Ogling Part 2
(Takes place around the same time as “Ogling,” so Raph and Donnie are about 16 and 15 respectively. Like "Ogling," this also takes place before their relationship as mates.)
Donatello crept down the hallway trying his best to avoid puddles or loose debris that might make a sound. He arrived at his destination without incident; the warm glow from the room bathed the dingy tunnel in orange light.
Breathing quietly through his nostrils, he peered around the brick wall carefully. The sounds of grunting and controlled breathing drifted past him, sending a chill up his shell. The subject of Donatello’s admiration and lust lay on his back, hefting a loaded barbell up with a forceful growl.
Raph’s chest muscles contracted and bulged outward as he brought the bar and weights up to the stopping position, his plastron rippling and flexing slightly with the effort. Sweat drenched the bulky, well-defined planes of his legs and limbs. With the weight lifted above Raph’s head and his arms extended, Don caught an eyeful of rippling oblique muscles at the other turtle’s waist.
Raph breathed in through his teeth as he lowered the barbell once again. Don licked his lips, suddenly parched, as his brother’s rock-hard biceps practically broke free of the emerald skin. Raphael was, at age 16, a damn paragon of strength and power.
Then came Don’s favorite part of the work out routine. Raphael hoisted the barbell onto the rack and sat up, grabbing the towel nearby. Don held his breath as the muscular turtle stood up and stretched those immaculately sculpted arms, flexing one to bring the towel up to mop his glistening neck and head.
He bent forward to wipe his thighs, equally coated in perspiration. The fibers of Raph’s sinuous hamstrings twitched and danced under his dark skin, and Donatello’s heart skipped a beat when it evoked memories of Raphael lunging with ferocious intent into battle. Those thick thighs could crush boulders into dust, Don mused.
Raphael let out a pleasured moan as he bent further forward, stretching out his legs to touch his toes. Don let his mouth hang open as the scent of sweat and metal and something musky he couldn’t quite identify yet hung heavy in the air. Don’s eyes drank in the firm, squared buttocks on display and he could almost feel it in the palms of his hands…or the sensation of Don's own heels pressing into those glutes as Raphael drove his hips deeper and deeper into-
Raph righted himself and snapped the towel over his shoulder, the smacking noise startling Donatello out of his fantasy. Don’s mouth was dry as he watched the older turtle guzzle water from a large jug, his eyes practically bulging out of his head as he watched Raph’s adam’s apple bob up and down with each thirsty gulp.
The sound was wet and he could just make out the clicking of Raph’s throat contracting as he consumed the entire jug. Donatello’s sensory feast brought him again to a dirty fantasy of wet, sweaty bodies slapping against one another in a rhythmic dance…
Raph finished the jug and tossed it on the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Raph’s pink tongue darted out to catch a stray droplet on his lower lip, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grimace of concentration for a fraction of a second. Donatello had seen that look before just before Raph readied his sais during fights or training. It was a barely perceptible tick, but one that Donatello knew well. He’d taken note of it when he found himself staring at the red-clad turtle’s mouth more and more.
Don observed the scars adorning the back of Raph’s upper arm, just near his shoulder blade, as he brought his arm back down to his side. Donatello rubbed his fingers together without even registering the movement, imagining the texture of raised scar tissue beneath his fingertips as he urged Raph on, holding onto the larger turtle and pulling him down, begging him to go harder and faster and oh-!
Donatello’s breath hitched and his swollen erection blossomed out into the damp air without him even touching it. He clapped his hands over his mouth before he could let a churr escape and booked it for his room, clumsily gripping the walls of the tunnel as he stumbled back into the dark.
The young scientist had a lot of hands-on testing to facilitate before the night was through.