The next night Raphael doesn't see her at the gym, an odd sense of disappointment hits his chest and he swallows it down. It is stupid for him to think that she would be back there; why would she? And why would he think that she would be up for training with him again anyway? What happened the other night was a fluke - a chance encounter unlikely to repeat itself. He should have expected that, he doubts that any girl - human, mutant, or otherwise - would want to spend the night working out with his ugly mug anyway. She doesn't even have to see it to decide she doesn't want to hang with him.

He snarls and with the streets emptier than he would like, he heads back down into the sewers where he belongs before any of his brothers wake up and notice his absence. He could spend the night in the dojo like everyone expects him to do, work out the muscles twitching in his arms.

He doesn't expect Leo to be waiting for him when he drags himself back home. His brother's silhouette is barely visible against the shadows.

"What, back so soon?"

Raphael groans, he knows that he should have at least worked out at the gym, even if she isn't there. But no, his angst ass just has to come back home. He shoves his way past Leo, "Not tonight, Leo."

"Okay, how about last night then," Leo pushes, "You really thought I wouldn't notice that you were gone. I just didn't think you'd be stupid enough to sneak back up to the surface two nights in a row."

"Give it a rest," Raphael's teeth are bared in a barely contained snarl, "So what if I went out? Big deal. We're big kids now, Leo, don't need you or anyone else telling us what to do."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," Leo's voice is strained as his eyes soften, "But it's my job to make sure everyone in this family is safe and I can't do that if I don't know where you are."

Raphael groans, "So what? You want a notice next time I sneak out, gee thanks Mom, but you don't have to worry about that anymore."

Raphael is already heading out of the dojo, ignoring the way that Leo tries to drag him back into the conversation. Fuck, why can't anything go his way tonight? He did hope, foolishly, that he could talk to that girl again, but now he can't even burn off his energy in his own fucking dojo?

The door to his room is only mildly slammed shut; enough to get his point across to Leo, but he doesn't want his other brothers waking up and joining the conversation. He takes off the mask, not even bothering to see where it lands when he tosses it across the small damp room.

The light bulb in his room flickers, swinging on a chain so low that he has to duck to avoid hitting it. At the very least, his room isn't as messy as Mikey's, and with a bed in the far corner and a large hammock, he likes to at least have this space to himself. Having far outgrown the bed and preferring the larger more comfortable hammock, he keeps the mattress for the nights where Casey ends up staying with them and on nights where April stays, it's easy enough to move out to the main area.

He may as well go to bed since it's obvious that he doesn't have anything better to do now. He starts to shift uncomfortably, groaning before he finally looks up at the ceiling in defeat. His body aches with pent up aggression with no outlet. His hand absently goes down to his crotch. Well almost no outlet. In a may as well moment, he starts to lazily pump his cock. Masturbation isn't anything new - and his entire family all have their own ways of giving a heads up so no one walks into anything that can't be unseen after the incident of Mikey using a pizza slice on his doorknob of all fucking things. But everyone's asleep now anyway and since Leo hasn't come in to force the rest of their conversation, he doubts that he will now that it's been a while.

When staring at the ceiling isn't enough, his eyes drift close. A thumb grazes against the tip of his cock, coaxing it to get harder in his palm. He has a stash of magazines hidden away for moments like this, but he doesn't feel like making the trip all the way across the room. Occasionally, he may steal Donnie's laptop for such an occasion - something they all have the habit of doing every now and then with an unspoken promise to not look at any bookmarked pages or the history.

But his imagination will do for tonight. His pumping starts into a slow rhythm as his mind drifts to something to get him going. It starts off simple enough, but when his hand starts to pump a bit faster, his mind conjures up an image of the girl he met the other night. He can practically see her now - thin, tight leggings hugging every bit of the curves that she tries to hide with that sweatshirt. Her rear end is on full display, delightfully, seemingly teasingly shaking as she bends over right in front of him. He can see the hints of a pantyline that tell him just enough about the type of underwear she wears.

A part of him should feel bad about this, especially since he doesn't even have a name, but if he's not even going to see her again anyway, what's the harm?

His hand starts to pump faster and his breathing becomes shallow and fast, letting out low groans as he thinks of the way her ass bounces in front of him. He thinks about what it would be like to just rip those leggings off, the thin fabric would be easy, to see her pussy barely hidden by her underwear, teasing him as she shakes her hips. Fuck, he could suffocate in that ass and he wouldn't mind one bit.

His mind wanders off as he feels the building in his gut. He can feel the precum just oozing out from the head of his cock. He could see his hands encasing her hips, fingers digging into her skin, hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his hand on her. He would hold that ass to him as tight as he could, eager to close the distance for his cock to ease into her entrance.

He doesn't get any further - his release hitting him hard as he spills into his palm.

"Oh shit."

"Oh shit."

Paige takes another hit - this one harder than the last. She can feel the pain splintering across her cheek and moves her tongue around her jaw to make sure none of her teeth are loose. She squares her feet. She plants her heels into the ground, refusing to fall. Her opponent this night is different. He lacks the usual wannabe gang tattoos and cockiness of most of the guys she's fought. She doesn't spot any tattoos on him at all actually, which is a bit of an oddity in of itself. Most of the folks here are inked in purple dragons or some other shit. Instead, he stands in a stance more expected of a martial artist than a street fighter, with a steely gaze barely visible against the cloth mask covering his face.

"Not tonight, motherfucker."

She's already lost one fight this week, she will not lose another.

With determination and a yell, Paige feigns a swing to the right. Expecting her, her opponent dodges to the left only for her to swing the other direction. Her hit lands, her opponent getting knocked back. Not giving them the chance to recover, she continues her onslaught. They're forced to try to protect their face as she aims another hard kick to their head. She turns with a start when they grab her leg before it lands. They twist hard, but she moves with them to land a hit with her other foot, landing gracefully with a twist. When they let go, she aims a hard punch to their throat before a hard swing to the back of their knees finally does them in.

The opponent is left on their knees, gasping for air. She looks to the referee, whose motioning for her to finish the job, a finger sliding across his neck. She makes a face, something turning in her gut.

The new management is definitely a lot more brutal than the last guy who owned the ring. She hasn't heard or seen the owner yet, but she's heard a few rumors.

She looks back toward the opponent, the symbol he had on his uniform is now too covered in dry blood to make it out; she didn't bother looking at it before, there's always some guys who come in with ridiculous costumes and uniforms like this is some sort of WWE event. He was pretty intimidating when they first started the fight, but now he looks somewhat pathetic.

He looks up at her with haunting eyes. As if he knows what she's supposed to do and has accepted his fate. He's just waiting for her to finish him off. She swallows thickly and delivers a non-fatal blow to his head to knock him out, while the crowd goes wild, she can see the unsatisfied look on the referee's face.

She swings herself out of the ring, taking the bottle of water handed to her by one of the staff. She knows that she should go see a medic, and probably earned herself an entire hospital visit with tonight's fight, but instead she stands steady as the referee heads straight for her.

"I didn't sign up to kill someone," Paige states simply, "The deal was, I come here to fight, people bet, and when I win, I get my part in the earnings. It's simple, direct, and doesn't involve overdoing it when they're already down."

"The new management doesn't think that will be enough," John states, looking as worn as she feels. "He wanted to amp the fights, and he wanted your fight to be the first one to set the record straight. You're one of our best, Miller. If you finished them off, everyone else would fall in line with the new rules pretty nicely," He pauses for a moment, then continues in a quiet voice, "It's my head on the line if you don't follow through."

Maybe it's the blood in her eyes, but when she squints she can see what looks like genuine fear in John's eyes. He sounds worried, more so than usual, with a quiver in his voice as his eyes are frantically scanning the crowd. What he's looking for, she's not sure. When she tries to find out, she doesn't see anything that stands out immediately. Maybe a few more goons than usual are around, ones that wear the same ridiculous uniform as the guy she beat in the ring. But there's nothing odd about a new gang coming in hoping that at least one of their guys will win.

"You're being dramatic," Paige rolls off his concern, a bit more worried to find out if she busted a rib rather than John's employment. "You've done this for what, twenty years now? You'll be fine, Johnny. Who knows? Since I didn't make the kill, maybe new management will change their mind."

"I don't know," John drawls out with uncertainty, "He doesn't seem the usual type."

"What type does he seem like," Paige raises an eyebrow questionably, but John doesn't answer her - instead, he seems to settle on leaving their conversation unfinished as he hurries off, looking over his shoulder often.