bed."

"Exactly."

That made Michelangelo pause. Usually his intellectual brother made more sense than this. "Isn't that a bad thing?"

Don closed his eyes and let his body relax into the chair. There was a fine thrum of energy coursing through his system that so easily turned to agitation lately. He needed to find a way to release it. But right now, he would settle for playing question and answer with Mike. "Not in its reversal."

"Huh?"

Mike watched Don frown, trying to find the right words to explain something. With Don's eyes closed, and his mind quite obviously elsewhere, Mike came to stand behind his chair without a sound.

"It's much more trouble than it's worth to get out of bed for every little thought that comes to me in the night. If I got up every time I unintentionally leave a program running, remember a minuscule task, or think to check something...well, I wouldn't get much sleep." He opened his eyes to find his brother standing above and behind him, a mischievous smile on his beak.

"Is something amusing, Mike?" Something about the look he was receiving from his playful brother was disconcerting, but he wasn't about to show it. It was most likely his edginess playing tricks on him.

Instead of a chuckle or half-suppressed snort, Mike replied in an uncharacteristically serious tone. "You have complicated reasons for everything you do. You know, you don't have to think quite so much...you'd have less of a headache."

Don offered his brother a smile. "I somehow doubt that I can do much of anything without taking in a lot of considerations."

His arms were pulled gently around and behind the chair, one hand loosely closing around his wrists. Shooting his brother a questioning look, he received a smile in return. Mike leaned in, fumbling with something in his other hand. "I can help you with that problem of yours."

Donatello felt the brush of rope against his wrists, but didn't fight to pull away. Whatever game Mike was playing, it was just that, a game. Unsure as to where it was going, he asked for clarification. "And just what exactly are you helping me with?"

Mike wrapped the wrists in the sturdy rope, greatful that Don wasn't the type to jump away from what he doesn't understand. Curiosity before judgement- that was the Donny he knew and loved. "If you can't relax on your own, bro, I just figured you might need someone to take that obsessive control away from you..." He leaned in close to Don's ear and whispered, "For you."

The maskless turtle gave an involuntary shudder, and immediately took an evaluation. Why did his body respond to Mike's proximity? It wasn't uncommon to be near any one of his brothers. Then again, being tied to his own chair was. And Mike's whispered tone was rather...

Something finally fell into place, so that he could nearly hear an audible click in his mind. The material that his brother found on the computer, the rope, the comment about control; it all made sense. It couldn't but it did. So caught up in his miniature epiphany, he hadn't realized that Mike was nearly finished knotting the rope around his left ankle.

"M-mike! If this is about what you saw on the computer...I don't think you realize..."

Michelangelo wound the rope behind the chair, then began tying the other end to his brother's right leg. Don briefly considered flipping back, taking the chair with him and subsequently releasing himself. The problem was, the chair would most likely catch Mike in the process, presenting a potential for serious harm. He felt a twinge of panic as the rope was tugged tight, pulling his legs apart and stretching them out beneath and slightly behind the chair.

Mike pulled away and came to lean against the desk in front of his bound brother, admiring his handy work. Don's shoulders were pulled back, his hands lost from sight behind the chair. His legs were sufficiently spread and bound from behind, as well. It was as if his body was on display, prominent and unshielded. Ready for the taking.

Again, Mike felt a stirring beneath his plastron. He hadn't considered what the sight of a helpless and frustrated Don would do to him. The turtle's muscles bulged and flexed while testing the ropes, his breathing erratic. "What you saw...you don't understand, Mike."

Mike allowed a smug look to grace his features, and leaned more of his weight against the desk. Completely at ease; completely in control. "I know what it was Don. I may play into the youngest role, but I'm not stupid. Or oblivious."

Don could feel the warmth creep up his cheeks. He had expected some ribbing and jokes, but this? He wasn't completely sure what this even was. He had ideas, but..."What are you planning, Mike?"

Michalengelo pushed off from the desk and started to open drawers at random. Papers, files, disks, bits of random electronics..."As much stuff as you have, you must have a ballgag around here somewhere."

Donatello made a noise in his throat and made the mistake of glancing toward the bottom, right drawer. Mike tugged on it, opening it up to the room. He ruffled through the papers, finding nothing but printouts, hand drawn maps, and random notes. Don's eyes gave away nothing, looking straight ahead. "Mike. I don't know how much of this is playing, and how much is...serious. You should untie me."

Getting an idea, Mike lowered himself to his knees to look beneath the desk. Sure enough, beneath the drawer he just checked, was a small box. He pulled it out to discover that it was actually a random drawer that his brother must have found in the junkyard somewhere, for it certainly didn't belong to any of the dressers in the lair. He pulled out a bottle of lubricant, and a gag, paying particular attention to the latter. It was obviously handmade, an elastic band with a long piece of plastic along the middle. It reminded Mike of the bits that go into a horse's mouth to keep them reigned. The shape made sense, considering the fact that their mouths were wider than a humans, and the imagery of reigning Don made him smile.

A smile that had finally become disconcerting. "Mike...we really should think about this before doing anything you'll regret."

Michelangelo rose to his feet, the gag in his hand, and gave his brother a curious look. "Anything that I'll regret, not we'll regret? Do you really think I'm so dense, that I don't know what sex is? Or do you think that I'm so innocent, you'll taint me? Which is it, Don?"

Don's eyes never left the floor, and he fiddled against his bonds. This was all turning him on, but it was so sudden. There had been no time to think it through, to consider the repercussions, or the the impact it would have on the entire family dynamic. "I don't think you're dense, Mike. I just haven't had the chance to think this through..."

"That's the point, Don." Mike's voice was soft, as if consoling a confused child. Don had to admit, he did feel rather confused. A torrent of thoughts, emotions, and doubts tore through his mind so strongly that he wanted to protest the gag being placed gently in his mouth, but found that he couldn't decide on the words to use. As the elastic was drawn tight and the gag settled firmly, he realized that his indecision had cost him his only chance. His only chance to argue, to decide, to analyze before doing. Unable to move from the chair, or to voice an opinion, he had truly lost control over the situation. And the mere realization sent blood to pool at his groin.

Slowly, Mike leaned his beak toward Don's, looking for any sign of protest. If he began to struggle to a point that he risked rope burn, that would mean that Mike had been wrong. If there were signs of a valiant effort to be freed, then Mike would release him, apologize profusely, and they would pretend that it never happened.

But he didn't struggle. He didn't jerk on the chair or try to scream through the gag. He just sat there, all wide eyes and new experiences as Mike's beak closed over his. Mike's tongue snaked out to press against the gag, then run across the tongue trapped beneath. A surprised moan escaped one, bringing an echo from the other. Mike pulled back, half shocked but mostly pleased; he hadn't expected such a strong response from either of them with just a kiss.

Mike was nuzzling his beak against Don's neck, when an idea came to him. He raised his head higher, speaking softly against Don's cheek. "I'm going to tease and suck on you until you're about to come," Don let out a moan, and Mike continued. "...And then I'm going to stop."

Don's eyes snapped around to meet Mike's. If his younger brother really did intend to torture him, he wasn't in much of a position to do anything about it. Mike just gave a mischievous grin and began to travel down Don's plastron, leaving kisses along the way. Donatello sighed with each scrape of the tongue across his plates. It wasn't as sensitive as skin, but he could still feel the contact in a resonating way.

Mike came to kneel between his brother's spread knees, running his hands along the taught thighs. He could feel the muscles flex beneath his touch, and lowered his mouth to kiss the bottom lip of Don's plastron. Both thighs clenched in response beneath his hands as Mike ran his tongue along the ridges of the thick tail. Donatello made an inarticulate sound around the gag as he lowered himself into view.

They had seen one another over the years, bathroom sessions interrupted or bathing walked in on. But never had it been like this: throbbing and erect, begging for attention. Mike considered his own semi-hard state and realized that this was turning Don on a lot more than he had imagined. He gave a smirk before closing his mouth over the tip.

Donatello's hips jerked at the sensation. Mike began to nibble lightly at the head, stealing away yet more thought from the bound turtle. This shouldn't be happening, but it was. It felt so good, and he wanted more. How much was Mike going to...Oh!

Mike swallowed Don's shaft in one swift movement, fighting not to gag on it. The struggle was worth it when Don managed a strangled sound that would have been a scream, were it not for the bit in his mouth. Mike lifted quickly, the cock's spasms an unexpected sensation in his throat. As he caught his breath, his hand lowered to release his own cock from its confines. After giving himself a few strokes, he continued his administrations on Donatello, giving a few long licks before taking it into his mouth again.

Don shuddered and spasmed, making muffled sounds as Mike's head bobbed up and down on his shaft. One hand was wrapped around his base and the other was lost from view, most likely taking care of himself. Every third suction or so, the hand would disappear and Mike's beak would press against his lower carapace in a mind-blowing deep-throat. Don could feel Mike's throat trying to swallow him down, and the pressure began to build. His breathing was frantic as he thrashed involuntarily against the ropes, trying to get enough leverage to thrust into that hot, wet mouth. The feel of a tongue swishing along the underside of his cock, the sudden tight pressure, it was getting to be too much...

And it stopped. Suddenly, and without warning, cool air hit his sensitive flesh. A sound that resembled a growl more than a moan escaped his pried mouth. Mike was leaning back, his lips still wet and slightly swollen. The sight brought a deep moan from Don, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than for his brother to continue.

"Don't growl at me. I told you that I would stop."

He had been close, so close. This wasn't fair. This was torture. This was...

Don's eyes widened as Mike reached over for the lubricant. He squirmed at the sight, but Mike was no longer paying him any attention. The turtle applied a generous amount on his finger, then spread his own legs wide apart. Blindly but with precision, he reached for the base of his own tail, probing at the entrance. Donatello watched as his brother began to finger himself slowly, adjusting to the broad digit. His face contorted in pain, his teeth clenching, then relaxing. As moments went by, his expression became one of pleasure, and the finger's movements became easily defined. Don watched, his cock throbbing in the air, as his brother moaned and pushed in then out of himself.

Mike removed the digit to pick up the bottle again, this time lavishing it onto Donatello's erect member. He jerked in his bindings, wondering if his brother was about to do what he hoped he was.

Once Don's cock was slick with lubricant, Mike moved his mouth over his brother's in a passionate kiss. His tongue played around the gag, taking in the delighted moans as he straddled Donatello's thighs. Moving a hand to the base, Mike guided Don's cock as he lowered himself slowly. Donatello shuddered, suppressing the urge to thrust upward as Mike made a deliciously slow decent.

Donatello was so much bigger than anything Mike had ever used, but he was determined to take all of him. Once he could rest his thighs on top of his brother's he let out a shuddering breath and leaned against Don's front. Donatello's breathing was erratic to the point of panting, his mind swimming with the sensation of such tight heat surrounding him.

Mike placed his hands on his brother's shoulders and began a slow pace. Up. Down. Up. Down. Moan. Shudder. Gasp.

Donatello began to thrash against his bindings, meeting his brother's thrusts with as much leverage as his position would allow. Keeping one hand on Don's shoulder, Mike brought the other to grip his own member, hard and wanting. He kept his hand stationary, so that he thrust into his hand every time he rose from his brother.

"Oh god...Don..."

The sounds were coming non-stop from Donatello, muffled by the gag. He could do little else than thrust a few inches as his brother rode him, topped him, owned him. Every time Mike's thighs pounded down onto his own, it sent a thundering jolt through his body. The sight of him jacking off so close, yet so untouchable was the only thing keeping Don from throwing his head back in abandon. He felt the pressure build with every thrust, every clamp, and every stroke. It went up, up, until his awareness narrowed down to that delicious pressure and he exploded, coming, jerking, and screaming against the gag.

Mike watched as Donatello lost it; he could feel when his brother spasmed and came inside of him. One moment he was marveling at how open and passionate his normally placant brother looked, then the next thing he knew, an orgasm was tearing through his body. It made his hips buck on top of Don, his hand dig into the muscled shoulder, and his cock spurt hot liquid all across his brother's plastron.

They both rode it out until they were panting and slumped; Don against the chair and Mike against him. With exhausted limbs, Mike removed the gag, and kissed his brother's beak.

"Do you...feel better...Donny?"

Don gave an exasperated laugh, and shifted in his bindings. They stayed like that a moment, then Mike shifted and lifted from his lap. Once they were both tucked away, he settled himself back onto Don's thighs and undid the knot behind the chair. Once free, Don kicked the rope from his ankles and rubbed the soreness from his wrists.

"Heh...sorry about that, bro."

Don gathered the rope from the floor and shifted so that his brother fell fully into his lap, "It's okay Mike."

He held Michelangelo close, squeezing his arms in a hug. The younger turtle didn't register the rope around his wrists until it was too late.

"I'm sure you'll make it up to me..."