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Raph has wanted a tattoo since he was old enough to know what they were.
That happened at the ripe age of five, watching Space Heroes from over Leo’s shoulder (even though he was pretending not to). One of the new aliens the crew met in the episode was covered in tattoos, the dark marks running up and down his arms and even extending up his neck and down his entire torso. Most of the tattoos were cultural and symbolic for the alien’s heritage, telling stories of his people’s strife and victories in battle.
Little Raph was obsessed with how badass the tattoos made the alien look, how scary and powerful he seemed. He loved how that’s all anyone in the episode could focus on too, asking him about them over and over again. Raph thought the alien was the hottest thing ever (as a kid, he just assumed he’d been talking about the tattoos, but looking back that alien guy was probably his first sexual awakening).
Raph’s new primary activity in his free time switched from roughhousing with Mikey and Donnie to designing the most badass tattoo known to man. He wanted something that spoke for itself, showed how terrifying he was. Endless amounts of ideas ran through his little five year old mind, ranging from skulls to fire to skulls on fire. Snakes, eagles, dinosaurs, even a dramatic scene of a bloody battle; he wanted it all.
His designs weren’t limited by his lack of imagination or inability to draw; he was pretty skilled when it came to arts and crafts. He could rival even Mikey’s bright colors and imagination, and he let his abilities come out stronger than ever in his journey to design the pattern he wanted in his skin. He wanted something that was symbolic and meaningful, but he also wanted aspects to be random and contain no meaning at all except it was something he loved enough to get inked into his skin. A constant reminder of something he held most dear, especially if they wouldn’t be in his life forever.
He filled notebook after notebook with possible designs, he doodled on himself with a non-permanent marker, planning out where he wanted the ink to go. He even dreamed about tattoos, each dream different than the last.
It quickly became his life goal to get a tattoo, but it seemed like it was Splinter’s life goal to never let him get one. Raph had done his research; tattoos had been around in Japan for thousands of years, warriors would receive them after victory in battles. Splinter praised his drawings whenever Raph presented them, but he never approved his request - Raph begged more often than not, if he was swallowing his pride and being honest - to get one. Father never really explained why Raph couldn’t get one, but he had an abundance of reasons why not.
At first, Splinter used the excuse that they had no materials to properly insert the ink in his skin, and he sternly refused Raph’s original ideas. To try to use a bobby pin and pen ink (Raph’s original plans weren’t that great, alright?) was just asking for the wound to become infected and force Raph to lose a limb. Determined to show his father it could still be done, Raph went to his younger brother and asked if it was something he could do. Young Donnie was more ambitious and crazy than Raph, and he promised he could create a tattoo gun from scratch with his hands tied behind his back. Splinter said no anyway.
But Raph was a determined little son of a bitch, so he didn’t give up, no matter how many times he was refused.
At age seven, Splinter and Leo (because anything Raph wanted, Leo was immediately against) then tried to convince him that tattoos were permanent, they couldn’t be taken out in five years if Raph suddenly didn’t like it anymore. This is where Raph tried to assure them that if he created the design, he would love it forever. Or he would keep the tattoos to exclusively meaningful things, nothing extravagant or ridiculous. He could get a katana on his shoulder for Leo, a little science beaker on his pinky for Donnie, and Mikey’s favorite stuffed animal on his wrist. For Splinter, Raph could get a phrase in Japanese, or a block of cheese. Splinter didn’t find this amusing (Leo cracked a smile) and said no anyway.
Raph was still determined as hell, but after hearing the words ‘no, my son’ for two years in a row, things were starting to look pretty bleak. Raph had half a mind to pay Donnie in the rare candy he found in the sewer tunnels for the younger turtle to do it anyway, and just put it in a spot that Raph could easily cover. Like he’d promised, Donnie had built the machine, and it was a beautiful work of art, just sitting in a corner of young Donnie’s lab with no one to use it on.
Then, for Raph’s eighth birthday, Splinter relented a little bit, saying he could get the tattoo when he was older; eighteen maybe. To get something permanently etched in his skin with the innocence of an eight year old probably wouldn’t carry over into his teenage and adult years. If Raph picked out a design and stuck with it from now until his eighteenth birthday, he could get the tattoo.
It was the best birthday present Raph had ever gotten.
Raph spent the rest of his birthday creating a final draft of the tattoo he wanted, scraping copy after copy when it wasn’t exactly to his liking. Some of the designs he loved, but not for a tattoo. He used them as inspiration for his wall designs, painting a section and covering it with a poster so nobody would see it. Raph may have been a wizard at arts and crafts, but outside of his obsession with tattoo designing, he wasn’t ready for his family to know about it. He knew he’d be teased relentlessly for it, and that just wasn’t something he could take lying down.
He asked for Mikey’s help, the youngest brother bringing in his crayons to add color to the previously exclusive black design. He asked for Donnie’s advice, using the middle turtle’s computer to look up images of tattoos on the internet and see what other people had, what was popular and trendy. Donnie even let him use the tattoo pen on fruit skins, since it was a similar consistency to their own skin. Raph spent hours tattooing hearts and other funny designs into the orange and lemon peels, practicing for when he would finally get one of his own. He asked Leo for approval on his drafts, because Raph knew that Leo secretly wanted a tattoo as well, but something much more subtle than whatever Raph was planning. Raph was more than happy to bear the slight disappointment from Splitter at being the first son to disobey him with something so major if it meant Leo was more comfortable bending the rules, too.
After months of planning, Raph created the perfect final draft.
The final draft of Raph’s tattoo would extend across all of his body; up and down both forearms and to his shoulders, running down his legs all the way to the top of his feet. Everything was connected by thick, black lines, but would branch off in more intricate and detailed pieces. He originally wanted a full sleeve, but it was Leo who convinced him to go the more patchwork route so he could add things later if and when he wanted to. He still wanted little reminders of all his family members, but he wanted things for himself, too. Things that he loved and wanted to be reminded of, years from now when they were gone.
When April came into their lives, Raph added to his design. A bouquet of daisies; her favorite flower. He even let April see the final product, an honor only previously given to Leo. She said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
When Casey came into their lives, Raph had to restrain himself from redoing the entire tattoo in favor of making it all for Casey. Because that’s what friends did, right? They gave each other matching tattoos or got tattoos in honor of them? It was completely normal to want Casey’s favorite things and designs that matched the color of his eyes, right? In a friendly way? Right? Seriously, someone had to tell him if this was okay or not.
Point was, Raph stayed consistent in his tattoo’s design for years, never faltering or waivering. He had a secret countdown until his eighteenth birthday when the ink on the paper would finally be made permanent and stay with him forever. He’d ask Casey to do it, because he trusted his best friend more than anyone in the world. Donnie would supervise of course, make sure Casey didn’t draw a dick or something of the sort. Mikey begged to be allowed to draw something, and Raph was secretly considering it.
But fate had other plans.
After all his years of planning, he barely even noticed their eighteenth birthday passed, their lives too busy with trying to save the world again and again and again. He completely forgot all about the tattoo, except in their darkest moments when he needed a lifeline to stay sane. They were sent across galaxies, fought aliens and enemies that nearly destroyed their family.
Splinter died, thrown off the building right before his very eyes. Raph kept his pieces of the tattoo, even added a few components in his father’s memory. For a while, he almost scrapped the entire idea. Splinter had never wanted him to get the tattoo in the first place, he’d been against the idea from the start. To get it now almost felt like a betrayal of some kind, disobeying his father when he wasn’t around to say no. Leo, once again, drew him front the darkness and insisted that no, that was silly. Splinter had given Raph permission to get the tattoo for his eighteenth birthday if he stuck with the same idea since his eighth birthday, and Raph had done that. He’d kept up his end of the bargain; to go back on it now would hurt Splinter more than not if he was still alive.
Raph silently agreed.
Regardless, there still wasn’t any time to get the tattoo anyway. The world insisted on ending if the little family of mutants and freaks wasn’t holding it together through sheer force of will and determination. Leo’s broken body still flashed behind Raph’s eyelids when he tried to sleep. Casey, always throwing himself into battle headfirst made the terrapin throw his head into his pillow and scream because how could Casey be so goddamn stupid? Didn’t he realize he had people who loved him, wanted him to be safe and come home every day?
He and Mona Lisa started dating, and Raph added the words “My love” in her native language. He knew it was practically begging for the couple to break up if you got their name tattooed into your skin, but he still wanted a reminder of her. He was grateful he hadn’t gotten the tattoo when they broke up; he didn’t think he could handle it if he had to look at the writing every single day, a constant reminder of who wasn’t his love anymore. He removed the words from his design.
And then, epically, blissfully, finally, they saved the world. For good this time, the Kraang and Shredder finally kicked down so hard they stayed down, never to threaten them ever again.
But before they saved the world, he and Casey started dating. They spent everyday together, wrapped in a cocoon of their love where nothing could break through it, nothing could pull them apart. Casey got them a goddamn apartment that was a major Fixer-Upper. Casey called a professional to take a look at it and see what health violations their apartment had, and the list was extensive.
But Raph had six fingers and a dream, and Casey was by his side the entire journey. So was the rest of their family (partially because they wanted the space as their own too, partially because they were family and family helps with these kinds of things, and partially they wanted to stop walking in on Casey and Raph making out on the couch).
Construction began two months after they saved the world. Putting their apartment together took months of hard work; their blood, sweat and tears were engraved into the walls of this place.
No, literal blood sweat and tears. Raph could own up to the tears and sweat, but not the blood.
Some dumbass (Casey) cut his hand on the woodcutter - nothing serious or life threatening (so Raph had smacked him upside the head without guilt for giving him a heart attack) - leaving blood all over the wood pieces. Instead of washing them off, Casey insisted they looked metal as fuck and put them backwards into the wall so the blood couldn’t be seen, but it was there all the same. It gave Raph a little tickle inside, a warm and fuzzy feeling; this place was theirs, made permanent by the blood in the wall.
Casey brought him - in disguise - to Home Depot, where they argued over paint colors and what plants to get and what type of faucet they liked best like an old married couple. It made Raph’s heart swell three times the size, because he never thought he would have a love as comfortable as this one. A love where they argued over little things like tile colors and whether the entire apartment needed a theme or not.
They decided on a green for the kitchen with tan and gold accents. The counter was marble, because Casey was obsessed with the concept of marble countertops ever since he saw it in the house renovation shows they loved to curl up and watch. The bathroom was a pale purple, a neutral color with white appliances and cupboards. The guest bedroom they painted blue, furnished with a bed they managed to snag at Goodwill and a desk and drawers from a yard sale. The living room, painted a deep orange with a white accent wall, was furnished with a big L shaped couch and recliner they stole - if Leo asked, they were both donated from Casey’s aunt - from Ikea, because fuck the law. Casey worked at a mechanic’s shop, and fighting neighborhood crime didn’t pay well. They were broke ass bitches trying to make a living, and if that living involved stealing couches, who the fuck cared?
Their bedroom they painted black, and they bought red and white paint to make crazy designs with. No outlines, no borders to color inside. This was their bedroom, it needed to reflect them. Raph would dip the thickest brush in the red paint and pull back the bristles and let the droplets of paint fly, creating a scene that reminded him of the night sky. He painted a massive red moon on the ceiling with his brush. Casey would throw his arm back then launch it forward, letting the white paint twap against the walls and run down in rivets.
They got into many, many paint fights that doubled as additional painting, but Casey got paint in his ear one too many times to keep up the tradition. Business as usual from that moment on.
Their apartment was perfect and it was theirs.
That’s when he started thinking of tattoos again, and he realized he kept his promise to Splinter; he still wanted that exact same tattoo. With maybe a few special substitutions and subtractions, he still wanted it.
He told himself he’d wait until their apartment was finished; he’d already waited thirteen years, what was a few more months?
When the apartment was finished, he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that nothing was holding him back anymore. The world was saved, he was beyond the eighteen year old deadline Splinter had put on him, he had an amazing boyfriend in Casey and a place he could call his own. What was he waiting for?
Could it be, after all these years of waiting, that he didn’t actually want it anymore? No, no that couldn’t be. Raph would look at himself in the mirror and point, telling himself firmly to not be a pussy and to schedule the appointment with Donnie to finally start the process of putting ink into skin.
He craved it like he craved oxygen, so why couldn’t he do it?
Tattoos are permanent, my son. Splinter had said, all those years ago. You must be certain about it, there can be no doubt.
Raph wasn’t experiencing doubt, there was no fucking way. He and doubt weren’t on a first name basis, he wasn’t familiar with the feeling. He didn’t do doubt, he said fuck the nerves and did the scary shit with a twisted smile on his face.
There was a strange sense of comfort, he realized, in being forced to wait for the tattoo. It made him long for it desperately, giving him something to look forward to. It gave him hope in his darkest times, when the world almost ended time and time again. Before he had Casey, before his relationships with his family fully solidified and passed the point of childish squabbles, he had the tattoo. He wonders if Splinter did this on purpose, but there’s no way this father could have predicted every shitty thing that would happen to them before Raph’s eighteen birthday.
Essentially, the tattoo was a friend. A friend holding him close as the world caved in. A friend he never met in person; imaginary.
But now that he was about to meet this friend, he was scared. He didn’t know what to say or how to ask them to come into his home, into his skin. To become a part of him permanently. It felt too intimate all of a sudden, too restricting.
Rationally, Raph knew he was blowing all of this way out of proportion. He didn’t have to get the tattoo if he didn’t want it! He could wait another few years or months or days until his nerves died down. Nobody was forcing him to. But he really, really wanted it.
There was only one person who could talk him out of one of his little freakouts, and that was the man that he loved.
Casey was working late tonight, covering a double for his coworker at the shop who was sick. Raph had gotten back from patrolling the city about an hour ago, and while he normally waited for Casey so they could take their shower together, he’d been so nervous he’d done it the second he got home. Furiously scrubbing himself clean of the blood and dirt he’d picked up from tackling that one guy in the alley.
He turned on his favorite Disney movie Jump In for some distraction as he waited for Casey. Of course, he didn’t plan on watching any of it, but it’s the thought that counts.
Which is where he was now, waiting for his boyfriend to come back. He had no idea what he was even going to say, what he was even going to ask. How did someone bring up this topic? Gently, beating around the bush or going straight for it?
“Babe!” The door opens and smacks against the wall, a problem they really needed to fix before the plaster cracked. “I’m home!”
“In the room, dickwad.” Raph calls out, smiling despite himself. Casey appears in the doorway, his face covered in dirt and grime from working under cars all day. His overalls are equally mucked up, but that’s normal too.
Casey’s face brightens as he takes in Raph curled up in bed, wearing one of his sweatshirts. He immediately moves forward, looking like he’s about to jump on the bed to shower Raph with kisses before the terrapin holds up both hands to stop him.
“Nuh-uh! Clean yourself up babe, you reek and you’re filthy. You can have a kiss when you’re a clean, functioning man of society.” Raph scolds him, waving his hands when Casey tries to defy him and sit on the bed anyway. He changes tactics after a split second and moves to Raph’s side of the bed, trying to wrap his dirty, filthy arms around him in an embrace. Normally, Raph would be welcoming said hug, but not when his boyfriend smells like something crawled up his ass and died. “No! Get away from me, Jones!”
“You lived in a goddamn sewer for years, there’s no way I smell worse than anything from down there! You’re telling me I smell worse than Michelangelo?!” Casey cries, making a kissy face as he tries to push against Raph’s stiff arms holding him back. Raph is the stronger of the two, they both know it, but Casey isn’t above some dirty play. Moving incredibly fast, he lifts his hands and sticks them under Raph’s armpits, tickling him relentlessly. Raph immediately draws his arms back, trying to fight against the vicious onslaught befalling him.
Raph laughs even when his ribs and stomach hurt. Now that he has the upper hand, Casey leans in, pressing multiple butterfly kisses all across Raph’s face, sneaking in a few on his lips, too. “The sheets! The sheets!” Raph pulls away to wail as Casey presses his dirty clothes against their perfectly clean bed sheets. Raph had spent all fucking morning doing laundry, and now here Casey was, messing it all up!
Raph musters up all the strength and training he has to jump up and out of Casey’s arms, kicking back against the wall and somersaulting mid air over Casey’s head. His boyfriend turns around in alarm, a wide grin on his face.
“You know I love it when you play hard to get, Ellie.” Casey snickers, and Raph rolls his eyes, pointing to the master bathroom door.
The turtle steps closer to Casey, giving him a long kiss on the lips. Casey wraps his arms around his lower shell, dipping him a little. Raph loves to be dipped. He’s never said it and never will, but Casey just knows.
Raph pulls away, looking up at his boyfriend with a smirk. “Get yourself showered, asshole.” He orders. “Or else you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“It’s a comfortable couch,” Casey hums, but he presses one last kiss to Raph’s temple before he side steps him to grab his pjs and move into the bathroom to wash away all the grime and dirt of the workday.
“I only love you when you’re clean!” Raph calls through the closed door once he hears the shower start.
“We should move in together if you love me so much!” Casey calls back, a new joke of theirs. Raph cackles and flops down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he waits for Casey to be done in the shower. For some reason, Raph feels like he should be nervous for something, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what it was about.
He’s only left waiting for about fifteen minutes, typical shower length for Casey Jones. His boyfriend waltzes back into the room in his pjs; Iron Man long pants and a matching red shirt, because Casey is a child in a grown man’s body.
Raph loves him so much. Casey makes him see everything clearly, makes him see the world as a good place. Because the world has Casey Jones in it, and nothing is bad when Casey is around. He wants to remember that; forever and always.
“Will you give me my tattoo?”
Raph blurts out the words and immediately slaps both hands over his mouth, so unsure as to where that came from. All of his nervous emotions from a half hour ago come flooding back with twice the strength, twisting through Raph’s guts like a blade. He looks to Casey, whose mouth has fallen open in surprise.
Casey blinks, shaking his head a little. “Ellie, I -”
“No, I’m sorry, that was really stupid of me to ask. Fuck, I’m sorry -” Raph attempts to back track, scooting up on the bed so his shell is resting against the headboard. Casey immediately follows him, sitting down in front of the turtle. He clasps one of Raph’s hands in his own, trying to make eye contact as Raph looks away.
“Don’t say sorry babe, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” Casey insists, his tone soft and a little shaky. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you like that, I’m just really fucking honored you want me to be the one who gives you the tattoo. I know it’s really important to ya, and I know you’ve wanted this tattoo for years and all, I just kinda figured that Donnie would be the one to start it for you.”
Raph shakes his head, lifting his eyes to meet Casey’s. “I want you to do it,” He’s surprised in the complete lack of hesitance in his voice, only genuine intentions. “You’re important to me, Case. Like the tattoo is important to me. I want you to do it. I trust you.”
Casey visibly deflates, a wobbly smile coming to his face. He leans forward and gives Raph a kiss that can only be described as complete, fulfilling Raph in every single way.
“Do you wanna do it tonight?” Casey asks seriously. “We could go to the lair, otherwise I got a stick n’ poke kit -”
“A what?” Raph echoes, tilting his head. “Stick n’ poke?”
“Ya know,” Casey gestures vaguely with his hands, like he’s stabbing a knife into Raph’s forearm. “DIY tattoos?”
Raph blinks, absolutely dumbfounded. “Stick n’ poke.”
Casey nods, clearly not catching on to Raph’s bubbling rage. “Yup,” He pops the ‘p’ in the word. “That is what I said, babe.”
“DIY tattoos?” Raph feels his eye twitch.
Casey nods again. “Am I speaking in Spanish? I told you to tell me if I start drifting babe, you know I lose track sometimes.”
“You’re telling me,” Raph says slowly, and Casey’s eyes widen with every word. “I didn’t have to beg Donnie to make me a tattoo gun at seven fucking years old, when there was a perfectly easy and safe way to do it myself?!”
“I thought you knew about it!” Casey squeals when Raph reaches behind him and starts smacking him mercilessly with the first pillow he grabs. “I thought Splinter was making you be safe and use a real gun!”
“You asshole!” Raph recalls his first plan of using pen ink and a sterile safety pin. “You’re telling me my original plan was fucking okay?!”
“You wanted to use fuckin’ Bic Pen ink babe!” Casey defends, and the turtle knows it’s as stupid as it sounds.
“You bitch!” Raph isn’t really mad, nowhere near it, he just finds it funny to hit Casey with a pillow. “You never even told me you had it!”
“I got it when I was thirteen, never been used ‘cause I chickened out!”
That makes Raph pause, dropping the pillow and grabbing Casey’s shoulders so he’s upright and facing the turtle. “Chicken out? Of what?”
“Getting a tattoo, isn’t that obvious?” Casey questions back, arching a brow. “I was a little punk ass kid who wanted to stick it to my dad, but I was too pussy to actually do it, what about it?”
“So you were a wannabe punk ass kid, huh?” Raph grins wide, can’t help himself. “Never said it was a bad thing, babe. I've wanted my tattoo since I was five, remember? I got you beat if we’re comparing our levels of punk ass bitches when we were kids.”
The terrapin pauses, swallowing hard before he speaks. “I could give you one, too?” He’s not sure if that’s something Casey even wants. Whenever Raph would spend long hours talking about his own tattoo dreams, Casey never brought up anything of his own. Whenever Raph asked, Casey would direct the topic of conversation back to the turtle, saying he hadn’t really thought of a tattoo idea; the idea didn’t call to him.
But Casey’s gaze softens, and he gets a little twinkle in his eyes. “I’d like that.” He smiles, his feet tapping in excitement he cannot contain. “I’ve had something in mind for a little while now. Let me get my kit!”
Before Raph can demand what the something in mind is, Casey jumps up and runs away, presumably to find this kit Raph never knew existed.
It seems like Casey forgot he owned it too, because Raph can hear muffled cursing coming from the living room where their storage closet is. There’s a bunch of boxes in there filled with useless shit that they should probably donate, but they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.
“You okay, babe?” Raph calls out after he hears a crash and shouts. Didn’t really sound like pain, closer to surprise than anything. “We can just go to the lair, I don’t really mind. I’m sure Donnie’s probably up anyway, so is Mikey -”
Casey comes barging back into the room, holding a small cardboard box. “Got it!” His face drops for a second, turning sharply on his heel. “To the kitchen! We need a sterile environment!”
“The kitchen?!” Raph repeats, but he gets up and follows his boyfriend anyway. He stays back a small distance, watching as Casey takes out all of the materials and sets them on the counter. There’s an instruction manual (that Casey immediately tosses to the side because he’s too stubborn to ever use them, hence why putting together the bed frame took six hours), little packages that have the needle size written on them, and several bottles of colorful ink. A few alcohol swabs are also included, and Raph blanches.
“You got this shit when you were thirteen?”
“Yeah, the first time, why?”
“You’re twenty-three now, babe. This fucking shit’s ten years old. You sure it’s safe?”
Casey pauses, looking down at the packaging. He sucks in a deep breath, placing both hands on the countertop. “I have something to tell you. I lied, earlier.”
Can’t stop it, Raph’s heart plummets in his chest. He takes a startled step back, his fight or flight response kicking in. “What did you say?”
“Nothing bad!” Casey back tracks, turning to look at Raph with wide eyes. “Please babe, not like that. I was tellin’ the truth when I said I bought my first kit at thirteen, but that shit expired a long time ago, and I threw it out like a responsible young adult. This box,” Casey gestures with his thumb to the contents of the box. “I got last week.”
Raph blinks in surprise, his adrenaline levels slowly coming back down. “Last week.” Raph states, but his tone is questioning.
“Yeah,” Casey smiles. “It was meant to be a surprise for you, a little house warming gift.”
“We’ve been fully moved in for a few weeks.” Raph deadpans, but he’s scooted closer and is wrapping Casey in a fierce hug. Casey doesn’t have to explain anymore, because Raph’s already following where Casey is taking this.
Once again, Casey proves he’s the best fucking boyfriend in the entire fucking world.
“I love you, dickwad.” Raph whispers against Casey’s chest.
Casey kisses the top of his head. “I love you, too.” Keeping his body pressed against Raph’s, Casey turns a little so he can use both hands to begin setting up the equipment. He grabs the black ink and squirts a fair amount of liquid into the provided empty beaker, and takes the smallest needle out of its packaging.
“Do you want to do me first?” Casey grins as he asks, kissing the top of Raph’s nose. The turtle nods eagerly, pulling apart from Casey long enough to take off his sweatshirt. He leans on the counter on his left side, pointing with his right hand to a spot near his forearm.
“I want something there.” He grins, an overwhelming sensation gripping him. Not of fear or danger, but excitement. He’s finally going to get the thing he always wanted, and the man he loves is going to do it. “But I want you to pick it.”
Casey looks up at him in surprise, his eyes wide. “What? But what about your plan? Your big massive design?”
Raph shrugs. “I still want it, but I want my first tattoo to be something special, something from you.” He explains, his excitement not wavering or tapering down. “We can always use Donnie’s professional tattoo gun for my massive one. I think he’d kill me if he made that stupid thing at six years old to never use it except on orange peels.”
Casey puts down the needle, lifting both hands to hold Raph’s face as he crashes his mouth into the turtle’s. Raph grunts in surprise, but his eyes quickly flutter shut and he kisses his boyfriend right back.
Once Casey pulls away, he carefully takes an alcohol wipe and cleans the area Raph had pointed to, taking the time to properly ensure the skin is clean. He takes the needle in his right hand and grins up at Raph.
“Anything?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Something special that reminds you of me?”
Raph rolls his eyes. “Get your mind outta the fucking gutter, Jones. If you draw a fucking dick on my arm I’ll cut yours off with a butterknife.”
Casey snickers, but nods in understanding. “And you’re sure you want something…of me?”
Raph tilts his head. “‘Course I’m fucking sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
Casey shifts his weight from feet to feet. “Ya know, it’s bad luck and all to get tattoos with your partner. It’s practically askin’ to be broken up the week after.”
“Wait, we’re dating?” Raph mocks, his eyes going wide and his mouth forming an ‘o’. Casey groans and bows his head, but it brightens his mood just a little bit. “You’re telling me this isn’t some long term game of gay chicken?”
“I hate you so much.” Casey groans louder, and Raph kisses his still wet hair.
“You’re right, it’s probably not a great idea to get your name tattooed on me, but that’s not what I’m getting, am I?” Raph questions, and Casey shakes his head. “I’m getting something that reminds me of you, someone I love. And Casey,” Raph waits until Casey is looking at him. “If I was worried ‘bout us breaking up, I would’ve thought it would’ve been during the eight years of apocalyptic shit we’ve been through, not over a tattoo.”
Casey’s smile is soft, a little shy. Raph leans forward and nuzzles their noses together, letting a soft chirp fill the momentary silence between them.
To be honest, he’s known Casey’s been in it for the long haul since the human first laid eyes on him and didn’t run the other fucking direction.
Casey takes a deep breath in, bringing the needle close to Raph’s skin. “This might hurt just a little bit, okay babe?”
Raph nods. He knows his excitement will override any pain he feels at this moment. He closes his eyes as he says, “Tell me when you’re done, I want it to be a surprise.”
Casey presses a kiss to each one of Raph’s fingers since he can’t kiss the area he’s about to put ink into. A moment later, Raph feels the first prick of the needle into his skin, placing the ink underneath. The first poke is immediately followed by several more, and they don’t hurt so much as sting a little. He doesn’t know if that’s due to his thick skin or if Casey’s taking it easy, but he hopes it’s the former. He wants this shit to stick and never come out or fade.
The process takes time, but Raph is more than patient. Casey doesn’t initiate any conversation since he’s likely very focused on his task, so Raph doesn’t distract him.
About twenty minutes later, Casey whispers, “It’ll probably need to be done over in a few days once it fades a bit, but I put the first few layers in.” Raph’s eyes flutter open and he looks down at his forearm.
His forearm, where the first piece of his biggest dream lies, finally coming true.
And it looks better than he could have ever hoped.
It’s a hockey stick, fairly detailed considering Casey is using a single needle and black ink. There’s wrapping on the handle indicated by a few diagonal lines, and it kinda looks three dimensional from the shading Casey gave it.
Written on the handle are two words, “Eres amado” in Casey’s perfectly messy handwriting.
“You are loved,” Casey translates. “And in case you couldn’t tell, the hockey stick is to remind you of me.”
Raph looks up, a joke on the tip of his tongue, but it completely dies in favor of a choking sob, one he can’t stop or cover up with a cough. Casey is holding him close in an instant, being mindful of the arm he just put ink into. The human holds him close, whispering in Spanish into his ear to help him relax.
“Do you like it?” Casey asks sheepishly, his voice hesitant.
Raph pulls back, a wide yet wobbly smile coming to his face. “Do I like it. No, dipshit I love it! It’s fucking perfect.” Raph kisses Casey’s lips, then his cheeks, and his forehead and nose, Casey laughs at his boyfriend’s antics.
“I’m happy you love it,” Casey pulls back just long enough to throw his shirt over his head and put it on the island, leaning against the countertop now. He extends his forearm on the counter for Raph to use as his canvas. “Wanna give me a matching one?”
Raph carefully cleans off the needle, not wanting to get Casey infected with anything from his skin. “I thought you said you’d been thinking about something for a while?” He prompts, waiting for Casey to tell him what that something is.
Casey nods. “Yeah, I was going to ask you the same question you asked me earlier; if you wanted to give me one. I couldn’t give myself a tattoo as a little kid because I’m a fucking pussy -”
“You are not,” Raph interupts.
“-And am scared of needles.” Casey carries on as if Raph hadn’t spoken. “You have steady hands and aren’t afraid of shit, and I want my first tattoo to be from you, too.”
Raph tries and fails to keep the wide grin off his face. “We’re the weirdest motherfuckers around, huh?” He laughs, because it’s either that or have an existential crisis. “Giving each other tattoos in the kitchen of our first apartment.” Raph gestures vaguely at himself for extra emphasis.
“Dude, I’m the one dating a walking, talking turtle. We crossed weird a hundred miles ago. City sign says ‘come back never’.”
“Normal’s boring anyway,” Raph agrees, leaning down and looking at the area of skin Casey offered him. “Ready, baby?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. And if you hear me crying and wailing like a little bitch, just keep going, alright? I’m being dramatic.”
Raph chuckles again, carefully pressing the needle into skin. “Whatever you say, dickwad.”
“Jerkface.”
“Asshole.”
“Ellie.”
Raph has never done this before, but he finds it easier than he expected. He learns to stretch the skin carefully as much as he can with his free hand to help the needle go in faster and easier. He’s got an idea in mind, something similar but not exact to what Casey gave him. He works carefully; years upon years of ninja training are to thank for his steady hands and calm nerves. And despite what he threatens, Casey is a trooper the entire time, not even flinching once.
When Raph wraps it up a few minutes later, he wipes away the excess ink with the napkin and leans back to admire his handiwork. “Okay, you can look.”
Casey’s eyes fly open and he looks down at the new ink Raph just etched into his skin. Instead of a hockey stick, it’s a small elephant, pointed downward toward his wrist. Its tusk is held up in the air and curled back, its eye a single black dot in the center of its head. In the body of the animal is the symbol Ellie loves you In Raph’s god awful handwriting.
“Do you like it? It's an elephant, ‘cause ya know, Ellie.” Raph prods after Casey is dead silent for a few beats too long. Raph’s heart drops in his chest; Casey hates it and he’s just trying to figure out the nicest way to say it.
But Casey looks up at Raph, his smile so soft and pure in a way Raph has never seen before. He uses his free arm to pull Raph against him, looking between his eyes as he does. The terrapin waits for the human to cry, to scream and say he hates it more than anything he’s hated in his entire life, but that never comes.
Instead, Casey leans in close, his lips brushing against Raph’s softly as he whispers, “The only thing I’ve ever loved more than this tattoo is the turtle who gave it to me.”
And in that moment, Raph’s sure his heart stopped beating. His brain sure as hell stopped working, because he completely forgets all other necessary aspects of living. He forgets how to breathe, how to think. He forgets every single aspect of his ninja training up until that point. He forgets what he had for breakfast; he only remembers who he ate it with. The only essential thing to him, in this moment, is to kiss his boyfriend.
So he does.
He closes the small gap between them, locking his lips together with Casey’s in a way that would win the MTV Award for Best Kiss, in a way that sets off fireworks in his mind, in a way that seals off his heart for anyone else but this man before him. And Casey gives as good as he gets, careful so that their new matching tattoos don’t brush or touch anything.
When they pull apart, Raph can only whisper, “I love you,” loud enough for the man to hear.
Casey whispers back, “I love you too”, only for Raph’s ears.
The ink in his skin is a little itchy, it’s a little annoying for the first few days after he gets it. But the irritation and annoyance are all forgotten everytime he glances down at it.
When Raph was five years old, he wished for a tattoo. And after several apocalypses, countless near death experiences, one heart break and one beautiful and successful relationship later, he finally gets his wish.