The Heated Adventures of Dr. Spuck

It had been two months since they'd moved into this new space. The rooms were furnished with the old couches, end tables, boom boxes and exercise equipment. They'd even taken on some new items thanks to April visiting a second hand shop with Raph. And despite his adamant denial of picking the floral-patterned throw pillows, he certainly wouldn't let anyone near them except him and Master Splinter. The wiring had been completed throughout their new lair and Leonardo hadn't managed to destroy any other kitchen equipment to date. Donnie was feeling tired, but accomplished as he settled into his favorite chair in front of his custom-built laptop.

Finally, some me time, he thought with a smile.

He stretched his neck first to one side, then the other until a few pops registered and the tension eased. He hit a few buttons and opened the word processing program to the newest saved document. He scrolled to the end and then back up again, reading swiftly and with a careful eye, over the most recent entries. He muttered aloud a sentence or two. Shook his head. Deleted a string of words, then thinking back over what he'd done, changed his mind and hit 'undo'.

"Right. Dr. Spuck, what are we going to do with you?"

He stared at the screen. Glanced over his shoulder. All quiet on the underground front for a change. Mikey was consumed by a horror movie and Leo was working on the several Sunday cross-word puzzles and Raphael . . . he shrugged, probably working out. Satisfied that he actually, truly had some time to himself, he began typing. His fingers flew over the keyboard as the pieces of the plot came to him vividly in his mind's eye.

"Oh, my friend, what aren't we going to do?" Donnie murmured and chuckled darkly.

He lost track of time as he fell into the nuances of the story he was writing. He was neck deep in crafting the beginnings of a heated love scene when a hand on his shoulder startled him. He yelped. His instinctual reaction, to close the laptop, hindered by one large mitt.

"Raph, what are you – ?"

"Quiet," Raph rumbled, looming over him, one bent arm braced against the back of Donnie's chair, the other hand holding tight to the top of the laptop. "'M tryin' ta read somethin'."

To Donatello's horror and surprise, he watched his brother's amber eyes fluttered over the words he'd just written. Donnie's face shot straight from green to crimson to near purple to match his mask.

"He didn't know when, but somehow, impossible though it seemed, the lovely Communications Officer's Assistant, Amelia O'Neary had breached the threshold of his natural built-in defenses," Raph read aloud, frowning as he concentrated. His eyes flicked to Donnie then back to the screen. "He'd known better, he should have. Ta believe that someone as ex . . . extrinsic in his higher intellectual refinement and as superior in his ana . . . analytical cogitation as he could ever find someone who'd understand him . . . it was ludi . . . ludicrous in the extreme."

Raph blinked and looked at him again. "What is this? Stereo instructions?"

Donatello opened his mouth to retort, having formed a remark both dry and ingenious that would no doubt go over his brother's head, but Michelangelo's voice erupted from the opposite side of him. The tone full of thrilled amusement, "But here she was, standing before him in his private quarters in all her unveiled glory. Her auburn hair lay in layers upon her porcelain flesh. She was an image of perfection. No master painter nor gifted sculptor could ever dare to recreate such a vision. She was flawless. A secret dream revealed; an impossible dream made real."

Mikey started giggling as he continued to read. Donnie tried to push the laptop screen down, but Raphael's hand still anchored it in place. He tried to cover the screen with his hands but Raph nudged the chair hard and his hands fell away.

Mikey sniffed and went on, "Holy shit, there's more . . . And she had come here to offer herself to him. Unbelievably, she wanted to touch him in the most private, most provocative and most intimate place imaginable."

Mikey and Raph exchanged glances. A wry grin spreading over Raph's face as Mikey's eyes watered and his cheeks puffed from trying to contain his bubbling over of hilarity. "MMMwait for it," he barely gurgled, then, through his mad giggling, just managed to finish reading.

"His mind."

He staggered backwards and collapsed onto the floor, doubled over with laughter. Raphael straightened up and chuckled as Donnie slammed the laptop shut. He glared at Raphael then spun in his chair, nearly flinging his glasses from his flushed face. He pointed a finger at the door. "Get out," he growled.

"C'mon, Donnie. It wasn't that bad." Raph crossed his arms. "Was just gettin' to the good stuff."

Mikey peered up from between his elbows on the floor. "His . . . His mind," he gasped and peeled into a fresh bout of manic hysterics.

Donatello raised his burning face from the palm of one hand. "Why do my brothers have no concept of personal space?" he asked the room in general. Donatello stood up, fuming. He used his heel to push against Mikey's shell, knocking the rolling heap of guffaws to one side. He didn't stop for a minute; howling in laughter, rolling with the momentum to his side. He pounded the floor with one fist.

"His MIND!"

Donatello turned and got into Raphael's face. His voice was a barely contained growl. "I've explained this a hundred times. Unless someone is bleeding profusely, has bones protruding from their flesh, is on fire, or unless Master Splinter is caught in a . . . in a giant rat trap . . . when I'm in my lab you are not. Got that?"

Raph huffed. "Why you gotta be like that?"

"Like that . . . Like that?" Donatello asked, hoarsely repeating him and turning partially with his hands out in a helpless gesture. "Are you kidding me? Why? Why did you even come in here?"

Raph scratched at the side of his jaw and with his thumb indicated the woman standing in the doorway, hidden by his bulk. "April's here." He moved aside and April gave him a tentative smile and a small wave of her fingers.

Donatello's face turned several shades of colors before settling on a mottled mix of sickly green and mauve.

Mikey climbed from the floor, ran over to April, took both of her hands in his and started bouncing up and down, saying, "His mind! AHAHAHA! Holy crap! April, did you hear all of that?"

Her face shot to Donatello's but she didn't say a word. Unfortunately, he could tell by her look of pity and empathetic embarrassment, she had heard it. Probably all of it. Turtle luck holding true to course, yes, probably all - of - it. Raphael had the decency to clap him once on the shoulder.

"If ya wanna talk, later, I'll be in my room," he murmured and left. But not before snagging Mikey's mask ends and dragging him out of the lab. "C'mon, chuckles, Leo wanted snacks."

April watched them go and carefully shut the door behind them, blocking out Mikey's hollering in pretend pain and Leonardo's voice telling them to keep it down to a dull roar. Then asking where the popcorn machine went. She glanced at Donatello who remained, standing with his head turned, eyes closed, towards his computer.

"So," April started and shoved her hands in her hoodie's kangaroo pocket. She dipped her head, and frowned at the floor, pursing her lips. "Maybe I should go?"

Donatello took in a breath and opened his eyes. He might as well tell her the truth. No sense in trying to disguise what had so crudely been divulged. "It's just a hobby," he said quietly, cheeks still darkened.

She nodded. He rolled his eyes and laughed nervously. "I don't . . . take it seriously."

"What's that?"

He paused, wondering if he should stop while he was ahead. He waved at the computer. "Just some, uh, writing. Fanfiction. Sort of. Yes. It's fanfiction."

April tipped her head. "What does that mean?"

Donatello blinked and fixed his glasses. How to explain this without making himself sound more of a geek than he already was in her view? He started, swallowed and rolled his hands around, then sat in the chair. April stepped over to him.

"It's something some fans do. They write stories set in a particular universe." He glanced at her and clarified, "Like, for example, uh, that popular vampire show." He scrunched up his nose and April watched him, her smile deepening.

"Real Hemoglobin?"

Donnie snapped his fingers. "Exactly. So fans of Real Hemoglobin write stories featuring the characters from that series."

April slid closer to him. Donnie could smell the perfume she was wearing; something light, yet heady. She leaned on the edge of his desk. The closest she'd been to him since that day she rummaged through his mess of spilled devices and electronic pieces. Beneath the perfume, he could smell the light scent of her shampoo, something citrus and fresh. And under that . . . there was a more feminine note; earthy and compelling. His eyes glazed as he tried to pinpoint what it smelled like, exactly. Whatever it was, it was making his head spin. He nearly missed what she asked next.

"So, fans write in the hopes of getting jobs writing for the show?"

He cleared his throat and gave a short laugh. "N-No. Well, I'm sure some are hopeful, but that's not the, uh, the point. Mostly fans write to fill in gaps in the storylines, or to take the plotting to new levels, or just to have fun. There's a community forum for some of these franchises where people share their stories with other fans."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Why do you do it?"

Donnie huffed an uncomfortable laugh and gave her a half-shrug. "I dunno. Creative outlet?" Suddenly awash with fresh nervousness, he fidgeted. What would she think of him now? King of the Geeks? Lame-o Extraordinaire?

"Cool," she said simply. "You'll have to let me read it sometime."

"Uh," he responded and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Or not," she laughed. Her eyes grew wide then narrowed, "Ooh, wait a minute. Is it something naughty?" She pointed at him and opened her mouth in feigned horror. "Do you write kinky fanfiction, Mr. Hamato?" She stood up and took the back of his chair and mischievously spun it around. She stopped it by placing both her hands on either side of his shoulders. She shook her head, grinning, "Oh my. What would your father think of that? Now you have to let me read it. All of it."

Too stunned by her sudden closeness and thrown off by her playful ease, so unexpected, he could say nothing but stare into her eyes before dropping to gaze at her mouth, mere inches from his own. Her moistened lips still smiling, revealing a tiny chip that had been repaired with a filling approximately six years ago on her upper right incisor. Not wanting to intrude on this personal information, his eyes dropped even lower, inadvertantly to the opening of her v-neck hoodie. Beyond that was only bare freckled flesh and beyond that the swell . . . His body flushed, hot and hotter, the heat traveling down to accumulate sharply his groin. He crossed his arms low on his abdomen, terrified of any evidence of his arousal coming to her attention.

It was already established that she probably thought of him as a computer nerd, now also a fandom geek, the last thing he needed was for her to think of him as some crazed-stalker-pervert. His eyes pinched shut but not before he noted the pattern of peach-colored freckles resembled the constellation, Cygnus, drifting across the expanse of her chest and collar bone; though some of the lines drawn between them would not make the exact twenty-eight segments of the polygon. Were he to draw upon her skin with a washable felt tip marker . . . or whipped cream.

Had he stopped breathing?

Her hand on the side of his face had him jumping. "Donnie? Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said breathlessly, pressing himself into the back of his chair while at the same time trying not to make it seem as though he were trying to get away from her. Because more than anything he wanted to propel himself forward, to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close and count every freckle that graced her perfect loveliness. "Yes. I am perfectly fine."

She tilted her head, still too close and carefully took his glasses from his face.

"Oh, uh," he squirmed. This intimate gesture only caused his barely concealed erection to throb mightily.

"Your glasses are all fogged." She reached into her back pocket and produced a small micro-fiber cloth. She cleaned the lenses, breathed on them in such a way that his masculinity tried to twitch its way to freedom, and rubbed the cloth in one final sweep across the glass. She handed them back to him. Then handed him the cloth.

"That's why I came over."

She came over to clean his glasses? He stared at the cloth and his glasses as if he didn't know what they were. With the amount of blood being diverted to the southern reaches of his body, it made sense that his mental capabilities would be at a limited functionality.

"Well, Mikey invited me to watch the horror movie he had on and I remembered that I had picked up the micro-fiber cloth for you," she twisted around and pointed over her shoulder. "And some other stuff. General stuff. Just the necessities. Like tissues." She turned back to face him just as he replaced his glasses and adjusted them. She cocked her brow.

"Toilet tissue makes a fine substitute," he teased back, and part of his brain was jumping back in shock that not only had he recovered the ability to speak, but he was actually joking with her.

"And that would be fine, if there was any of that around here."

Donatello coughed into one fist. Then raised his head and his finger to offer an explanation.

April held up her hands, "Some things I don't need to know." She laughed and took a step back then bit the inside corner of her bottom lip. "But some things I'd like to."

Donatello perked up and blinked. "Whatever you want," he said, a little too breathlessly and internally chastised himself for it. Imbecile.

"Can I read your story?"

He sat back. Considered her offer. Was she serious? Or was this more mischief? "Well," he began.

She crossed her heart, "I promise I'll keep your pen name secret."

He laughed at that. "Oh, thanks. Don't want that getting around. What with all the fangirls I've got following my every post. I'd be inundated. We'd have to move again."

She giggled but then more hopefully asked, "So?"

He dropped his eyes. Feeling the mirth fade and being replaced with trepidation. Did he really want her to read his garbage? And what about the more, uh, heated scenes?

"I . . . I dunno."

"Please, please, please?"

He huffed out a laugh. He wanted to make a quip with heavy sexual innuendo about her begging but caught himself. What the hell was he thinking? He glanced down. Oh. Right. That was the wrong head thinking there.

"But only if you're comfortable."

He laughed again. She seemed genuinely interested. "Wow. I guess since you've made this such an easy decision." He glanced at the laptop, then back at her. "Okay." He rolled over and scribbled down his pen name, then handed her the paper, hesitating at the last second. "Uh," he trailed off. Unsure. "Sorry, I've never let anyone I actually know, well, not that there's many choices, but I mean, no one in the family . . . really . . . ever . . ."

She pinched the paper between her finger and thumb. "I promise I'll be gentle with it."

A shudder that he could not hide from her rocked him. The tone she'd just used. He knew she had not meant it in any way sexual or sensual but it seemed there was a particular glint to her eye that his body recognized while his mind scoffed at as ridiculous. Wasn't it? He blushed fiercely and looked away. Felt her eyes on him. Felt her smile, now with a coy edge to it, setting his throbbing body on fire. Oh god.

"Let me know what you think," he squeaked and had to clear his throat.

"Cross my heart," she said and he watched her finger press slowly into and down the fabric, highlighting the curve of her bra-less breast for one glorious second. He gulped and gripped the arm rests of his chair. She waved to him and was gone, leaving him reeling and breathless. Hard and aching. Confused and thrilled.

"She's really gonna read it," he said aloud smiling broadly. His face dropped. He spun around and opened the laptop and started furiously editing as fast as his fingers could type. "Oh god, she's really going to read it."

His eyes scanned as he scrolled through the story, locating every description of Amelia O'Neary that even remotely suggested April. Whether written purposely or subconsciously, it had to go. Luckily, Ms. O'Neary had only recently shown up on the spacecraft, Emprise to tempt the indomitable mind of Dr. Spuck. His finger flew to the delete button and he began furiously tapping it. He had approximately one hour before she got home and that was if she immediately started reading. He was sure he could have the entirety of his forty-seven chapters revised by then.

The lights winked and then went out. Donnie stared at the fading phosphorescence before his eyes before numbly turning in his chair to face the doorway to the rest of the lair.

"Sorry," Leo called from somewhere near the kitchen. "I think I may have, uh, done something to the pop-corn popper." A pause, then, "Can someone tell me where the fire extinguisher is? This outlet is on fire."

Donatello dropped his head in his hands. "I will not murder my brothers in their sleep. I will not murder my brothers in their sleep." He stood up and marched to the door, hollering, "I SWEAR I WILL MURDER THEM IN THEIR SLEEP."

A/N: This was too much fun to write.