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The Containment Clause

Chapter Text

            “Pardon me, but how did you even find this frequency?” Don asked, his face a picture of startled amazement.

            Sitting in his lab while he worked on his laptop, Don hadn’t even looked at the shell cell when it rang.  He reached over to answer without removing his eyes from his screen, thinking the caller was one of his brothers phoning from April’s, where they had gone for part of the evening.

            “I do work for the government, Donatello,” Agent Bishop reminded him.  “Some of my people are almost as smart as you.”

            “Then I’m sure they told you that attempting to trace this call to my location is a pointless endeavor,” Don said, as his nimble fingers flew over his keyboard, re-routing the shell cell’s frequency through a series of programs he’d already written for just such a circumstance as this.

            Bishop laughed.  “I know you won’t believe me, but I am not even attempting to do that.”

            “You’re right, I don’t believe you.  Hanging up now,” Don said shortly.

            “Wait!” Bishop’s voice was sharp and urgent.

            Normally, Don would have ignored him, but something in the tone stilled his hand just on the brink of cutting off the communication.

            “Why?” he asked, against his better judgment.

            “I find myself in an awkward situation,” Bishop told him.  “I require your assistance.”

            “Mine?” Don asked, slightly stunned.  “What the shell could you possibly need from me, and why would I consider helping you anyway?”

            “Because there has been another outbreak from the alien ooze,” Bishop said.

            Don sat in stunned surprise for a moment.  As though understanding what his reaction might be, Bishop waited.

            “Your people delivered the antidote all over the city, Bishop.  How is that possible?” Don asked finally.

            “Apparently, some of the mutated bugs crawled into the open hatch of a cargo ship that put out to sea before we began spraying the vaccine.  Fortunately, it appears to have occurred with just a single vessel,” Bishop explained.

            “Then spray the antidote on that ship.  You don’t need me to tell you that,” Don said.

            “No I don’t,” Bishop replied in a clipped tone, and then realizing that was not the best way to engender Don’s assistance, his voice smoothed out.  “I have already attempted to cure the crew by means of aerial vaccine misting.  The mutation appears to have changed.  The antidote isn’t working.”

            If Don were given to cursing, he would have used a few choice words right then.  Instead, he said, “Interesting.  Any idea what might have occurred?”

            “None at the moment.  My people are reviewing the ship’s cargo logs to find out exactly what they are carrying.  We are holding the vessel out in the ocean under a quarantine flag, but I am not sure how long that excuse will hold,” Bishop said.

            “It’s not an American vessel I take it?” Don asked.

            “You are quick,” Bishop acknowledged.  “The ship is Omani.”

            “So I’m guessing that’s why you haven’t simply blown it out of the water,” Don said sarcastically.

            “Contrary to your beliefs, force isn’t always my first choice as a solution,” Bishop informed him.  “I would much rather learn what has happened and why.”

            “So you can use the knowledge to further your personal goals?”  Don was thoroughly suspicious, but also becoming slightly intrigued.

            Bishop seemed to sense that.  “I won’t say that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be looking for some way to turn this to my advantage, however, an international incident with my Earth Protection Force at the forefront is not something I need.  In fact, I would like to resolve this issue while I am still flying under the President's radar.  You see, I am being completely candid with you.”

            Don’s brow furrowed.  “Granted that is the truth, I’d still like to know why you called me.  You have the original antidote and plenty of your own scientists, including Baxter Stockman.  Surely one of them can come up with a derivative that will work.”

            “Time is of the essence and Stockman may be brilliant in his own mind, but I have found his abilities to be  . . . limited at best.  My scientists have all been trained to think in a certain way, they don’t have the ability to creatively process new situations and adapt to them as you do,” Bishop explained.

            “Leatherhead created that antidote, Bishop,” Don reminded him.

            “Yes, by using your protocol.  Your friend is a brilliant scientist, but also a volatile one whom I have no way of contacting even if I wanted to.  I need the brightest possible mind on this situation, and that is yours Donatello,” Bishop explained.

            Don sat silently, contemplating what Bishop had told him.  If he was speaking the truth, innocent lives were at stake, and so was his government’s relationship with a friendly foreign country.

            Those thoughts were balanced by his past history with Bishop.  Don had absolutely no reason to trust anything Bishop might say, although the man had upheld his end of the bargain when Donatello himself had been infected by the ooze.

            “Are you willing to give me your word that everything you’ve told me is the truth, Bishop?” Don asked, almost mentally kicking himself for even considering assisting the man.

            “I am,” Bishop said.  “I can give you my word; and we’ve had enough dealings for you to know I do not resort to chicanery when it comes to that.  Furthermore, you may find that joining my team has certain rewards.”

            “You cannot hope to persuade me on any intellectual level that a partnership with you would be beneficial,” Don said.  “If I do this, it will not be because you need me.”

            “Point taken.  If you were to proceed on that basis, how would you begin and what would you need from me?” Bishop asked.

            “’If’ being the operative word, Bishop, I would require the ship's manifest and ideally a sample of blood from someone who has been infected,” Don replied.  “I would also need access to a fully equipped lab.”

            “Done and done,” Bishop told him.  “We managed to retrieve a crew member who jumped overboard just as he was bitten by one of his infected shipmates.  We are holding him in a containment tube.”

            “Whoa, hold on,” Don said, “not so fast.  I said ‘if’ because I still don’t know how I feel about this whole thing.  Trusting you is not something I’m necessarily ready to do, in spite of your word.”

            “Donatello,” Bishop’s voice was strained momentarily, “this is not a ploy to trick you into turning yourself over to me.  If I truly wanted you that badly, I could find opportunities to acquire you easily enough.  I already have a sample of your DNA and it has been useless to me.  My attentions are focused elsewhere and have been for some time.”

            Don recognized the reasonableness of that statement.  Bishop had seemed to be ignoring them, and Don knew first hand of the man’s failures in trying to create the perfect soldier using DNA collected from both the Turtles and their sensei.

            “What do you propose?” Don asked despite his misgivings.

            Bishop seemed to sigh audibly.  “If you would meet me somewhere, I can transport you to my laboratory facilities.”

            Alarm bells were starting to sound in Don’s head.  “I don’t know, Bishop.  I’m certainly not going anywhere with you alone.”

            “I wouldn’t have expected that from someone as cautious as you are,” Bishop said.  “Tell me how you want to do this so we are within your comfort zone.”

            Don thought for a moment.  It was highly probable that once he had explained the situation to his family, he would be forbidden by Leo to take the chance that Bishop was being truthful.

            Once Leo said no, that would be the end of it.  Don would not go against his leader; he never had and he probably never would.

            On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the excitement from the thought of working on such a complex problem as Bishop was offering him, and being able to do so in a lab equipped with the very latest in scientific equipment.  It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and the intellectual in him was loathe to let it pass him by.

            The humanitarian aspect of the situation was calling to Don as well.  He was not a Turtle who could abide the thought of anyone suffering needlessly.

            “All right, Bishop, then let’s proceed this way,” Don said, “first I want to confirm some of your story independently.  If there truly is a ship quarantined then the story will presumably be on some wire service or news coverage.  I want to see if for myself.”

            “Understood,” Bishop said.

            “Secondly, I’ll meet you in a location of my choosing and you have to come alone.  If I see any indication whatsoever that you’ve brought any of your people with you, the deal is off and I disappear.”

            “Agreed,” Bishop responded.

            “Thirdly, I’ll bring one of my brothers with me, and you’ll be under his control from the very second we meet.  If you so much as blink wrong, he’ll take your head off.”

            “Unnecessary, but I will abide by those rules.  When do you want to do this?” Bishop asked.

            Don glanced at the clock.  It was a few minutes after ten.

            “Is this a mobile number you are calling from?” he asked Bishop.

            “Yes it is,” Bishop answered.

            “Then I’ll call you back on this number at eleven thirty with further details,” Don told him.  “Bishop, if this is a trick, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

            Bishop chuckled with dry humor.  “I have no doubt of that, Donatello.  One thing I have learned from my interactions with you Turtles is to never, under any circumstances, underestimate you.”

            Don disconnected from the call without saying anything further.  Setting the phone on the desk and leaning back in his chair, he realized he hadn’t taken a deep breath since he first began talking to Bishop.

            Sucking in a large lungful of air, Don squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on settling his shaking hands.  Making a deal with the devil would probably have been less stressful.

            Staring at the shell cell, he realized he could still call the whole thing off.  He was by no means committed to the endeavor even after all that had been discussed.

            Tapping his fingertips on the arm of his chair, he leaned his chin into the palm of his other hand and contemplated his conversation with Bishop.  After several minutes of this, Don suddenly reached for the phone and made a call.

            “Yo!” Raph answered, his already deep voice made deeper by the vagaries of telephone modulations.

            “Raph, can you do me a favor and meet me on top of the old Bakersfield building at eleven-twenty?” Don asked.

            “What the shell for?” Raph wanted to know.

            “I have something I need to do, but I’d really like to have someone watching my back.  I’ll explain more when you get there,” Don said.  “And Raph, don’t tell the others, okay?  I don’t want Master Splinter or Leo fretting over me.”

            “Shit, Donny, what have ya’ gotten into?” Raph asked suspiciously.

            “I’m honestly not sure, Raph.  Hopefully I’ll have an answer to that when we meet,” Don said.

            “Okay, bro, whatever ya’ need,” Raph replied.

            Don hung up and swiveled back to his laptop, muttering under his breath as he did so.

            “I think what I need is to have my head examined.”


Chapter Text

            “Ya’ know you’re fuckin’ crazy right?” Raph asked for the fifth time.

            Don sighed and answered him exactly as he had the first four times, “Yes.”

            “So why are we doin’ this?  And more to the point, why the fuck are we doin’ it behind Master Splinter’s back?” Raph wanted to know.

            “I think Bishop’s telling the truth, Raph,” Don explained.  “Several different independent news agencies are reporting on the Omani cargo ship that is being held in quarantine just inside the U.S. territorial waters.  None of them know why, or what contagion they’ve supposedly been infected with.  Apparently, no one has had radio contact with the people on board for several days.”

            “Ya’ realize that ship might be a coincidence that Bishop’s exploiting ta’ gain your trust, right genius?” Raph asked.

            All Don could do was shrug.  He could argue that he’d also seen reports of black ops helicopters flying out towards the quarantined ship, and that he was pretty sure those helicopters belonged to the Earth Protection Force.  At least, that’s what it looked like to him from the grainy photos he’d seen.

            Or maybe he wanted to believe those were EPF helicopters rather than thinking himself to be a big, gullible fool.  Either way, he didn’t bother to say any of that to Raph, who was leaning against a storage shed, well inside the shadows.  The only part of his brother that was visible was the periodic gleam of moonlight on sai, as Raph absentmindedly flipped one of his weapons on his hand.

            It was a nervous habit of Raph’s, one he probably wasn’t even aware of, and Don wasn’t going to point it out.  As long as Raph twirled that sai to release his nervous tension, then he wasn’t blowing up at Don.

            “Just so ya’ know I ain’t a fool Donatello, I know why ya’ asked me ta help ya’ with this rather than talk ta Leo about it,” Raph said in a low voice.

            Don glanced sharply in his brother’s direction.  “I’ve never thought you to be a fool, Raph.”

            “Okay, just sayin’,” Raph went on in a deep, gravelly monotone.  “Ya’ keep avoidin’ the question when I ask why ya’ didn’t tell the rest of the family about Bishop contacting ya’.  It’s ‘cause he said he’d let ya’ play with his big, shiny toys.”

            “That is not why . . .” Don began somewhat heatedly.

            “Oh, can it brainiac,” Raph interrupted, and a brief glimpse of teeth shone in the moonlight.  “Ya’ get a fuckin’ hard-on every time ya’ see any of his tech stuff.  Master Splinter and Splinter Junior would have both told ya’ no, end of story.  Ya’ called me ta come cover your ass in more ways than one.”

            “I didn’t call for your help in order to manipulate this situation in my favor,” Don insisted.

            “Whatever,” Raph said with another flash of his knowing smirk.  “I had a choice too, I coulda told ya’ no, or I coulda told Leo.  I didn’t pick either option and here I am.  If this turns out ta be a trap and we fall into it, I’m gonna beat the shit out of ya’ after I take care of gutting Bishop.”

            “I love you too, Raphael,” Don said with a hint of a smile.

            “Princess,” Raph teased, his bass voice shifting again to something more vibrant.

            Don loved Raph’s voice; the way his brother could put so much emotion, so much passion into words.  It was one of the reasons he preferred having Raph help him with projects; especially ones that required someone read instructions to him while both of Don’s hands and his eyes were occupied.

            That voice was speaking again, this time the tone was dry.  “He’s got five minutes bro’, and then we’re out of here.”

            “Then I made it with time to spare,” Bishop called from the other side of the rooftop.

            Neither ninja heard him arrive.  Raph was instantly on the defensive, his sais in hand and his body lowered into a crouching position.

            Don’s bo was likewise held defensively across his body as he eyed their old adversary with distrust.  The man was standing completely still however; his arms extended from his sides and his jacket unbuttoned so that they could see he was unarmed.

            “I’m going to slowly lift my jacket and turn around so that you can see I’m not carrying a hidden weapon,” Bishop told them. 

            Waiting a moment to make sure they understood he was not going to make any sudden moves, Bishop pulled his jacket up with his left hand and turned around slowly.  Once he had made the full circuit, he let the jacket fall back into place, and stood unmoving again.

            “Ya’ try anything Bishop, and I’ll plant a sai right between your eyes,” Raph growled.

            “Fair enough,” Bishop replied without shifting his gaze away from Donatello.  “Since you called and said you would meet me, I’m assuming you’ve verified my story?”

            “As much as I could,” Don acknowledged.  “As Raph pointed out quite eloquently to me, that ship could simply be a happy coincidence for you.”

            “That puts us at an impasse,” Bishop said wryly.  “I know I’m telling the truth, but our history together leaves you mistrusting of me and I have no way of proving myself.  What should we do to resolve this dilemma?”

            “Ya’ could stop trying ta seduce my brother with your fancy new gadgets,” Raph said.

            “I hadn’t realized that was what I was doing,” Bishop responded.  “If that’s all it would take, he would have been mine long ago.”

            “Tell me what you’ve done so far,” Don asked.

            “Good, keeping it strictly businesslike is an excellent beginning,” Bishop said.  “We have the ship’s manifest broken into categories.  We are gathering samples of anything on that list that is soluble, chemical, ingestible or capable of being absorbed into the body.”

            “Following protocol,” Don murmured.

            “Of course.  I told you my scientists are very traditional thinkers,” Bishop said.  “We have also drawn blood and tissue samples from the mutated subject.”

            “Have you run them through a DNA sequencer?” Don asked.

            “We have.  The results are quite fascinating and highly unusual, but also a huge mystery.  One of the molecules appears to have adaptive qualities, which is perhaps why the original vaccine isn’t working on this strain,” Bishop told him.

            “Continuous adaptive qualities?” Don asked, beginning to sound excited.

            “Yes.  So far, everything we’ve tried on it has failed to have any effect because the molecule shifts its basic structure upon contact,” Bishop answered.

            “Fascinating,” Don murmured.

            Raph stared at his brother and saw the gleam come into his deep brown eyes.  Don’s face took on the look of concentrated obsession that he got when truly challenged, and Raph felt his heart plummet into his stomach.  No way were they going back to the lair tonight.

            “How quickly does it infect a host? Have you run any experiments on that yet?” Don asked.

            “Our animal lab is running them now.  A rhesus monkey injected with a sample of the mutated blood transformed in less than eight minutes,” Bishop said.

            “Eight?” Don nearly shouted.  Visibly calming himself, he said, “Eight minutes is much faster than the original ooze was capable of transforming things.  Eight minutes is potentially catastrophic.”

            “I am completely aware of that,” Bishop said in his most even tone.  “That is why I called for your assistance.  I truly hope this is an isolated occurrence, but if it isn’t  . . .”

            He didn’t finish the sentence.  Don turned his head to look at Raph, a silent question passing from him to his red banded brother.

            Raph was in no way thrilled with the situation, but he had to admit that if this was an elaborate trap of some sort, it was way more complicated than it needed to be.

            At some point during the exchange between Bishop and Don, Raph had begun to listen to the man’s tone and timbre rather than his actual words.  He had also studied Bishop’s body language.  One thing Raph had noted about Bishop was that while adept at hiding most of his emotions, frustration was not one of them.

            Bishop was well and truly frustrated by something, and it didn’t seem that something had anything to do with mutated turtles.

            “Your call Don,” Raph finally said.

            “We’ll go with you,” Don told Bishop quickly, almost before Raph finished speaking.  “But I will take a few precautions first.  I’m sure you understand.”

            “Time is critical,” Bishop reminded him, his anxiety momentarily overcoming his usual stoicism.

            That more than any of his previous words made Raph start to believe Bishop might be telling the truth.

            “I’m aware of that,” Don said as he pulled his laptop from his duffel bag.

            While Don typed something on his keyboard, Raph eyed Bishop.  Both of Raph’s weapons were still in his hands and his defensive stance hadn’t shifted.

            “I am not a threat to you Raphael,” Bishop said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

            It didn’t work.  Raph continued to sneer at him.  “The only time ya’ won’t be a threat to me and mine is when you’re dead Bishop.  And don’t expect flowers.”

            Bishop smiled slightly.  “I won’t.  Please forgive me for not rushing into a grave in order to set your mind at ease.”

            “I’ve just sent a time delay message to let the others know what we’re doing Raph,” Don cut in.  “I’ll send another when we reach our destination so that they will know where we are.”

            Placing his laptop back into his bag, Don turned to Bishop.  “I’ll be sending reports on a regular basis, each message coded in such a way that they can’t be faked by someone else.  If they don’t receive an encoded message at the correct interval, they’ll come looking for us.”

            “I needn’t tell you that plan isn’t foolproof,” Bishop said.  “I’m trying to remain honest.”

            “Duly noted.  There are only so many contingencies that can be accommodated.  At some point, I have to give you some trust.  Just remember, if this is a trick, it will be the last time I’ll ever trust you, and someday you might really need me,” Don told him.

            Bishop nodded once in affirmation.  “My truck is below.  You can ride with me or follow in your own transportation, whichever suits you best.”

            “We came through the sewers, so I guess we’ll be ridin’ with ya’,” Raph said.  “Lead the way.”

            Bishop went over the rooftop ledge using a rope and rappelling skillfully to a fire escape platform several floors below.  The brothers followed, keeping a wary eye on the man as they joined him in an alley.

            As he approached a large black panel truck, the rear doors were pushed open by a soldier.  Raph’s hand shot out and he grabbed Don’s arm.

            “We ain’t getting in there with any of your soldiers,” Raph said.  “Leave ‘em here on the sidewalk and let ‘em catch a cab.”

            Bishop spun on his heel, his frustration showing plainly, but bit it back at the look on Donatello’s face.  It was obvious that whatever Raph decided was going to be followed by his genius brother.

            “Fine.”  He moved to the back of the truck and said something to the soldier. 

            Immediately, two uniformed soldiers and one in civilian clothes jumped out of the back of the truck and moved across the street to the opposite sidewalk.

            Bishop stepped back and waved a hand at the truck’s interior.  Raph approached cautiously, peered inside and verified it was empty save for the driver.

            “I’m riding in front with that man,” Raph told Bishop.  “If anything happens that I don’t like, I’ll feed him some cold steel and worry about the collision later.”

            “Understood,” Bishop said, watching as Raph leaped into the truck and moved to sit up front next to the driver.

            Don got in next, and then Bishop stepped inside, pulling the doors behind him.

            As the truck got under way, Don once more got his laptop out and asked Bishop, “Give me the location of where we’re going.”

            Bishop’s face softened into one of mild amusement.  Seated across from Don, he could clearly see the Turtle’s youth, but also the grim determination of a maturity that had been thrust upon someone at an early age.

            “It’s a parking garage on McKenzie.  At the intersection of McKenzie and seventeenth,” Bishop said.

            “You hear that Raph?” Don called as he typed the information into his computer.

            “Yeah,” his brother yelled back.  “I know where that is and I know how ta get there.”

            Raph’s sai was out as he turned sideways in his seat and placed the tip against the back of the driver’s neck.

            “Go anywhere but straight there and you’re gonna be sportin’ another hole in your head,” he growled at the man, whose hands visibly tightened on the steering wheel.

            Laughing lightly, Bishop returned to his perusal of the olive skinned mutant.  Of the four, Don had always fascinated him the most, the brilliant Turtle almost an anomaly amongst anomalies.

            While he still sometimes found himself thinking of the Turtles and their Master as freaks, he found himself less inclined to do so when regarding Donatello separately.  In fact, he had begun to notice a tendency to regard the Turtle with respect and grudging admiration.

            “Your brother is quite protective of you,” Bishop said, breaking the silence.

            “We are all protective of each other.  Raph’s a very skilled ninja,” Don remarked.

            “As are you.  Yet in a fight, you tend to defer to your brothers.  Why is that?” Bishop asked.

            Don thought of the best way to answer.  “Sometimes I tend to overthink things,” he said.

            “Or become easily distracted?” Bishop observed with a flash of insight.  Seeing that Don wouldn’t oblige him with an answer, he asked, “Is that why you’ve not moved on from the bo staff, the first and most traditional of weapons?”

            “Partly that,” Don admitted and then stopped, contemplating something deeper.

            Bishop waited, unsure as to whether the young Turtle genius would explain further, but curious nonetheless.

            “Our lives are complicated enough,” Don added.

            Bishop could see there was more.  “Yours more than the others, isn’t that correct?” he hazarded.  “Leonardo’s responsibilities are predicated upon his bushido abilities, so he is allowed to devote his time to the study of weapons and the perfecting of his ninjitsu skills.  Raphael’s place is that of the warrior, fiercely proud of his fighting ability, his way is similar to that of the Spartan soldier.  Your brother Michelangelo is naturally gifted with raw athleticism and excels at most things without much effort.”

            “More than a casual observer, Bishop?” Don asked, mildly sarcastic.

            “I have to be,” Bishop explained before continuing.  “Yours is the intellect of the family; the problem solver.  You’ve trained as a martial artist because you grew up in a martial arts household, but for you that is simple survival, not something you embrace as do your brothers.”

            “There are only so many hours in the day, Bishop,” Don told him.

            “And so many things requiring your attention, isn’t that correct?  So many things dragging your mind away from the ebb and flow of a fight?”

            “I prefer the bo because it is pure and simplistic,” Don suddenly admitted, surprising himself. 

            Carrying on an intelligent, non-threatening conversation with Bishop was completely foreign to Don, but even more so was the underlying sympathy and understanding in Bishops voice.  It had pulled a deeply personal response from the purple banded ninja faster than any torture Bishop could have concocted.

            “Opposite ends of the spectrum, so to speak?” Bishop said, instinctively comprehending Don’s statement.  “Makes for a more perfect balance.”

            Raph watched through narrowed eyes as his brother seemed to cozy up to Bishop.  Agent Bishop was still a mortal threat to them, and they weren’t going into his stronghold because they were going to be playing footsy with the man.

            When they reached their destination, Raph was sure as shell gonna pull Donatello aside and take a few minutes to remind his brother that Agent John Bishop was the enemy.


Chapter Text

            Raph watched with trepidation as Don toured Bishop’s laboratories.

            The warning signs were all there; Don’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his expressive mouth turned up into a face splitting grin, and the biggest giveaway of all was his tail.

            Don’s tail had peeked from beneath his carapace and was wiggling a mile a minute.

            “Shell,” Raph hissed under his breath.  He knew what that meant.

            While Don walked beside Bishop and received the royal treatment, Raph trailed along behind, his sharp eyes taking notice of things other than blood gas analyzers and flow cytometers.

            Earlier, when they had reached the parking garage, the driver had pulled the truck into a parking stall and killed the engine.  After several seconds, a red light flashed on the dashboard, and the driver tapped his horn.

            With a lurch, the truck started moving down.  Don gripped the sides of his seat, startled by the movement, and Raph growled his displeasure.

            “The facilities are underground,” Bishop had explained to them.

            That’s where they currently found themselves.  The truck had dropped two levels before finally coming to a stop on the third.

            As soon as they left the truck, Raph began mapping every room and hallway, noting where each exit was located; where every elevator or staircase was situated.  Raph let Don and Bishop stay in front of him, leaving enough space so that if a trap was sprung, it wouldn’t get them both.  He also remained close enough so that he couldn’t be separated from Don.

            Raph realized pretty quickly that he was the one who was going to have to stay on his toes and be vigilant, because Donatello certainly wasn’t.  His brother was completely mesmerized by mechanized marvels, technological toys, and medical mysteries.

            “I took the liberty of preparing a bedroom for you,” Bishop was saying, leading Don through another door.

            Raph’s head snapped around and he started paying attention to the conversation between those two again.  He approached the doorway but stopped before entering the room, warning nerves popping across his body.

            It was indeed a bedroom; a decent looking full-sized bed pushed against one wall and a desk atop which sat a computer against another.  A door at the far end led into what appeared to be a bathroom.

            “I have a similar room down the hall that you can use, Raphael.  Or would you prefer to share this room?” Bishop asked, turning for the first time in a couple of hours to regard Raph.

            “We’ll share,” Raph growled at him.  “I hope ta hell we ain’t gonna be here long enough ta need it.”

            “As do I,” Bishop responded mildly.  “Shall I have another bed placed in here, or is one bed sufficient?”

            There was an innuendo in that question, and Raph was sharp enough to hear it.  Don was already pulling things from his bag and placing them on the desk, so he wasn’t really paying attention.

            “Put another bed in here,” Raph said coldly, his gold eyes flashing.

            Bishop’s expression didn’t change.  “As you wish.”  Turning back towards Don, the man said, “All test results will be sent to you and can be accessed on this computer,” he indicated the one on the desk and continued, “and the one in the main lab.  All of my scientists and lab technicians are at your disposal.  They have been instructed to do anything you say; to give you anything you ask for.”

            Don had been staring at the computer screen, but he turned around and gave Bishop a look of surprise when he heard that.

            “Wait, are you saying I’m . . . that I’m the lead on this?” Don asked, his voice lifting a little.

            “Yes.”  Bishop reached up and adjusted his dark glasses.  “This is your operation, Donatello.  You are in charge.  You’ll report to me and everyone else will report to you.  They will tell me nothing that they have not also told you.  I’ve already made that abundantly clear to everyone.”

            “That musta gone over like a lead balloon,” Raph muttered.

            “What about Stockman?  Is he working on this as well?  We may be able to initiate a tentative truce with you over this thing, but Stockman hates us,” Don said.

            Raph took two steps into the room, his entire body rigid.  “Stockman doesn’t come within fifty feet of my brother, Bishop.  That’s where I draw the line.  That nut case will sabotage anything he can ta get back at Don and me.”

            “I am aware of the history between you,” Bishop said.  “His role is limited to an advisory one.  He has been restricted to a lab on the second level and I have assigned several guards to keep their eyes on him.  He’s not happy about the situation of course; he seems to think he should be the lead.”

            “That’s just gonna add more fuel ta his fire,” Raph said.  “He’s gonna resent the hell out of that.”

            “He can resent it all he likes,” Bishop said sharply.  “He works for me and he knows that I find his performance to be less than stellar.  He may have a brilliant mind, but he lacks discipline and I have no time right now for someone who makes assumptions and acts on them without thorough testing.”

            “Then I won’t have direct contact with Stockman?” Don asked, needing to be completely clear on the subject.

            “None,” Bishop answered.  “I’ll leave you two now to get settled.  If you get hungry, just type in your request and send it to the kitchen.”

            Pausing in the doorway, Bishop half turned and said, “Donatello, I haven’t thanked you yet.”  Pulling his glasses off, he looked directly into Don’s eyes and said, “Thank you.”

            Silence fell in the room after he left.  Don opened his laptop and began typing a message to Leo, and Raph moved over to inspect the door, checking to see that once closed and locked, he would be able to open it again.  Satisfied that the room wasn’t a cage of some sort, he closed the door and turned to inspect his brother’s shell.

            “This just keeps getting better and better,” he rumbled, the inflection in his voice indicating his distaste for the situation.

            “He’s been nothing but gracious so far, Raph,” Don said, his eyes on the computer screen.

            Raph’s eyes narrowed and he took quick steps to cross the room so he could stand next to Don, drawing his brother’s attention.

            “He’s being civil ‘cause he needs you,” Raph said bluntly.  “I don’t know what’s goin’ on in his head right now and neither do you, so ya’ don’t need ta start gettin’ all chummy with the man.”

            “I’m not,” Don insisted, and when he saw Raph’s eyes flash, he repeated, “I’m not, Raph.  I’m trying to establish a working relationship with him and that’s all.  Once this is finished and we’ve found an antidote, you and I still have to get out of here.  That subject hasn’t even been broached.”

            “Peachy,” Raph said; his mouth twisted up in disgust.  “Tell me again why I let ya’ talk me into this?”

            “It’s because I’m your favorite brother,” Don said with an impish grin.

            “Not after this,” Raph retorted, although his face softened a bit.  “Speaking of brothers, has Fearless responded to your news yet?”

            The grin faded from Don’s face.  Stepping back from the laptop, he waved at the screen and Raph looked down to read the message Leo had sent.

            With a laugh, Raph glanced up at a pensive Donatello and said, “Shit, I thought I was the only one who could get him that mad.”

            “It seems I’ve managed to get him that mad at the both of us,” Don told him.  “Sorry.”

            Raph waved it away.  “Fuck that, ya’ know I don’t care how pissed off he gets, I’m used ta’ it.  What are ya’ gonna do?  He’s ordering ya’ ta come home and ya’ ain’t ever disobeyed one of his orders.”

            From the look on Don’s face, he could tell his brother was having a major internal struggle.  He was a little surprised that Don hadn’t already figured out what he was going to do; he had to have known what Leo would say upon finding a message saying that two of his brothers had decided to play house with Bishop for a while.

            As if reading Raph’s mind, Don said, “I had intended to pretend that I hadn’t received any of his messages.”

            Raph grinned and reached over to close the laptop.  “How ‘bout from now on, you send the messages to tell them we’re still kicking, and I’ll read any of the incoming ones?”

            Don’s sigh of relief was audible.  “Thanks bro’.”

            “No sweat.  So, do ya’ think Bishop will poison our food?  ‘Cause I’m gettin’ a little hungry.”

            Don laughed and moved to the internal computer.  Pulling up a menu, he said, “Let’s take a chance.  What the shell, we’ve already taken plenty of them tonight, what’s one more?”


            Losing track of time when buried in a difficult problem proved to be a little too easy to do.  Don rubbed at his eyes and glanced up at the clock.  He’d sent his technicians off to grab some shut-eye; they’d been working non-stop with Don and were starting to look groggy.

            Don hadn’t slept since arriving and Raph had refused to do so either; worried that if he left his brother something untoward would happen.  Don finally argued with him that if he didn’t sleep he wouldn’t be much good in a fight and that if something were going to happen it would do so whether Raph was hanging around or not.

            Raph finally acquiesced and retired to their bedroom.  Don knew deep down that he should be in a bed himself, but he hated to stop once he’d begun to follow a certain train of thought.  The problem now was that he was getting a massive headache and he knew if he didn’t do something about it soon; it would turn into a killer migraine.

            John Bishop stood in the doorway to the lab and watched Donatello work.  The Turtle was unaware of his presence, his mind completely engrossed in his efforts.

            Bishop had been in and out of the lab ever since Don began working on the altered mutagen.  He was overwhelmingly impressed by the young ninja’s mind; Donatello had quickly found a way to isolate the single adaptive molecule from the altered DNA strand, something Bishop’s own scientists were unable to do in three days’ worth of testing.

            Donatello didn’t just follow normal lab protocol; his mind seemed to make intuitive leaps that astonished both Bishop and all the other scientists as well.  Bishop had watched as some of his strongest nay-sayers to the idea of enlisting Don’s assistance began to give Don grudging respect.

            Bishop’s eyes swept over the Turtle’s form as Don moved.  He was equally as impressed with the raw power beneath the olive green skin; with how fluidly the purple banded ninja’s motions were, never wasting energy needlessly.

            Drawing a breath, Bishop tried to come to grips with a strange feeling that was beginning to possess him.  He was a completely asexual being; he had been since his encounter with aliens over a hundred and fifty years ago.

            However, while his newest cloned form was seemingly free of the degenerative tendencies of the previous ones, it was also more capable of responding to outside stimuli.  It appeared, much to Bishop’s surprise, that his mental appreciation of Donatello’s numerous positive attributes was having a stimulating effect on him physically.

            Bishop felt a stirring between his legs and nearly cried out in surprise.

            Trying hard to ignore the unfamiliar reaction, Bishop noticed that Don had begun to rub at his temples.  Frowning, the man strode into the lab, making enough noise with his steps so that the Turtle would know that he was approaching.

            When Don turned to look at him, Bishop saw the tension in his shoulders and the first hint of pain washing across Don’s brow.

            “You should be resting,” Bishop said, pursing his lips in disapproval.

            “I know,” Don told him.  “I’m running a growth program and I wanted to get the results before I attempted to sleep.”

            “Do you always drive yourself this hard when you’re trying to find answers, or are you just like that this time because you want to get away from me?” Bishop asked, somewhat facetiously.

            Don glanced at him with a mildly perplexed look at the teasing tone in Bishop’s voice.

            “I guess I always tend to obsess over problems,” Don admitted.  “I don’t want to be rude and say I also want to go home, but  . . .”

            “You like to tell the truth,” Bishop finished for him and smiled.

            Don found himself returning the smile.  Bishop had removed his dark glasses, and his black eyes were like deep pools of obsidian.

            “But now you’ve worked yourself into a fairly bad headache,” Bishop added.

            Don shrugged.  “I’ve had them before.  It’ll fade when I get a chance to sleep.”

            “Do you want a pain reliever?  I have everything from baby aspirin on up,” Bishop offered.

            “No,” Don said a little too quickly.  “I’m  . . . I’m good, really.”

            Bishop’s smile grew larger.  “Afraid to take any of my drugs, Donatello?”

            Don didn’t quite know how to react to the continuously teasing tone of Bishop’s voice.  His grin was a little embarrassed as he admitted, “Maybe.”

            Bishop’s eyes travelled over Don’s body slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration.  Don began to grow uncomfortably warm under the man’s scrutiny.  It wasn’t as though Don hadn’t been looked over or stared at before, it was just that something in the way Bishop was surveying him was different.

            “Your muscles are knotted up with tension,” Bishop finally pronounced.  “It’s in your neck and shoulders mostly.  That’s what is giving you the headache.  Turn around; I can do something about that without having to resort to drugs.”

            “I don’t know . . .” Don began, and stopped as Bishop’s eyebrows lifted.

            “If I was going to club you from behind, Donatello, I would have already done so,” Bishop said, again with the lightly teasing tone of voice.

            Feeling very foolish, Don turned his back to Bishop and braced himself.  The first warm touch of Bishop’s hands on his shoulders almost made him jump.

            “You seriously need to relax,” Bishop told him, his voice becoming darkly virile.

            Don drew in a quick breath as Bishop began to knead the flesh across his shoulder muscles and down along his biceps.  When Bishop’s hand squeezed the knot that had formed in Don’s neck, the Turtle gasped and bent forward to grasp the edge of a table.

            “I take it that feels good,” Bishop said, sounding smug.

            “Oh, sh. . . shell,” Don almost whispered, feeling his tightly clenched muscles begin to melt.

            Bishop had touched the Turtles before; after all, he had held them all captive once, strapped to tables and ready for dissection.  He had also been in numerous fights with them where touching was unavoidable.

            He knew Don’s skin would be warm, not cold, but he hadn’t fully realized how soft the leathery looking skin would be.  It felt incredibly sensual beneath Bishop’s strong fingers and the man once again felt a strong physical reaction within his own body.

            Something cold and heavy pressed against the back of Bishop’s neck.

            “Get your hands off of my brother,” Raph snarled; his voice dark and ugly.

            Bishop was both startled and dismayed.  The ninja should not have been able to sneak up on him.  Bishop realized he was becoming much too easily distracted by his strange new fascination with the olive skinned Turtle.

            Pulling his hands quickly away from Don’s shoulders, Bishop lifted them high so Raph could see his intent was peaceful.

            “It’s okay, Raph,” Don told his brother, “Bishop was trying to work a kink out of my neck.”

            “Donatello has a tension headache,” Bishop explained.  “His shoulders and neck are tied in a knot and I was trying to help alleviate the pain because he is hesitant to use pain relievers.”

            “Uh, huh.  Ya’ ever stop ta think ya’ might be the one making him tense?” Raph asked as he slowly removed the sai.

            Bishop sidestepped to put distance between himself and the two brothers.

            “That was by no means my intent.  I’ll go now and leave the two of you alone,” Bishop said and quickly left the room.

            Don was eyeing Raph, his expression unfathomable.

            “What?” Raph demanded, irritated by the look.

            “Why are you so edgy?” Don asked.

            Raph cocked his head to the side and answered in a belligerent tone. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe ‘cause we’re in the middle of a fuckin’ underground fortress surrounded by Bishop and his men.”

            “We’ve been here for over thirty hours, and Bishop has been nothing but helpful and polite,” Don said.

            “Holy fuckin’ shit, Don!” Raph erupted, his hands clenched into fists.  “How the fuck do ya’ think he’s gonna act?  He needs ya’; you’re his only shot at figurin’ out this problem of his and pullin’ his ass out of the fire.”

            “Well, really Ra . . . “ Don began.

            “And on top of that I think he’s got the hots for ya’,” Raph interrupted to blurt out.

            Don ran a hand across his forehead.  “You didn’t just seriously say that.”

            “Yeah.  I did,” Raph said.  “I meant it.  He’s startin’ ta look at ya’ differently, and don’t tell me ya’ been so distracted by this problem your workin’ on that ya’ haven’t noticed how often he’s been invading your personal space.  Or finding excuses like the one just now ta put his hands on ya’.”

            “Are you afraid he’s trying to take advantage of me?  Is that what you’re alluding to?” Don asked in an amused fashion.

            “Go ahead and make fun,” Raph said.  “Ain’t like you’re all that worldly when it comes ta that shit.”

            “I’m not exactly completely virginal either, Raph,” Don reminded him gently.

            Raph’s face flushed.  “Damn, don’t even bring that up Donny.  That happened when we were kids.”

            “It happened two years ago and we were not kids,” Don said.  “We were experimenting like teenagers do and I went along with it.  You did not force me.  And for the record, Raph, I enjoyed it.  The sex satisfied a need we both had at the time, so I have no regrets.”

            “Shit,” Raph looked down at the ground.  “Why ya’ gotta make things sound so clinical?  Ya’ know I fuckin’ hurt ya’.”

            “Pain under those circumstances was unavoidable, bro’.  Stop beating yourself up over it.  We did it once and I can guarantee that it was a perfectly normal thing to have tried.  Our hormones were in overdrive at the time, if you’ll recall.  But the point is, I’m not completely naïve,” Don said.

            Raph lifted his head to meet Don’s eyes.  “So what are ya’ gonna do if Bishop is panting after your ass?”

            Don chuckled.  “And you think my way of saying things is strange.  Nice imagery there, Raph.  Look, I don’t see it, but if that’s the case then I don’t need to do anything.  It’s Bishop’s problem.  My problem is sitting over there in a row of petri dishes.”

            “Marvelous,” Raph muttered; an undercurrent of emotion in his voice that Don hadn’t ever heard before.

            “Raph, is there something you’re trying to tell me?” Don asked.

            After a second of hesitation, Raph said, “Just that my nerves are gettin’ nerves.  Go back ta work, Don, so we can get the shell out of here.”

            “Ri~ght,” Don responded, eyeing his brother.

            Raph moved back across the room to the table where he was sorting through lab reports for Don.  His shoulders were down and his entire manner appeared dejected.

            When this was over and they were finally home, Don knew he and Raph were long overdue for a serious discussion.


Chapter Text

            During his exploration of the EPF’s underground facilities, Raph had discovered a small exercise room.

            Having finally talked Don into getting some sleep and safely tucking his brother into bed, Raph felt the need to work off some tension, and he availed himself of the free weights.

            Several of Bishop’s soldiers were in the room and Raph ignored them, although he didn’t remove his sais, something he usually did when working out.  The soldiers were attempting to ignore him as well, but Raph could still feel their curious eyes on him as he worked through his weight routine.

            Don had made a minor breakthrough of some sort and having duly sent his report to Bishop, was preparing things for another round of tests when Raph put a halt to that.  He had gently but firmly told Don that since he was at a good stopping point that was what he was going to do; stop.

            Although Don put up a token argument, Raph still led him out of the lab and into their bedroom.  After making sure Don had fallen asleep, Raph had gone out, closing the door behind him.

            This was the first time in ten hours that Raph had left Don alone.  It was the first time since walking into the lab and discovering Bishop with his hands on Donatello that he’d felt comfortable enough to leave his brother’s side.

            “Working a kink out of his neck my ass,” Raph thought.  “More like trying ta get kinky if ya’ ask me.”           

            The scowl he was wearing as he fumed about the situation proved to be too much for several of the soldiers, who quickly grabbed their towels and left the room.  Raph barely even noticed.

            Bishop rushed through the corridors on his way to the main lab, Donatello’s latest report and lab results clutched in his hands.  He was ecstatic with Don’s findings and was determined to tell him so, brother or no brother.

            He had been studiously avoiding contact with Don for several reasons, one of which was his large brutish brother.  Bishop wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by Raphael; they had fought before and Bishop was quite physically capable of taking the red banded ninja down.

            The problem was that if he were to get into a fight with Raphael, then he would surely lose Donatello, and that was something Bishop could not abide.

            If the price for holding onto Don meant having to stay away from him, then so be it.  That was probably for the better good anyway, as Bishop found he couldn’t be in the same room with the purple banded Turtle without certain feelings interrupting his thought processes.

            Feelings were something Bishop could ill afford to have or to give in to.  Maintaining a strict discipline over his mind and body allowed him to remain focused on his goals.  Aliens had deprived him of the life he was originally meant to have, and he was determined that they would not take over his planet as well.

            Donatello was not in the lab.  When Bishop walked in and could not locate the Turtle, an infinitesimal spike of panic stroked along his spine.  This feeling was also unfamiliar and unwanted.

            “Where is Donatello?” he asked one of the technicians in a slightly strained voice.

            “His brother took him out of here about ninety minutes ago, sir.  He insisted that Donatello get some sleep.”

            Bishop realized he was crushing the papers that were in his hand and he reminded himself to relax.  He nodded at the technician and pushed his glasses back up on his nose before turning to leave the room.

            Standing in the corridor, Bishop debated on leaving Donatello alone for a while longer.  The Turtle was desperately in need of sleep, and he certainly had earned a respite.

            But the clock was ticking.  The Omani consulate had begun making noises about the ship and were asking for details as to the exact nature of the forced quarantine.  Thus far, the American Ambassador to Oman was dealing with the situation, but Bishop was not sure how long that would be acceptable to either side.

            He needed to discuss Donatello’s findings with him and get a feel for what the Turtle considered to be the next logical step.  If it was something that Bishop’s scientists could begin working on, then Don could go back to sleep.

            Turning towards Don’s bedroom, Bishop reminded himself that Raph would also be in the room, and that he needn’t worry about being alone with the ninja genius.  The feelings that were threatening to run rampant wouldn’t surface with the hot headed Turtle anywhere close.

            Outside of the bedroom, Bishop took a deep, cleansing breath, and knocked on the door.  Waiting for a couple of minutes, he tried again, just a bit harder.

            When there was still no answer, the strange panicky feeling once again gripped Bishop.  Raph hauling his brother off with the excuse that Don needed sleep was exactly the ploy Bishop would expect if the two were actually planning to leave.

            Bishop quickly tried the handle, and finding that it wasn’t locked, he opened the door and went in.

            His eyes went first to the bed and the feeling of alarm faded.  Donatello was curled on his side, sound asleep.

            Glancing quickly to the other bed, Bishop frowned and removed his glasses.  Raphael was not in that bed, nor was he anywhere in the room.

            Just for a second, Bishop debated leaving.  This was not a scenario he had foreseen, having been positive that Raph would be in the room to act as a buffer between himself and Donatello.  But Raph had gone off somewhere on his own, for whatever reason, and there was no way of knowing how long he’d be gone.

            Under those circumstances, Bishop decided it would be safe to remain and have a short conversation with Don.  Since Raph could walk in at any moment, Bishop knew he didn’t have the luxury of giving in to any impulses he might have while alone with Donatello.

            “Donatello,” he rasped out in a hoarse semi-whisper and then berated himself for sounding so juvenile.  “Donatello,” he said again, his voice stronger and more like his usual self.

            Don muttered something but didn’t open his eyes.  He shifted in his sleep and rolled over onto his plastron.

            Bishop didn’t get tired, but he recognized what it looked like, and he could tell that the young genius was well and truly exhausted.  As much as Bishop hated to do so, he had to wake Don up.

            Walking over to the bed, Bishop leaned down and touched Don’s shoulder so that he could shake him.  Before he could move his hand, he caught sight of Don’s tail, just showing from beneath his carapace.  Bishop’s breath caught.

            He froze as he stared at the small appendage.  Eyes fully dilated, pulse quickening, heart hammering in his chest; Bishop recognized all of the physical manifestations of arousal.  The problem was that it was Bishop who was becoming aroused, and that simply did not happen.

            Tired as he was, Donatello still felt a presence next to his bed and slowly pulled himself out of a deep sleep.  He was sure it was Raph checking on him, and while Don appreciated the sentiment, he didn’t appreciate being awakened by Raph’s slightly overbearing concern.

            “Mmph, Raph, shell.  Can’t a guy get a little sleep without you  . . . .”  Don got that much out before his eyes fully opened and he saw not Raph, but Bishop bending over him.

            For the first time since accepting Bishop’s proposal and coming to the underground laboratories, Don was truly frightened.  Once before he’d had Bishop leaning over him like this, and that time Don was strapped to a table with a dissecting saw looming over his head.

            Don scrambled back away from Bishop so quickly his carapace slammed into the wall.  Heart pounding in his chest, Don automatically reached for his bo, only to realize his weapon was leaning against the desk.

            Bishop pulled his hand away and stood upright slowly.  His eyes travelled up from Don’s tail, across the heaving scutes, past the muscular neck where he could see the pulse pounding, over the wide sensuous mouth and into the warm chocolate colored eyes.

            “Donatello,” Bishop said, and this time his voice came out husky; his tongue heavy from the need that was coursing through his body.

            Don’s eyes widened.  Raph was right in that Donatello’s experience with things of a sexual nature was limited, but it was not so limited that Don couldn’t recognize the hunger that was in Bishop’s voice.  He had heard it before in Raph’s, two years ago when they’d had a secret one time tryst.  Only then, the sound had sent delicious shivers up his spine.

            The sound of that hunger in Bishop’s voice did not have the same effect on the Turtle.

            “B  . . . Bishop?” Don stammered, knowing he should probably make some sort of move rather than squatting with his back against the wall, frozen in indecision.

            The stammer more than anything else had the effect of tossing cold water on Bishop’s face.  Blinking, he forced his legs to function, stepping back a pace and then another.  Breathing deeply, he managed two more steps away from the bed and watched as Don visibly relaxed.

            “Pardon me for waking you,” Bishop said; his voice now under control.  “It was not my intent to startle you so badly.”

            Don blinked and leaped from the bed quickly.  Bishop seemed completely poised and so much his usual self that the purple banded Turtle began to wonder if he had been imagining things.

            “Has something happened?”  Don asked, and then glanced around the room.  “Is Raph okay?”

            “I’m not sure where your brother is at the moment,” Bishop said.  “As far as I know he is fine.  I just finished reading through your report and felt it needed immediate discussion.  I really would not have bothered you if the time frame weren’t so critical.”

            Don crossed the room to where his bo staff was and retrieved his weapon hastily.  Once the wooden staff was in his hands, Don began to relax a bit, willing his heart to stop beating so forcefully in his chest.

            “You haven’t seen Raph?” Don asked, the concern in his voice was obvious, but the deeper, unconscious accusation was not. 

            Bishop noticed it anyway; he had spent his entire life training himself to the nuances of language.

            “I haven’t done anything to your brother, Donatello,” Bishop told him in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

            “I h . . . hadn’t meant it to sound that way,” Don said, slightly flustered and a little embarrassed.  He flipped his bo staff into place on his back in an attempt to hide his discomfiture.

            Bishop watched in fascination as the olive green skin on Don’s face flushed with the tiniest hint of pink.  He felt his hand begin to once more squeeze around the papers he was holding and had to will himself to relax.  It was obvious his reactions to Don’s presence was having a negative effect on the Turtle.

            “This report,” Bishop said, tearing his eyes away from Don’s face, “says you managed to bind the adaptive molecule?”

            Don composed himself as his mind reverted to the problem they were battling.  “Yes.  I remembered reading about bacteria expressed from a cell secreted protein having an inhibiting effect on certain carcinogens and decided to try a modification of that on the adaptive molecule.  When I tried a protein drawn from the muscular tissue of a rat, there was no effect on the molecule, but then I thought that if this thing is so easily transforming living animal tissue, the inhibitor has to be something organic, but not based on animal life forms.”

            Bishop glanced down at the papers in his hand and then back up at Don, his usually expressionless face showing obvious amazement.

            “So you took cell secretions from a plant?” he asked.

            Don shrugged.  “A Venus fly trap to be exact.  Don’t ask me why, I suppose I could have chosen anything, but somehow I wanted a plant that had the capability to sense things and move accordingly.”

            Bishop chuckled.  “That, my friend, is the difference between a scientist and a genius.”

            Don blushed again and Bishop’s heart did another leap frog in his chest.  “I didn’t find a cure yet, so don’t call me a genius.  All I managed to do is find a way to keep it from spreading.  The compound I created was injected into a rhesus and then we put the monkey into the containment cell with the mutated subject.  The mutation immediately attempted to latch on to the monkey, but pulled back just as quickly.” 

            Glancing up at the wall clock, Don said, “That monkey has been in the cell for over five hours now, and as far as I know, has still managed to avoid infection.”

            “I just came from the lab,” Bishop told him.  “The rhesus is showing no signs of infection and the mutated subject is making no attempt to go anywhere near the monkey.”

            Don ran his hand over his head and sighed.  “Now I just need to find a way to break down the molecule completely, so that it’s destroyed but still leaves its host intact.”

            “Do you feel comfortable enough with this to inject a team of my operatives so they can board that ship and gather up all the infected life forms?”  At the look Don gave him, Bishop added quickly, “I wouldn’t suggest it except for the fact that the Omani government is threatening to send their own doctors to the ship.  If we can transport all of the living evidence back to our labs, the Omani’s can be delayed another forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

            Don was staring at him as he said, “Politics.” 

            His tongue flicked out to swipe at his lower lip and Bishop’s eyes fell to the movement, momentarily transfixed.  Toes clenching inside his shoes, Bishop watched Don’s mouth move in what seemed like slow motion, and Bishop’s reaction travelled up from his feet to his groin.

            When Don spoke again, it barely cut through the fire that was slowly settling into Bishop’s blood.

            “I haven’t tried that compound on a person, Bishop.  I don’t know that I’m comfortable with that idea,” Don admitted.

            Bishop was brusque.  “Then let me make the call on that one.  I have soldiers who specifically volunteered for high risk missions such as this one.  I’ll have some of the scientists replicate your compound and we’ll send a task force onto that ship.  You continue to concentrate your efforts on the ultimate cure.”

            Don blew out a long breath, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.  Once more Bishop’s eyes were drawn to the Turtles mouth and he suddenly found his feet moving again; this time towards Donatello.

            The quick movement took Don by surprise, and he backed away, only to be stopped by the desk pressing into the backs of his thighs.  Before he could move, Bishop was right up against him, the papers he’d been carrying on the floor as one of Bishop’s hands wound itself into the trailing end of Don’s mask.

            As Don’s hands came up to shove against the man’s chest, Bishop’s other hand found its way behind the ninja’s body and grasped his tail.

            Don’s gasp of surprise was cut off as Bishop’s mouth covered his.

            The man’s warm, wet tongue swiped around the inside of Don’s mouth before giving chase to Don’s own, dancing against it once it had been captured.  Donatello wanted to struggle; he knew he should be putting up some type of a fight, but Bishop’s hand was wrapped around his tail, squeezing and tugging on it so firmly that Don couldn’t think of anything except the warmth that was building in the pit of his stomach.

            Bishop pushed closer to Don, pressing his lower torso into the gap between Don’s legs and rubbing his body against the Turtle’s plastron.  Maybe by luck or some previous study of turtle anatomy, Bishop managed to apply pressure to the hidden, softer part of Don’s plastron.

            The movement and the kiss began to stimulate Don’s libido and his hands danced ineffectually across the man’s chest as his hidden manhood became aroused.

            Bishop’s was losing control over his own body, and for the first time in over a hundred years, he let it happen.  His tongue tasted Donatello’s mouth and was delighted by what it discovered.  The hand on Don’s tail was moving by instinct, and Bishop could tell by the way Don was breathing that his tail was not only sensitive, but that it was enjoying the treatment.

            Pulling air in through his nostrils, Bishop pressed himself closer to the young genius, rubbing his pelvis against the Turtle’s rough plastron.  He could feel Don’s muscular thighs squeeze around his legs, and he felt a growing bulge from between Don’s.

            Bishop had studied enough turtle anatomy to understand what he was feeling.  It wasn’t exactly the same as a regular turtle, but then Don was a mutated life form; and actually right at the moment Bishop didn’t really give a damn about any of that.

            Right at the moment, Bishop’s penis was coming to life and growing unbearably hard and that was another thing that hadn’t occurred in over a hundred years.

            Don felt Bishop’s erection pressing against him and somehow found enough fortitude to shove hard against the man’s chest, trying to drive him away.  Bishop remained where he was, his body rock solid and immovable, his mouth taking Don’s with heated ferocity.

            Feeling Bishop pushing him backwards, Don’s hands left the man’s chest and scrabbled for the edges of the desk, hoping to get enough leverage to prevent Bishop from shoving him back onto his carapace.  He hadn’t fully understood after all the years of fighting Bishop just how strong the man really was.

            Bishop’s hand released its grip on Don’s mask, and slipped around between them, playing across the Turtles plastron as it traveled down.  Don tried to twist his head away as he felt the hand moving along his center front line, sending up a wave of unwanted pleasurable sensations as it progressed.

            Don knew where that hand was going and desperately wanted to shout his disapproval, but Bishop’s mouth was unrelenting.  Letting go of the desks edge with one hand, Don tried to catch Bishop’s wrist, but the man used the opportunity to shove against Don and the Turtle found himself losing his last, grim hold on his balance.

            Seizing the chance, Bishop released Don’s tail and grabbed the arm that was still holding Don upright on the desk.  Bishop yanked as hard as he could, and Don’s hand slipped loose.

            With a startled cry, Don fell back, one arm pinned to the desk top and Bishop lying partly across his body.  Bishop’s other hand found the bulging slit in Don’s plastron and began to rub against it with determined pressure.

            The warmth of that hand and its firm, unrelenting press against Don’s hardening cock made the Turtle churr, the sound rolling up from deep in his chest.  Bishop finally broke the kiss and chuckled lowly, his face inches from Don’s.

            Don found himself staring into the dark depths of Bishop’s eyes.  He had thought them to be black, but now it seemed to Don that he could see every color of the rainbow buried in their recesses.

            “Bishop,” Don gasped out, “w . . . what are you doing?”

            “I want you,” Bishop’s voice was guttural and full of long forgotten need.

            “I don’t  . . .  I can’t . . . this isn’t right,” Don managed to stammer out.

            “If it feels right, then it is right,” Bishop told him, and captured Don’s mouth again.

            Try as he might, Don couldn’t hold back his body’s reaction to Bishop’s hand between his legs.  He felt his cock growing as the blood began to fill it, and he felt Bishop’s fingers reaching into his slit to wrap around his shaft.

            Raph was still mumbling under his breath as he stalked through the corridor on his way back to the bedroom he was sharing with Don.  Reaching the door, he grasped the handle and pulled down, but the door didn’t open.

            Trying once more, he realized the door was locked.  Raph knew he hadn’t locked the door when he left, and he couldn’t figure out why his brother would have gotten up to do so.

            Then he heard a sound from within the room; the deep rumble of a man’s voice and the unmistakable sound of a churr.


Chapter Text

            “Oh fuck no,” Raph hissed, and then yelled, “Don!  Donny!”

            The frame rattled as Raph slammed his shoulder against the door but the door itself didn’t budge.  A steel door set in a solid steel frame; it was going to take more than Raphael’s smashing into it to bring it down.

            Bishop’s mouth was on Don’s throat, having left a wet trail of kisses over Don’s jawline before moving down.  The man was sucking at the skin, biting gently as he tasted the Turtle, completely lost in Donatello’s flavor.  Every ragged breath he inhaled brought with it the delicious musky aroma that was all Don’s and Bishop’s mind was floating on pure sensory overload.

            Another churr pushed up from Don’s diaphragm, his eyes rolling back as Bishop seemed to know exactly how to touch him to make his resistance fade.  Don told himself he didn’t want this kind of attention from Bishop; that the man was toying with him for some dark reason of his own.  But when Bishop moaned and pressed his erection against Don’s leg, the Turtle had to admit that no one, not even Bishop, was that good an actor.

            Don was unable to contain his own arousal any longer and his cock dropped down into Bishop’s waiting hand.  Bishop groaned as he felt the hard, hot shaft fall into his palm, and quickly squeezed around it, delighted to feel the heavy weight in his fist.

            “Donatello,” Bishop moaned, all reticence gone as his body began to respond physically to Don’s.  “I need you, Donatello,” he whispered in a deep, husky voice.

            One hand pinned beneath Bishop’s, the other scrabbled ineffectually at the desktop as Don was unable to process enough thought to tell it what to do.  Bishop was stroking Don’s cock with strong, solid pulls from base to tip and the feeling was building a fire in Don’s groin that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

            Don began to pant as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through his body.  When Bishop’s fingers slid across the head of his dick, Don gasped and his hips jerked in response.

            When Bishop’s hand left his cock, Don groaned in protest.  Then he felt the hand move down, back towards his tail, and he knew what the man’s questing fingers were searching for.

            Bishop’s mouth slid up to Don’s ear slit and he murmured, “I’m going to take you, Donatello.  I’ll make it good for you, I promise.  Relax.”

            As he said those words, his fingertips found Don’s anus and pressed gently against the solid ring of muscle.  Don couldn’t help the churr that wound its way up through his throat.

            “Donny!”  His name shouted loudly from the other side of the door and the sound of a body slamming against the solid metal snapped Don’s half shut eyelids open.

            “Raph?”  Don’s voice quavered as he struggled to pull himself together.

            “Donny!  Open this fucking door!” Raph yelled, his voice containing both fury and a touch of panic.

            “No~o,” Bishop groaned; his hand lifting to catch Don’s shrinking organ.  “Tell him to leave,” Bishop said.

            “I . . . I can’t,” Don stuttered, “he wouldn’t.”

            Bishop inhaled deeply, pulling in air as he attempted to calm his need.  The process brought in a fresh, sharp wave of Donatello’s scent, and Bishop was again dizzied by it.

            “Goddammit, Don!” Raph shouted and the door once more shuddered under the impact of Raph’s heavy musculature.

            Raph’s fury was beyond the boiling point as he began to pound the door, determined to tear it out of the wall.  He heard his brother say his name in a shaky voice, and the fires of hell wouldn’t have been able to hold Raphael back.

            In a single, lucid moment Raph realized that ramming the door wouldn’t get him in nearly as fast as picking the lock.  Forcing himself to calm down slightly, Raph yanked one of his sai from his belt and jabbed it into the locking mechanism.

            The sound of the lock being turned jerked Bishop back to reality.  His mouth came down on Don’s for a last, thirst quenching taste, and then he stepped back from the Turtle.

            Bishop turned towards the door just as Raph slammed it open.

            In a haze of fury, Raph saw Bishop in front of him, adjusting his tie.  Don was slowly sitting up from the desk, a look of confusion on his face and the still present bump under his plastron evidence of sexual arousal.

            With an incoherent shout of rage, Raph leaped at Bishop, both of his sais in hand.

            Bishop sidestepped the furious Turtle and reached out to shove against Raph’s shoulder as he swept past.  Off balance, Raph danced on the tips of his toes to keep from falling and jerked his body around, the back of his fist catching the side of Bishop’s face with a glancing blow.

            The strike had sting to it, and Bishop leaped back as Raph rushed towards him again.  He ducked under Raph’s next swing, jabbing a hard right into Raph’s exposed side.  The Turtle merely grunted, his body protected by a mass of solid muscle and Raph countered with a sharp downward punch to Bishop’s temple.

            Bishop bent backwards, moving with the punch, and placed a hand to the floor as he back flipped away from Raphael.

            Don knew he needed to stop the fight before it went any further and pulled his bo staff.  Jumping between the two combatants, he caught the wings of Raph’s sais on the wooden staff, and pushed back against his brother.

            “Stop, Raph!  Stop!” Don called out, his voice desperate.

            “Get out of the way, Donny!  I’m gonna kill him,” Raph ground out from between clenched teeth.

            Don felt himself being pushed down as his strong brother shoved against him.  He knew he couldn’t hold Raph for long and struggled to find the words to calm the hot head.

            “Nothing happened, Raph!  I’m fine, okay?  Look at me, look at me Raphael!” Don pleaded, digging the balls of his feet into the floor as he attempted to find the leverage to keep Raph away from Bishop.

            Bishop stood a little to the right of Don’s shoulder, near enough to the door to make a break for freedom, but he didn’t attempt to leave the room.  He knew it was critical that they pacify the rampaging Raphael, or any chances that Bishop had of retaining the young genius’s talents would be lost.

            Bishop was enough of a realist to understand that once Donatello was gone, any further chance he had to pursue a relationship with the Turtle would be gone as well.

            Raph pulled his eyes away from Bishop and turned them to Donatello.  Don gasped at the fire he saw in those golden depths, his heart racing as he felt the full impact of Raph’s harshest emotion.

            “What was he tryin’ ta do ta ya’, Don?  Just what the fuck was he doin’ in this room behind a locked door?” Raph spit out, his vitriol sharp.

            Don heard a hiss from behind him and realized that Bishop was refraining from answering that question himself, for fear of adding fuel to the fire.  Don also understood he couldn’t lie to Raph; he’d never lied to him before and it wouldn’t have worked anyway.

            “You were right Raph.  What you said before about Bishop being attracted to me.  He . . .he kissed me and I let him.  It was consensual,” Don insisted.

            Something flickered through the rage in Raph’s eyes, a deeper emotion that tossed water on the flames and Raph stopped shoving against Don suddenly.  Don felt the power leave Raph’s frame and he straightened, watching warily as his brother pulled his sais away from the bo.

            Taking a chance, Bishop said, “I was not trying to inflict harm on your brother, Raphael.  As difficult as this is for me to admit, I find myself quite taken with Donatello.”

            “Yeah,” Raph muttered; his voice low and expressionless.

            Don traded glances with Bishop, whereupon the human said, “I should leave now.  Donatello, I’m going to follow the course of action I prescribed earlier.  Please continue your work when you feel rested.”

            Don nodded and Bishop left the room.  Crossing to the door, Don pushed it shut and then stood holding the door handle for a moment, trying to quell his turbulent feelings.

            Raph didn’t move and was completely silent; too silent Don realized as he slowly turned to contemplate his brother.

            “What are you thinking Raph?” Don asked softly.

            Raph lifted his head and met Don’s eyes.  “Was that the truth Donny?  Was it consensual?”

            Don took a deep breath.  “I suppose.  I . . . I started to push him away Raph; I didn’t want that at first.  But it felt good.  It felt really good, even if it was Bishop and maybe it wasn’t just that it felt good but partly it was the attention too, I guess.  Having someone want me like that.”

            The look Raph gave him was unfathomable.  “Ya’ need someone ta want ya’ Donny?”

            Don shrugged.  “Don’t you ever wonder what that would be like Raph?  To have someone physically attracted to you?  To have someone who isn’t sickened by looking at you, or scared by your touch?”

            “Is that how ya’ see things, Don?  Like the world outside of the lair is filled with people who would gag at the sight of ya’?” Raph asked.

            Don looked down at his feet and felt himself flush.  “Okay, so maybe Bishop wouldn’t be my first choice for a mate, but haven’t you ever wanted someone to love you for who you are?”

            “Yeah I have,” Raph said with sudden decision and stepped close to Don.  When his brother looked up at him, Raph reached out and cupped his chin.  “I have somebody like that, only he ain’t been lookin’ at me the same way.  Maybe that’s my fault for not sayin’ somethin’, so I’m gonna say it now.  Two years ago I wanted what happened between us for a whole different reason than ya’ did Donny.  I wanted it ‘cause I was in love with ya’, not like a brother is supposed ta love another brother either.”

            Don’s eyes widened in surprise.  “But . . . but you never said anything.”

            Raph shook his head and said, “Nah, I heard ya’ goin’ on about adolescent experimentation and raging hormones and figured ya’ wouldn’t take me seriously.  Shell, I didn’t know if I should take me seriously.  Only my feelings for ya’ ain’t changed over time Donatello.  They’re exactly like they were back then, except a lot stronger.  So go ahead and tell me it ain’t right, but I’ll be fucked if I let ya’ end up with the likes of Bishop.”

            “Raphael,” Don murmured, his eyes softening as they looked up into Raph’s.

            Raph’s breath caught at the way Don said his name.  He’d never heard anything so sweet and erotic all at once.

            “Don, let me  . . . let me take Bishop’s taste out of your mouth,” Raph offered, lowering his mouth towards Don’s.

            “Okay,” Don agreed in a whisper, shivering as Raph’s lips touched his.

            As the two drew closer to each other, lost in the oblivion of discovery, they had no idea they were being spied upon.

            With a dark chuckle, Baxter Stockman leaned back from the security camera’s video feed.  He was very pleased with himself for installing a set of tiny cameras throughout the third level, unbeknownst to Agent Bishop.

            He had thought he had a major prize with the film of Bishop attempting to seduce Donatello, even though he knew that Bishop could always explain away his actions.  It was still a nice piece of blackmail material and a possible way to regain his status as top scientist for the EPF.

            But this was too good to be true.  There were so many things Stockman could think to do with a piece of film showing two of the accursed Turtles going at it in an incestuous relationship.

            As he rubbed his hands together, Stockman thought to himself how many of those things would give him the power and revenge he so desperately wanted from both the Turtles and Bishop.


Chapter Text

            Raph and Don lay tangled together on Donatello’s bed.  Don was wrapped protectively in Raphael’s arms, his head tucked under Raph’s chin.  Don was still dozing lightly, but Raph had awakened, his nerves too on edge to allow a proper, deep sleep to take him.

            He was starting to worry, really worry, about what was going to happen after Don had managed to get this latest outbreak contained.  That Don would be able to solve the mutation problem was never a question as far as Raph was concerned; he had far too much faith in the genius’ abilities.

            Raph also understood better than most the incredible pull of Donatello himself, and that was what was giving his mind so much difficulty.  He and Don had stopped short of going any further than some fairly heated kisses and light touching; both felt that the time and place didn’t warrant further exploration.

            The fact that there would be further exploration made Raph’s heart jump into his throat and his arms tighten around Don’s sleeping form.  He had spent two years keeping his wants and desires for his purple banded brother buried as best he could, and now he didn’t have to hide himself from the object of his desire any longer.

            It was a gloriously promising feeling to know that Don returned that same devotion and need.  Now the problem was to keep Don out of Bishop’s clutches, because the man was obviously as overcome with desire for Don as Raph himself was.  Raph however, had managed to keep his longing under control; Bishop apparently didn’t have that same type of mastery over his hunger.

            Narrowing his eyes, Raph began to wonder if these feelings were new to Bishop.  That would certainly explain how aggressive he had been with Don.  Overcome with a rush of strange, body engulfing emotions would certainly account for Bishop’s behavior.  Two years ago, Raph had felt that same rush, and had hurt Don in an adolescent sexual encounter that neither understood enough about at the time.

            Well, Raph was older and much wiser.  Don would not get hurt this time; not by anybody and anything.  Raph would do his damndest to make sure of that.

            Don shifted and snuffled into Raph’s neck, making the larger brother smile.

            “You awake Raph?” Don asked in that melodious voice that reached down to curl Raphael’s toes in pleasure.

            “Yeah,” Raph told him quietly.  “Ya’ don’t have ta get up just yet.  Ya’ could use some more sleep.”

            Don nuzzled Raph’s shoulder as he pulled back from his brother’s grip.

            “The longer I sleep, the more of a problem that mutating ooze becomes,” Don told him.  “They’ve probably cleaned all the life off of that ship by now, and brought them all here into the holding lab.”

            “What happens after, Don?” Raph finally asked what was in the forefront of his mind.

            Don propped himself up on one arm so he could look down into Raph’s face. 

            “After?” he responded, his brows crinkled together.  “When we’ve found a cure?  We go home.”

            “Are ya’ sure about that?” Raph asked.  “Somehow, I seem ta remember ya’ saying ya’ needed to have a conversation with Bishop about that part of the deal.  Ya’ were so het up excited with tackling a new challenge and getting ta play with a bunch of new toys, ya’ didn’t exactly outline an agreement on his letting us out of here.”

            “Of course he’ll let us leave,” Don smiled softly.  “I told him if he was pulling some type of charade on us that I would never be available to him again if he had need of me.  This current problem should be driving that threat home well enough that he won’t try to hold us.”

            Raph shook his head, his face still carrying a deeply worried frown.  “That might work fine under most circumstances, but ya’ seem ta be forgetting one small problem.  Bishop’s just figured out what his dick is for, and you’re the one that helped him make that discovery.”

            Don chuckled.  “You have such an artful way of phrasing things, Raph.  Bishop is much too goal oriented to let a little physical desire interfere with his greater ambitions.”

            “Yeah?  Well I’ve seen bigger men than him give in ta their peckers, Don,” Raph said darkly.

            “You are really worried about this, aren’t you?” Don asked him.

            “Fuck yes I’m worried, and ya’ should be worried to, only ya’ ain’t.  Ya’ got your head planted in this little problem of his, a problem he created I might add, and ya’ haven’t spent a second thinking about the situation we’re in.”

            “The situation I got us in,” Don said, sounding remorseful.  “I’m sorry Raph, I was focused too much on the science I’m afraid.”

            Raph waved it away, using that hand to grasp the back of Don’s neck.  “Ya’ didn’t force me Don.  I could very easily have said fuck no and hauled your happy ass away from that rooftop and away from Bishop.  I didn’t, and that’s on me.  But before you go on about finding a cure or a way ta contain this mutation he unleashed, maybe ya’ should come ta some kind of understanding with that man.”

            “A sort of containment clause?” Don murmured, his eyes giving away the fact that he was in deep thought.

            Raph watched Don’s face and could almost swear he was seeing the wheels inside his big brain moving.

            After a couple of minutes, Raph broke in.  “What are ya’ thinking?” he asked.

            Don blinked as though coming back to himself, and his lips curved into a smile.  “I was thinking about how if this were the corporate world and I was a regular scientist, I’d have some sort of agreement with my employer, with all of my terms written out.  I can’t really do that with Bishop, but I can stick my own clause into our agreement by holding out on him.”

            “What the shell does that mean?” Raph quickly asked, not liking the sound of that.

            Don chuckled.  “Get your mind out of the gutter Raphael.  All that means is that I stipulate to giving him a cure for this mutagen of his, in return for his agreement to release us.  Only I wouldn’t actually hand him the cure until we were both safely out of here.”

            Raph thought about that for a minute and then said, “Okay, I like that.  Only ta hedge our bets, ya’ better send Leo a message and tell him what you’re gonna do.  That way if Bishop still has other ideas, we got a backup plan.”

            Don’s face softened, his eyes sparkling with admiration.  “You know what Raphie?  You’re a pretty good tactician yourself.”

            Raph grinned.  “Don’t tell Fearless that, he’ll think I’m after his job again.  And cut it out with the Raphie; geez, you’d think we were ten.”

            “I’ll settle for two years ago, when you made me yours,” Don whispered.

            Raph’s hand tightened on the back of his neck, and he pulled Don down, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss.  Don opened his mouth at Raph’s insistence and Raph’s tongue swept in, quickly tangling with his brother’s.

            Donatello was panting by the time they separated, his eyes mirroring Raph’s in their need.

            “We should stop now,” Don managed to say.  “The sooner I get back to work, the sooner we can get out of this underground prison and back to rediscovering each other.”

            Raph nodded and swallowed.  His tongue felt thick and his body was aching for Don’s, but he knew his brother was right.

            “Gotcha,” he croaked out in a hoarse whisper.  Clearing his throat, he said, “Yeah, ya’ got a point.  But we gotta make sure ya’ ain’t alone with Bishop, ya’ hear me?  I ain’t all that sure he can contain himself when he’s around ya’.”

            Crawling over Raph in order to leave the bed, Don said, “I’ll try to stay where there are other scientists.  Though I really can’t imagine after this last incident that he’s even thinking about me that way anymore.”


            Bishop pulled a fresh tie around his neck, tucked it under the collar of a fresh white shirt, and knotted it.

            He had a conference in ten minutes with Baxter Stockman.  It certainly wasn’t his choice; he had enough on his hands at the moment, what with having his scientists replicate Donatello’s formula and then gathering together a group of soldiers to administer the drug to.

            They were delivering the cargo at this very moment, having infiltrated the ship and swept it for all forms of life.  Anything and everything that had been contaminated had been rounded up and removed.  The ship itself had been thoroughly cleansed of any residual particle of ooze.

            Bishop would have to answer to the disappearance of the ship’s crew sometime in the next twelve hours, he guessed.  By that time, the Omani government would have pushed for the right to board the ship, and would discover that no one was on board.

            The last thing Bishop had time for was Stockman.  But Stockman had not only been insistent when requesting Bishop’s audience, but had made a few veiled threats about Donatello as well.  Bishop read enough between the lines of what Stockman said to remind himself he shouldn’t underestimate the mad doctor’s ego or his intellect.

            Sparing an extra fifteen minutes in his schedule, Bishop had taken the time to shower and change clothes.  He was having a difficult time concentrating, which was highly unusual for him, and had finally realized it was because Donatello’s scent clung to his clothing and to his skin.

            His obsession, for there was no better way he could describe the feeling, for the olive skinned Turtle was becoming troublesome.  A solution needed to be found immediately.

            Stooping to gather his dirty suit and toss it in a hamper, Bishop caught a whiff of Donatello’s distinctive musk and was caught off balance by the heady aroma.  Jumping away from the hamper quickly, Bishop took several deep breaths to pull himself together.

            His cock was twisting and twitching from just that brief encounter with Donatello’s scent.  Bishop balled his hands into fists and grimaced, his mind pulling up a mathematical equation in an attempt to curb the desire that was pounding through his blood stream.

            Bishop had masturbated in the shower, something else he hadn’t done in over a hundred years.  Apparently, the release wasn’t adequate.  It was becoming painfully clear that the only thing that was going to help Bishop overcome this intense need was Donatello himself.

            When he finally had himself under control, Bishop left his room and proceeded to the elevator, taking it down to the second level where Stockman was waiting for him.

            “Doctor, I can spare you ten or fifteen minutes at the most,” Bishop said, striding into Stockman’s laboratory.

            “That might possibly be enough,” Stockman answered, his robotic form turning away from his computer console.  “If it isn’t, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

            Bishop frowned; Stockman’s voice had that unctuous quality to it that he’d come to know and loathe.  Whenever Stockman addressed him in that tone, it meant that he was holding onto some choice secret that he meant to make use of for his own benefit.

            “Get to the point Stockman,” Bishop demanded.

            “My, my, always in such a rush,” Stockman smirked.  “I’d rather show you than tell you, Agent Bishop.  I always say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

            Reaching for the console, Stockman touched a screen pad and a large holographic display sprang to life in the middle of the room.  Playing on it was the interlude between Bishop and Donatello which had taken place only a few hours ago in the Turtle’s room.

            Bishop’s mouth was a thin line as he watched the taped video replay his attempted seduction of the young Turtle.

            “I rather like the quality of this myself,” Stockman rambled, his voice dripping with satisfaction.  “It helps the three dimensional aspect when you film from various angles.”

            Finding his voice, Bishop spat out, “So you’ve got spy cameras.  I should have guessed you would do something like that as soon as I removed you from an active role in this project.”

            “So true,” Stockman acknowledged.  “My genius is often overlooked by you.  A shame really.  Oh, wait, you’ll really love the audio; you helped with that so much by attacking the terrapin on his desk where my microphone is hidden.”

            Tapping another control, Bishop heard his own voice, “I’m going to take you, Donatello.  I’ll make it good for you, I promise.  Relax.”

            Despite his anger, Bishop couldn’t help the shiver that ran across his spine as he heard Donatello’s responding churr roll through the speakers.

            “What are you attempting to achieve by showing this to me, Stockman?” Bishop asked.

            “Here I thought you were beyond that sort of thing, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, ignoring Bishop’s question.  “Imagine my great surprise to discover you bending one of those freaks over a table.  If his brother hadn’t burst in on you, were you actually going to fuck the terrapin?”

            “Stockman . . . . “ Bishop said in a warning growl.

            “Fine, if you don’t want to discuss the niceties with me then I’ll just have to cut to the chase,” Stockman replied, turning off the video feed.  “I want my job back.  It’s as simple as that.  I want you to expunge from my record any account of my being pulled off of this project.  I want any and all discoveries credited to me.  No mention is to be made of Donatello under any circumstances.”

            Bishop gritted his teeth.  “Other than a source of minor embarrassment to me, this video is hardly a bargaining chip, Stockman.  The people I report to expect me to do unusual things to achieve results.”

            Stockman laughed.  “I’m sure they do.  I am equally as sure that the people you report to would just as soon keep their involvement with you a secret.  We both know that the President doesn’t pull your strings, but his displeasure with any of your activities will certainly cut off your funding.”

            Bishop eyed him warily.  “Are you threatening me, Stockman?”

            “No, no, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, his humor quite apparent.  “Or maybe I should say yes, yes.  Is what I’m asking for so much that you would risk this little video getting into the hands of say, one of the President’s top advisors?  My name still carries some weight in scientific circles.”

            Bishop thought for a moment.  What Stockman wanted wasn’t going to cause him any grief; he wasn’t going to be able to put Donatello’s name into any of his reports anyway.  Much better to list Stockman as the lead scientist.

            Narrowing his eyes, he realized that this might work out better for him anyway.  At some point, questions as to why it took so long for him to contain the situation were going to be asked and Stockman would be as good a scapegoat as any other.  Probably better, considering the history that the good doctor was making for himself.

            “How do I know this video will be completely destroyed if I agree to your demands, doctor?” Bishop asked.

            “Oh, I give you my word Agent Bishop.  I do understand that you keep me around because I serve a purpose and that my genius is nearly indispensible.  I’m also intelligent enough to know that crossing you would be an unfortunately unhealthy thing to do,” Stockman said.

            “I’m happy to know you understand that, Stockman.  Since your last employer didn’t really leave any body parts for me to relinquish you of, the next step would be a permanent one,” Bishop told him.

            “Oh quite,” Stockman answered flippantly. 

            Retrieving a small disk from the control console, Stockman held it out towards Bishop. 

            “Do we have a deal?” he asked.

            Bishop hesitated for a moment, then stepped forwards and grabbed the disk.  Stockman didn’t release his grip on it, his grin growing wider as he studied Bishop’s face.

            “Yes, doctor, we have a deal,” Bishop said, whereupon Stockman relinquished his hold on the disk.

            “Very good,” Stockman nearly chortled.

            “One more thing doctor,” Bishop said as he crushed the disk into small pieces and placed them in his pocket.  “I want all of those miniature cameras of yours removed.  Immediately.  Furthermore, you must remain here for the duration of this endeavor.  I still need Donatello’s brain on this situation; even you must admit his discoveries have been electrifying.”

            “I’ll grant you that, Agent Bishop,” Stockman said, his smile diminishing.  “Being a mutant freak himself, he was sure to have insights that I couldn’t possibly attain.  And while we’re on the subject of mutants, I would like to make a second request of you.”

            Bishop had turned to leave, but Stockman’s words stopped him.  Turning slowly, he asked, “What else do you want doctor?”

            “I want revenge,” Stockman answered, his voice dripping hatred with every syllable.  “I want the satisfaction of pulling one of those turtles apart, bit by bit, just like the Shredder did to me.  Call it scientific research if you like.”

            “I can’t accommodate you doctor.  I’ve given Donatello my word that he and his brother will come to no harm under my guardianship,” Bishop informed him.

            “That is most unfortunate,” Stockman replied, his robotic hand reaching for yet another controller on his console.  “I was thinking you might want to pursue something more intimate with Donatello, and I’m afraid that might not be possible.”

            Another surveillance video of Donatello’s bedroom suddenly jumped to life in front of Bishop’s eyes.  This one showed Donatello locked in Raphael’s embrace, their mouths hungrily pressed together.

            Bishop felt a low growl creep into his throat and his hands slowly curled into tight fists.  He watched Raphael’s hands glide along Donatello’s sides, thumbing his ribs before moving lower to ghost across those olive green thighs, and then back up to the delicate curve that formed Donatello’s ass.

            Donatello’s ass that belonged to Bishop.  A rare heat seemed to come from nowhere to consume Bishop’s entire body.  His head began to thrum with a resounding beat that pounded over and over with the same tune, “Kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.”

            Jerking his head back up to Stockman, he snapped, “Turn it off.”

            “Your wish . . . .”  Stockman didn’t finish the sentence before killing the video.

            He watched with pleasure as he saw Bishop’s rigid stance, his hands clenched tightly and beating against his thighs mindlessly.  The vision was glorious, more glorious than he could have imagined.  There were uses for this video, people he could show it to who would be amazed at not only the Turtles existence, but at the fact that they were sexually evolved also.

            “The mating habits of the mutated terrapin,” Stockman nearly chortled.  “I’m sure there are computer experts who could prove that I didn’t create this piece of video; and zoologists and crypto zoologists who would fall over themselves to see this footage.  I would be more famous than I already am just with the showing of this one little bit of film.”

            Moving closer to Bishop, Stockman continued, “I want more than that, and I think that here we can come to some mutually advantageous agreement.  If I show this film, all the world’s scientists are going to be looking for those Turtles.  You won’t be able to continue to see your precious Donatello.”

            He watched carefully as Bishop turned his head finally in Stockman’s direction.  The dark glasses prevented Baxter Stockman from seeing Agent Bishop’s eyes, but he was sure they were completely focused on him.

            “If however, I were to have Raphael; well, all the pieces of him anyway, to show instead, I would still claim the fame due to me.  No one would ever have to see this film, no one would ever have to know of the existence of any of the other Turtles, and your major rival for Donatello’s affections would be gone.”

            Gone, gone, gone; Raphael would be gone.  The words played, replayed and echoed wonderfully in Bishop’s clouded mind.  He wouldn’t need to kill Raphael, Stockman would do that for him.  His hands would be clean of the blood, and Donatello would turn to him for solace.

            “Yes,” Bishop hissed through his teeth.  “I deliver Raphael; you deliver that film and keep your mouth shut.”

            “Forever.  The secret would be ours; I wouldn’t want anyone to know there were other Turtles after I come forward and swear I had discovered the only one.  That should be proof enough of my sincerity,” Stockman said.

            Something was eating at the corners of Bishop’s mind, and he shook his head, trying to clear it enough to think.  Stockman saw the gesture, and hastily pressed the remote on his belt, bringing the film of Raphael and Donatello back to life.

            Bishop’s eyes caught on Raphael’s hands as they squeezed firm, round olive green buttocks and a red haze covered his vision.  His rational mind caught and burned in the fire of Bishop’s jealousy; his only thought was to remove Raphael so he could claim Donatello as his lover.

            “Be ready doctor,” Bishop snarled.  “You’ll have Raphael within the hour.”


Chapter Text

            Raphael pried his eyes open to the greeting of a pounding headache.  The back of his throat felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls; his tongue a heavy lump at the bottom of his mouth.  Even the slightest movement of his head to try and see where he was wrapped him in a wave of dizziness and nausea.

            Considering the fact that his vision was too blurred to see anything other than light, he decided to lay still and try to remember where he was.  Attempting to lift his arms proved futile, either he had lost all muscular control, or he was bound.

            That realization set off a chain reaction in his memory, and Raph suddenly knew where he was.  He was in Bishop’s underground EPF stronghold.

            As soon as he remembered that, he also remembered that he wasn’t there alone.  Donatello was there too and that thought pushed aside the momentary fuzziness, enabling him to remember what had happened to bring him to his current situation.

            He had been with Don in the main lab, sifting through some notes his brother had jotted down.  Don’s handwriting had proven to be as big a mystery to the other scientists as the adaptive mutation had been, but Raph had grown up reading his brother’s scrawl. 

            Raph had volunteered to type the notes into the lab mainframe, and Don had enthusiastically set him to work.  It wasn’t long though before one of the scientists walked over and told him his brother needed another set of papers that he’d left in their bedroom.

            Thinking nothing of that, Raph had jumped up and left the lab.  Everything was fine as he made his way through the corridors; nothing seemed out of place, and nothing had set off his radar.

            Until he walked through the bedroom door.  Just as he stepped through, all kinds of alarm bells started ringing in his head.  By that time it was too late.

            Somebody grabbed him in a stronghold he couldn’t shake loose from, and he felt something sharp pinch his neck.  That was the last thing he remembered until now.

            His vision was starting to come into focus, and he blinked rapidly.  The only person in the entire facility who could possibly be strong enough or skilled enough to hold him singlehandedly was Agent John Bishop.

            With a snarl, he tried working his arms again, and then his legs.  Several moments of fruitless tugging ensured him he was strapped spread-eagled, carapace down on a cold steel table.

            Breathing hard, Raph cursed under his breath.  Trusting Bishop and letting his guard down was the stupidest fucking thing he had ever done.

            Raph twisted his head around and saw he was in a lab very similar to the one Don had been working in.  His brother was nowhere in sight; so either he was a captive elsewhere, or not a captive at all, which meant he probably had no idea that Raph had been taken.

            How long would it be before Donatello noticed Raph had gone missing?  It really depended on how deeply into his work he happened to be, and that unfortunately, could mean hours.

            Hours of Don alone with Agent Bishop.  Raph jerked against his restraints again, his teeth gnashing together and his lips curling back in a silent snarl.  He had to get out before Bishop assaulted Donatello again; he couldn’t allow his brother, his love, to be raped by that madman.

            “Well, well, well.  What have we here?  Surely not one of the freaks who has been such a thorn in my side?  And the violent one to boot; it must be my lucky day.”

            Raph’s head came up at the familiar and most unwelcome voice.  Coming towards him was the last person on earth he ever wanted to see again.

            “Stockman,” Raph growled.  “What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

            Stockman laughed lightly, coming to stand next to the table.  “I realize you aren’t the smart one, but surely even you can figure out what this means.  Agent Bishop has kindly volunteered your services for some experiments I’ve been most anxious to try.”

            “Fucking bastard,” Raph hissed, trying to jerk his arm down.  The thick metal bands on his wrists held him firmly in place.

            “To which of us are you referring?” Stockman asked, leaning over to study Raph’s face.  “Or was that derogative meant to cover both Bishop and I?  It’s appropriate from your point of view I’m sure.”

            “Bishop wants that cure and he sure as shell ain’t gonna get it from Don now,” Raph snapped at him.  “This shit wasn’t part of the deal.”

            “Bishop wants Donatello,” Stockman retorted sharply.  “He is beyond caring about a mutated outbreak virus.  He is actually beyond caring about most things other than sinking his cock into your brother.”

            Raph once again jerked and struggled viciously against his restraints.  “Shut up Stockman.  Shut the fuck up!”

            “What, can’t hear the truth?” Stockman mocked.  “I really don’t know why this seems to have consumed him so suddenly, nor do I care.  The fact remains that I was easily able to maneuver him into a situation where I got to have you in exchange for, let us say, clearing the playing field?  You’ve been unconscious for about an hour, do you honestly think Bishop wasted any of that time worrying about what Donatello would do when he discovered you were missing?  Bishop probably has him bent over a lab table right now, fucking his lights out.”

            Raph pulled violently against the metal bands, unconcerned about the damage he was doing to his skin.  “Let me out of this now Stockman, or I swear . . . .”

            “I built the current body Bishop occupies.  It really is a marvel of my scientific genius.  Just for the shear gratification of it, I endowed him with certain enhanced features, and I made sure all the nerve endings were properly connected.  His current state is a grand testament to my brilliance.  I just had no idea he was going to become attracted to one of you freaks.”  Stockman laughed again, relishing Raph’s anger.

            Tears of frustration were threatening to break from the corners of Raph’s eyes and he bit his own tongue, hard.  The pain helped him focus away from the frustration; he wasn’t going to give Stockman the satisfaction of drawing tears.

            Stockman was watching his face carefully.  The rage and pain that the terrapin was displaying as the doctor taunted him was beyond the greatest bodily torture he could have come up with.  Toying with Raphael like this was making up for a lot of the pain he himself had endured.

            “In case you’re too thick to understand what enhanced features mean,” Stockman continued, his voice almost purring, “it means I gave him a very large penis.  Enormous for a man of his size.  I simply couldn’t help myself, and really, he never complained.  I doubt he thought he’d ever use it.  He probably has years of sexual frustration built up by now.”

            “Shut up!” Raph yelled, his voice hoarse from trying to drown out the unwanted words that washed over him.

            “He was masturbating to the image of your brother,” Stockman continued, a smirk on his holographic face.  “Bishop is in such physical pain he can’t think at all, and I took complete advantage of that fact.  He doesn’t even give a damn anymore about who is running this show; all he cares about is sticking that enormously hard, pulsating cock of his into Donatello’s ass.”

            Raph’s chest was heaving now, his pulse pounding in his temples.  He didn’t want the mental images Stockman insisted on painting; but he couldn’t close his mind to them.

            “Don’t worry though, I’m sure after a few times, Bishop will give Donatello’s ass a break,” Stockman assured him, smiling down at the obvious pain on Raph’s face.  “After all, your brother has a nice, wide mouth for Bishop to use as well.”

            A wild scream of rage and anguish poured up from Raph’s diaphragm, scorching his already sore throat.  Stockman remained completely still as he watched Raph’s tortured soul buck and thrash on the metal table.

            Leaning closer still, Stockman whispered, “Bishop’s going to paint Donatello’s entire body, inside and out, with his hot come.”

            Drawing back, Stockman took a moment to relish the tear that slid out to dampen Raph’s mask.  Wanting more than that, Stockman reached up and pulled the mask from Raph’s face.

            “Well, that was an enjoyable interlude,” Stockman said.  “I could go on like this for hours.  I would love to show you a film of Bishop raping your brother, but I made an agreement to give up the one lovely piece of footage I had.  It seems Agent Bishop had just enough sense left to destroy the rest of my cameras before he locked himself in the lab with Donatello.”

            Raph yanked against his ankle bands and another unwanted tear rolled across his temple, delighting Stockman enormously.

            “The funny thing is, Bishop’s obsession with fucking Donatello gave me a little idea of my own,” Stockman told Raphael.

            Touching a button on the table brought a metal arm down from the ceiling above Raph, and Stockman pulled it over to him.

            “I tried diligently to create something useful from the tissue samples that you terrapins so thoughtfully provided Agent Bishop,” Stockman said.  “I simply couldn’t manufacture anything viable from them.  Such a waste of my precious time.”

            “Maybe ya’ just ain’t as smart as ya’ think ya’ are,” Raph managed to croak out.

            Stockman turned from fiddling with the metal arm long enough to grin at Raph.  “It’s good to see you have so much fight in you.  I really do need for you to have a lot of energy.”

            “My brothers are gonna show up the very second they don’t hear from us,” Raph told him.

            “Let them,” Stockman snorted.  “That’s Bishop’s problem.  Don’t you think he built this facility with the likes of you in mind?  With or without Miss O’Neil’s assistance, they won’t reach us in here.”

            “Ya’ always did think too highly of yourself,” Raph goaded him, hoping for a flash of careless anger.

            All Stockman did was laugh as he continued fitting something onto the metal arm.

            “Let me tell you my idea,” Stockman said without bothering to look at Raph.  “Tissue samples being completely useless, I thought to myself ‘what else could provide me with DNA markers that would be useful to work with’?  Well, of course, the obvious answer was semen.”

            He seemed to sense the horrified look on Raph’s face and began to nod his holographic head in response.  “I could of course just ask Bishop to bring me some samples since he’ll probably make Donatello ejaculate frequently, but I’d really rather keep this a little secret.  And viola.”

            Stockman pushed the metal arm back directly over Raph’s head so that the Turtle could see what he had been working on.  Affixed to the arm was a large, green dildo.

            “I’m rather proud of this creation,” Stockman said, tilting his head to admire his handiwork.  “The original construction was a lovely shade of light chocolate brown, but after seeing your brother’s cock on display, I thought you might appreciate a more familiar color.”

            Chuckling to himself, he pressed several buttons on the console that was connected to the table and the mechanical metal arm moved back down Raph’s body, lowering into place between Raph’s thighs.

            “Oh don’t worry,” Stockman told him gleefully, “it is well lubed.  As much as I would love to simply pound into you to cause you as much pain as possible, I know that isn’t the best way to excite the reaction I desire.”

            “Ya’ ain’t getting anything from me Stockman,” Raph growled.

            “Even if that’s true, I’ll still enjoy humiliating you,” Stockman said, “and then I’ll just go ahead and dissect you.  This way you live a little longer.  You understand, I want more than one sample; I’ll need quite a bit in order to conduct all the experiments I’ve already thought of.  As long as you produce, you stay in one piece.  As brilliant as I am, even I can’t draw semen from a corpse.”

            Raph felt the tip of the dildo begin to press against his anus and tried to shift his body away from the invasion.

            “Stop it Stockman,” he yelped, beginning to panic, “this is beyond depraved!”

            “Yes, I do have to hand it to myself,” Stockman chirped.  “This is a masterfully brilliant idea.  I get the revenge I want, and I get to experiment while you’re alive to suffer for my enjoyment.”

            The dildo stopped just as the head breached Raph’s entry.  Lifting one of his robotic hands, Stockman fitted a three fingered green leather glove on himself and held it out for Raph to see.

            “Almost like your brother’s hand isn’t it?” Stockman asked.  “One of the nice things I learned from that film of Bishop molesting your brother is where you hide your cock.  Don’t worry though, once I coax it out I have another machine that will jack you off and collect your spillage.  I really haven’t the time to stand here and do it myself.  I’d just like to get things rolling, so to speak.”

            His hand slipped down Raph’s plastron and unerringly found the soft cartilage of his slit, stroking over it with a light touch.

            “Get your hands off of me!” Raph shouted at him.

            “I’d relax if I were you Raphael,” Stockman told him.  “The dildo will start moving again in a minute or so, and I haven’t prepped you.  Don’t worry though, I’ve set the machine to move very slowly so it will stretch and lube your ass as it goes in.  Meanwhile, I do think I can better set the mood.”

            Touching another set of controls, Stockman brought a display screen down in front of Raph’s eyes.  It flickered once, and then began to play the film of Raph and Don together in the bedroom as they kissed.

            “Just watch the screen and imagine this is Donatello’s hand on your dick; Donatello’s hard erection penetrating your ass.  It’s the closest you’re going to come to that ever again, so you really should make the most of it.”

            Raphael ground his teeth together as he felt the dildo move fractionally farther into his anal canal.

            “I ain’t performing ya’ fuckin’ bastard,” he said with an angry growl.

            “Don’t you think I would have foreseen your stubbornness?”  Stockman continued to stroke Raph’s slit as he delved into the table and withdrew a hypodermic.  “Just a little something to break down your inhibitions.”

            Raph tried to pull his head away as the needle touched the side of his neck, but he couldn’t avoid the shot.  He felt something warm begin to move into his bloodstream almost immediately, and his frantic breathing began to settle, the muscles in his arms relaxing.

            His eyes seemed drawn to the screen above him as the camera zoomed in to a view of his hands roaming over Don’s beautiful olive green body.  He watched as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh on Don’s buttocks and remembered how sensuous it felt as his hands began to open and close with the residual memory.

            Stockman kept his mouth closed as he watched the drug take effect.  The dildo moved farther into Raphael’s more relaxed rectum, and Stockman could feel a bulge growing beneath his fingers where they caressed the Turtle’s plastron.

            Raph was trying hard to hold on to his rational mind; but the drug was slowly taking away his control.  His hips moved upwards towards Stockman’s hand, unconsciously urging that the man continue as Raph’s mind told him the hand belonged to Donny.

            By now, the dildo was fully sheathed in Raph’s body.  Stockman waiting a few moments, then pressed another button.  The device began to inflate slowly, stretching Raphael a little at a time.  The feeling of fullness reached the nerve centers in Raph’s brain and he churred.

            Stockman beamed in delight, recognizing the sound as one of pleasure.  The bulge under Raph’s plastron had grown to an enormous size, and Raph’s cock began to peak through the slit.

            The green leather played around the outer edges of Raph’s hard, green shaft, coaxing it further with teasing touches.  Raph churred again, barely aware of his surroundings as his eyes remained fixed to the images playing over again in an endless loop.

            His mouth opened and his tongue flicked out as he watched himself kiss Donatello.  Raphael thought he could taste Don’s mouth; so sweet and sensual.

            Stockman readied another hypodermic as he worked to draw Raph’s cock completely out into the open.  That done, he typed in the code that brought up another mechanical arm, likewise fitted with a hand-like device; covered in a second green leather glove.

            He was going to give himself the satisfaction of squeezing the first ejaculate from his victim; after that Stockman would leave the gathering of samples to his machines.


            Don had begun to grow anxious fifteen minutes after turning to say something to Raph and discovering his brother was no longer sitting at the computer desk.  When he stopped a technician to ask if the man knew where Raph had gone, the man’s eyes had dilated as he told Don that his brother had said he was going to the bathroom.

            He tried not to read anything into what appeared to be a direct lie; after all, fear could make the eyes dilate also and some of the lab technicians hadn’t quite gotten used to him.

            After twenty-five minutes had passed with no sign of Raph, Don moved over to the computer desk and asked for a playback of the corridor monitors.  He watched Raph leave the lab, moving in the direction of their bedroom, when suddenly the screen went blank.

            Bishop stepped up to the door of the lab and unconsciously straightened his tie.  He noted with great misgivings that his hands were shaking.  How he had let Stockman manipulate him into a fit of jealousy was something he couldn’t fathom, but now the deed was done.

            Away from Stockman’s overbearing presence, Bishop’s pulled enough of his rational mind together to understand that what he had done needed to be remedied.  Bishop’s entire existence was directed towards one outcome, and succumbing to sudden, strange physical desires did not fit into his plans.

            There was only one thing he could think to do to regain his senses, and only one being who he could think to turn to for assistance.

            Don looked up from the computer when he heard Bishop come into the lab.  Turning, he asked, “Do you know where Raphael is?  I haven’t seen my brother in a long time; it’s not like him to go off without telling me where he’s going.”

            Already feeling distressed, his anxiety grew to the acute level when he saw the look on Bishop’s face, and realized that all the other scientists and technicians had at some point vanished.

            Bishop pointed a remote control device at the lab doors, and they slid shut, their locks snapping loudly into place.  Don’s eyes grew wide when Bishop then aimed the small device up towards the ceiling and the red beam of a laser shot out, completely destroying what appeared to be a small camera.  As he repeated the gesture several times over, Don pulled his bo staff and assumed a defensive posture.

            “Your brother is in a great deal of danger,” Bishop said, breaking the silence finally.  “Those were cameras that Stockman placed all over this facility, without my knowledge.”

            Don wasn’t concerned about cameras.  “Where is Raphael?” he snapped, feeling his anger beginning to surge.

            Bishop removed his dark glasses and met Don’s eyes.  “Stockman has him.”

            “How?  Why?” Don spluttered.  “You gave me your word we would be in no danger.”

            “I am afraid I underestimated the good doctor,” Bishop replied.  “It seems he has been monitoring my activities, something I am ashamed to admit I should have foreseen.”

            “I want to know about my brother,” Don insisted, his voice harsh.

            “You mean your lover, don’t you Donatello?” Bishop asked.

            Don’s eyes narrowed.  “Stockman’s cameras seem to have done their damage,” he said.  “What my brother and I are to each other is none of your concern.  He is still my brother and I want to know now what’s happened to him.”

            “Stockman offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse,” Bishop answered.  “He wanted your brother in exchange for keeping certain  . . . film from becoming widely known.”

            “What the shell?  Since when has anyone been able to blackmail you?” Don asked incredulously.

            “Since never,” Bishop told him, his voice deepening.  “I have never found myself in this type of situation.  I cannot concentrate; I am unable to focus properly on any task, and the reason is you.”


            “My mind is clouded with desires that my body is unable to resist,” Bishop told him plainly.  “If there were enough time, I would try to understand what is happening to me, but there isn’t.  I still need you to create an antidote for the adaptive mutation and I also need you desperately in other ways.  I am cognizant enough at the moment to understand that none of those things are going to happen if I allow Stockman to harm Raphael.”

            “Then stop him,” Don said.

            “I can’t,” Bishop admitted.  “He has seized control of some of the higher computer functions in this facility.  He has locked down certain areas so that my troops are separated from me.  I have safeguards in place to circumvent him, but I can’t concentrate to put them into place.”

            “Then let me help,” Don offered.

            “You will have to, but I’m afraid not in the way you meant,” Bishop said, clearing his throat.

            He reached up to rub his forehead, an unfamiliar gesture to Donatello, who was used to seeing the man in complete control of himself. 

            “Bishop, if Stockman has Raph every second we spend here debating this issue is a second off my brother’s life expectancy.  Tell me what we can do.”

            “I have to free my mind Donatello,” Bishop looked into Don’s eyes and a spark of desire surged down his spine. 

            Don watched a shudder run over Bishop’s frame and his hands tightened on his bo.

            “Talk to me Bishop,” Don said.

            Bishop took a step towards him, Don’s scent coming at him in waves.  His stomach knotted, his body heating up as a strong surge of pressure pushed into his groin.  Bishop’s cock responded, starting to fill out quickly.

            “I  . . . I can tell you . . .  you can help me override the systems  . . .  help me b-break into Stockman’s lab,” Bishop stuttered, his rational mind fading quickly.

            “Tell me then,” Don urged.

            “Can’t form  . . . thought  . . . .” Bishop tightened his fists and pounded them into his thighs.  “Donatello, you have to let me fuck you,” he said in the momentary lucidity that the pain had produced.

            Don took a step back in astonishment.  “What?”

            “I must have release; I must have sex with you.  Masturbation doesn’t work,” Bishop told him.

            Don watched him struggle to maintain a hold on his sanity.  “There has to be another way.”

            “We don’t have time to find it!” Bishop yelled, striking his thighs again.  “I can’t think.  I need you now.  Once I’ve released, I’ll be able to save your brother.  Hurry and decide Donatello.  I don’t want to take you by force; but I can barely hang on.”

            Don felt an awful dread growing as he watched Bishop struggle.  He had to have Bishop’s help to save Raph, and Bishop had to have his in order to clear his mind.

            Licking his lips, he set his bo staff aside.  “All right.  You have my consent; just please hurry.”

            Bishop nodded as another rush of heat flushed his skin.  Reaching into his jacket’s pocket, he pulled out a tube of lubricant and then removed the jacket, tossing it aside.

            Don glanced down and saw Bishop’s erection tenting his pants.  He swallowed thickly; not wanting what was about to happen, but seeing no way out of it.

            “Turn around and grab the edge of the desk,” Bishop told him.  “It will be easier on you if you don’t look at my penis.”

            Now that he knew he was going to take Donatello, Bishop’s body and mind settled into a strange calm.  He focused his entire being into the needs that were devouring him; his natural businesslike efficiency taking over the process.

            Don could only nod as he turned his back to Bishop.  Leaning forward, he gripped the upper edge of the desk, squeezing tightly enough to hurt his hands, hoping to pull his mind onto something other than what Bishop was doing.

            “I’m going to shift your legs into a better position,” Bishop told him, and Don gasped as he felt the man’s warm, strong hands grasp his thighs.  “Spread them for me, please.”

            Doing as instructed, Don opened his legs wider, and moved them back farther as he felt Bishop pull at them.  He was bent far forward, his face close to the desk top when Bishop stopped moving him.

            Don heard the top of the lubricant tube pop open, every sound strangely magnified.  He could hear Bishop take a deep breath in through his nostrils, and then let the air out through his mouth.

            “Pressure now, and probably a little chill,” Bishop told him.

            Don squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Bishop’s finger begin to circle his entrance, and his hands gripped the desk’s edge even harder.

            “You have to relax Donatello,” Bishop said.  “Otherwise this is going to hurt more than it needs to.”

            “It hurts enough already,” Don said, but willed his body to comply, trying hard to keep his body from tensing up as he felt the finger begin to push into him.

            Then Bishop grasped his tail, tugging on it gently and sending a spike of pleasure through the Turtle’s system.  Don’s head came up quickly as he shivered, feeling the man’s hand begin to stroke his tail with long, languid pulls.

            It almost covered the sensation of Bishop’s finger entering him.  The digit was moist and warm, moving at a slow, even pace.  Don tried to think of something else, anything other than the fact that Agent John Bishop was fingering him.

            The movement finally stopped, and then slowly slid back.  He heard Bishop opening the lubricant again, applying it generously in an effort to avoid hurting Don.

            As the finger moved back inside of him, Bishop said, “I’m going to turn my finger a bit to stretch you, and then I’m going to add a second.  I know we haven’t much time, but I am rather  . . . large, and I don’t want to injure you.”

            “O-okay,” Don said, and bit his lip as he felt Bishop’s finger move inside his body.

            When the second one began to press into him, Don automatically tensed up again.

            “Donatello,” Bishop said softly, rolling Don’s tail between his fingers.

            Don’s breath caught, his heart pounding as he told himself to calm down.

            Once both fingers were in up to Bishop’s knuckles, he began to scissor them, moving them in and out in a slow, rocking motion.  He purposely searched for Don’s prostate, wanting to give Donatello pleasure as well as take it from him.

            When his fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves, Don jerked and cried out, completely surprised at the sensation.

            “Are you a virgin Donatello?” Bishop asked, a small smile playing across his lips.

            “N-no,” Don answered, his voice shaking.

            “You are very, very tight,” Bishop observed, his cock jumping in reaction to the heat pocketing Bishop’s fingers.  “Not a virgin, but very little experience I would say, judging from your reaction.  Be honest with me.”

            Don’s forehead came down to touch the top of the desk.  “I’ve had sex just once, Bishop.”

            “Ah, that explains so much,” Bishop said, moving his fingers to touch Don’s prostate again.

            Don’s breath hitched, and his legs trembled.  Toes curling into the concrete floor, Don felt his cock responding to the pleasurable feeling of having his prostate massaged.  Try as he might, he couldn’t make his body ignore the sensations.

            “Was it with Raphael?” Bishop wanted to know.  Somehow it seemed very important to him.

            “Bishop, j-just do what you have t-to,” Don insisted, not wanting to talk about his brother while Bishop was taking his sexual pleasure at Donatello’s expense.

            “It was,” Bishop said, jamming his fingers in a bit harder, touching the nerves with a solid hit.

            “Uhh!” Don yelped, his knuckles blanching white as his entire body shook.  His cock grew larger; still snugly inside his plastron, it was beginning to grow painful.

            Don felt Bishop’s erection press against the back of his thigh as the man leaned forward, reaching around Don with his free hand.  Slipping his hand down, Bishop began rubbing his palm over Don’s hidden cock.

            “Let it out Donatello,” Bishop told him.  “I said before I would make this pleasurable for you as well.”

            “I d-don’t want y-your pleasure,” Don stammered through gritted teeth.

            “Your body does,” Bishop replied, his voice like smooth velvet.  “This doesn’t have to be an unpleasant memory for you.”

            Don almost laughed.  “I’m bent over a desk in your lab while you sexually molest me and I’m letting you because my brother’s life is in danger.  What part of that is not unpleasant?” he asked sarcastically.

            “This part,” Bishop answered, shoving his fingers into Don’s prostate again.

            Bright lights popped across Don’s vision and his dick twisted, desperately reaching for freedom and the warmth of the hand hovering above it.  With a last, futile attempt to contain it, Don gave in, his cock dropping down to be quickly devoured by Bishop’s hand.

            The first stroke forced an unwitting churr from Don.  The sound seemed to be some sort of signal to Bishop, who quickly pulled his fingers out of the Turtle’s ass.

            Bishop’s hand left his cock, and Don took a deep breath.  Unable to stop himself, he looked back over his shoulder, wanting suddenly to know what Bishop was doing.

            The sound of Bishop’s zipper snapped Don’s head forward again, and he squeezed his eyes, curling his lips inwards.

            “Donatello, listen to me,” Bishop said.  “I don’t want to mark you, do you understand?  I don’t want to come inside you because I know you aren’t a willing participant in this.”

            Don nodded, feeling a strange surge of hysterical relief. 

            Bishop continued, “I’m going to apply a coating of a special latex aerosol to my penis.  It will act like a condom.  If it will help you mentally, you can think of this as nothing more than a . . . a rectal exam.”

            Don nodded again, not willing to attempt to form words.  He heard the hiss of the aerosol as Bishop coated his erection, and then the wet sound of the lubricant sliding across skin.

            The urge to stand up and run was so overwhelming that Don nearly gave in to it.  Only the thought of Raph in Stockman’s maniacal hands kept him firmly in place.

            Bishop’s cock was throbbing as he spread the lubrication over the latex condom.  He could still feel every tiny sensation; his body jumping with nerves as he stared at Don’s open and willing entrance.

            Grabbing his cock in one hand, he placed the other on Don’s hip and guided the tip of his dick to press against Don’s anus.

            Don’s forehead hit the desk hard as he felt Bishop’s erection push into his ass.  The man moved very slowly, forcing his huge shaft into Don’s tight anal canal.  No amount of preparation could have readied Don for the massive incursion.

            Hissing at the pain, Don started to tense up again.  Bishop immediately stopped moving and one hand snaked around to grasp  Don’s bobbing cock, pumping it expertly, and quickly bringing Don back to full arousal.

            Once he had relaxed Don sufficiently, Bishop moved again.  He managed to finally sheath his entire cock inside of Donatello, and he paused to take a long, calming breath.

            “You feel amazing,” he muttered, shivering at the tight heat surrounding his shaft.  “So tight, so good.”

            Don wished he would stop talking, but was unable to say anything.  Bishop’s hand continued to stroke Don’s cock, forcing from it the pearly pre-come that signaled the Turtles excitement.

            Churring instead, Don tried to focus on his own need, stoked to almost unbearable proportions.  Then Bishop began to move.

            At first the slide in and out was slow and easy, but the delicious friction against his straining organ was too much for Bishop’s patience, and he started to move faster.  He reached out to grip Donatello’s hip, then moved his free hand up to the edge of Don’s carapace.

            “I don’t w-want to leave a bruise,” Bishop said, still somewhat practical as he rammed his length into Donatello’s accommodating heat.

            Don’s body rocked with Bishop’s thrusts, which were becoming fuller and harder.  The man’s cock began to pound into Donatello’s prostate continuously, and Don’s body quivered and shook at the intensity of the pleasure that shot into his cock.

            “Not  . . . long now,” Bishop husked, his rhythm faltering.  “I’m going to come, Donatello.  I’m going  . . . to  . . . “

            His voice stopped as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward in full body thrusts.  Suddenly his hips came forward as far as possible and his body stopped moving, his hand squeezing around Don’s cock.

            With a shout, Bishop came; his orgasm powerful and raw.  He ground his cock into Don’s ass, shivering as he emptied himself completely.

            Don could feel the heat of Bishop’s seed as it filled the latex bubble protecting him from the ejaculate.  Don’s cock was twitching against Bishop’s hand, painful in its need for a last bit of friction to push him over the edge.

            Bishop pulled out of him without warning, releasing Don’s cock and grabbing the edges of his shell to spin the Turtle around.  Don let go of the desk in surprise, and watched in shock as Bishop dropped to his knees between Don’s thighs.

            Taking Don’s darkly aroused cock in hand, Bishop held it in place as he moved his mouth to cover it.  Don choked, bringing his palms down flat on the desk behind him as Bishop quickly deep throated him.

            “Wh  . . .what are you doing?” Don whispered, unable to fully find his voice.

            Bishop lifted his head enough to say, “Finishing this.  You don’t want to leave your semen here, and this will feel much better than my jerking you off.”

            Not giving Don time to protest, Bishop’s hot, wet mouth surrounded the Turtles organ, sucking it in down slowly.  As he drew his head back, Bishop rolled his tongue along the bottom of Don’s shaft.

            Don’s arms shook in an effort to stay upright as he felt Bishop pulling him towards his orgasm.  Bishop’s tongue swirled over the tip of Don’s cock, flicking the slit several times before swallowing him again.

            As the head of his penis touched the back of Bishop’s throat, Don came with a long, needy whine.  His legs shook as he orgasmed and Bishop’s head remained locked in place, his throat moving as he swallowed everything Don gave.

            When Bishop finally pulled away from him, Don rolled backwards onto the desk to avoid collapsing on the floor.  His eyes were shut; he didn’t want to watch as Bishop removed the latex condom from his dick and disposed of it.

            Adjusting his clothing, Bishop took a deep, satisfied breath.  Don’s taste filled his mouth and he licked his lips; he couldn’t remember a time when he had savored something quite as much.

            He watched as Don carefully tucked his cock away, his eyes firmly closed.  The Turtle was still breathing hard and Bishop guessed it wasn’t just the physical exertion, but the emotional one that was getting to him.

            For the first time in a couple of days, Bishop felt like himself again.  He didn’t fool himself into thinking it was a permanent thing; he could still smell Don’s scent, but for the moment his mind was clear enough to know exactly what needed to be done.

            “Donatello, pull yourself together.  We need to rescue your brother,” Bishop said, his tone firm and sharp.


Chapter Text

            “Where are we going, Bishop?” Don asked, running through winding corridors behind the man.

            “To my communications room,” Bishop answered without slowing down.  “It is secured by a special voice code and its primary systems are separate from the main computer functions.”

            “But I take it you’ve installed a back door?” Don questioned, guessing Bishop’s plan.

            “Yes, Donatello .  You see, that is another reason I am attracted to you.  I don’t need to explain every tiny thing.  I am fairly sure Stockman will not have thought to look in my communication platform for a link to the operations mainframe.”

            “Not a very trusting person, are you Agent Bishop?”  Don was trying to focus on anything but the painful ache in his rear and the reason he was so sore.

            After his orgasm, Bishop had seemed to become himself again, prompting Don to hurry, yet being cautious enough to avoid the cameras scattered about the building.  They had used some of the service crawlways to escape the lab and move up from the third to the first level, where the com room was located.

            “Trust is something I can ill afford, Donatello.  In fact, I’ll say I trust exactly one person in this entire universe, and that happens to be you,” Bishop replied, coming to a stop at a corner and checking for camera locations.

            “Me?  Why me?” Don asked in surprise.

            “I have found over the years that you are a man of his word.  All four of you in fact; although I’d have to say it’s always best to understand exactly what that word is when conversing with Raphael.”  Bishop chuckled.  “With you, I always feel that I can  . . . let my guard down.”

            “I’m afraid I can’t say the same of you,” Don admitted.

            “I understand that completely, and I can only repeat that I am sorry.  This thing came over me very suddenly and it has been too many years since I experienced feelings of this nature.  I’ve forgotten how to deal with them,” Bishop told him.

            “What’s done is done,” Don said.  “All I care about right now is getting to Raph.”

            “The door to the com room is just at the end of this corridor.  There are two cameras angled towards the door.  Stockman should not see me enter that room.  I, we, need for him to believe that both of us are still out of commission,” Bishop said.

            “Right.”  Don set his bag on the ground and pulled out his Polaroid camera.  “This is kind of old school, but it works amazingly well.  The perspective will be off just a little, but I don’t think Stockman will be paying that much attention to detail, considering how many cameras he has to keep track of.”

            Keeping their backs pressed to the wall, the pair traversed the corridor and stopped just beneath the first camera.

            “Can you hold me if I climb onto your shoulders?” Don asked.

            Bishop smiled slightly.  “Of course.”

            Holding the camera in one hand, and a small clip attached to a wire between his teeth, Don stepped into Bishop’s outstretched hands and carefully climbed onto his shoulders.  Holding his camera at the same angle as that of the security camera, he snapped a picture of the door.  Once the self-developing print came out, Don attached it to the security camera with the wire and clip.

            Jumping to the ground, Don moved on towards the second camera, and he and Bishop repeated the action.

            Standing in front of the door, Don asked, “What about inside this room?  Any more cameras?”

            “No.  This is the one room where I have no video equipment.”  He adjusted his dark glasses and said, “I need for the communications in this room to remain as confidential as possible.”

            Leaning over, Bishop touched two fingers to a thermal scanner next to the door, which immediately slid open.

            When they were both inside and the door had closed behind them, Bishop said, “Communication systems activate.  Authorization Bishop Omega one zero two.”

            “Code accepted,” a computerized voice responded.

            “This way Donatello, the access station is to the left.”  Bishop stepped out into what appeared to be empty space.

            With a start, Don realized that the floor was actually made of an almost invisible Plexiglas set of panels.  With each step Bishop took, the panel beneath his foot would light up.

            Reaching the computer access station, Don slid gingerly into a chair, hyper aware of how sore he was, and looked over at Bishop.

            “Do you want to give me the password, or should I just hack into the system?  My way will take about five minutes longer,” Don said.

            Bishop grinned.  “My, feeling cocky now that you’re behind a computer aren’t you?  The code is Gamma three one five Omicron.”

            “Have a preference for Greek, Bishop?” Don asked absently as he typed in the password and watched the main menu spring up on the screen.

            “Memory tricks help me keep track of all my different security codes,” Bishop answered.

            Donatello worked for a few minutes in silence.  Bishop remained standing, watching the door and periodically pointing out pathways on the screen to Don.

            Something was weighing heavily on Don’s mind, and he finally spoke.

            “Bishop, my brother; he doesn’t need to know about what happened between us.”

            Bishop glanced down at Don and saw that the Turtles face was slightly flushed.  As before, the man’s body responded favorably to the sight, heat pooling around his midsection.

            This time he had more control over the reaction and said, “Agreed.  Raphael hates me enough without my adding rapist to my resume.”

            Don tipped his head up to glance at Bishop, then returned his eyes to the computer screen.  “I gave you my consent.”

            “Not by choice, Donatello.  You consented to having sex with me because there was no other alternative.  That wouldn’t have been my first choice either; I would have liked for you to actually want to be with me.”

            “I can’t give you that.  I think you know well enough our worlds don’t mesh,” Don said.

            “I also know you are in love with your brother.  While I may actively dislike Raphael, I respect your choice, and your reasoning.  I want you to know however, that if you ever need me or want me for anything whatsoever, you have only to call,” Bishop told him.

            “I  . . . I thought after we, after our interlude  . . . whatever the a-attraction was would have dissipated,” Don stuttered with embarrassment.

            Bishop shook his head.  “I’m not in heat Donatello.  My attraction to you is based on many things and on many levels, sex being just one of them.  I’m sorry it hit me so overwhelmingly just now; that may be a combination of finally getting to work so closely with you and having this new body that isn’t wracked with the pain of deterioration.”

            “I’m sorry that happened to you Bishop,” Don said, suddenly feeling a deep compassion for what the man must have suffered.

            “Thank you Donatello,” Bishop said softly.  “Sometimes I lose sight of how it felt to have absolutely no control and no choice about what was happening to me.  I think you might be helping me regain my empathy.”

            Don smiled at the sincerity in Bishop’s voice.  They both fell silent again while Don worked.  Bishop found himself studying the young genius, his eyes roaming every inch of the olive green skin, committing all he could to memory and fighting the urge to reach out and touch.

            Knowing he didn’t need to allow his body to regain control of his senses, Bishop turned and went back to watching the door.

            “I’m in,” Don announced triumphantly.

            Bishop spun around and leaned over Don’s shoulder to peer at the screen.  “Very good.  Can you set a timer on the locks in Stockman’s lab without his knowing about it?”

            “Yes.  Why a timer?” Don asked.

            “I don’t want the locks snapping open prematurely.  We must have time to get to the lab without giving him advance warning of our approach.  If he has too much time, he may be able to get the locks working again, or he may destroy your brother,” Bishop said.

            “If he hasn’t already,” Don said in a low strained voice.

            Bishop placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Try not to dwell on that thought, Donatello.  I personally don’t believe Stockman was prepared to immediately kill Raphael.  From hints he dropped during our conversation, I gathered he had plans that require your brother stay alive.”

            “That isn’t much more reassuring Bishop,” Don said.

            “No it wasn’t.  I haven’t much practice with the soft touch; I’ll have to work on that.”

            “How much time should I set this for?  You said Stockman’s lab is on the second level?” Don asked.

            “Make it ten minutes.  We can take the service crawlway as we did before,” Bishop said.

            “Hold on, let me do something about the security cameras.”  Don’s six fingers flew over the keyboard, typing commands faster than the eye could follow.

            As he watched the Turtle work, Bishop began to understand why Donatello was so captivating to him.  Don’s confidence was powerfully attractive.

            “There, now the cameras are on a continuous loop, replaying the last three minutes over and over again.  We should be able to get to Stockman before any of that film causes him suspicions.”

            “Very good.  Let’s go, ten minutes is just enough time if we hurry,” Bishop told him.

            Don winced as he stood up and Bishop saw it.  He reached a hand out to the Turtle, but Don leaned back away from him.

            “I’m fine Bishop,” he assured the man.

            “I should have gone slower; used more lubricant,” Bishop said regretfully.

            Don shook his head, moving towards the door.  “Time was a problem then just as it is now.  No regrets, Bishop.”


            Raph cried out as he orgasmed, his mind tricked by Stockman’s hypno-aphrodisiac drug cocktail into believing he was releasing his seed into Donatello.

            Stockman giggled softly, rubbing his robotic hands together in glee.  A suction tube attached to the head of Raph’s penis collected the mutant’s ejaculate into specimen jars for him, which he duly labeled and placed into a special freezing unit.

            This was the fourth sample he had collected and he was ecstatic to find that Raphael’s mutation hadn’t overly altered his reproductive system.  As long as Stockman topped off the injections of his drug into Raph’s system and kept playing the film of Raphael and Donatello fondling one another, the Turtle’s penis remained erect and productive.

            Stimulating Raphael’s extremely hard organ to climax was as easy as settling the large, robotic dildo into a hard, fast pace inside the Turtle’s ass.  Each thrust caressed Raphael’s prostate with unerring accuracy, and the robotic hand jacked the Turtle’s dick in a matching rhythm.

            After he set the latest jar of sperm into the freezer, Stockman quickly slid a fresh one into place.  Raphael was already churring; his hips lifting as though he were actually fucking his brother.

            Stockman smiled hugely.  To Raph’s drugged up mind, that was exactly what he was doing, and the thought amused the doctor immensely.

            The churrs began to taper off then, and Raph’s hips stilled.  Stockman glanced at the clock.  It was time for another injection he noted, just as Raph began to blink and regain focus.

            As Stockman was reaching for the hypodermic, a loud bell sounded overhead and Stockman swung his robotic body towards the door.  It was sliding open, the locks apparently bypassed by someone, and only his secondary alarm had warned him in time.

            Stockman’s eyes widened as he saw Bishop come rushing towards him, followed closely by Donatello.

            Cursing the fact that his robotic armor had no built in weapons, Stockman raced for the freezer, hoping to retrieve his samples and escape.  Although his robotic body was much stronger than a human body, the doctor knew he was absolutely no match for Bishop.

            “Stockman!” Bishop yelled at him, intent on catching the doctor.

            “Bishop, here!” Don called and when Bishop turned, Don tossed his bo staff to the man.

            Catching it deftly, Bishop spun the weapon to his side as he dodged the heavy lab equipment dotted about the interior of the room.

            Stockman hadn’t even managed to open the freezer door when he realized that Bishop was moving too fast.  After a second’s hesitation, Stockman abandoned his samples for the sake of self-preservation, and made a beeline for his backup escape route.

            Don ignored both Stockman and Bishop after supplying Bishop with his bo.  He raced over to Raphael, his sharp eyes quickly taking in and understanding what had been done to his brother.

            “Oh shell, Raph!” Don exclaimed, pressing buttons to stop the mechanical arms from moving.  “Hang on, I’ll get you out of this.”

            “Donny,” Raph husked, his glazed eyes resting on Don’s face.  “Donny  . . . need  . . .”

            Don leaned over Raph’s face, placing a hand atop his brother’s head.  “I’m here Raph.  What do you need?”

            “You,” Raph answered softly.  “Need  . . . kiss me.”

            Nodding his head and smiling, Don pressed his lips to Raphael’s.  He felt his brother jerk under him, and a long moan rolled out of Raph’s mouth into his as Raph climaxed.

            Don pulled back, petting his brother’s head gently and waiting for the orgasm to subside.  When Raph’s body ceased its twitching, Don released his comforting hold on his brother and carefully pulled the dildo attachment out of Raph.

            Looking it over, Don was happy to note there was no blood anywhere on the green silicone.  Glad that his brother was still half out of it, Don leaned in close and inspected Raph’s rectum, pulling down an overhead examination light in order to see better.

            With the lightest of touches, Don placed the tips of his fingers on the sides of Raph’s opening and stretched it enough to peer partway inside.  As far as he could see, his brother was undamaged.

            Heaving a giant sigh of relief, Don began removing the suction tube that was attached to Raph’s penis.  He glanced up at Raph’s face quickly, knowing how embarrassed his brother would be to have Donatello tucking his cock back into place, but Raph just lay there breathing deeply, his eyes closed.

            Following the tube to the glass jar at the end of it, Don’s beak bunched in disgust.  Stockman’s level of depravity appeared to have sunk to an all-time low.

            Don could vaguely hear the sounds of Bishop’s pursuit of the doctor, and they were fading into the distance quickly.  He hoped Bishop would catch Stockman, but he had a bad feeling that the slippery doctor had a unique and well thought out escape plan already in place.

            Picking up the glass jar, Don noted the freezer standing nearby and carried the newest jar over to it.  Opening the door, Don gasped as he saw the other four jars labeled with Raph’s name that were already inside.  Blinking back tears of regret that he couldn’t have arrived sooner, Don set the last glass jar on a shelf.  He didn’t know yet how he was going to dispose of them, but that wasn’t his biggest concern at the moment.

            Returning to Raph’s side, Don worked on releasing his brother’s arms, happy to note that the metal straps that were used were thick with rounded edges.  That combined with Raph’s wrist guards had kept the damage to his skin minimal; a little rash easily treated with an ointment.

            His ankles were damaged a bit more; some skin scraped away in places, but nothing too bad.  After Don got the metal straps off of them, he found a roll of gauze and wrapped the wounds so they would stay clean until he got a chance to disinfect and bandage them properly.

            By the time all that was done, Raph was groaning and trying to sit up.  Don slid a hand under his brother’s carapace and helped him into an upright position.

            Hand to his head, Raph asked, “Don?  Is that really ya’ bro’?”

            “Yes.  I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.  Stockman had the entire place locked down,” Don told him.

            “Stockman!” Raph yelled, looking around furiously.  “Where the fuck is that freak?  And where the fuck is Bishop?  He knocked me out Donny.  It’s his damn fault I’m in here.”

            “I know Raph.  He told me,” Don said as calmly as he could.

            “He told you?” Raph asked, confused.

            Don nodded.  “He came to his senses just after, when he realized that Stockman was using Bishop’s momentary infatuation with me to gain control of this facility.  Bishop came to me and told me what happened and asked me to help him make it right.”

            Raph stared at him, trying to clear away the last of his drug induced fog.  “Then he didn’t try ta hurt ya’?”

            “No, Raph,” Don answered truthfully.  Bishop had definitely not tried to hurt him.  “He was overwhelmed by a side effect of the new body he just entered.  He’s okay now; in fact, he’s better than okay.  I think he might actually be coming around to our side.”

            Raph looked skeptical and Don didn’t push it.  He didn’t think Raph would ever get over his suspicions of Bishop, and Raph certainly had a lot of reasons to be wary.  Don couldn’t begrudge him that.  Plus, he didn’t want to talk about Bishop if he could help it, for fear of Raph asking a question that Don wouldn’t want to answer.

            As far as Don was concerned, what had happened between he and Bishop was best forgotten, but Don knew he couldn’t lie about it if Raph asked.  So it was much better if Raph were to never ask.

            A sound from behind him turned Don, his hand automatically snatching up a glass beaker to defend the still weakened Raphael.  It turned out to be Bishop returning, sans Stockman.

            “What happened?” Don asked, catching his bo staff as Bishop tossed it back to him.

            “He got away from me,” Bishop said in one of the nastiest tones Don had ever heard him use.  “His escape route led up to the surface and into a little garage where he had a jet pack.  If I’d had a gun this would be over.”

            “I don’t need a gun ta take care of ya’,” Raph snarled, jumping off of the metal table.  “I don’t even need my sais.  I’m gonna grab your scrawny neck between my hands and snap it for ya’.”

            “Raphael, please stop,” Don begged, pressing against his brother’s chest.

            “Dammit Don, I know ya’ think he’s some kinda hero all of a sudden, but I still owe him for throwing me ta that fuckin’ Stockman,” Raph told him.

            “Raphael, I will never be able to apologize enough for that,” Bishop said.  “In my defense, I must say I was as drugged as you were.  It was difficult for me to overcome my desire for your brother, but I did finally manage to do so and attempt to make this right with you.”

            “It’s true Raph.  Bishop couldn’t help how his new body reacted any more than you could keep from reacting to what Stockman was doing to you,” Don pleaded, his face close to Raph’s as he searched and held his brother’s eyes.

            “If it was anyone but ya’ asking Don, I swear I’d gut him right now,” Raph growled, his body tense.

            “Thank you Raphie,” Don murmured.

            Before they could do anything else, a red light began flashing inside the room.

            “What the fuck is that?” Raph snapped.

            “It’s a self-destruct warning,” Bishop said.  “Stockman must have somehow activated it when he fled.  Those lights signal an impending flash fire; we need to get out of this room.”

            Just as he said that, the doors slid closed and the locks snapped audibly into place.

            “We aren’t going that way,” Don said.

            “We’ll go out the way Stockman did.  I jammed that door open when I came back through it,” Bishop said.

            Raph spotted his sais on top of a work bench and strode over to retrieve them.  His legs felt a little like his muscles had turned to jelly, but he managed to keep them straight.

            “Come on Don,” Raph called to his brother, who was hanging back, looking over a row of liquid filled beakers on a shelf.

            “One minute Raph,” Don said.

            “We may not have very long, Donatello,” Bishop told him.

            “A flash fire may not destroy what’s in this freezer,” Don said.  “And I am damn well determined that it does get destroyed.”

            Raph’s eyes widened when he realized what the freezer contained.  Don began spilling the contents of various beakers into another one.  Grabbing it and another small jar of liquid, he opened the freezer.  Just before he pushed the first beaker inside, he added several drops from the small jar, and then quickly slammed the door shut.

            Using his bo staff like a pole vault, Donny sprang away from the freezer as fast as he could.

            He was still in mid-air when the freezer exploded, buckling in on itself as heavy black smoke poured from various openings.

            Bishop led them into Stockman’s secret exit and they started running, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the lab.

            “Yo Donny,” Raph got his attention with a low murmur, “was that my jizz in that freezer?”

            Don looked at him.  “What do you think Raph?”

            “I think it was, and I think ya’ don’t wanna talk about it,” Raph responded.  “If you’re trying ta protect my feelings, don’t worry about that.  I know what happened, but I don’t remember most of it.  In fact, the only thing I remember was that I thought I was with ya’ the whole time, and I kinda like those memories.”

            “But they weren’t real,” Don said.

            “I know that, so don’t go all Freud on me trying ta tell me the right way ta deal with this experience.  The way I felt watching that film of the two of us together was real, and the way I felt when ya’ leaned over and kissed me was real.”  Raph looked ahead to make sure Bishop was still far enough in front of them to not overhear their conversation.

            “Stockman, he . . . he violated you Raph,” Don said.

            “Oh shell, Donny, I don’t give a shit about that,” Raph said, surprising his brother.  “I don’t give a fuck about him sticking a piece of plastic in my ass; I’m just glad Shredder cut his cock off so he couldn’t try anything else.”

            Don had to laugh.  “Raphael, you never cease to amaze me.”

            Raph grinned lopsidedly.  “Good.  Keep ya’ guessin’, that way ya’ never get tired of me.”

            “I’ll never get tired of you Raphael,” Don said warmly.

            “Whoa, wait,” Raph suddenly stopped running; spinning on his heal to dart down a dark hallway that ran off of the main passage.

            Don skid to a halt, pivoting quickly to jog after his brother and shouting to Bishop simultaneously.

            “Where are you going?” Don called, losing sight of Raph for a minute.

            He heard Raph pounding on something that sounded like metal, and then finally got close enough to see his brother kicking at a grate set low in the wall at the end of the hallway.

            “It’s an emergency drain,” Raph told him, though Don could see that for himself.  “I can hear the sewers running behind here.”

            With a final hard kick, the metal grate buckled and dropped out of sight. 

            “Go Don, I’m right behind ya’,” Raph said.

            “But where  . . . ?” Don started to ask and Raph caught him roughly by his shoulders, shoving him towards the opening.

            “We’re goin’ home, bro’.  Right now.  It is way past time for us ta leave this zoo,” Raph said.

            When Don still hesitated, Raph grabbed the top edge of his carapace and pushed.  Getting the message that this wasn’t debatable, Don tossed his bag down and quickly followed it.

            Bishop came down the hall just as Don disappeared through the opening.  Raph squatted and once he heard Don land, he jumped through as well.

            Both brothers stood aside as they heard Bishop coming through to join them, and then a loud crackling sound came from the direction of their exit.

            “Move!” Bishop shouted, leaping to get away from the opening they’d just come through.

            Raph caught his brother across his chest with a heavily muscled arm and threw them both to the ground just as a giant ball of flame rolled like a canon shot from the emergency drain.  The flame was so intense it boiled the water in the channel next to them before it finally stopped.

            “Shell,” Don breathed out as he sat up.  “Flash fire.”

            Raph picked himself up and offered Don a hand.  “No shit, Sherlock.”

            Standing, Don looked around for Bishop and saw the man several feet away, dusting his pants off.

            “We’re going home Bishop,” Don announced in a determined tone.

            Bishop looked up at him, his expression flat.

            “I rather expected that,” he said.

            Don reached down and snagged his canvas bag, sliding it over his shoulder.  Raph had walked a few paces away, and then stopped when he noticed that Don was still standing there looking at Bishop.

            Looking over his shoulder, Don told his brother, “Give me a second.”

            Raph growled, “Donny  . . . .”

            “It’s okay,” Don said.  “Trust me bro’.”

            Raph nodded curtly and moved farther away, out of earshot, but not so far that he couldn’t keep his eye on Bishop.

            Bishop walked up close to Don, and pulled his glasses off.

            “There are probably things one says in a situation like this, but I’m afraid that’s another thing I haven’t done in a very long time,” Bishop said.

            “Well, I never have, so I suppose that makes us even,” Don replied, staring into the man’s eyes and seeing purple reflected back at him.

            “I don’t suppose I could say something to tempt you to remain with me?” Bishop asked, his tone not very hopeful.

            “No.  I have a family and someone who loves me; I don’t want or need anything else.”  Don stepped back and turned.

            Bishop reached out quickly and caught Don’s arm to stop him.

            “I still need that cure Donatello,” he said.

            Raph’s low growl reached them both, and Bishop released Don’s arm.

            “I’ve already found it,” Don told him.

            Bishop let his surprise show.  “Where is it?  I’ve got to have it, Donatello,” Bishop insisted.

            “It’s up here,” Don tapped his skull.  “I committed it to memory rather than to write it out.  We never made an arrangement for our release and I needed to have a bargaining chip of some sort.”

            Raph came closer and added, “Yeah, he called it a containment clause.  Ya’ get the formula to contain that mutation as soon as we’re free of your ass.”

            Bishop didn’t look at Raph, his eyes fixed on Donatello.  “There is no time left.  If I wait for you to get to your home, it may be too late.  You can’t send it over a computer line anyway, I don’t know how deeply embedded Stockman is into our systems.  They have to be cleansed.”

            “All right,” Don dug into his bag quickly, searching for something.

            “Donny, we ain’t far enough away from him,” Raph said in warning, his tone low.

            “It’s okay Raph, I know what I’m doing,” Don told him, pulling a felt tipped pen from his bag.  “Pull off your jacket,” he said to Bishop.

            Bishop’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t ask questions.  Slipping his jacket off quickly, he said, “I suppose you want me to turn around now.”

            A corner of Don’s mouth quirked up.  “I’m glad to know I don’t have to explain every tiny thing.”

            When Bishop turned, Don stepped up to him, uncapped the pen and began to write out the containment formula on Bishop’s shirt.

            “Don, what the fuck are ya’ doin’?” Raph asked.

            Donatello continued to write as he said, “The air in here is very moist Raph.  If Bishop chooses to follow us, the moist air and his body sweat will make his shirt wet.  If this marker ink gets wet, it fades and runs.  He’ll lose the formula.”

            “So what if he just takes the shirt off?” Raph wanted to know.

            “Same thing.  The moist air in the sewer will still affect the ink.  I think we can manage to find a route that takes us through some really wet areas, don’t you bro’?” Don asked.

            Raph grinned.  “Fuck yeah.”

            When he was done, Don put his pen away and stepped back.  Bishop put his jacket back on carefully and turned to face the Turtle.

            Neither said anything for a long minute.  Raph grumbled under his breath finally, and Don glanced at him.

            “I’m right behind you Raph,” Don said.

            Getting the hint, Raph moved away again, his eyes glued to his brother.

            “You have to know by now I am no longer capable of doing you any harm, Donatello,” Bishop said.

            “I think I do, Bishop.  Whatever the reason, I think I’m happy about that.  Life would be a lot simpler for my family if we don’t have to look over our shoulder for you,” Don admitted.

            Bishop looked down at the dark glasses in his hand and lifted them to his face.  Sliding them into place, he lifted his head to Don once more.

            “If you’re ever discontented, I’m only a phone call away,” Bishop said.

            “I won’t be making that call.  Please don’t wait on it,” Don replied.

            Bishop cleared his throat and stepped back, slowly distancing himself from Don.

            “My rational mind will not.  The part of me that you own probably will,”  Bishop said before he turned to walk away.

            Don watched him for a moment, and then jogged over to join Raph.  Together they began running through the sewers, headed towards the lair.

            “What the shell was that all about?” Raph asked.

            “I think I just brokered a peace agreement,” Don answered.  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see how that works out.”

            “It doesn’t mean ya’ gotta ever see him again does it?” Raph asked suspiciously.

            Don laughed.  “No, Raph.  Hopefully, our paths will never cross again.”

            “That’s good then.  ‘Cause I don’t care how nice he’s acting towards ya’, I still hate the guy and I’m really pissed that Stockman got away,” Raph said.

            “I know, Raph.  But now Stockman has not only us but Bishop, Karai, Hun and the Purple Dragons, the Mob and heaven knows who else after him.  He’s burned too many bridges and it won’t be long before someone catches up to him.  Stockman will get what he deserves.”

            “I like how ya’ look at things Donny,” Raph told him.

            “You do?” Don asked with a smile.  “Then think about this; that experience may have been pretty bad for both of us, but without it we might never have gotten the courage to tell each other how we feel.”

            Raph stopped running and Don pulled up as well.  “Ya’ really care about me that way, Don?  Do ya’ think we could try ta make something work between us?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

            Don reached over and curled the tips of his fingers over Raph’s forearm, pulling him into a side tunnel.  Leaning suggestively against a wall, Don wrapped his arms tightly around his brother’s neck.

            “I sent an email just before Bishop and I came in to rescue you, so Leo knows we’re safe and headed back home.  I think we can afford to take a few minutes to explore your question a little further,” Don said huskily.

            Heart beating fast, Raph slipped his arms around Don’s waist and pressed his plastron against his brother’s.

            His lips inches from Donatello’s, Raph asked in a soft whisper, “I ain’t hallucinating am I?”

            Don’s lips twitched up into a smile as he whispered back, “No Raphie, this time is for real.”

The End