I Like Em Mutant

“Are you serious?” He asks, his voice low, almost a whisper. He needs to know that you really mean it, that you're not messing with him.

He sees you playing with the hem of your sweater as you lower your gaze and bite your lip, in your typical way of showing anxiety or embarrassment. Which almost makes him smile because he's the naked one who was caught masturbating, you have nothing to feel bashful about.

You nod, then look up at Raphael again. “Yeah, I mean. If you want."

Want? Wanting it doesn't even begin to convey how he feels right now. If he wasn't terrified of making the wrong move, if this wasn't the first time that a girl, that you, showed interest in him, he would have already grabbed you and pushed you onto the mattress like he did so many times in the safety of his dreams. He's always been impulsive; everyone in his family has repeated to him over and over again how much he lacks patience and how many times he messed things up because he acted without reflecting. Yet now he feels stuck, unable to do something. Raphael never lacked courage, and he has always been faster with his body than with his brain, but when it comes to you he's afraid. You can’t even begin to imagine how scared he is. More than when he had to fight Shredder alone, more than when he, his brothers and April were falling from the Sacks’ Tower, more than when he had to jump from that stupid airplane. Vin Diesel helped him that time, but he for sure can’t help him now. You are more terrifying than a leap into the void. And this time he doesn't even have a parachute.

“Of course I want it," he breaths out, his eyes never moving from you, waiting for you to rethink your decision and walk out the door or take another step towards him. Everything is in your hands: what happens next, his dignity, his heart. Do with it as you please; he has long accepted that if there's one person he'll bow his head for, it's you.

You hesitate for only a moment before approaching him. Every step you take toward him makes his heart beat a little faster. When you finally reach the bedside and sit next to his leg, Raphael feels that if it doesn't slow down, sooner or later it will explode.

"Were you... Thinking about me...?" You ask.

This time, he's the one looking away. “I… Yes, I was.” He wonders if you're thinking about how pathetic he is right now. The big brute who shouts at everyone and never backs down from the most dangerous threats is reduced to a small, weak, trembling man in front of the woman he loves. The fact is that, deep down, there's nothing more threatening to Raphael than the idea that you might think something negative about him, that you might realize how undeserving of your person he is and that you'll walk away. But he's also a selfish man, Raphael. He doesn't think that he's good enough for you, but at the same time he wants to keep you right by his side, all for himself.

"And what I was doing, in your imagination?" While you ask this, he feels your fingertips graze the skin on his leg, the most gentle touch. His eyes settle on the hand that you placed there, watching it. You pass every ridge, scale and texture that you can find, softly, slowly, exploring his skin with your palm, and the sensation makes him hold his breath. The complexion of your hand contrasts with the green of his, he notices, and your softness clashes beautifully with his roughness. He wonders if you like it, how different you two are. He knows that he does.

He says your name. "You're killing me, you know that?" He doesn’t have the guts to actually respond to your question, to tell you what you were doing in his mind while he was fingers deep in his cloaca. His guilty hand is still open in front of it, covering it from your eyes.

Your hand travels upward, towards the inside of his thigh, closer to where he needs it the most, unhurried. Will you remove his hand once you get there? Or will you wait for him to do so by himself? What will you think when you see up close what he looks like down there? Raphael now can really feel himself trembling, made small both by the sensations you incite in him with your closeness and by the realization that in real life, unlike his fantasy, you could reject him. You must feel it too, because you stop your journey without breaking the contact and you look up at him. You must have read every insecure and scared thought behind his expression because you feel the need to confess to him: “I thought you knew that I liked you. More than as a friend."

"… What?" It’s the only thing that he’s able to say, dumbfounded by your words. You like him? Like like him? You?

"Come on, I’m not really that subtle, I'm glued to you all the time." You chuckle a little. “I had the impression that maybe you didn’t feel the same or that maybe you were more comfortable with just a friendship at the moment, so I never pushed too hard. If I knew that you thought about me this way I would have tried to flirt better, to show you more clearly my feelings for you.” He almost wants to laugh at his own stupidity, because now, looking back on all the times you spent together, he can clearly see how much you craved his presence and his touch, how your eyes always lingered on him, how you always went out of your way to be in his personal space in a way that a simple friend wouldn't. He's always thought of himself as a good observer, Raphael, and he is when it comes to other people's business, but when he gets too involved, he has to admit, a veil of uncertainty clouds his vision. A veil that is not completely lifted, because he still struggles to believe what is happening right now and what you are revealing to him.

He sees you look down at his still-covered private parts, before returning your eyes to his face. Your expression maintains your mix of sweetness and amusement. “I also know what you look like down there, for the matter. I asked Donnie to give me a mutant-turtle anatomy lesson. And it doesn’t bother me, like at all. I’m actually-“ You pause, biting your lower lip before smiling with rosy cheeks. “I’m actually really curious about it.”

Oh.

“You asked Donnie about this? Why?”

Your face glints with a new light, almost sultry. You get a little bit closer to him, your hand on his thigh slides higher in turn. “Well, I needed to know how to picture you in my own fantasies.” Your voice is low, but it echoes in his ears louder than ever. You had fantasies. Fantasies about him. He pictures you naked in your bed, in the darkness of your room, your hand between your legs in the exact position you found him in before, as you moan his name, imagining he's the one making you feel good. A sound escapes his mouth at the sight. Did you really desire him just as much as he desired you?

“I still can't understand how, why.” He admits out loud. Your eyes soften.

With the hand that’s not on his thigh, you reach for his cheek. You place your palm there and caress him with your thumb. “You think too little of yourself, Raph. I wish you could see how amazing you are in my eyes.” Looking at the reflection of himself in them, Raphael begins to believe your words. He's never seen himself better, framed by the color of your irises, with the affection you poured into them swirling all around him. That's why he finally stops doubting, breaking free from his mental paralysis, and decides to take action. He brings his clean hand to the back of your neck, pulls you close to his face, and kisses you. And oh god, your lips are softer than he imagined. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he hopes all the rom-coms he's been secretly watching will help him move in the right direction. When you open your mouth and let his tongue in, he finally gets the answer he's been looking for. He finally knows what you taste like, how you feel. It’s way better than whatever daydreaming he had before. Nothing could have prepared him for this sensation, for the wetness and the warmth and the love that you’re pouring into him with your lips.

Not to mention the offer you made him earlier still echoing in his ears, when you opened the door and found him there, touching himself with your name coming out of his mouth. The thought of going all the way for real has him becoming lightheaded, but Raphael also thinks that if you decided to stop with just that kiss now, he'd be happy anyway. After all, you've kissed him, you've confessed your feelings, you’re his now — or at least he hopes so —, all of that is more than enough, more than what he thought he deserved.

But then you moan into his mouth, the scent of arousal he'd smelled from you before becomes stronger, harder to ignore, and your hand that was still on his thigh grabs the one still between his legs and moves it away. You pull away from the kiss and Raphael pathetically tries to follow you as not to break the contact. You slip away from his attempt anyway, getting up from the bed.

He doesn't have time to think about what you're doing because he sees you take off your sweater and realizes that you're undressing. That he's going to see you naked for real. You take off your shoes and pants immediately afterward, under his attentive gaze. He can't help but drink in all your curves, all that skin you're showing him, gulping down every detail like water after hours of dehydration. And when you also take off your bra and panties, truly remaining completely bare in front of him, Raphael can't help but hold in a breath, before exhaling heavily.

You join him again in bed, this time in the same position he was imagining you in before, kneeling between his legs. Your eyes rest on his cloaca, now in plain sight before you. Its slit is still open and puffy, showing you exactly where the green of his skin under the last scutes of his plastron becomes a dark reddish purple, glistening with the fluids of his arousal. He feels a little shy under your observation, but the look that you have painted on your face — pure and raw desire — helps him feeling more confident.

Your eyes move to his face again. You smile at him, then you push him down onto the mattress with a hand and sprawl over him with your entire body. Your breasts are pressed against his plastron, your arms are around his neck, your mouth on his again in a wet open-mouthed kiss. His hands come up and cling to your hips, and yes, finally, finally he can touch you the way he has always wanted.

“Tell me what to do, how you want to continue,” you say between a kiss and the other and, fuck, he can feel your pussy moving on top of his cloaca, humping him lightly, wetting him with your own fluids too.

Fuck, you’re wet. He made you wet. And you’re grinding over his sex searching for your own pleasure, using his body, and it feels good, so so good—

That would be more than enough to get off, but he wants, he needs, to feel your fingers inside him for real, before dropping his cock on your hand.

He tells you so, adding a please because he also needs to let you know how much all of this is affecting him.

You comply, sliding a hand over his plastron until you reach his folds. And then it happens: you insert two of your fingers deep into him. They are thinner and shorter than one of his, they don’t even fill him like one of his, but it feels so much better because it’s you, they’re yours and you’re touching him in the most vulnerable part of himself.

“Is it good?” You ask. Your breathing has become labored, demonstrating that you are not indifferent to what is happening either. He groans, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck, because ‘good’ doesn’t come close to what he’s feeling. He takes the opportunity to take a deep breath of your scent, there where it's strongest, and churrs begin to flow from him without him being able to stop them. “So good, so good. Don’t stop, please.” He feels your fingers pumping into him faster, rougher, just like he wished you to do.

He’s not going to be the only one to take pleasure, though. So he finds your pussy with one hand and he starts to rub your swollen clit with his fingertips. You moan at that and he revels in the knowledge that he is the one making you feel this way, the only one making these pretty sounds come out of your mouth, the only one who can touch you there.

His churrs become louder just as your fingers find the head of his cock. “Let me drop, please, I’m close.” You smile, kissing the side of his mouth with affection, saying that he doesn’t need to beg, not today at least, maybe another time, and Raphael can only think that fuck, you really want to do this with him again.

You remove your hand, stickiness clinging on your fingers, and his cock springs free from his casing, right between your bodies. You make him stop his ministration on your folds too, getting on your knees again to see. He watches you while you observe his cock: the same reddish purple of the inside of his cloaca, the spade-shaped head, the way it gets larger towards the base, the darker veins that run through it. He knows that he’s big, ‘difficult to insert without a lot of preparation’ kind of big, so he waits for you to decide what to do.

Your hand, the same one you used to finger him, wraps around his shaft, barely able to close around it. Raphael groans as you pump him a couple of times, slowly, like you’re testing both his reaction and how it feels on your palm.

Then you make eye contact with him and the vision of you there, disheveled but so so beautiful, jerking him off and looking directly at him, is almost enough to make him come on the spot.

“I don’t think I’m prepared to take you yet, but-“ You rest his shaft on his plastron, then you resume your initial position, straddling Raphael before lying on top. This time, however, your pussy is right above his cock. You rock your hips against it, one time, testing how it feels for both you and him. You both moan at the sensation and so you keep rocking against it, again and again. “I want to come and I want to make you come, Raph. My gorgeous, perfect, Raphael.” You end the sentence and he feels delirious at both your words and your movements.

As you start to grind over him harder, faster, he grips your hips again and pushes you even closer to himself. He starts to meet your moves with his own, churring right beside your ear, chasing his pleasure but, most importantly, making sure that it feels good for you too.

Raph Raph Raph, he hears you whine as you find the right angle that makes your clit rub perfectly over his cock and god, he doesn’t know what he likes more: the feeling of the impending orgasm he is about to have or the fact that you’re feeling good because of him.

“So good, Raph. You’re so good, so handsome, so perfect for me.” You praise him, wrapping your arms around his neck, clinging to him with all your might and please, please tell him more of those words, tell him that he’s good and pretty and enough because he only believes it when you’re the one saying it.

“I love you,” he let out, unable to stop himself. “I love you, I love you, I love you”. Your scent, your body, your wetness, he feels you all around him and it’s so overwhelming but also nothing has ever felt better and been more perfect. He holds you tighter and when he feels you arch your back and come before him, he loses it completely. He finds your neck with his mouth and bite there, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to hurt, and he comes too, staining your belly and his plastron with white.

Now, the only thing that can be heard in the room is the sound of both of your breathing. Raphael stares at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling against yours to steady his heartbeat. All of this happened. It really happened. You and him, together. Fuck. Raphael only notices that his cheeks are wet when your hands press against them, wiping away his tears with your thumbs.

“Crybaby,” you call him, and he would be offended if the look on your face wasn’t pure honey, with that smile that makes all your features shine and those eyes that still look at him like he’s the best things that ever happened to you.

“I’m not,” he grumbles, nuzzling into your neck, even though he knows that is kind of true. He notices the mark that he has left there and his lips open to kiss it, not because it hurts but because it’s the proof of what you have done together.

You chuckle and then you settle more comfortably on top of him, showing no intention of moving from there, which is completely fine because if Raphael could, he would always keep you there in his arms, never letting you go away from him.

“What are we, now?” He asks, voice soft, because he needs to be sure where you both stand.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against the skin of his head, and it feels good hearing you say that. “You’re mine,” you add, and this feels even better. “We’re a couple.” One of your hands caresses his face, lulling him to dreamland. He falls asleep happy, Raphael, because he knows that when he opens his eyes, you'll be there, still with him.

ෆ an: i don't think i'm good at writing smut tbh, but i tried. i hope raphael is well-characterized. some might think that i made him too soft, but looking back at the movies: bay raph is soft. he's the softest of his brothers and he's the crybaby of the family, or at least that's my interpretation. some people tend to only see his anger but the truth is that bay raph (but every raph, really) is not the angry one: he is the emotional and the sensitive one. also, i think bay raph is the raphael closest to rise raph, personality wise. gosh i love him so much! it took me a week to write this second part, because writing smut is hard for me sigh, so i hope it's good enough and that you enjoyed it!♡

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