The Itinerant Lover

In which the brothers practice their sex roles, and Raphael makes a brief but impactive cameo.

Warning: Rated for general sexual nature, crude language, and reference to rape. All in the most lighthearted way possible.

"I honestly can't decide what I'm supposed to be for this orgy," Leonardo complained. He was trying to be a submissive, whimpering slave to the whims of his masterful lover, but this was hard due to the lack of an apparent lover. Then again, there was always the sadistic mastermind role to consider, and certainly he'd brought the blades for it, but one could hardly mix the two. The submissive role was much more common, but the mastermind sadist would pop up unexpectedly and ninjitsu training demanded he be prepared for every scenario. Hence the blinding indecision.

Donatello and Michelangelo lounged in the corner, looking bored. Their roles were pretty much predetermined unless they were completely alone with each other, and since their brothers were apparently present there was no need for either of them to pretend to masterdom. They were both wearing pretty masks with braided tails and fake eyelashes. Michelangelo adjusted the lace at the edge of his belt and surveyed the strange, feminine curves that were the result of a rigorous training program and a lot of estrogen supplements.

"I can't wait for someone to come and take me like a savage," he said, adding a childish tremble to his voice, "Boy, am I feeling waifish and delicate and ready to be deflowered like the innocent virgin that I am. Not that I'd want it."

"I wouldn't want it, either," Donatello added, paying close attention to the fabric of the couch and not looking at anyone else in the room. "It would be absolutely horrible for someone to come along and strip me of my virginity by force. Horrible. I'd have no choice but to scream out my pleasure in dulcet tones of lust."

They both gave Leonardo an expectant look.

"Look, guys," Leonardo said, "We all know that I'm only on top if Raph's not joining in, and we haven't actually received confirmation of that. I think he went out to order a milkshake with extra testosterone and Viagra, so while I'd love to ravish the both of you like a sex-crazed demon, we're going to have to be patient."

"Five more hours of paging through this goddamned bridal magazine," Michelangelo griped. "Do you know how long I've been looking through this thing? Because...I love the sparkly headdresses. And the gowns fill me with joy. Someday I would like to have my very own wedding gown. Also, I like candy and teddy bears and playing with my toys. Because I am five."

Donatello looked unsympathetic. He'd been practicing walking like a ballerina. It was harder than it looked.

"Where is Raph, anyway?" Michelangelo demanded, bouncing on the couch like a debutante, "I remember when rape sessions were predictable, okay? We'd have them for three hours with restroom breaks and some nice coffee at the end, and then handshakes all around and we'd go home. Now it's like we sit around for hours waiting on his ass because he doesn't feel inspired. What do I have to do to get him worked up into a berserker molesting rage? Kill a kitten?"

Donatello and Leonardo looked at him in shock.

"I am bored, guys," he complained. "And we ran out of bon-bons, like, three hours ago."

"You're slipping into normal speech patterns," Donatello said severely.

"Sorry," Michelangelo muttered, "Wow, I hope nobody enters this room and relieves me of my innocence tonight, in a few seconds, as quickly as possible. Because that would be completely awful and I don't know how I'd live unless my molester turned out to have a heart of gold under his rough exterior."

"Wherever that guy is, he had better damn well be ready in FIVE MINUTES, or sex roles and order be damned, I am going to get this angry seme business over with and give these guys some loving like they've never seen!" Leonardo raged, waving his fist aggressively.

"That was so manly," Donatello said flatly. "Oh, take me now."

Suddenly, the door exploded into a shower of splinters. They were treated to a glimpse of Raphael, standing there in a vision of raw and elemental masculine sexuality, muscles gleaming with manly sweat, eyes ferally gleaming with barely-disguised lust. Then there was an event of epic proportions. Raphael fell upon them like the wrath of extremely horny gods. He made sex into an extreme sport. His sexing was like a natural disaster. There was a FUCKQUAKE.

And then he was gone, presumably to find Casey and give him the same treatment.

"I think my braids are rumpled," Michelangelo said from where he was draped across the couch. "Can someone find my left eyelash?"

"I swear he keeps getting more insane every time we do this," Leonardo muttered.

Suddenly, someone's shellcel rang. Donatello picked it up, listening to the frantic babbling coming from it. His eye ridges jumped up in shock and he stared blankly at the ruined doorframe.

"He's off to rape CANADA," he said in tones of great import. For a moment, everyone pictured the horrible devastation that would be left in his wake. It was a solemn and gruesome image, the sort that left an awed and mournful silence in tribute of the suffering to come.

"Thank god," said Leonardo, who had no sense of drama, "That means I get my dignity back."

(We still have no report from our Canadian operatives. This is worrying.)