wow look ah such a feminist

Fanfiction: Boys Night Out

Genre: dramedy
Rating: PG-13, I guess?
Warnings: language, sexual references
Characters: Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Casey
Pairings: None

This humourous one-shot fits into my 2k7verse, which incorporates “the Utrom Arrival” as having occurred in 2011, meaning the turtles can now claim alien status and live openly amongst humans. This story takes place in early 2012.

This is a really different style for me! I hope it works.


“Bro!” Casey Jones’ voice echoed off brick walls as he clattered down the stairs and into the lair. “You ready to party?”

On the second level, Raphael emerged from his bedroom, zipping up the oversized leather jacket he wore. “Yeah, yeah,” he called out to Casey below. “Keep your fuckin’ shorts on.”

Casey grinned toothily as he gazed up to where Raphael strode the concourse around to the staircase, and then ran a hand back through his tangled hair. “You won’t be sayin’ that too often where we’re going tonight!”

Raphael slowed as he reached the bottom of the stairs, giving his friend a quizzical glare, brow ridges furrowed. “What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout, Jones?”

Casey grinned and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans, shook his hair back.  “Nah, c’mon. It’s a surprise.”

Raphael cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at the grinning vigilante. For the first time, he noticed Casey wasn’t wearing his usual grimy sweatpants and wifebeater. Casey’s jeans were clean and his button-down shirt had been pressed, the sleeves neatly rolled up halfway. Shit, the bonehead had even shaved.

Raphael finished tugging on his riding gloves, then let his arms dangle by his sides, fists loosely clenched. He looked Casey dead in the eye, who smirked and popped his gum.

“C’mon, Case. Where we goin’?”

“You’re gonna love it, man!”

Just tell me!” Quick-tempered as ever, Raphael practically barked these words at his beefy pal, his eyes bulging slightly behind his red mask. Casey held his hands up in mocking appeasement.

“Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “Sheesh!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully and shifted his weight, steel-capped boots scraping against the cement. “Bro, I have been waiting to take you to wunna these since you first got legal! Prepare yourself, man, because tonight is gonna blow your mind! Tonight, my little green buddy, you are in for the time of your life. Cos you and me, my friend, we - are going to - a  - strip club! Ow! Yeah!” Casey punched the air with a fist, then beamed expectantly at Raphael.

Raphael stood at the bottom of the stairs in his leathers, staring deadpan at Casey. Several long, silent moments passed in which the turtle glared at his human friend, expression unreadable, while Casey grinned and waited, thick eyebrows high on his tanned forehead.

Finally, Raphael moved. “No,” he said flatly, and turned to walk back up the stairs, stripping off his gloves as he did so.

Casey’s face fell and he started after him. “Wha? Huh? Hey Raph, what the hell, man? Why not?”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Raphael threw over his shoulder as he jammed his gloves into the pocket of his jacket, then furiously unzipped it. “I ain’t goin’ to a fuckin’ strip club, Casey.”

“But why not?” Casey sounded genuinely confused as he hurried up the stairs to catch up with Raphael. “You can go anywhere you like now! Ain’t nobody gonna stop you. And you’re a free man - so’m I for that matter!” he added pointedly. “Nobody to get in trouble with.” He reached out and laid a hand on Raphael’s shoulder only for the hot-headed turtle to violently shrug it off, turning to his friend with a scowl.

I ain’t fuckin’ goin’!” he bellowed, for once towering over Casey on the stairs.

Casey’s eyes widened and he backed down a step. “Woah. Okay, Raph. Take it easy, buddy. I thought you’d be into it.”

“I’m into it!”

Both Casey and Raphael’s heads swivelled to stare over the railing. In the middle of the lair, a raised platform served as the den, strewn with battered old couches and beanbags clustered around an entertainment system.  Michelangelo was leaning over the back of an over-stuffed red sofa, gazing up at them with wide blue eyes, his expression keen and hopeful.

He chuckled sheepishly, scratched the back of his head. “I’ll go with you, Casey. That’s cool, right?”

Casey blinked at him and turned on the stairs to amble back down. “You wanna go to a strip club, Mike? Really? But I thought you - uh - “

Michelangelo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Ugh! I told you guys - I swing both ways!” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “All ways. Anyway, yes, I most definitely want to go to a strip club! I have been wanting to go to a strip club literally since I was eleven years old and first saw that movie Striptease with Demi Moore and the boobaliciously beautiful Pandora Peaks and, not to forget, the uber hot and gifted dancer Rena Riffel - oh and how about Burt Reynolds in one of his most brilliant comic turns ever, I swear that movie is an underappreciated work of genius - but anyway! Hell yes, to a strip club! Are you kidding? I have been waiting my whole life for this moment! I have been imagining myself in a pulsing, dark-lit, sweaty room surrounded by butts and boobs and beautiful babes since I was old enough to have wet dreams! And I am here to tell you, Casey Jones, there is no way on this good green earth you are even gonna think about taking one of my bros to a strip club and not take me too! I’m in!”

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