lucetilogs | (no subject)

Current Mood: awkward

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who:

semper_cogitans, though with replies coming from

herpderpetile, and

i_speak_softly. I pity anybody else who might join in advance :|;;
What: Probably the most awkward, hormone-spiked bath ever
When: March 31st, during the Unofficial Derpturtle Sleepover
Where: House 55
Summary: Robert has just the luck to be turned into a mutant red-eared slider in the middle of spring mating season, which, needless to say, is making everything a little awkward. Especially when he's been in the same house as his boyfriend (and his family) for a few days. And then, of course, he's neglecting to keep himself hydrated, so clearly Don has to get him into a bath. ~~This won't turn awkward or fail miserably at all.~~
Rating: F for Fail. No, really, it's probably going to get into NC-17 territory, though knowing how much Robert and Don suck at emotional stuff, anything along those lines will likely be awkward and abortive.

So how uncomfortable is it to be in your partner's house in the middle of a mating season while simultaneously being aware of how much the rest of his family dislikes you?

Very uncomfortable, that's how uncomfortable. And that is why Robert has completely immersed himself in work on his nanocomputer, both to ignore the subtle anxiety of the various Hamatos not named Donatello looking at him disapprovingly and to try to suppress the increasingly-urgent desire to do more than just cuddle with Donatello. It was decidedly unprofessional to feel like that... and, truth be told, Robert was more than a little nervous about the idea. Eight years of self-imposed cloistered distance from people meant that sexuality was something he hadn't really ever gotten a chance to envision as anything more than furtive, broken fantasies. Never mind that his emotional abilities were skewed enough and most of his fantasies ended up depressing him somewhat because they were about Benjamin... though, the subject of them had, admittedly, changed somewhat in three months.

Okay, changed a lot.

Clearly this mental topic deserved to be crushed down in favour of typing even more fiercely at the ergonomically-designed miniature keyboard of his nanocomputer. Never mind that only having two fingers was kind of throwing him off his typing stride. Never mind the strange lethargy and general illness he felt. I have to distract my mind from this...

Somebody more knowledgeable of turtles - for example, an actual turtle - might realize Robert's more than a little dehydrated right now. That's what happens when you isolate yourself in a house where people tend to congregate around the kitchen and steadfastly refuse to do anything but work in a desperate attempt to push the hormone-induced thoughts out of your head. (And it's funny, because Robert normally wouldn't deny thoughts like this. But there isn't anywhere private enough to indulge them...)

Anybody feel like wresting him from his engrossed state at the nanocomputer?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not exactly." Hearing the word 'delusional' applied to trans people is... uncomfortable. Robert tries to tell himself that Don just hasn't gotten the chance to learn otherwise... he hopes. "They see themselves as who they are. It has been categorically proven, with the use of MRI and PET-variety brain scanning, that the structural components of trans people's brains strongly resemble those of their cisgendered counterparts. In other words, the brain of a trans woman is physically closer to the brain of a cis woman than the brain of a cis man, even if her body is closer to a cis man's.

It would be more delusional, in that case, to not accept themselves for who they are, and instead continue to live as something they are not."

Robert hopes that the idea of mind being independent from body is understandable to Don. Considering the fact that his entire family is in bodies that other people often don't understand, he would think that the idea of that would strike a resonant chord for Don...

And that scute removal was... decidedly odd. Like having a big chunk of his skin removed, but painlessly. Robert fidgets a bit.

"Was that... a successful endeavour?"

Don passes the tissue-paper-thin scute over Robert's shoulder, then folds his arms on the top of Robert's shell and leans there, thinking.

"Is it like a mutation? Part of them is different from how it's supposed to be?"

Robert nods. The comparison is indeed getting through.

"Essentially, yes. It is... a fluctuation in hormones that results in a state outside of what would be considered 'typical'. The thing with biology is that it is rarely ever completely effective at reproducing conditions accurately all the time. There is always some fuzziness; some experimental error, if you will. And occasionally it yields results that can be considered different from whatever "standard" happens to be. Like my own orientation, which is a complex blend of interaction from the environment, my genetics and hormones, and the amount of education I had access to."

Robert smiles.

"But there is nothing inherently wrong about being different. Were we to consciously eliminate our differences, we would be removing much of what makes humanity fascinating and complex."

Ironic words coming from somebody whose culture is practically homogenized.

"Hm." Don absorbs this and sets it aside for later consideration. "What do you mean, 'orientation'?" he asks, though in the tone of an idle question, since he's taking it to mean something like "interests and hobbies". He's never heard that word for the concept before, though.

"'Orientation' is a term that is used to refer to how one relates romantically and erotically to others," Robert says, nearly offhandedly. "I am told that 'gay' is used more commonly here, but I tend to use 'androphile' - that is, an attraction to those who identify themselves masculinely - instead, because 'gay' has traditionally had a history of excluding those who do not fit typical categories of masculinity.

It's more common for those who identify as men to be gynephilic - that is, attracted to those who identify themselves femininely - but that hardly means that there's anything wrong with where I am. Or with where other people are, because there are many other orientations apart from those."

"Oh." That kind of interest. Don stretches out his legs alongside Robert's and idly wiggles his toes to make little splashes in the water.

Yes, that kind of interest. The same interest Robert has been blatantly displaying in Don since the beginning of this awkward debacle.

It's probably obvious that Robert is staring at Don's thigh. Even if the biologist part of his brain knows where Don's actual genitals are, the stilted awkward emotional part of his brain still wants to stroke that muscular striped thigh. The turtle part of his brain is more or less in agreement - though it wants to stroke Don's face, too. Which Robert can get behind the idea of.

"... I have been curious about how kissing you like this would feel..." Robert sort of averts his eyes to his own plastron. "W-Would... would it be alright, to you, if... if I did so?" Those green fingers twine together in writhing discomfort once more.

Robert is officially the worst example of suave, ever.

"Huh?" Don's eyes flick up to somewhere around Robert's ear, then return to gazing at his own toes as he slides back into thought for a silent moment. "I guess. I've always kind of wondered..."

Okay, cue awkward turning-around time in a narrow bathtub. Robert half-stands to make sure his shell doesn't catch on the edge, turns, and sits down again unsteadily, causing the water level to waver around their midsections. In the process, he whacks his shell off the wall again... Curiosity may have killed the cat, but all it does for a turtle is make him repeatedly smack his shell off of things.

But who cares, he has a boyfriend to kiss. The scientist-turned-turtle scoots forward a little, pressing himself against Don - that's odd when your frame doesn't yield quite so much anymore - and brings his hands up to his cheeks to reflexively stroke them. Both hands, this time, not just one. It's the awkward result of both Robert's own tendency to do this and the turtle instincts telling him to do this for his mate.

He eventually stills one hand, using it to almost-delicately cup Don's cheek, and presses his own beak against Don's, softly. At least it wasn't a slow-moving headbutt this time.

The other hand continues to stroke Don's cheek slowly, caressing around his eye ridges and the edge of his jaw with almost-sensuous movements... well, as sensuous as Robert can get, anyway.

Kissing Don like this is a lot different from kissing him as a human - their mouths are about the same size, for starters, so there's less of a threat of Don's mouth essentially engulfing his face. That, and insistent desire, means that Robert's kiss this time is more hungry than it's been before, and he might actually be panting slightly in the process.

Robert does not mind this at all. He whimpers faintly - as much as a turtle can whimper - and presses into him, closer, closer, so close - a little part of Robert's brain, completely detached from what's actually occurring, sits and watches and notes just how close this is and how much could go horribly, horrendously, painfully badly.

The rest doesn't actually care.

He kisses wetly at Don's beak, his hands meandering across that skin that right now matches his own, and lets himself feel wanted, feel safe, feel perfect for this brief span of time where he's in his lover's arms and apparently doing something right. Apparently. If this experimental evidence is anything to go by.

He shifts his pelvis, more so that his tail isn't crushed against the back of the tub and can swell more or less in peace between his thighs (and part of him realizes how familiar that sensation is as a human), and lets his hands run over Don's plastron in response. This touch is more blatantly erotic - if Don hasn't figured out Robert has something of a fetish for this, he might realize it now if he's coherent enough - and longing, with Robert's fingers sliding down his smooth scaled abdomen and then gliding back upwards in circular motions that belie just how much Robert wants to stroke lower.

Wrong? Where exactly is the wrongness in this? It feels right. Objectively there doesn't seem to be any argument against this either.

"D-Don..." Robert murmurs breathlessly. "I-I... want you... E-Exceedingly so..." His voice is small and, if it's possible for it to be, sexy. He doesn't exactly speak very long, though - just goes back to kissing him lustfully, perhaps even employing his tongue if Don doesn't have a problem. And from the looks of things, Don doesn't have a problem with much of anything right now.

Robert won't get much answer aside from some grunting, and a rough shove that smacks his shell back against the edge of the tub. Don moves forward into the space, grabbing again at Robert's arms. The message reads like a very definite I want you too, but the animal emptiness in Don's eyes might make Robert second-guess who exactly is accepting his offer.

Splinter could have hear you two horny brats from halfway across the house, especially after Robert's shell thumps against the wall. He immediately goes to see what sort of trouble is going on, and can easily recognize the sounds from walking in on his sons before. Except that there is more than one voice within that room.

He doesn't knock, but suddenly, the door is open, and a very angry rat is standing just inside the bathroom watching his son manhandle his boyfriend. A very angry rat that, despite his diminutive 4'10" height, looks about ready and able to skin them both alive with his cane.

"DONATELLO! ROBERT! What is the meaning of this funny business?!"

That's three times Robert's shell hit the wall now, actually. If anybody's counting. Splinter might have been.

If Splinter's paying attention over his own yelling, he might be able to hear Robert's soft, nearly-terrified whimpering. After all, he certainly didn't expect to be shoved onto his shell, and those eyes of Donatello's have nothing but pure feral lust in them. Even Robert can tell what that means. And honestly, he's more than a little frightened. His small, broken voice pleads, "D-Donatello, p-please, i-if you wanted me to l-lay down I would have done s-so... gladly..."

He trails off, of course, when he hears the shouting, and manages to turn his head enough to choke out, "M-Master Splinter?"

Robert gives Splinter something of a desperate look. A look that reads "can you please stop your son from raping me, I don't like it very much".

Don looks up sharply when the door flies open, and grunts out a, "Hrgh?"

Exactly two seconds later he snaps back to himself, looks at Robert, looks at Splinter, and throws himself back against the opposite wall with a room-shaking slam and a rug-soaking splash. He scrabbles for -- well, nothing, his fingers making ineffectual plinking noises in the suddenly-shallower water, and then he covers his face with his hands and curls in on himself.

Please do skin him alive, Master Splinter. You'd be doing him a favor.

Splinter hadn't been counting, but the multiple thumps had still gained his attention.

Splinter will do no such thing--not today. He has another punishment already in mind. It's impossible to remain angry at their reactions, seeing the horror in both their faces, but Splinter makes a good show of it.

He looks pointedly at Donatello, despite how his son is curled up on himself. "Donatello--Dojo, flips, now!"

Robert's horror grows more palpable as Don practically rips away from him and smashes into the opposite wall before defensively curling in on himself. He ruined it, didn't he? Granted, being raped wasn't ethical in the least, but...

But... He didn't want Donatello to go.

Robert reaches out one hand abortively to Donatello's coiled-inward body, though it freezes when Splinter barks his orders, and instead he pulls back into the opposite side of the tub, instinctively coiling inward a little himself. He sobs softly; he can't help it. The shock of everything going from wonderful to horrible in an instant is almost too much for his emotionally-stunted mind to comprehend.

And he's utterly terrified of Splinter's likely reaction to all this.

(no subject)

i_speak_softly - 2011-04-04 01:27 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

ninjacane - 2011-04-04 01:45 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

herpderpetile.livejournal.com - 2011-04-04 02:09 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

ninjacane - 2011-04-04 02:24 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

herpderpetile.livejournal.com - 2011-04-04 02:34 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

turtlefaun.livejournal.com - 2011-04-04 03:16 (UTC) - Expand

The approach was cringe-inducingly clumsy, but the kiss itself works out much better than Don would have imagined. And that touching... Parts of Don's brain turn on, other parts turn off, some kind of low noise starts up in the back of his throat, and then his hands are everywhere, pawing gracelessly at Robert's arms and shoulders and plastron, just needing to put his mark on him.

"Robert," he gasps into the other turtle's mouth, and loses himself again... but a moment later he's back, rallying enough higher brain functions to push Robert firmly away. "Rob, we shouldn't be doing this. Not right now." As he says it, he climbs to his feet, sending the water sloshing crazily from one end of the tub to the other. He has to get out, before he forgets why he's leaving.

[Starting over from Robert-kissing-Don because of mutual regret over the direction of the thread. Original version will stay there because of the muns' laziness and determination to never delete anything.]

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?

Don almost moves back to the tub when Robert reaches out, as though that hand were exerting a magnetic force, but he stops himself, instead grabbing a towel and busying his own hands with it.

"Nothing's wrong. Just - " He squeezes his eyes closed. "Not during an experiment. Never during an experiment..." He turns abruptly, pressing himself against the door, and chokes out a few more words. "I want my first time to be with you..."

Then he jerks the door open and flings himself through it. He pulls it closed again behind him, but too hard, and it bounces back to crash against the opposite wall before wobbling to a halt, half ajar, leaving Robert with a view of Don's rapidly-retreating shell.

Robert is honestly stymied by those last, hurried, hushed words. 'With you'. With... his human self? With the body that wasn't what would probably be more ideal for Don?

...

What did that mean? Did... Was he actually...

It's nearly unfathomable. If Don knew what Robert was thinking about, and took into account how he'd questioned earlier how a human could be interested in him, he might appreciate the irony of Robert now wondering how Don could be interested in... well... the human body he normally had.

He wasn't anything interesting to look at as a human. Frankly he was pretty unappealing. At least as a turtle he had interesting colour patterns and his chest wasn't nearly so horribly scrawny...

Robert doesn't really have any words that wouldn't be an endless diatribe of questions. But instead of asking any of them, he sits there and watches Don walk away and feels some strange little pain in his stomach. It's a confused blend of... elation and surprise and desire and shame and irrational guilt for not being something specifically existing for the purpose of fulfilling every facet of Don's existence.

Robert's going to need some serious therapy one of these days.

He may need more therapy once Splinter is done with him. Splinter had overheard more than he had ever wanted to, and it was not good. While he knew that Donatello and Robert would eventually engage in intimate contact, they were not ready. And they had ignored his explicit instructions about that matter!

Splinter hadn't heard the entire thing, but had heard enough to know who had started it all. Donatello had merely succumbed to his hormones, then successfully fought against him. Robert had been the instigator.

Suddenly, Splinter is in the doorway, then stepping through the doorway, and finally closing the door behind him. He does not look pleased. The rat steps just to the edge of the pool of water splashed onto the floor, leaning on his can, and stares at Robert.

The rat doesn't say anything. He just stares. And stares. And stares.

It takes Robert quite awhile to realize that Splinter's even there. That's how absorbed he is in the enormity of the statement. Don... likes his human body...

Does Don find him attractive like that? It'd be the first time in such a long time that he felt attractive to anybody...

Eventually he glances up and notices Splinter's presence. No, he does not look happy. But Robert doesn't know why.

His gray, striped eyes slide up to meet the rat's gaze. He holds it for a few moments before social anxiety makes him drop it again.

"... Ah. Master Splinter, sir.

... Salutations?"

Really, why does Splinter look so angry?

Splinter is angry, yes. But it is only a momentary angry, and not one that will fester for a long time. They were stupid, but hormones were partially to blame. A cold comfort, really--except that Robert didn't know him well enough to tell the difference.

"I believe I remember wishing for you two to be discreet," Splinter states, making sure to pronounce every word. "For neither of you are ready."

"My apologies, sir. I did not think we would be a... disturbance. But I am relatively clumsy in this body, and I suppose hitting my shell on things was unpleasantly loud...

That and I suppose I am... unaccustomed to the intensity of these hormonal surges..." Robert lets a striped hand meander to his chin. His tone is so even, it's as though he was talking about something completely mundane.

The next thing kind of makes him blink in confusion and some mild apprehension. "With all due respect, sir, wouldn't it be up to Don's and my discretion as to whether we were "ready" for any particular part of a relationship?

... Granted, all of it would of course have to be mutually agreed-upon, and at any rate I feel Don should have the authority to dictate when he feels comfortable..." He was the less experienced one. The logic would thus run that Don would be the one who would need a greater adjustment period. But this is something Robert is entirely prepared to accept.

(no subject)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

Ignore the alternate timeline up there. This is what really happens.

Blame me, I am a moron

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)