Chapter Text
One of Donnie’s earliest memories was of pain. The images were foggy now, but the feeling — that he remembered quite well. The blunt force of someone’s elbow against his soft shell, lighting up in a sore throb that made him yelp. It hadn’t hurt badly, but it had left an aching bruise against his shell for a week. And from that day on, things were different. His brothers were suddenly careful, wouldn’t roughhouse or wrestle with him. It was as if Donnie were suddenly made of glass, all because of his soft shell.
For years, that memory had been a bitter reminder of what made him different. Of the things about himself that he needed to fix, to hide, to mask.
It wasn’t until Donnie was older that he realized another thing about that memory, about him, that was different.
He was setting up the lab, the first iteration of the one from their sewer lair. He was nine, already well versed in electronic engineering from the textbooks he’d found in an Eastlaird University dumpster. After he’d fixed the microwave and refurbished a stove for the kitchen, Splinter had stopped fretting about Donnie tinkering, and now he had the privacy and freedom to invent to his heart’s content in his very own space.
He found himself awake at 3 A.M. one night soon after outfitting the lab, hunched over a faulty circuit board as he worked at rewiring its fried components with a salvaged soldering iron. The iron was on the fritz, and he was growing annoyed with how long he had to hold its tip to the wick of tin before it melted. He really needed more hands to do this work; the makeshift clamps he had weren’t suited for tiny boards like this. His fingers were cramping, hands beginning to tremble from exertion.
One wrong move, and the iron slipped out of place. Scittered across the board, directly into his left palm with an alarming hiss.
Donnie dropped the tool, board, wire, all of it clattering onto the desk. Shock made him gasp, before the white-hot burn of pain had his breath lodged in his throat. It prickled up his arms, shoulders, neck, settling against his scales like electricity. He shivered with it, hot and cold all at once, and he grit his teeth against the strange new sensation as he peeled open his fist to inspect the wound.
The burn was a small, red spot against the soft area of his palm. Each flex of his fingers made it burn and sting anew, but the longer Donnie moved and stared, the easier it was to stomach. To breathe past, parse, catalog.
It wasn’t that painful, if he thought about it. In fact, he had the distinct feeling that something like this should be hurting a whole lot more than it did.
Maybe the iron wasn’t that hot (it was). Maybe his palm was too calloused for the burn to hurt all that bad (it wasn’t). Maybe he was just too tired to feel the extent of the injury (he was tired, but it should hurt worse for that, not less).
He hadn’t yelped, hadn’t really made a sound. Ever since the first bump against his shell years ago, he had learned to stifle pained reactions anyway. But this was the same as that first memory of pain, he realized.
It was startling, yes. Painful? Not really.
His heart raced, adrenaline stilling the shaking of his hands, warmth burning in his chest as he shut off the soldering iron and set aside his work for the night. It was late, he needed to rest anyway.
But instead of sleeping, he laid awake in bed for hours, staring at his palm. Poking at the aching burn mark at its center, frowning as he tried to make sense of the feelings that the pain caused inside him.
A couple years later, he realized it was pain that he was feeling. But along the way, something about the sensation had taken on another form. A comfort of sorts, he supposed, for the soft shelled warrior he was meant to be.
With the pain came pleasure in equal measure. And over time, those scales would continue to skew more and more towards the latter.
It wasn’t that hard to hide, all things considered.
The four of them found themselves in battle frequently as the years went on. Between training that left his muscles pleasantly sore, patrol that made his heart race with anticipation, brief spats with villains and the occasional lab accident, Donnie found his yearning for pain quenched. Somewhat.
“On your left!” Leo warned.
Donnie dodged, the swing of a blade barely missing his neck. The near-miss made him shudder with phantom sensation, and he quickly put space between himself and the Foot soldier.
They’d been ambushed while tracking the Foot Lieutenant's collection of the dark armor, and it was far from a fair fight in numbers. They could all take more than one enemy, easy, but the three soldiers backing Donnie into a dead end alley weren’t giving him many opportunities to land a hit. He would dodge one swipe, only to barely dodge a second, the three pinchering him quite well.
His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears. And when a lucky blow knocked into his jaw, teeth clacking painfully, his head spun with more than dizziness.
The iron tang of blood saturated his mouth, and Donnie felt a jolt of arousal at the taste of it. The sting of his bitten lip grounded him just as much as it made his knees quake, and Donnie took the opening he was given, knocking out his assailant with a twirl of his bo. The next two fell in quick succession, one landing a kick to his side that he caught and used to toss them aside, the other toppled beneath their teammate’s weight.
He didn’t register the soreness in his side until he got away, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. Blood dripped down his chin, and when he licked his teeth, he knew it was smeared over them as well. He gripped his aching side, digging his fingers into the sore flesh between plastron and battle shell, waiting for his heart to calm. But his touch did nothing to quell the rush of blood in his veins — far from it, as his core began to throb much like his side, keeping time with every beat of his heart.
Donnie sucked his torn lip into his mouth as he palmed at himself, muffling a gasp as he found his dick half-dropped in his shorts already. Shit, if he didn’t claw back control now, he was going to have a lot more to hide than just a split lip.
“Donnie? Bro, where’d you go?” Leo called in the distance, back where he’d abandoned his twin after the fight concluded.
Donnie sucked in a shaking breath. “Over here!”
“You good?” Leo asked, voice drawing nearer.
“Yes!” Donnie replied, perhaps a bit too fast. His head was spinning, palm pressed tight between his legs now as he struggled not to drop. It was apparently a losing battle, his cock throbbing insistently with the idea of Leo seeing him like this. Donnie bit back a whine, far too embarrassed already. Dropping during a fight was already strange enough, already worth years of teasing. It would be even worse if Leo found out why Donnie was turned on. He needed an excuse, and quick. “I-I’m just…” Donnie fumbled his words, before the idea hit him. “Just taking a leak!”
“Oh, gross!” Leo squawked, though he sounded amused at least. “Well, we’re meeting up on 45th when you’re done. See you there?”
Donnie sighed in relief. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The sound of Leo’s portal closing was the final straw. Donnie groaned as he dropped fully, hot and aching already. At least this would be quick.
He pulled himself out, one arm still wrapped around his front to press into his sore side. The other he stuck in his mouth, brought away slick with blood and spit, before he took himself in hand.
Donnie was used to muffling himself. Whether it be grunts of pain, yelps of surprise, or moans of pleasure — he was well versed in the ninja art of stealthy silence. Now, he sank his sharp teeth deeper into his bloodied lip and stroked himself hard and fast. It was the only way he could ever get off, the pace frantic and the squeeze of his fingers nearly bruising. But it always did the trick, and with blood easing the slick slide of his hand, Donnie found himself coming in seconds.
He shuddered and leaned heavily against the wall, sucking in breaths through his nose. A few more seconds spared to the aftershocks sizzling through his tired muscles, and then it was back to business. Cock sheathed, blood wiped away, and his brothers none the wiser to his arousal or injuries when he rejoined them.
It was a tried and true process by now, even if life continued to throw him curveballs. Donnie had it handled, whatever this was. Some kind of twisted kink, he supposed. But it wasn’t as if he was hurting anyone with it, so what was the harm in indulging his darker desires?
He saw no downsides, and so, Donnie continued to indulge.
It wasn’t enough anymore.
Donnie groaned into his pillow, trembling and overexerted. His fingers ached from how hard he was gripping himself, but no matter how roughly he stroked, it just wasn’t enough.
Turned out that using his own blood as lube had opened his eyes to the possibilities. And now his brain demanded more to be satisfied.
It wasn’t enough to bite his cheek until blood filled his mouth. It wasn’t enough to pass bloodied fingers over himself or grip his dick like he was trying to strangle it. No, apparently his traitorous body demanded far more than the old tricks he had been using for years.
He needed pain.
Donnie grunted as he palmed at the healing bruises along his thighs. Tender spots left behind from a lost sparring match with Mikey where his nunchucks had met their marks. A scabbed scrape along his hip from a failed skateboarding trick that left him sliding down the ramp on his side, rubbing the scales there away. Paired with the sting of his bitten cheek and the hard squeeze of his fist, Donnie finally reached completion, making a mess of his sheets in the process. Lovely. It hadn’t even been that great of an orgasm either, especially not for the half hour of work he’d had to put in to get it.
Donnie sighed, rolling onto his shell as he grappled with this new and slightly concerning discovery.
Maybe abstinence was best if his body demanded pain just to get off.
Donnie forgot about his fetish for a few years. Between the Shredder, Karai’s death, losing their first lair and Shelldon to the destruction, and the Krang’s attack, Donnie hadn’t found himself turned on much. Trauma had that effect sometimes, it seemed.
He was sitting at the kitchen table when his fetish finally reared its ugly head again.
Mikey was preparing something for dinner, dressed in an adorable orange apron Raph had gifted him last Christmas. It hugged the small of Mikey’s shell and the curve of his hips just right, a sight the older three of them appreciated as they kept their more-than-platonic relationship under wraps around Splinter. Donnie hadn’t been paying much attention to his book, the object just an excuse to ogle Mikey’s tail while the youngest made dinner.
“Ow!” Mikey yelped, the clatter of his knife falling snapping Donnie’s attention upwards.
His eyes zeroed in on the bloom of red along Mikey’s thumb instantly. Then the sharp scent of blood hit his nose, stomach flipping as he watched Mikey shove his bleeding thumb into his mouth.
For the first time in years, Donnie felt his core throb with desperate need.
It wasn’t the kind of arousal he felt with his brothers regularly, no. Even though it had been years, Donnie knew that this pleasurable pain had only one cause. The sight of blood triggered alarms in his brain, screaming at him to both rush to Mikey’s aid, and…
What did Mikey’s blood taste like, he wondered.
Donnie lurched to his feet, grabbing the first aid kit on autopilot.
“Shoot,” Mikey mumbled around his thumb. He shot Donnie an apologetic look as he set the kit down on the counter, digging around for the necessary supplies. “I got blood all over the carrots.”
Donnie froze, gaze flicking to the cutting board before he could stop himself. Sure enough, a half-chopped carrot rested on it, splattered with small droplets of bright red. The wooden cutting board, too, had met a similar fate. Donnie’s eyes roamed, heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing decidedly south as he finally saw the knife.
Sharp (Mikey always kept his knives oh so sharp) and shining with red.
“Donnie?” A hand found his arm, squeezing gently. Harder, he needed it harder— “You look like you’re gonna pass out. I’m alright, Dee, promise! See?”
Mikey, poor innocent Mikey, pulled his thumb from his mouth. Donnie could only stare, transfixed at the smear of red against his youngest brother’s lip, the ooze of it down his spit-slick thumb. Delicious, tantalizing. He wanted to kiss him, desperately. Wanted to run his tongue across Mikey’s own and lick up the taste of him — wanted to take Mikey’s thumb into his mouth and soothe the injury himself — wanted so badly to eat the bloodied carrot right off the cutting board no matter how much he despised raw vegetables, and lick the knife clean. Or maybe, even better, he wanted to take the blade and slice himself open too, let their blood mingle and—
Donnie stumbled back a single step, snapping himself free of his aroused spiral. Mikey was looking at him with confused concern, head cocked so cutely.
Oh god, he was going to drop.
“Sorry, I—” Donnie stammered, tongue thick in his mouth. “I’m squeamish. So sorry.”
He ran for the exit, ignoring Mikey’s worried shout.
Donnie didn’t stop until he made it to the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and dropped with a whine. Then it was all he could do to keep upright as he grasped himself hard, biting at his arm to keep quiet as he jerked himself to completion. All the while, Mikey’s bloodied lip, sliced thumb, and blood-smeared knife filled his mind, sending him over the edge with agonized pleasure.
The shame he felt afterwards almost outweighed the fact that he hadn’t come so hard in years.
Almost.
It was easy to keep his fetish under wraps when his brothers thought he was afraid of blood and touch averse. It was almost simple to disguise the way he shuddered with glancing blows during training as a simple sensory issue, rather than the much more complicated kink that it was. Easy to pretend he wasn’t feinting blows in the hopes that his brothers would hit him dead-on, snap his ribs like twigs the way they did with their enemies in battle.
Donnie never was so lucky though.
He had been hiding injuries for years. At first, to prove he was strong, to avoid worrying his brothers over his perceived fragility. Now, he hid them so he could sneak away to his room after a fight and lick his wounds, force his fingers into a gash and use his blood as lube to fuck himself open.
They were always so careful with him, like he was weak, breakable. If only they knew how hard he could really take it.
His teenage fantasies had taken on a more serious tone. Where he had once gotten off on quick hits and the tang of blood in his mouth, now he daydreamed about broken bones, concussions, missing limbs. He longed, in that private, lust-crazed way, for an injury that would make it impossible for him to get himself off. One that would force him to rut against anything to seek release, or better yet, leave him at the mercy of whoever stumbled on his sorry state.
It was fucked up. He knew it was. But that’s what fantasies were for, weren’t they? For imagining impossibilities in the aim of getting off?
Like now, Donnie supposed.
Raph was hunched over him, face flushed as he canted his hips against Donnie’s own. The snapper held Donnie’s thighs shut, his sizable dick fucking between Donnie’s legs. Each thrust had the ridges of Raph’s cock pressing against Donnie’s own, the sensation quite enjoyable, but not nearly enough.
“Raph,” Donnie huffed, shifting his hips upwards as best he could. “I can take more than this, you know.”
“Shhh,” Raph murmured, eyes pinched shut. “Raph knows, Dee.”
Donnie sighed, resigning himself to his fate. Raph wouldn’t fuck any of them, wouldn’t even entertain the idea. It was a waste, really, seeing how large Raph was pressed up against him now. The snapper’s cock was long enough to reach Donnie’s ribcage, thick as his forearm, and spiked in a way that promised pain. A shudder rolled through him as he imagined what it might feel like for those hard barbs to catch on his slit, tearing him open on every thrust.
His cock throbbed at the imagined pain, and Donnie let himself moan as he closed his eyes to chase the fantasy. He could almost feel it, the burn and sting of Raph fucking him full. Carving out his insides, making Donnie take every inch. And in the end, burying himself deep inside to come, flooding Donnie’s insides beyond capacity with his burning hot load—
“Raph!” Donnie gasped, arching as his pleasure finally started to peak.
Donnie shuddered, clamping his thighs tighter. Raph groaned, hips stuttering. “Donnie—”
Large hands gripped him, one enveloping both his arms as the other grabbed his hip, forcing him to still. When Raph lost himself like this, just barely, it gave Donnie the little glimpse into his fantasy that he needed. With a shout, he came in the same moment Raph did, both of them painting his plastron with their releases.
This time, Donnie’s orgasm was a bit more intense than usual. His head spun with it, knocking the wind from him as he struggled against Raph’s tight hold. The snapper held him firm with sharp claws, which only spurred Donnie on, the pleasure flaring anew as the pain hit. It wasn’t his best orgasm, but it was far better than he usually got, and Donnie was shaking with overstimulation when Raph finally pulled away.
“You can take more than that, huh?” Raph teased lightly as he cleaned Donnie up.
Donnie rolled his eyes, snatching the cloth away to finish cleaning himself. “Just because I came, it doesn’t mean I couldn’t have gone harder than that. I’m not fragile, I can take it.”
Raph gave him an amused smile, and Donnie felt shame curl in his chest.
Right. As if they would believe him. Donnie didn’t need his brothers knowing about his fucked up fetish anyway — it’s not like they would indulge him if they knew.
Donnie was shaking by the time they made it back to the lair.
Every step was its own unique agony. Each meeting of his heel with the cement sent a sharp stab through his leg to his hip, grating, sore as if it were being wrenched around all over again. He breathed steady with practiced ease, masking the way his ribs smarted with every inhale. He held himself high, ignoring the fiery agony of his right arm as he tapped away at his phone with his left.
They had all taken a beating in that battle. Not one of them was walking away unscathed. And while they had come out victorious, Mikey was dozing in Raph’s arms with a mild concussion and the snapper was dragging his feet with a badly concealed limp. Leo wore his wounds like medals, black eye and busted lip doing funny things to Donnie’s stomach.
The pain was fucking with him, making his head feel floaty, his core throb with a desperate need to be sated. But he knew that with every step, he was edging himself further. Drawing out what was about to be one of his best sessions in memory. Donnie knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds when he finally got a hand on himself, and he was intending on holding out as long as he could.
“Alright, to the medbay with you,” Leo urged Raph towards the room the minute they were in the lair. “We’ll get Miguel patched up and then I’m looking at that leg — don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Raph sighed heavily, but complied without protest. Leo shot Donnie a questioning look, and he tried not to outwardly celebrate at the confirmation that his mask had succeeded in keeping his own injuries concealed.
“I’ll be fine,” Donnie waved Leo on. “I’m going to shower and get some rest.”
“Good,” Leo agreed easily. “Come by if you need help patching anything up!”
Donnie rolled his eyes, putting on the usual show, until Leo was gone and Donnie was safe in his room.
Finally.
He stumbled to his desk, typing in the code to unlock the drawer where he kept all his favorite toys. Donnie’s heart thumped excitedly at the sight of his Genius Built collection, designed with his specific tastes in mind.
Despite the ache of his injuries, Donnie felt a far more pressing ache that needed satiating immediately.
He grabbed his thickest dildo and collapsed onto his bed. His hip smarted first, and he bit back a groan as he pushed himself back onto the pillows with one good arm and leg to help. Fuck, the lack of mobility was turning him on more, his arousal a stinging ache in his slit that begged for release.
Donnie grinned as he lined up the toy one-handed. It was awkward and painful to reach, tugging at his dislocated shoulder and making his eyes water — but finally, he had the dick lined up with his cloaca. He pressed it into himself with hard pressure, unable to keep from moaning as it split him in two. He might be dripping wet, but he wasn’t prepped, and the tight slide of the dildo against his still sheathed cock made it all the more painful.
Donnie’s toes curled and he threw his head back with a trilling scream as he felt it bottom out inside him. He breathed heavily through his nose, teeth buried in his lip to muffle any more sounds. At this point, it was part of the fun to stay quiet, and Donnie was going to milk this session dry for all it was worth. He had no idea when he would be this injured again with an opportunity to get off on it, and he needed to indulge.
He forced himself onto his knees, right arm burning with insistent agony each time it moved, left hip aching as he supported his weight on it. And then he was moving, fucking himself with uncoordinated but hard motions. On each downthrust he let his weight go, spearing himself open, jostling his injuries until his mind was clouded by the white-hot pained pleasure of it all.
Sometimes when he reached this point, he couldn’t tell what was pain and what was pleasure anymore. The two morphed into something new, something larger that swelled hot and shuddery in his core. Freezing shivers prickling along his scales, head spinning with sensation, heart racing far too fast in his chest. The sting of his wrecked slit was the icing on the cake, complimenting the ache of his shoulder, ribs, hip, and cock. It felt incredible, and best of all, it was nearly impossible to come when his dick was still trapped inside his slit.
It was absolutely perfect.
So of course, the other shoe had to drop.
A knock rang through the room, and Donnie stilled, heart leaping to his throat.
“Donnie? You in there?” Leo called through the door.
Donnie held his breath. Maybe if he didn't make a sound, Leo would think he wasn’t there and leave.
But of course, his twin was smarter than that. Donnie felt his stomach twist as the door to his room began to open, spilling bright light onto the bed where he was perched.
Leo stepped into the room, not seeing Donnie yet, gesticulating as he spoke. “Raph said he saw you get thrown like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t stop fretting until I checked on you. I told him you’d come to me if you were injured, but you know how Raph gets…”
Leo’s gaze finally landed on Donnie and he just… stared.
Donnie swallowed, watching the quick flit of a dozen emotions cross his twin’s face. Shock, confusion, concern, anger— Donnie looked away, curling into himself as shame washed over him, sticky-hot and cloying. In the process, he jostled his shoulder again, sank a bit lower on the dildo still impaling him, and sucked in a sharp breath.
“What… the fuck,” Leo muttered breathlessly. A halting laugh, Donnie wincing at the sound. “Donnie, are you— What are you doing?”
Donnie couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to. Not when Leo approached him in two quick steps. Not when Leo grabbed him by the arms — hard — and shoved Donnie onto the bed.
“Ahh!” Donnie gasped, overwhelmed by the sudden jolt of pain as Leo’s grip wrenched his shoulder. “Leo, that hurts—”
“Are you seriously masturbating while injured?” Leo growled, shoving him further into the bed. “Well? Are you?”
Leo loomed over him, eyes dark, hips knocking harshly against Donnie’s own as he pinned him down — and really, there was nothing Donnie could have done differently even if he wanted to. Leo’s heavy weight and bruising grip was everything he had been fantasizing about for years.
Donnie moaned, jutting his hips into the friction of Leo’s own.
Leo stilled, snapping out of his anger in an instant. He stared down at Donnie in shock, eyes wide and cheeks becoming flushed as he realized what was going on.
“You…” Leo’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling as his eyes raked over Donnie’s bruised body. “You like this?”
Donnie bit his lip, nodded.
“Fuck, Dee,” Leo murmured hoarsely.
Leo let go of his injured arm, trailing his fingertips down Donnie’s plastron. He couldn’t help but whimper, the touch burning with sensitivity against his already frayed nerves.
Then Leo grasped the base of the dildo. Donnie’s breath stuttered. He looked into Leo’s eyes, head reeling as his twin stared back at him with heated fascination.
A twist of the wrist had Donnie mewling, and then Leo was fucking into him with vigor. Donnie couldn’t stay quiet if he wanted to now, moaning and sobbing as his pleasure mounted dizzyingly fast.
“Holy shit, Donnie,” Leo breathed above him. “Have you been holding back this whole time?”
Donnie could only cant his hips into Leo’s touch, chasing his building orgasm, blinded with his rising pleasure. Leo continued to whisper to him, voice fraying at the edges as Donnie grew louder. The sting of each thrust was marked in tandem with the delicious throb of pleasure in his core. Each one rocked Donnie on the sheets, jostling his arm, forcing his hip to ache and strain in position. He had come without dropping before, he knew he could do it, but it always took time. Patience, strategy. It was an edging method he had been using for a while now, not the kind of quick and fast sessions he used to sate his fetish when he was younger.
Under Leo’s harsh touch, Donnie unraveled in less than a minute.
The orgasm built up like a bomb about to explode, and when Leo’s buried the dildo to the hilt and ground it deeper, Donnie’s fuse reached its end in spectacular fashion. He seized from head to toe, jolting and choking on a scream as his orgasm hit. His arm and hip lit up in fiery agony, only compounding the rippling waves of pleasure and shivering heat that washed over him after. His vision whited and blurred with the intensity of it, and he was pretty sure he had kicked Leo accidentally if the slider’s startled curse was anything to go by.
And when those harsh hands came down to force him still against the sheets, Donnie jolted into the touch, reaching a second peak before the first had even finished.
“Oh fuck,” Leo’s voice reached him, sounding wrecked himself. “Oh my god.”
Donnie gasped and shuddered through the aftershocks, each throb of his injuries only making the pleasure last longer. Through the haze, he registered Leo pulling away from him, gently removing the dildo despite Donnie’s protesting whine.
“Shit, you’re bleeding,” Leo said softly. “You overdid it a bit, mi vida.”
The pet name had Donnie melting, his brain fogging over in a pleasant stupor now. He churred softly as Leo inspected him, those hands turning gentle and clinical as they looked over Donnie’s injuries. It felt nice, in an odd way. Donnie knew there would be hell to pay soon for his little stunt, for hiding his injuries and fucking himself despite them, for getting off on the pain. But for now, he basked in the warm pleasured feeling, delighting in the tingling pain over his scales with each reminder of his wounds.
“So you managed to hide a dislocated shoulder and a sprained hip,” Leo finally sighed. “And we tore something in your slit too. I’d apologize for that, but you don’t seem to mind.”
Donnie managed a pleased hum, to which Leo scoffed.
“Right. Okay.”
Leo paused, and Donnie opened his eyes to find his mate looking down at him with a blush and a frown. Suddenly, Donnie was rocked with a feeling of guilt, and he winced as the haze cleared away in an instant to sharp pain. His shoulder ached with vengeance and his hip felt nearly as bad now, not to mention his slit stung with the cum Donnie could feel dribbling out of him. All at once, he felt like shit.
“I’m really sorry, Leo,” Donnie whispered, finding his throat sore and swallowing through the pain. “Really really sorry.”
“Hey, it’s alright, Dee,” Leo assured weakly. “We’ll, uh, talk about this later. For now, let’s get you patched up.”
Donnie nodded, keeping his gaze averted as Leo helped him up. Shame burned through him as he was assisted to the bathroom and into the tub, cheeks on fire as Leo helped him through silently cleaning and patching up the injuries. Donnie didn’t even flinch as his shoulder was set back into its socket — that pain was nothing compared to the ache in his chest and the anxiety from Leo’s reaction. Anxiety from the fact that Leo knew.
No one was ever supposed to know that Donnie got off on pain, but now here Leo was, patching him up after a stupid lust-crazed session had driven Donnie to hide his injuries and cause more to get off.
If there was ever a time for his crossed wires to right themselves, it was now, when guilt kept him up at night dwelling on Leo’s silent departure and the looming talk he would need to have tomorrow.
Instead, all he could think about was the twist of Leo’s wrist as he fucked him, the hard grip of Leo’s hand on his injured arm, the way his twin had stared down at him darkly as he fucked him to completion.
Donnie was ashamed to admit he got off on the memory mere hours later, injuries still sore and slit still stinging.
He was ashamed, but he had never been so turned on in his life.