Put Me in My Place

Turtlecest, raphxdon – Someone's having a bad day…

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned below, unless Mirage Entertainment wants to give me the best birthday present EVER.

Warnings: If turtles touchin' each other isn't for you, then I don't suggest scrolling down. This is also my very first fanfiction, so don't be too cruel and I might write more.

Normally cool and collected, the purple clad turtle boiled secretly within his laboratory. The fishbowl screensaver his brother, Michelangelo, had downloaded beckoned for his attention once more, showing he had not touched his keyboard in the previous five minutes. He had too much to think about; too many memories from the day eating away at his brain. With an aggravated growl, he scared away the jolly fish swimming around on his monitor by flicking the mouse. Three previous attempts were unsuccessful. Perhaps the fourth would prove fruitful.

To his dismay, the fish swam back exactly five minutes later, except, it only felt like a few mere seconds as he had been engulfed in the tragedy of his day. What seemed so long ago, his family had possessed a brother naturally bearing the traits of a leader. Leonardo eagerly accepted this responsibility and did the job well. But it had been some time since the perfect son disappeared. His letters ceased, his training period was over, and he never returned home. This, of course, was the foundation of Donatello's problems.

Donatello was the meek and quiet brother that preferred his laboratory responsibilities over any duties Leonardo readily handled. When Leonardo first packed for his "short" journey to South America, the family had decided without a word that Donatello would be in charge in his absence. There was no discussion, it was just a fact. He dreaded the night his brother silently slipped out of their lair and lives. He was willing to shoulder the well being of his family as much as any of them were, but Leonardo had a special quality he simply lacked. After he sat down and thought about it, Donatello realized he was missing many of Leonardo's leadership qualities. When he watched Leonardo glide out the door without a single look back, he remembered thinking the next few months would be nothing short of a disaster.

Donatello was right, of course. He was always right. Sometimes, he really hated being right. At first, the family functioned what one could call normal without their eldest brother. They treated each other with the habitual respect they always had when Leonardo's vigilant eye was watching. His father and younger brother accepted him as a temporary replacement. Even Raphael, despite his obvious annoyance at being overlooked, showed some lost level of respect for the new authority. After all, it was only temporary, and if they were malicious to Donatello, they would eventually have to answer to Leonardo.

Donatello's brief tumble into leadership training twisted into an irreversible crash and burn when the letters stopped coming. The phony respect he received from the others faded to black as well. There was no use fearing the brother that no longer existed, and thus no retribution for disobeying his stand-in.

The weeks after he was scheduled to return turned into months, and those months evolved into a year. Still, there was no sign of the favorite son. Their father vocally forgave the eldest for his absence and focused his disappointment elsewhere. If Leonardo was still away, there had to be a grand explanation. But for poor Donatello, his lack of Leonardo's skills was open season for the hurt father. No matter how hard he tried, he could not be the son the father was missing. He never wanted to be.

"I am most disappointed in you, Donatello."

The words still rang in his ears from their earlier encounter. Though he had heard them many times in the past few months, they were particularly cruel this morning. Maybe because he stayed up too late nursing a sick Michelangelo back to decent health. Maybe because he drank too much caffeine, trying to stay alert during their morning training. Maybe because no matter hard he tried, he could not win the sparring matches between himself and his hotheaded brother. Maybe because when Raphael lost his temper for the fifth time that week, he had not been able to control the situation before the turtle trudged out of the lair.

The fish were back and Donatello did not have the heart to send them into oblivion again. He closed his eyes and mentally tried to push away a looming ache that would inevitably become a throbbing migraine. Donatello sighed, opening his eyes and watching his screen. He allowed the fish their victory dance: a swim back and forth and forth and back in an almost mesmerizing fashion.

After the practice, he was incredibly sore. The lack of rest was not helping, but the culprit was mainly the extra matches his father demanded of Raphael and him. Their father wanted him to win; to put Raphael in his place for being so angry about whatever pissed him off today; to prove one could not successfully battle with anger in their heart. Leonardo would have succeeded. But he was not Leonardo, and he could not beat Raphael. Their father's lesson failed because he failed.

Frankly, he had not succeeded at much of anything since Leonardo left. He rarely had time to work in his lab. If he did, his father would give him guilty looks and disappointed gazes. If he did not, he would be dealing with one of his brothers, who reminded him everyday he was nothing like the eldest. They rarely listened to him and lately, there was not a day on the calendar he did not want to lock them both in some deep, dark cellar where they could not cause trouble.

A door slammed shut upstairs and shook him from his thoughts once more. He involuntarily rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder. Raph was home. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped. That sore was not from sparring practice. He shivered at the thought. Donatello had followed Raphael after his master's harsh words. He did not expect to actually catch up to the hothead, but there he was, leaning against the sewer pipe under the manhole closest to the clan's topside garage.

Donatello offended ninjas everywhere when he noisily stomped to his brother's side. He started to feel the anger then. The swelling in the back of his throat and burning behind his eyes that warned him he had to maintain control. He swallowed his feelings and slowly breathed out. Raphael had not even looked towards him and he was only a few feet away. Finally, Donatello opted to speak.

"You…"

And that was all he was able to say before a strong hand covered his mouth and slammed his head into the ridged pipeline. "No, Donnie. You ain't comin' out here to lecture me, like ol' Fearless."

Donatello mumbled incoherently a few words behind his brother's hand but nothing audible made it through. He did not bother struggling, knowing his brother was the stronger of the pair. He just stared at him with sad eyes.

"If ya ain't out here to lecture, then whatya doin' here, Donnie?" Raphael let go of his brother's face with one hand, to squeeze his brother's shoulder with the other.

Raphael's hold was relentless, and Donatello narrowed his eyes momentarily from the rough display. "I… uh... well…" Donatello's mind blanked and he found himself staring into Raphael's threatening gaze like a deer in headlights. Why did he bother chasing after his brother?

Raphael smirked at his brother's intelligent response. "Well if you're dyin' to give that mouth of yours somethin' to do…" He forced the younger sibling with both arms now, down towards the sewer floor and onto his knees.

There relationship had not always been so… physical. Donatello might have smiled with fond memories, had his day been anything other than a nightmare. He remembered a time when they were actually pleasant to one another. They enjoyed each other's company and their physical trysts were more intimate. Now, everything was a competition. It was a competition because he was the "leader" and Raphael was not. It was a competition for dominance. It was the competition between Raph and Leo. Leonardo was gone. There was only Donatello. And Donatello always lost. It was not a competition at all.

Donatello's day, from that point, could not have gotten any worse, except somehow Michelangelo managed it. The youngest turtle was sick in bed, the same place he had left him. He was able to get soup down Michelangelo's throat, but eventually it came back up, all over his plastron. He cleaned off and got his younger brother to finally drift of to sleep. "Good night, Mikey." Donatello smiled down at the innocent face of his brother.

"I wish Leo was here." Donatello's smile faded.

Donatello's hands balled up into fists and he gritted his teeth. Anger was a foreign emotion for the usually sensible turtle, but this new reality was finally crawling under his skin. Leonardo was not coming back. This day, much like the days he experienced over the last year, was not going to suddenly disappear. He had patiently waited until something would change and take them all back to when they were happy. But nothing changed. The thin threaded tolerance splintered with each passing moment. It was inevitable it would snap and everything that tiny thread supported would crash down upon his shoulders.

Two fish swam merrily, passing one another, encircling and dancing. Donatello watched, submitting to their show. Submitting. Even an image loop placed carelessly on his computer defeated him. He was beaten by Little Nemo and Flounder, two random silly fish on his computer screen. The thread snapped.

It took every ounce of his self control not to scream at the top of his lungs. He opted to throw the keyboard instead, taking with it the mouse and a few unlucky gadgets still plugged into the U.S.B. Those damned fish were scared away again and his blank screen greeted him.

Donatello pushed himself away from his computer desk and allowed his rolling chair to knock over a stack of files clumsily placed behind him. Why could he never win? What was so wrong with him calling the shots for once? What stopped him from being the turtle they all wanted him to be after Leonardo's disappearance? He set out from his laboratory, maybe in search of these answers. Maybe just to get to his room and sleep it off. Maybe just to cause trouble for those that continuously caused him despair. He punched the power switch on the way out of his lab and the lights flickered off. He conquered two tantalizing fish and a lighting system. What else could he set forth to rule?

Donatello found himself outside his older brother's door. Before he could even second guess his actions, he had already turned the doorknob and shut the door behind him. His brother snored comfortably in his hammock and appeared to be asleep. For ninjas, though, Donatello had no way of telling if his presence was known. Not that he bothered to ponder on it as he stomped towards his sibling and put both hands around his neck.

"What tha…"

The snoring had stopped and two hands grabbed his own, but he was definitely at the advantage. Donatello was the weaker of the two, but he was still incredibly strong. He pulled his brother from his pleasant dreams and slammed him against the wall, still holding the sensitive area between the neck and shoulders. Donatello's bruising grip held the mildly struggling brother who was still stunned by his rude awakening. He then forcefully kissed Raphael, biting his lower lip and tasting blood. The session continued for a few more seconds, until rough hands clawed at Donatello's shoulders.

Donatello grabbed his brother's wrists and shoved them into the wall near Raphael's head. There was not a single glimpse of gentility in the measure. "Not tonight, Raph." Donatello growled as he finally stopped to catch his breath. He watched narrow eyes somehow grow even more dangerous.

Ignoring the threatening gaze, Donatello moved past his brother's mouth and pillaged his brother's deliciously sensitive skin on his throat. Raphael never stopped struggling, and Donatello secured the forceful position against the wall with his right leg against his brother's thigh. Each time Raphael seemed close to getting an upper hand, Donatello merely bit down harder and caused his brother to retract. From pain or pleasure, he was not sure.

Donatello finally lost his advantage as sleep and shock faded from Raphael's eyes. A lustful gaze and evil smirk caught his attention and shot a bolt of warning up his spine. Donatello's rage, the current source of his power, had also started to dwindle, and his mind was filling with thoughts and warnings and possibly regrets.

His face must have been an open book to Raphael, because the smirk shifted into an all-knowing sneer. Donatello's hold on his brother was fearfully ignored and Raphael easily pushed the younger sibling away. As he moved from the wall, Donatello's brain clicked back into action, but it was far too late. He knew he was going to lose. Again.

Sex put them on an uneven playing field; intellect versus brawn in a game that preyed upon coherent thought and intensified physical strength. It simply was not fair.

Author's Note: Eh. I ended it there because maybe I am still a bit shy to write a sex scene, at least one as violent as can be expected. I may or may not post it up later, depending on the deviant nature of my imagination. Hope it was not too painful to read. Don't flog me, it was my first attempt!

- oh, and I suppose Donatello might be somewhat out of character... but I neglected to warn against it in the beginning because that is kind of the point. o.o;