Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10748568.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez, Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, sorta?, Worst_plot_holes_ever, I'm_not_sure_it_should_be
      labeled_porn_with_plot, Since_the_only_smut_might_be_like_at_the
      beginning_and_end_maybe, I_need_help
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-27 Updated: 2017-04-28 Chapters: 2/? Words: 3436
****** Ain't Love a Bitch ******
by Raccoonheck
Summary
     Nobody knows what the point of their brief capture was, but it's
     causing a lot more problems than previous attempts at subduing them.
Notes
     This was drawn really heavily from an rp with my mate. It's really
     dialogue-heavy here, but I hope to improve on that and plenty of
     other things in future chapters. Feedback would be appreciated!
***** That hole in the box is a hole in the plot *****
“Morty! Come gimme a hand!” Rick yells, and it’s a welcome break from Morty’s
afternoon of nothing. He really doesn’t have much else going on aside from
going on crazy, hellish adventures with his grandpa. He’s loaded up with a pile
of junk as soon as he enters the garage, watching rick tamper with his ship.
“What’s all this?” He asks.
“Just some shit. There we go. This baby’s gonna go a hell of a lot faster now.
Should be good for our next mission.” Rick replies, closing the hood and wiping
his hands on his lab coat.
“Where should I-”
“Stick it in a box, I don’t care.”
After Morty does as he’s told, he then has a gun thrusted into his hands.
“We’re getting into an area loaded with gromflomites, so try not to piss
yourself if we get surrounded.”
“I've never- I-I won’t piss myself!” Morty replies indignantly.
“If you say so.”
With that, they climb into the ship and set off on another hell-trip.
“I suspect you did something illegal?”
“No! But that’s about to change. We’re stealing some real important shit from
real important people, Morty. Might even kill some of ‘em.”
“O-oh jeez…” Will Morty ever get used to the idea of killing anything? Maybe,
but… He kind of hopes not. That’d be like part of his humanity dying. It’s the
one thing he would prefer to keep intact.
“It’s basically like the Royal Family of the planet, every bit as useless and
ornamental as the one back home. If there’s one thing I hate as much as the
government, it’s rich people who’re rich for no reason and don’t do shit.”
“Is that the only reason? They didn’t do some horrible thing. Jeez, Rick,
you’re kind of a tool.”
“Oh, I'm a tool? Well ex-fucking-cuse me for disliking people who essentially
get millions of dollars just for being related to some old lady who died years
ago. Guess all the people who work so hard for a living and suffer in poverty
don't matter to you, Morty.”
“O-okay, okay! But that doesn’t mean we should think about killing them!”
“All I'm saying is that they might get caught in the crossfire.”
“Mmm… I guess that’s okay.”
“Well, it’s not really up to you.”
“True…”
Things go silent from there, Rick going over the plan in his mind, and Morty
just imagining what they could possibly steal from alien royalty. It's not long
before they arrive at a strange lavish castle, going in through a window that
was conveniently open. He follows Rick silently, surprised that security isn’t
very tight. Along the way, what catches his eye but a particularly attractive
alien girl? She’s definitely not a gromflomite. What’s she doing there?
“We’re not trying to get caught here, just so you know. Fighting gromflomites
can be a real bitch.” Rick says, cutting into Morty’s thoughts. Evidently, the
boy wasn’t paying much attention- at least, that’s what Rick gathers from his
next outburst.
“H-hey Rick, look!” Morty says in a raised whisper, pointing out that strange
girl.
“Wow, Morty, a teenage girl. Amazing,” Rick says sarcastically.
“Caaaaaaan we save her?”
“Are you gonna try to get laid on every mission? Fine, you do that and I'll go
after the important shit.”
“G-gee, thanks Rick! For the record, I w-wasn’t trying to get laid!” Morty then
runs off to talk to her. He should probably be thinking more about this. Why
would a vulnerable princess be left alone there and seem to be unphased by the
sudden appearance of a stranger? None of the questions that should be on his
mind are there. He’s practically a slave to his own dick at this point. Rick
has long since walked off, no longer around to help the boy get his head on
straight.
“Who are you?” The girl asks, narrowing her eyes and scrutinizing Morty.
“U-uh… My grandpa and I are here to steal stuff, and I wanted to help you guys
get out so you don’t get caught in the crossfire between us and the guards. You
live here, I'm guessing…?”
“Oh, you’re with Rick? Perfect! Yeah, yeah. I live here. Look, I need a favor
from you.” She has an urgency in her voice that Morty doesn’t quite seem to
get.
“H-how did you know this...? A favor? Of course, anything!”
“We’re having some stupid dinner with big important assholes. What I need you
to do is pose as my date.”
“O-okay!” Morty says, turning red.
“Great. You should be able to get a good shot from the chandelier, I can
distract everyone long enough for you to climb up and take them out,” the girl
explains, then proceeds to bring up some holograms. “Here’s who you’re looking
for.”
“I-I… Wait, ‘shot’?” Morty feels like his head is spinning from the influx of
information.
“Yeah, don’t you have a gun?” This girl is losing more and more patience with
him by the minute, and he’s starting to feel that. Fortunately, the realization
is finally dawning on him.
“Ohhh no, I'm not getting involved in a bloodbath, no siree. I've already had
my fair share of those,” he says, stepping back.
“Rick promised me he’d get rid of them in exchange for an easy way in. Are you
telling me he isn’t holding up his end of the deal?”
“Wh-what? He didn’t tell me shit about this! Where the hell is he?! He just
said we were stealing stuff, and that some people might get caught in the
crossfire! Which I want to prevent, if possible!” Even as Morty yelled, the
girl was notifying her guards and he was being dragged off. He was eventually
joined by Rick, who looks almost worried for him. That expression is quickly
replaced by anger.
“Oh god, Morty, what did you do?!” He asked, though it was more of a rhetorical
question.
“I-I just wanted to not murder people for once, alright! Plus, you didn’t tell
me shit!” Morty yelled back.
“Well maybe I expected you to think with your brain instead of your dick for
once, but I guess it was my fault for asking too much of you! If you just came
with me instead of hoping to get laid, we wouldn't be in this mess!”
“Fuck you, she said shit that would've helped in your version of the mission!”
“And what was your version, getting up her skirt?”
“N-no! It was doing this with as few casualties as possible!”
“Oh, suuuuuuuure-” the argument is cut short when the two are unceremoniously
tossed into what is essentially a big metal box. The focus shifts from arguing
to escape. They can yell at each other once they’re out. The box is then filled
with some sort of gas- and a strong one at that. Rick barely has any time to
think before he’s fighting off sleep. Morty gives in almost immediately, caught
so off-guard. Rick follows suit eventually.
Morty wakes up in a corridor he vaguely recognizes as the one he was just in
before being dragged off. He doesn’t have very long to process this or wonder
how he got there before Rick is dragging him along.
“Come on Morty, hurry up!” The man urges. He’s not sure what the rush is. They
weren’t in such a rush before, were they? It’s not long before they stop at
their destination: a bedroom? Nothing in here looks all that valuable… the
bedding and decorations look luxurious, sure, but that wouldn’t even be low-
hanging fruit to Rick. Speaking of Rick, the man is looking at him with an
unusual hunger in his eyes. It’s a little offputting- enough to have Morty
backing up slowly. To make things worse, Rick approaches him just as slowly
until the back of his legs run into the mattress.
“R-rick?” He chokes out. His throat feels dry. He feels like a gazelle being
hunted down, and it’s a little terrifying, yet… Something in him is enjoying
this. Some part of his brain wants more, and it gets louder the more Rick looks
at him like that. Soon, the man’s hands are on his body. Morty slaps at them,
trying to crawl onto the bed because it’s the only direction he can really go,
but Rick perseveres.
“Come on, Morty. I know you want it,” Rick says gruffly. That little voice
screams “I do!” so loud, it’s as though it’s audible. Almost like Rick could
actually hear it, his lips curl into a smirk.
“We don’t have to follow any rules here, Morty. We’re alone here. We can do
whatever we want.” Rick punctuates this by nipping at Morty’s skin, making the
boy shudder underneath him.
“O-okay, Rick,” Morty replies. He’ll give in to the voice. He’s ready to let
Rick take him. Rick seems surprised that he gave in so easily; he’s surprised
himself as well. The man continues gently biting and sucking at any spot he can
reach, shifting Morty’s clothes. He’s littered with faint marks by the time
Rick has moved on to pulling his pants off. He stays there for a while, resting
his head on Morty’s thigh and looking up at him almost expectantly, as if he’s
waiting to be told what to do.
“G-go on,” Morty says. Rick does, after a while, biting on his inner thighs so
hard that it makes him scream out. His eyes widen when he realizes where they
are, Rick’s warning when they first arrived, and he clamps his mouth shut.
“It’s okay, baby. I wanna hear you scream,” Rick purrs as he gently pries
Morty’s hand away and holds it. Morty doesn’t stop any noises that slip past
his lips after that- he couldn't for the life of him. Everything Rick does just
pushes it out of him. He's left panting while the man leans back to admire his
work. Morty looks down to see his thighs covered in so many red and purple
marks, they almost take up the whole expanse of flesh. The thought that someone
could end up seeing these marks, especially the ones on his upper body, is
oddly enthralling. He sort of wishes he could show them off, let everyone know
that Rick Sanchez left them there.
Rick’s tongue is on his cock, finally, running along the length lazily. Morty
swears he heard a chuckle out of him. He might even protest about how “it’s
average, Rick!” but he’s far too busy whimpering and rolling his hips against
Rick’s tongue, desperate for more friction. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stay
there, but Morty feels a whole new sensation. Rick laps at his hole, causing
the boy to arch his back a bit, mostly out of surprise. He’d never done
anything like that, never even put his fingers there. He wasn’t expecting it to
feel so… awesome. He barely has time to even get used to that before Rick is
sliding one finger in, and then another. The sting makes him grit his teeth but
he doesn’t want this to end.
“You doing okay? This is gonna make it feel better, trust me,” Rick says
softly, in a way so comforting that Morty has to wonder if this is really
happening. He’s seeing white before he gets the chance to process that thought.
What in the hell was that? It happens a few more times, Morty crying out Rick’s
name. It’s insane. Indescribable. Morty notices the sting has gone away, and
almost instantly hears the sound of Rick’s zipper.
“You ready, Morty?
“Y-Yeah, please.” This is it. This is happening. Morty’s feeling an array of
things as Rick pushes into him carefully, as though he’s afraid he’ll break. He
really expected it to hurt more. Aside from that, he can’t believe this is his
first time. And it’s with a guy- his grandpa. He’d never have guessed he would
like this as much as he does. All his thoughts dissipate as Rick starts to
thrust, gradually picking up speed. Morty clings to him, his hands scrabble to
find purchase, managing to slip underneath Rick’s clothes and leave angry red
scratches in their wake. He’s seeing white again, like the whole room is
suddenly bathed in blinding light and god is this incredible. He has no idea
exactly what he’s screaming anymore, and he doesn’t care. As Rick slows down,
he’s vaguely aware of warm fluid all over him. Oh, right. Of course it’s gonna
leave a mess. The man wipes him up with something, possibly his coat, and then
scoops him up into his arms. He wouldn't have pegged Rick for a cuddler. Hm.
Morty has a lot of shit to think about after that- or he would if he hadn’t
just woken up. He wakes up groggy, Rick hovering over him, urging him to find a
weak spot in the box. He feels like got hit by a car. At this point, he wishes
that was more than just a feeling.
***** Let's get this Shame Ball rolling *****
Chapter Summary
     There's lots of feelings and most of them are self-loathing
It doesn’t take very long for Rick to wake up, which bears the question: what
the hell was the point. There must be effects that they can’t see or feel yet.
Either way, they obviously need to get out. He shakes Morty awake, urging him
to find any weak spots in the box. They will find a way out; this ain't Rick’s
first rodeo. He’s been trapped in a surprising amount of boxes throughout his
life. Morty wakes up groggily and reaches out toward him.
“You’re a little off-mark there, Morty,” Rick says, feeling around the box
himself. Morty continues trying to cling to him, trying to touch him, to the
point where Rick has to pry him off. Even so, he keeps trying. And trying. And
trying. It’s infuriating.
“What the hell?! What are you doing, we need to get out!”
“I mean… We’re alone here. I'm not ready to go,” Morty replies in a way that’s
so unlike himself, Rick wouldn't have believed it was him. Maybe this was the
intended effect? Some creepy Stockholm Syndrome-reminiscent will to stay
trapped? But maybe not, if the way Morty keeps trying to feel him up or shove
his hand down his pants is anything to go by. No, that makes him wish the gas
was just melting their organs, or something to that effect.
“Please, Rick. We can do it here, nobody can make us stop. You can stop
fighting it. I've noticed the way you look at me,” Morty says in what sounds
like a desperate attempt to sway him. It just seems… Off. Morty doesn’t
actually feel that way, and Rick knows it. It makes the man feel better, in a
sense, that it could never happen. Morty can’t get hurt. On the other hand, he
wants it. He really does- but like everything that’s made him the asshole he is
today, he avoids it. He knows it’s fucked up, that it could only be a
possibility in dreams. It’s then that he realizes this could be a dream. It’s
worth it to test that theory, at least. Anything to get away from having to
acknowledge one of his demons. He does what he can to force himself awake,
almost sure he was wrong until the very last moment.
He finally awakes with guilt pooling in his stomach and takes a moment to
swallow it down before waking Morty up, silently praying that it’s real this
time. He can’t handle another dream like that. Thankfully, upon waking up and
being instructed to find that weak spot, just as before, Morty complies
quietly. Rick is surprised that he doesn’t seem to need further instruction,
and even more surprised that he simply shoots at anything and everything on
their way out despite his earlier objective to avoid it. The man almost wants
to make some sort of sarcastic remark. He would if his brain weren't so stuck
on that stupid dream. Why is this, of all the tragedies and utter shit he’s
experienced, one of the things he has the most trouble ignoring?
Morty just sort of goes along with his instincts, unable to think. Whatever
just happened is too much to swallow right now. He’d never had dreams like that
about his grandpa. That’s not to say that the pining is new, he’s been wanting
Rick for a while now. He’s not sure which is worse: the fact that it was all a
dream, the fact that he truly believed it was real the whole time, or the fact
that he wished it was. He wishes for a lot of things right now. His head is
spinning so wildly that all he can do is follow Rick and shoot back at whatever
is after them, he can’t even be bothered to consider the immorality of that.
Are morals even a thing anymore? He seriously wants to be in a relationship
with his grandpa.
When they get into the ship and start speeding off, the tension is nearly
palpable. They each happen to wonder, briefly, what the other dreamed of. Morty
comes to the conclusion that Rick didn’t even fall asleep. He certainly didn’t
see him sleeping, and he has no way of telling how long he slept himself. Rick
must’ve just spend that entire time trying to wake him up. That thought is at
least better than even considering that Rick’s dream involved his grandson
forcing himself onto him. Rick figures that Morty dreamed about him doing
something horrible to him for things to be this awkward.
“I don’t know what that was back there, but… Just so you know, I wouldn't do
anything to hurt you directly,” Rick promises. He left some space there,
because he’ll well aware of how ridiculously dangerous these missions are.
Morty could get hurt at any time because of him, because he’d take him to the
wrong place at the wrong time and the wrong thing could happen. Hopefully it’s
enough for him to know that he’ll always be the one protecting him from as much
as he can, be it alien guards or a traumatizing failed relationship. He can’t
tell whether or not that helped any. The whole ride is completely silent from
that point on, Morty not even giving him a sign that he heard him. They both
tell themselves that getting rest will help, trying to believe that things will
go back to normal the next morning.
Morty walks right up to his room, peeling his clothes off in disgust. They’re
sweaty, and his boxers are stained with- ugh. He doesn’t even want to think
about it. He shoves them down at the very bottom of his hamper to save himself
from any reminders, as though he could stow the very memory itself out of sight
along with them. All he can do is change his clothes, lay in his bed, and stare
up at the ceiling. Why does this have to bother him so much? It’d be easier for
everyone if he could stop. Let it roll off his back, care about nothing- like
Rick. He thinks he might be starting to get it.
When Rick watches Morty walk off, still not a word uttered, he follows suit and
goes into his own room. He’ll deal with it the way he deals with everything:
several bottles of alcohol. It can’t erase his guilt, but it can at least
dilute it to the point where he feels mostly numb. When he’s finally reached
that nice level of warm nothingness, he allows Morty to take over his thoughts
once again. His hand drifts to his thighs as he thinks about the dream for the
millionth time, this time wondering how it would've gone if he gave Morty what
he wanted. If he had let the boy touch him… Or playfully refused to. Would be
have begged? He lingers on that thought while he fumbles with his zipper,
shoving his pants down almost desperately. Morty would have been desperate.
Rick imagines that the hand grasping his cock is Morty’s, just itching to get
as much as he can. He strokes slowly to savor it, though he can already feel
the climax building up. He imagines Morty marking him up like crazy, leaving
strings of bruises and such for the world to see. They would know Morty was
there, that he’s his. This is the thought that does it, that sends white
spraying over his knuckles. He makes a half-assed, drunken attempt to clean
himself up shortly before passing out. He can hate himself in the morning- and
boy, will he. Oh, will he hate himself for this.
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