Robert whimpers faintly at the obvious - even for his crippled emotional abilities - display of desire, reciprocating with gentle but sensual touches to Don's body, caressing the smooth scales like each one is some kind of priceless gem, and kissing wetly, hungrily at his beak until Don breaks away.

It doesn't make sense. Everything was going right, wasn't it? He wasn't doing a bad job, right?

... Right?

"D-Don...?" Robert mewls, looking up at him almost piteously as the other turtle stumbles out of the bathtub like he suddenly doesn't want to be in Robert's proximity anymore. "What... what's wrong?" Did I do something you didn't want?

Suddenly Robert is hideously ashamed of himself. Did he let this desperate need, this need that reminds him so much of the drugs, take over him and make him do something stupid, yet again?

Even as Donatello makes for the door, Robert makes an abortive attempt to sort of reach over to him. Obviously he isn't going to be able to make any kind of contact, and his hand halts mid-trajectory.

Defeatedly, he whispers, "I'm... sorry..." to nobody, and then just curls back against the tub.

How could he have been such a barbarian?