Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3451229.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez_(Rick_and_Morty), Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Blow_Jobs, Robot_Sex, Rough_Sex, Dirty
      Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-28 Words: 12143
****** Every Which Way but Rick ******
by LadyDorian
Summary
     He wanted to protect the boy. He needed to find an outlet for his
     perversions. And this was the best he could come up with.
Notes
     Thanks to Rianko for the beta assistance.
     Now with art by the amazing futagogo!
                           Every Which Way but Rick
                          (a.k.a. Too Legit to Rick)
 
Rick Sanchez can think of a lot of phrases that describe him perfectly: Gifted
inventor, genius scientist, hardcore substance abuser, unrepentant asshole,
disgusting pervert—
Disgusting pervert. That’s the one that stays with him, turning over in his
mind as he finishes tightening the last screw on the robot’s chest access
panel.
“W-Well what the fuck am I—you got any—any other options?” he growls at the
hunk of metal before chucking the screwdriver over his shoulder. He doesn’t
care where it lands, figures it doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing in his room has
a proper place; just a general area where items tend to gather. He lost an
amnesia ray several months ago that he has yet to find. Fuck it, I’ll just
build another one, he thinks. A new invention for each of his whims.
Like this robot; it stands a little under five feet tall, its limbs and head
shaped like a human’s, but with no discernible facial features, save for a
circular mouth. The metal exterior is smooth and lustrous, a solid grey color,
and dotted with thousands of tiny holes, projectors the size of a pinhead. As
Rick takes a step back to admire his work, he notices an uncanny resemblance to
a genderless crash test dummy or department store mannequin, only this version
is better because—let’s face it—he’s Rick-fucking-Sanchez.
Rick fishes the flask out of his inside coat pocket and drains it in a single
gulp. Shit, how much time had he spent working on this thing? He wishes he’d
been drinking during most of it. He was too preoccupied with getting the holo-
chips aligned properly and testing the circuit connections and keeping Morty
out of his hair—
Morty.Rick laughs to himself at how naive Morty was to actually believe that he
was helping his grandfather carry a Class-III Chess-Playing Combat Droid out of
the garage and back to his room for “finishing touches.”
"H-H-How the fuck can you have a-a-a combat droid with—without any plasma
cannons? Huh, Morty?" Just thinking of the kid's wide-eyed gaze, that stupid
excited grin, makes Rick's throat burn. He rolls up his sleeve and squints
through the dim glow of the ceiling light, trying to pinpoint which of his
numerous watches tells Earth time. That one in the middle is showing a 2...or
maybe a 4...He gives another quick glance before deciding it's too late to go
raiding the liquor cabinet and risk waking the whole house. 
Rick begins to tear off the watches, simultaneously scanning the stacks of
boxes and the spaces between furniture for a renegade bottle. He finds one on
its side beneath the cot, grumbles when he picks it up and sees it's only about
a quarter full, then chugs the rest before letting it fall to the carpet with a
thud.
"Fuck it, leEEEUURRt's—let's fuckin' do this." Rick slides his finger into a
crevice at the junction where the robot's head meets the neck. After a brief
moment, he feels a click, followed by the familiar buzz of circuits coming to
life.
A burst of red illuminates the metal face; pixels congregate into a coherent
projection:
INITIALIZING...RUN PROGRAM?
Rick shrugs off his lab coat, tugs the shirt over his head next. Two kicks and
his shoes are off, and he sits down on the cot to remove his socks. Fingers
grasp at his belt, but he pauses, glances up at the glowing face. "Run program
'I love my grandkids.'" 
The light fades to black, and the robot signals its calculations with a series
of baritone beeps before its entire body shines with the desired holographic
simulation.
What stands in front of him now is the perfect likeness of his grandson.
Disgusting pervert. He wears it as an accomplishment, a shield against his
guilt.
Rick finishes unbuckling his belt, quickly pries open the front of his pants
and lets his fingers hover over the elastic of his underwear. Not too
fast...let's see what this bitch can do.
"Morty, you—you got too many clothes on. Take your shirt off."
With a blank expression and movements so fluid Rick swears he's got the real
thing in front of him, the Morty simulation reaches for the hem of his shirt
and drags his fingers upward. The yellow pixels move in sync, revealing pink
flesh beneath. When the shirt reaches the crest of Morty's collarbone, it
disappears completely, and the simulation is left standing there, bare from the
waist up.
Pretty damn good, Rick thinks, leaning back on the bed, parting his legs ever
so slightly as he snakes a hand into his briefs. He runs his palm down his
already stiff shaft, shivering at the barest touch. Long fingers pinch at
foreskin, dip lower to tease his slit. Shit, he's as wet as a bitch on prom
night. Can he really be this depraved? Rick doesn't answer his own thoughts; he
swirls his precome-slicked fingers around the head of his cock, urging the
robot on between heavy breaths.
“G-Good. Now take—lose the—the pants, Morty. Just t-take it all off.”
Slowly, the holographic jeans begin to slip down, the dark blue fading to
flesh-tint, reminding Rick of those mugs where the ladies' clothes would
disappear as soon as you poured your coffee. He licks his chapped lips. This is
one hell of a striptease. By the time the simulation is completely nude, Rick's
already pulled out his cock and started lazily stroking it.
“Fffuck...”
Rick can't take his eyes off the sight in front of him. He's seen Morty naked
enough times over the course of their adventures to know how accurate this
depiction is. He wishes the simulation was more than a flat projection, thinks
of how badly he wants to touch his grandson's dick, nuzzle his face in those
coarse brown curls. He could have made the thing a thousand times better, given
it soft skin, genitalia that would respond to his teasing fingers and tongue.
But of course, that would be a lot harder to explain away if his family were to
find it. The lock on his door was shoddy at best.
The nude Morty glows invitingly, blank eyes fixed on Rick's reclining form.
Rick picks up the pace, stroking himself faster, turned on by the fantasy in
his head. “Yeah...y-you love this, don't you, Morty? Love it how—when I—I put
on a show for you.” He groans, reaching lower to squeeze his balls. “You—you
get so hot just looking a-a-at my dick, don't you? Bet you think I-I-I'm some
kind of slut, huh?” Fingers trail along the underside of his cock; he swirls
the tips around the sticky head before bringing them to his lips. He even
shoots a seductive glance at the damn thing as he licks the salty film from his
skin. Fuck, he really is a sick old slut. But in this fantasy, so is his
grandson. His lustful thoughts drown out any shame, any echo of how disgusting
he must be to want this. He's too selfish to care, yet not selfish enough to
risk the alternative.
His hand slinks back down, pausing to play with a nipple, to lightly tug at his
pubic hair before once again settling around his cock. "You're the—the one, the
little whore, aren't you MoUUEERGHty? Y-Y-You take one look at your grandpa's
cock, a-and you can't get out of your clothes fast enough. You feel—should be
so embarrassed, Morty, with your dick hanging out, just—just begging me to fuck
you."
The robot responds well to his suggestions; a subtle blush darkens its face,
and it lowers its gaze, as self-conscious as a virgin. Rick congratulates
himself on the quality of his work, grinning and pumping himself faster. "Fuck,
yeah. T-Talk to me, Morty. Tell me how bad you want to—need me to make you
my—my bitch."
Morty opens his mouth to speak, his shy voice quivering. "W-W-Well, Rick...I-I-
I-I..." But the words that come out are too digital, nowhere near a match for
the sweet, blushing human face. It's about as sexy as an automated recording.
And it nearly makes Rick go soft.
"Shit!Deactivate voice chip!" He springs from the bed, crosses the room in two
long strides and begins to tear through the piles of junk on the floor. He
doesn't bother tucking his cock back into his pants, just keeps nudging it
aside until he finds what he's looking for.
Screwdriver in hand, Rick turns back to his sexbot, silently rooted in the same
spot, awaiting further instructions.  
"Hey, Morty, come 'ere." The machine stops just in front of him. With an aching
groan, Rick sinks onto his knees, creaking joints reminding him of his age. He
fishes for the switch beneath Morty's jaw, but stops just short of turning it
off. It's so warm.The lights burn with the heat of real flesh, and Rick can't
help but run his fingers along that warm, ivory neck. For a moment, he
considers fixing the thing while it's on, wonders what his odds of being
electrocuted are, of having his family find his corpse lying next to a sex
robot, stiff in more ways than one. He doesn't think too hard before letting
the screwdriver drop and wrapping both arms around the robot, caressing its
back, the globes of its ass. Lips press against its chest, licking, sucking the
area where the nipples should be. Rick kisses lower, tries to sink his teeth
into the soft stomach...
But of course he can't. Because this isn't his Morty.
They scrape against the metal beneath the glowing lights, the illusion in his
head screeching to a halt. The bumps and curves he was admiring not too long
ago become hard and angular. Rick knows this will never be real, but that
doesn't stop him from wanting it. He embraces the Morty-idol, buries his face
in its chest and closes his eyes with a solemn exhale.
He can't quite pinpoint the moment he became attracted to his grandson. He'd
been around other Ricks and Morties before, had never felt much more than
indifference towards either. But, slowly, he began to notice things about his
own Morty: The way his lips curled when he was upset, the blush across his
knuckles whenever he handed him one of his tools, even the curve of his back
beneath that ugly yellow shirt.
Rick didn't know when or why these feelings started, but they quickly
progressed from a vanilla desire to kiss and undress his grandson to daily
fantasies in which he'd pin the kid down and ram his cock into that tight
little ass as he begged for more. Jacking off became boring, and it didn't seem
worth the effort to flip through his trans-dimensional fuck-book for the odd
booty call. He was afraid his resolve would crumble, that the alcohol would
make him do something irreversible. Sure, he could have fucked other Morties,
if only to satisfy his urges. But that might have become too complicated,
involving human bodies and volatile emotions and the threat of more angry
doppelgangers coming to fuck with his life.
Rick didn't need that, but he wanted, spent all his life wanting and taking
things that weren't rightfully his. This ridiculous kid who'd stuck around
since the beginning, who'd been to hell and back with him, who'd threatened to
leave so many times yet never disappeared when the morning came—he wanted him
more than anything. It wouldn't have been hard; he had that amnesia ray, and a
mind control device or two. But he'd always stopped short of following through.
It wasn't like him to waffle, but he couldn't keep from obsessing over the
outcome. How much damage could Morty's mind bear before it broke?
Before hebroke? Would one taste be enough for Rick? Or would this initiate a
cruel pattern, growing more twisted with each cycle, until there was nothing
left to take, nothing to repair?
He wanted to protect the boy. He needed to find an outlet for his perversions.
And this was the best he could come up with.
Fuck it. As usual.
Rick pulls himself to his feet, gripping the shoulders of the robot for
support. There's a narrow gap of wall between two towers of boxes, and he eases
his back against it as he slides off both his pants and underwear. A clammy
hand grips the base of his cock; he meets the pixelated gaze of his creation,
exhaling, "Lick m-my—lick my balls, Morty."
Morty kneels, fingers lightly pressing into Rick's hips, inching closer until
Rick catches sight of that protruding tongue, tiny and pink. It's rough against
his skin at first, and Rick tenses, sucking in his breath. A few seconds later
and the lubrication system kicks in, the appendage now wet and slippery,
sliding around in a steady back-and-forth rhythm.
"Shit." It's too good. Rick grasps the back of its head, pulling it closer, its
tongue lapping at the underside of his balls, drowning them in synthetic
saliva. "Y-Yeah, that's fucking g-great, Morty." His voice comes out in a
throaty, labored rasp, but he can't stop talking—refuses to deviate from the
cheesy porn script in his head. “You—you like that—how that tastes, Morty?” He
rubs his dripping cock across the warm face, leaving behind a smear of precome.
“Why don't you suck my dick next, Morty? You'll l—it tastes even better than—”
Before he even finishes the sentence, Morty's mouth is on him, swallowing every
inch, sucking him down with just the right amount of pressure. It's so hot and
wet, and he's buried so deep...Rick's head lolls around, hits the wall with a
muted thump. He's finding it hard to stand; his knees are shaking from the
pleasure, the slow pumping around his length, the slip of the tongue around the
head each time its mouth reaches the tip. Of the vast variety of orifices
Rick's had the pleasure of sticking his cock inside, this has to be one of the
best. Then again, it wasbuilt by Rick-fucking-Sanchez.
“F-F-Fuck,” he grunts, “suck it, you fuck—you little whore, M-Morty. So
good—you fucking love this, don't you?” Rick wants more, wishes the voice chip
was working so he could hear Morty choking, moaning around his dick as he tries
to devour him.
“You—how long did—have you been dreaming about m—about sucking me off, Morty?”
The only response is the wet slapping of the robot's tongue against his flesh.
Rick is panting, afraid he might come just from all the dirty talk, from the
squelching of his dick inside the machine's mouth.
It can milk him dry for all he cares. He'll even help it out.
“M-Morty...ahh...give me your—your hand, Morty.” The robot is so short in
comparison, it's a stretch for him to reach far at all while still on his
knees, and Rick finds he has to hunch over in order to wrap his lips around the
fingers. His hand encircles the small wrist as he sucks two digits into his
mouth. The taste of metal is harsh against his tongue, lingering after he's
removed them, but he doesn't care; he's too absorbed in this charade. And he
sure as hell isn't stopping now. He gives a quick spit into its palm, admires
the glistening pool of saliva, before relaxing his grip and issuing the next
command:
“H-Here, Morty—take your aaaahh—” Rick can barely fit the words in between
moans, can't remember the last time he's felt this good, the last time he's had
this much trouble controlling his voice. “—t-take this hand, and—and stick your
fingers inside my ass, Morty.”
Rick closes his eyes as he feels the slippery hand glide between his thighs,
relaxes his stance as it slithers beneath his balls, then further back until
one of the fingers comes to rest against his hole. With a gentle push, it's
inside, the dull burn a welcoming sensation. Rick exhales a groan and leans
deeper into the wall, the surface cool against his shoulder blades.The
android's digit begins sliding in and out at a much slower pace than the one at
which it's sucking his dick. It's better than he could have hoped for, though
the fingers aren't nearly long enough to reach his favorite spot. Of course, if
he wanted something bigger than his grandson's, he would have just used his
own.
“Good—that's good, Morty. Put another in, just—really slide 'em up
there—ahhhhhn— wriggle 'em around a—a bit.” The second stretches him further,
really makes him moan. He has to clasp a hand over his mouth to stifle himself.
Fuck, this thing is amazing.Rick wipes at the stray saliva dripping down his
chin, wondering if he can work the whole fist inside before he comes. He's too
close, though; he won't last much longer, not with the tongue twisting around
his cock, the fingers spreading him open. He figures he may as well ride this
bitch for all it's worth.
His hands grip the back of the robot's head, tugging at the illusion of hair.
“FFFFFFuck, you're gonna make me come—y-you keep that up—fuck,you want that,
don't you? You f-filthy cunt, you—you can't wait to drink my jizz. Am I—isn't
that right, Morty?”
“Oooooooh my god, Jesus FUCK, what the fuck, Rick?!”
It takes him a moment to realize that something's amiss.
Busted voice chip aside, the robot wasn't programmed to form full sentences
while simultaneously sucking dick. Rick cracks an eyelid, seconds before the
other shoots open in complete disbelief.
Standing there with his back against the door is hisMorty, gaze fixed on the
lookalike gobbling down his grandfather's cock. The expression on his face
morphs from horrified to enraged and back again.
Rick isn't sure this is happening. He must be dreaming, probably passed out
from the intense orgasm he was on the cusp of having. Dream or not, he figures
he should say something, but the first thought that comes to mind is: “Christ,
Morty! Y-You're gonna wake the whole house!”
Shit. The instant those words leave his lips, Rick knows he's fucked up. He can
see the twitch in Morty's eyebrows, the clenched fists digging into the sides
of his boxers as he storms over to where Rick is standing. Rick immediately
enters damage control mode.
“I-I can explain, Morty.”
But Morty doesn't want an explanation. With an angry squeal, he slams his hands
down on the robot's shoulders and pulls hard. The heavy lunk barely budges, but
that doesn't stop Morty from trying, kicking at the carpet with his heels, the
rage dribbling out of him in sniffles and whines. Rick had almost forgotten the
thing had still been sucking and fingering him the whole time.
“End program,” he rasps. The lights quickly fade, and the android goes limp;
Morty tears it from his body with the next tug, leaving Rick cringing at the
sudden separation, the absence of digits inside him, the rush of cool air over
his skin. He grabs at his various parts to make sure they're still intact.
“Are—are you kidding me, Morty? You could have—”
“—Chess robot, huh?” Morty prods Rick's brilliant invention with a bare foot,
not quite strong enough to move it from its comfortable heap on the floor
beside him. He glares back up at Rick. “Y-Y-Y-You think I-I'm stupid, Rick?”
Rick isn't sure how he should answer. He isn't even sure if he should try to
cover up his actions, or at the very least his own naked body. “M-Morty...” his
breath is still trembling, pulse racing from earlier, “I-I-I-It's not what it
looks like.”
“Well w-w-w-what—what is it, then?” He gets up on his tiptoes, trying to get as
close to Rick's face as possible. He's still at least a foot too short, but
Rick catches the heat of his words, and for once he feels intimidated. “I-I-Is
this what—y-y-y-you wanna do this with—this kind of stuff to me? Huh, Rick?”
“What? Morty, I told you—” he hisses, holding a finger to his lips—the
universal symbol for Keep it the fuck down. Morty slaps it away.
“Or—or—or is this just another thing you do to—to numb yourself?”
“I said it's not like that, Morty—”
“What, y-y-you couldn't find a-any other Morties to fuck?”
That's what sets Rick off. He puts his hand on Morty's chest and shoves; the
kid stumbles backwards, trips over one of the robot's outstretched limbs, but
is right back on his feet, meeting Rick's anger head-on. “It's none of—none of
your business who I fuck, Morty. Maybe i-i-i-if—if you didn't bu—barge into
people's rooms without knocking, you wouldn't see s-something you didn't like.”
“Don't you dare try t-t-to pin this on—on me, Rick! You—you think you can j-
just do whatever you want? Just build some—some—some Mortybotyou can fuck, a-
and—without even thinking t-t-to ask me first?”
What?Rick isn't sure of what he's hearing. “Morty, what the hell—”
“Y-Y-You should have just asked m-m-me...” Morty mumbles, voice thick with
tears. “J-Just fucking...”
He starts to fit the pieces together as he watches Morty drop to his knees,
sees his hands hovering unsteadily over his hips, before finally taking hold.
Oh. Oh shit.“M-Mor—Morty, what are you doing, Morty?”
“Shut up, Rick.” His breath dances across Rick's cock, hot and enticing. Rick
can feel his body tensing, yet can't tear his eyes away as Morty presses his
lips to the soft skin, plants a line of kisses along his semi-flaccid length.
This is bad. Rick can barely hear his own thoughts over the pounding in his
chest. He tries to speak—a What the fuck, Morty? or even just a simple No—but
all that comes out is a heady grunt, his senses overpowered by the electric
touch of those moist lips on his cock, making him harder with each kiss.
And he can't stop it. Doesn't really want to stop it, though the fragments of
his conscience urge him otherwise, have his nails feebly clawing at the wall
behind him, as if he could tunnel his way out of this mess. It's impossible, of
course—Rick's genius brain knows that—but he can't accept the alternative,
can't stand feeling so helpless, watching in a daze as Morty pulls back and
sticks out his tongue. The quick sweep across the head has his entire cock
twitching, Morty tentatively flicking the tip again and again, like he's
testing the waters, trying to get a taste for him.
Rick's fully erect again, and growing impatient. All his reasoning has fled to
his dick, and right now it's telling him it wants more. The hot slide of
Morty's tongue down the underside of his shaft, the curl of it beneath his
balls, the gentle lapping at wrinkled flesh—it's all a fucking tease. He tears
his palms from the wall, threads a sweaty, trembling hand through Morty's hair.
Push him away! You can end this before…
Rick silences his thoughts with a light pull on the kid's locks, tipping
Morty's head back just enough so that he can gaze into his eyes. A whimper
catches in Morty's throat, but he still clings to Rick's bony hips. The blush
across his cheeks, the tiny pants that escape his mouth are far too much for
Rick.
To hell with it.If he's going to succumb to temptation, he may as well enjoy
it.
The other hand moves to encircle the base of his cock, steering it towards
Morty's parted lips while drawing him forward. He's met with no resistance,
Morty relaxing his jaw to allow the head to slip inside, seemingly content with
letting Rick fill him to the point where he begins to choke. Rick eases his
grip, runs his fingers through Morty's hair, enjoying the blissful warmth as
the kid begins to work up a rhythm, a slow in-and-out that makes his toes curl.
He cups Morty's face, traces a line to the back of his neck and tries his best
not to force himself deeper, fights the urge to cram every inch inside. But his
hips move of their own accord, rocking forward, pushing Morty to his limits.
Though gagging and moaning, Morty doesn't try to pull away; he holds tighter,
fingertips bruising the crest of Rick's hips, lips sealed around his cock,
sucking harder, minding his teeth, though the occasional scrape sends a jolt of
delicious pain down Rick's spine. It's far better than Rick ever imagined. It's
almost as if Morty is determined to drive him over the edge.
And it's working. Rick is overwhelmed by so much moisture, by the whirlpool
churning around his dick, the sweat dripping from every fold of skin, the way
his hand slides against the nape of Morty's neck—he's practically swimming in
all of it.
He can't control his breathing, can't keep silent any longer; the words that
drip from his lips are weighted with lust, so heavy he thinks they might crush
the boy below him. “Y-Y-You—you suck dick like a-a-a champ, Morty. Th-the hell
you learn that?” It's the closest to a compliment he can muster, though it
sounds angrier than intended. Rick can't be bothered to worry about
misinterpretations; he's too focused on keeping his eyes open, enjoying the
sight of this stupid kid blushing around his grandfather's cock.
Morty pulls back with enough force that Rick pops out of his mouth completely,
leaving Rick acutely aware of how cold the room feels. Thankfully, Morty
quickly wraps a hand around him, fingers tangling in unkempt curls as he begins
to tug. “I've seen videos, Rick,” he sneers, catching Rick's gaze. “Y-Y-You
know, on the Internet.”
Rick has half a mind to slap the sass out of the little bastard, but Morty's
smooth hands are doing such a good job of playing with his cock, he figures it
wouldn't hurt to let it slide just this once. Morty gives another firm stroke
before placing moist lips to the underside and sucking the delicate flesh right
above Rick's balls, earning a drawn-out groan from the older man.
“Y'know, Rick,” he begins, pulling back, thumb tracing circles where his lips
had just been, teasing incessantly with a hesitant drag of foreskin, “I-I-I'm
not s-some innocent l-l-little kid.”
Despite his shy stutter, Morty spits his words with such finality that Rick
wonders how long he's thought of doing this. Of them doing this. Rick's hands
twitch, clasping and releasing the yellow material at his grandson's shoulders.
He wants to do so much more, wants all of him right now. But Morty's moving
achingly slowly, fingers slithering down the inside of Rick's thighs, exploring
each inch at a snail's pace. He pouts his lips, barely touching the slick head
of Rick's cock, so close Rick can almost feel their electrons repelling each
other.
“I-I'm not as—as stupid a-as you think, Rick. I-I-I knowa—a few things.”
Enough of this shit.Rick's done playing putty in this brat's hands. He yanks
hard, lifting Morty up by the collar of his shirt, pulling a whine from the kid
as he angles his neck back to avoid colliding with Rick's forehead.
"Th-that so, Morty? Did you know I-I-I was gonna fuck th-that th—robot? Ram my
cock in it 'til—un-until it broke?" He tips his head to the thing on the floor,
gives Morty a shake for emphasis. "Y-Your porn videos te—teach you that,
Morty?"
He can sense Morty beginning to unravel beneath his glare; quivering lips seem
like they want to speak, but can't form the words, eyes can't blink fast enough
to hide the scared tears rising to the surface. His arms don't even try to push
Rick away, feet swaying lifelessly against the taller man's legs. All of him
just hangs there, and whatever point he had been trying to make with his show
of bravado and feigned sexual experience is lost to Rick.
Kid, you're too young to even try playing these games with me.
"S-Something else you don't know, Morty," he hisses, watching Morty flinch at
the alcohol-laden stench of his breath. "I got s-st-stamina, Morty. I could go
at it all nigh—all morning."
The dejected look on his face tells Rick that his words have sunk in. Morty
stares at the withered hands twisted in the fabric around his neck, his frown
reflecting the nervous apprehension that Rick knows far too well. Yet for all
his awkwardness and timidity, Morty still manages to surprise him sometimes,
making him question all he's come to expect whenever those narrowed eyes hold
his gaze, burning with boldness and determination. And Rick is nowhere near
prepared for what the brat spits out next.
"Prove it."
"The fuck did you just say?" Rick's hands clench tighter, but Morty isn't
deterred, doesn't let the choking pressure silence him.
"I-I-I'm callin' y-your bluff, Rick. Y-Y-You—usually by now, you'd be p-passed
out i-in—in a puddle of drool and—and whiskey in th-the middle of m-m-my room."
At that moment, Rick isn't sure if he wants to throttle the kid or fuck him
senseless, thinks he might have to do both. There's no denying how turned on
this irritating little game is making him, rubbing him just the right way, cock
bobbing excitedly against the hem of Morty's shirt—rough and enticing.
"Y-You wanna test me, Morty?" He growls, teeth bared in a show of dominance,
for whatever the fuck that's worth. "I-I don't—don't care who or what it is,
but I-I'm fucking the life o-out of somethingbefore breakfast. It—it could be
a-a-a sexbot, or—" Here he pauses to lick his lips, turning the words and
thoughts over in his head. "You want me to—to do that to you i-instead, Morty?"
Morty barely blushes at the suggestion, falters only briefly as he replies, "I-
If I-I-I didn't, then why would I h-have sucked your—"
Rick doesn't need to hear anymore. He leans forward and clamps their mouths
together, saving Morty the embarrassment of saying something even stupider.
Morty is thrown by the abrupt kiss, moans meekly as Rick's tongue slides across
the back of his teeth. Only when Rick tries to break away does Morty push back,
mouth open, lips warm and wet and quickly becoming accustomed to his own.
Though once lethargic, his hands now scrabble at Rick's chest, seeking
purchase, trying to pull them closer. He grasps a pec, scratches against a
nipple, grazes sparse chest hair, but his clumsy fingers make little progress.
Rick helps by looping an arm around Morty's waist, nails pressing into the
nubile flesh of his grandson's ass as their bodies collide.
There's no space between them now, no walls to demolish. The only thing falling
to pieces is Morty, grunting and gasping through his nose, grinding his hips
against Rick without a hint of shame. The hardness of his cock digs into Rick's
abdomen, the cotton boxers soaked with sweat or precome or a mixture of both.
Morty tastes sickeningly sweet against his tongue, like candy and innocence,
each sip settling in a lump in the pit of his stomach. But Rick refuses to
stop, doesn't care if they both suffocate. His hands eagerly knead Morty's ass,
sucking down each stupid noise that rises to his lips, feeding off the arousal
he's caused. It builds up inside him, a pool of groans and filthy phrases
rumbling deep in his throat, far below the tangle of tongues, fueled by every
new sensation, each sick, sexy moment he shares with his grandson. They're
becoming more depraved by the second, Morty now gliding his fingers down the
curve of Rick's spine, resting them just above the crack of his ass, just
barely slipping down...
Rick can't contain his wantonness; he lets a moan slide past his lips, but ends
up accidentally burping into Morty's mouth. Not exactly an odd occurrence for
him.
Morty doesn't take it as well. He twists his head to the side, causing Rick's
still-moving tongue to skid across his cheek. “Aww, gross, Rick! Geez, c'mon!”
Rick relaxes his grip, the t-shirt riding up as Morty sinks down onto his feet,
bare skin of their stomachs pressed together. His fingertips trace light
circles against the small of Morty's back, desperately trying to keep his cool,
wanting nothing more than to tear him apart with teeth and nails, to fuck him
to pieces just so he can put him back together again. For fun. For the hell of
it. "Y-You wanna put the brakes on this, Morty, you better do it now," he
rasps, watching a repulsed Morty wipe the saliva off of his face. "Be-because
we—we're coming up o-on the point of—of no return."
For all his selfish perversion, Rick keeps giving the kid options, doesn't want
him to just give in to his grandfather's whims. Not this time. What they're
doing goes beyond science and adventure, taps into their roots, their basest
instincts. It's a sickness, a disease passed between them in the mixture of
breath, the warmth of skin, the stretching and splitting of bodies. And only
Morty can stop the spread, because Rick is too far gone.
But Morty is defiant, if anything. He swallows Rick's leaden gasps, reaches up
to caress his face with those too-small fingers, lips pursed as he stands on
tiptoes, trying to bridge the ever-present gap caused by their differing
heights. Morty closes his eyes while leaning in, and Rick chokes back a laugh
at how fucking virginal he looks, though he pities his ineptness, dips his head
down to catch his lips. The kiss is too soft, too innocent, but he humors
Morty, lets him ease his mouth open, his tongue fishing the depths of Rick,
licking across teeth, the inside of his cheek. Rick sighs, growing bored with
this childish dance, relieved when Morty's legs start to tire and he breaks
away, falls back on his heels below him. Blushing, Morty quickly tears his
hands from Rick's face, rubs at the corner of his mouth with his knuckles and
looks up to gauge his reaction, brows knit in uncertainty, as if he wants to be
reassured he's done well.
“Shit, Morty. Y-You kiss li-like—like a fucking wuss.”
That comment nets Rick an embarrassed pout. “W-W-Well, it—it's not l-l-like I-
I-I—”
The words are muffled, lost in the shuffle of fabric as Rick tugs the shirt
over his head; they dissolve completely once he bends and presses his lips to
Morty's throat, hands skimming the flesh at the boy's sides. Soft pants and
whimpers are all Rick wants to hear. They've wasted far too much time talking
things over, each syllable vibrating deep within him, coursing straight to his
groin, an aching reminder of the needy throb between his legs. Rick isn't used
to taking things this slow, but it's Morty he's kissing now, Morty whose nails
are digging into his shoulders, Mortywho'll be crying beneath him as his cock
slides in and out…
The rules are somewhat different, though Rick is sure he'll find a way to
unconsciously break them.
His kisses become rougher as he kneels, works his way to Morty's chest, sucking
and nipping with teeth, longing to bruise. Morty wraps his arms around Rick's
neck, arches his body when Rick's tongue flicks across a nipple, releases a
long whine as lips close around it and suck. By the time Rick begins rolling
the nub between his teeth, Morty's lost it completely, knees shaking, weight
bearing down on Rick's shoulders, mumbling an attempt at his name but unable to
get past the first letter. Rick thumbs the other nipple, feels Morty's skin
prickling everywhere he touches, a trail of goosebumps following his fingers as
they trace the curves of ribs, hip bones, finally settling flat against his
lower back.
Rick wants more, needs to taste every inch of Morty. His muscles ache from
crouching; the boy is so goddamn tiny, Rick actually has to settle onto his ass
for better access, slipping his long legs between the shorter pair. He presses
sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to Morty's stomach, gazes up as he sinks his teeth
into the barest amount of baby fat. Morty is watching him intently, face
flushed, sucking on his lower lip to keep his voice down. Rick thinks he's
picked a fine time to become bashful; Morty's cocky attitude had been such a
turn on, Rick was hoping he would follow through to the end. But his hands are
just resting awkwardly on Rick's shoulders, not even trying to push him lower
or guiding him towards the places he wants to be touched. At the very least, he
could tell Rick how he likes it. It's almost as if Morty is unaware there's
etiquette to getting your dick sucked.
Well, at least that part of Morty knows what it wants, prodding Rick's chin
through his boxers. Rick places his lips to the damp cloth, nibbles at the
bulge, pleased with the way Morty shivers and sucks in his breath. He smirks up
at him. "Fuck, Morty. You're—you gonna cream be-before I've—I even touch your
dick?" And he mutters a quick Pervunder his breath.
Morty groans through clenched teeth, struggling to keep his eyes from slipping
shut as Rick's mouth continues to tease him through his underwear.
"Did you—" Rick laughs, a short huff that causes the cock beneath his lips to
twitch, "—did you get like th—this horny j-just from giving me head?"
"F-Fuck you, R-R-Rick…" It comes out as a whisper, sounding so clumsy and
pathetic, Rick can't help but chuckle.  
"Not right now, baby," he murmurs, hooking his fingers under the waistband of
Morty's boxers, slowly peeling them off. "I got—got other plans a-at the
moment."
Morty exhales a strangled noise as his cock springs into the open, shorts
sliding down around his ankles; he leans on Rick for support while he shuffles
out of them. He's dripping wet, and Rick smiles deviously, briefly considers
teasing Morty with his words again, but opts to use his tongue instead. He
leans closer, licks lightly with just the very tip, a straight line along the
underside of his shaft.
Morty whimpers Rick's name, and something that sounds like please , though it
barely makes it out between gasps. He jerks his hips forward, wanting more,
needingmore than just the tempting brush of Rick's tongue.
Greedy slut. You're dying for me to suck you off.
Rick is happy to oblige; he takes Morty's cock in his hand, brings the head to
his lips and wraps them around the tip, sucking gently, as if he's trying to
coax out every last drop. He eases more into his mouth, ears filling with
Morty's cries each time his tongue swirls around the slit. For his part, Morty
is starting to get the hang of things, grabbing fistfuls of Rick's hair,
pulling until he's filled his mouth completely.
Yeah, you love that, you little whore.
But it's Rick who's the whore, groaning and drooling all over his grandson's
dick, sucking him roughly now, ravenously, delighted in the slap of Morty's
balls against his chin, the scrape of pubic hair against his nose. He runs his
hands up Morty's legs, slips one between his thighs to fondle his balls,
Morty's moans growing louder with each squeeze.
It's almost tooloud. And though Rick loves making Morty whine like a horny
bitch, he doesn't feel much like building another amnesia ray anytime soon. He
slows his pumping around Morty's cock, snakes a hand up, feeling around for
that gaping mouth, dripping with lusty sobs. Two fingers slide over moist lips,
stroke against a steaming tongue, and Morty responds by sucking, scratching his
nails over the bald spot on Rick's head. Rick remembers how those lips had been
wrapped around his dick not too long ago, sucking him just as eagerly. He wants
to mark this boy so badly—from outside, inside, every which way.
Rick withdraws his fingers, squeezes his hand between Morty's legs, beneath the
one still massaging his balls, until it finds the tiny pucker he'd so often
abused by convincing the kid to smuggle various contraband inside it. It's soft
and tight, and he circles it with a damp finger, feeling Morty's tension begin
to calm, his grip on Rick's head loosening. Slowly, he presses in, only gets up
to the first joint before Morty clenches around him, gasping in pain.
"A-A-Aaahh...hurts, Rick…"
The saliva on his fingers has almost completely evaporated; Rick pulls out of
Morty's ass, pries himself away from his cock, though Morty clings tight,
doesn't want to let go.
"Wait, wait—don't move, Morty. I-I'll—let me grab s-something." Rick is almost
afraid to turn his back, fearful that Morty will disappear like this had all
been some wonderful dream.
He crawls around, finds his coat balled up against the wall nearby, and though
his hands are shaking, he knows exactly which pocket he wants. He'd been
keeping a bottle of lube in his lab coat for as long as he could remember,
mostly for scientific purposes—greasing machinery, concealing sacks of other-
dimensional drugs inside his rectum—sometimes for sex. Not all of the aliens
he'd fucked had self-lubricating orifices. He can't remember half of their
names, or what species they were, but he doesn't really care, is too focused on
drizzling the sticky liquid all over his fingers, thinking only of how hard
he's going to make Morty come.
When he turns, Morty is still there, swaying slightly on his feet, eyelids
heavy with sleep and the need for release. He lurches forward, steadies himself
with a hand on Rick's shoulder, the other encircling his shaft, pointing it
towards Rick. His lips fumble, mouthing something akin to actual words, but all
that comes out is a cracked moan. But Rick doesn't need any direction; he takes
Morty's cock into his mouth, sucking slow and rhythmically while his newly-
slicked fingers settle back between his cheeks. His other hand squeezes Morty's
hip, keeps him from squirming as he resumes teasing circles around the rim with
the tip of his middle finger, the slippery entrance yielding to the soft
pressure. Morty draws in his breath as Rick sinks inside, sliding, sliding,
pausing only once he's in up to the knuckle, allowing Morty to grow accustomed
to the sensation.
He's hot and tight around Rick's digit, gripping him like there's no tomorrow,
and Rick is enticed, eager to feel that warmth enveloping his dick. He begins
pumping in and out, stroking Morty's soft walls, finger twirling in tight
circles deep inside him.
Morty is clutching the back of his head so fiercely, Rick can barely move
without a struggle, just rests for a moment with his face flush against Morty's
crotch, cock still buried inside his mouth, lapping at the underside with his
tongue. Every inch of Morty is trembling now, so close to coming as Rick drives
his finger deeper, draws it out and adds a second, feels his own cock twitch at
the noise that tears from Morty's throat. He drags them out leisurely, before
sharply thrusting back in, Morty speckling the air with Ahsand grunts each time
he hits home. Rick tests Morty's limits, cautiously spreading his fingers,
curious as to how far he can open him, how much Morty will let him get away
with. Morty tightens almost instantly, clamping down around him and tugging at
Rick's hair, trying to shove him away. He allows Morty's cock to slip out, but
keeps his fingers locked inside, curling them, each mewl and gasp drawn from
the boy's lips a testament to Rick's prowess.
"Fuck..." He speaks with lips pressed to Morty's damp shaft, unaware that his
thoughts are spilling over into words. "Gonna get you so wound up, get—get you
wet a-and ready for my cock." Rick rakes his teeth across Morty's balls, tips
his head back and sucks them into his mouth, tugging at his cock with his free
hand. It's only a matter of seconds before Morty is tipping over the edge, done
in by the bony fingers caressing his insides, the vigorous stroking, the tongue
sliding around his sack.
"Ohh god…R-R-Rick…coming…I-I-I'm gonna come…"
Rick pulls back, holding Morty's cock just inches from his lips, their gazes
locking as he opens wide. A few sharp tugs and Morty squints, digs his nails
into the skin behind Rick's ears and comes into his mouth, whimpering, watching
with sagging lids as Rick squeezes out the last few spurts. He rolls the thick
cream around on his tongue, savoring the salty taste before swallowing,
flashing Morty a sly smile. To top it off, he licks his lips slowly,
seductively, humming a low Mmmmmmmmas he stares into Morty's glossy eyes,
twists his fingers inside him once more, enjoying the lingering spasms of the
teen's orgasm.
"Ohgodohgodohgod…oh fuck, Rick…" Morty's knees buckle, arms going limp, and
Rick slips his fingers out just in time to catch him as he falls, to keep the
both of them from tumbling over. He hangs lifelessly over Rick's shoulders,
breathing slowing to near silence, heart thumping dully against Rick's chest.
Rick lets him rest for a moment, rubbing the clammy flesh at his back, pressing
soft kisses to his neck, a fitting distraction for what he has planned next.
His legs are half-numb, stinging, and he growls as he climbs to his feet,
lifting Morty by the ass and carrying him to the bed. Once he reaches it, he
lets the dead weight fall from his arms, hears the muffled cry, the squeal of
springs as Morty hits the mattress, dissipating far behind him.
He's already crossed the room, quick to locate the bottle of lube, the plastic
cool against his palm as he pops the lid, feels the gravity of the situation
catching up with him, spreading like the liquid over his cock.
You're going to fuck your own grandson.
The words echo with each heartbeat, his common sense fighting for recognition.
Rick glances over his shoulder, back at the tantalizing image of Morty sprawled
out on his stomach atop the cot. His arms are buried beneath Rick's pillow,
chin resting comfortably on the cushion, staring dazedly ahead. Rick's eyes
trace the outline of his body, from the mussed hair, to the smooth shoulders
and round, supple ass, down to the curve of his calves, the tips of his toes.
His mouth is dry, blood racing, and that voice in his head is long gone.
Rick is going to get what Rick wants.
He's snapped out of his stupor by the sputter of the bottle, looks back to see
that he's emptied the whole damn thing. Rick curses under his breath, a deluge
of lube swallowing his dick, trickling down his balls, clinging to the hair
between his legs. Behind him, Morty breathes a confused hum, and Rick chucks
the bottle off somewhere, hurries to the bed before his nerves can cause
another embarrassing mishap. He's too old for this awkward kiddie shit.
He nudges Morty's legs aside with his knee, allowing enough space for him to
sit. Morty hardly moves, murmurs softly at the press of Rick's hands on his
shoulders, the fingers trailing down his sides, cupping his ass. Only when Rick
leans over and kisses the dimple where his ass meets his lower back, does Morty
openly moan, arching into the touch. And when Rick's thumbs pry his cheeks
apart, his tongue slipping into the crack, sliding down to lap at his hole,
Morty's entire body convulses, and he gasps into the pillow.
He's hypersensitive now; Rick's made him this way, loves knowing that he's made
him this way. He licks along the rim, up and outward to the curve of his left
cheek. When he reaches the roundest part, he opens his mouth, sinks his teeth
in and bites. Hard.
"Ow, owwww, Rick! That hurts, geez!"
Rick digs his hand under Morty's hip, flips him roughly onto his back. The cot
sags in the middle as Rick pushes the boy's thighs apart, kneels between them,
leaning over to grip his chin. "You—your ass is gonna hurt a-a-a lot worse than
that, Morty." He brings his face close, stares down into the innocent eyes he
intends to taint, and breathes, more for his reassurance than Morty's, "Th-
think you can handle it, Morty?"
Last chance, kid. Please.
But Morty smiles warmly, actually looks happy beneath the blush overwhelming
his face. "I-It's OK, Rick. I-I-I-I mean, I-I've had worse th-things i-i-in my
a—my butt."
"Heh." Rick can't keep himself from grinning, and tousles Morty's hair
playfully. "You little bastard." He sits back, hands slick against the inside
of Morty's thighs, spreading him and lifting his hips to nuzzle his cock
against his entrance. He's not even inside yet, and already Rick can feel the
heat, the sweet tightness about to envelop him. He licks his lips, begins
pushing.
"W-Wait, wait, Rick!"
Morty scoots backwards, causing Rick's dick to miss its mark and slide against
his thigh. Though he had been rather generous with his patience earlier, Rick
is now becoming annoyed. "Wh-what is it? What—what's the problem, Morty?"
"W-W-Well…" He props himself up on his elbows, lips flubbing the words. "I-I-
I me-mean…Are—aren't you g-g-gonna use a-a-a condom?"
"Psssh, not like you're gonna get pregnant, Morty." Rick hugs Morty's leg to
his chest, tries to reposition his cock, but Morty continues to squirm. "Fuck,
Morty! What the hell?"
"Really, Rick, I-I mean, wh-what about STDs a-a-and stuff?"
"What, are—are—are you saying I'm dirty, Morty? Th-that I-I'm some filthy skank
who f—sleeps around?" Rick yanks him back towards him, hears Morty's huff as
his arms give out and his head hits the mattress. "Y-You think I—that I've got
th-the Space Clap or—or something, Morty?" That's not far from the truth; well,
he'd had it once, but it was nothing for a genius like himself to cure.
"Geez, alright…" Morty grumbles. "J-Just do italready. S-Sorry I even asked."
And he doesn't wait for Rick to do it, but lifts his hips himself, feet pressed
to Rick's shoulders, giving Rick quite the view. But Rick can't look for long,
is too eager to get inside. He edges forward, hand guiding his cock, holding
Morty's leg with the other. He's still drenched with lube, but Morty is so
tense, it takes a fair amount of pressure until Rick manages to slide the head
through.
“Christ...” Rick can't breathe, can hardly find the words to describe just how
amazing Morty feels, so he groans instead, a deep vibration in the back of his
throat. He gazes down, sees Morty's face twisted into a grimace, chest heaving
as he quietly mouths I'm ok I'm ok I'm ok. He's struggling with the pain,
muscles contracting in his neck, his shoulders, ass clenching around Rick's
cock, but Rick isn't about to wait, pushes in slowly, making him shudder and
whine as he's stretched near to breaking. Inch by inch, he opens Morty up, the
moist warmth engulfing him, drawing him in, until his entire length is buried.
“Shit, you're s-so tight, M-Morty.” Rick can almost feel the words dripping
out; he wipes at his mouth, but it's abnormally dry, not even a hint of spittle
sticking to his lips. He leans forward, feels the kiss of Morty's balls against
his stomach, keeps sinking down, presses against his semi-soft cock, brings
their chests flush together. His hands fist the sheets on either side of
Morty's head, fabric rough between his fingers, scratching at his forearms as
he settles on them, held high enough so Morty can see his smirk, close enough
so he can feel his heartbeat. “You—y'gotta—gotta loosen up, already.”
"I-I-I'm not…ahh...y-you're so…ahhh…bigger…" His voice is hoarse, cracking, but
no less of a turn-on for Rick, each little squeak and sigh making his dick
throb.
Rick brings their foreheads together, exhales against Morty's quivering lips,
"You—you gonna cry like—like a bitch now, Morty?" Part of him hopes the answer
is Yes; he wants Morty to feel every possible sensation, make him remember that
it was Rick who gave him such pain and ecstasy. He swipes his tongue across
those swollen lips, dips into Morty's mouth, drinking in shallow sips.
Morty clicks his teeth shut, nearly clips the tip of Rick's tongue. He twists
his head to the side, tries to hide his face, but Rick sees how red he is,
hears the humiliation in his tone as he pleads, "Puh—please j-just move, Rick,"
snaking his arms beneath Rick's to grasp at his back, his legs wrapped loosely
around Rick's waist.
Rick begins by rolling his hips slowly, face nuzzling the side of Morty's head,
inhaling the scent of sweat and shampoo tangled in the kid's hair. Even at such
a gentle pace, it feels so good, Morty so smooth and warm around him, and Rick
falls into the rhythm like it's second nature, like he's been fucking him
outside of his fantasies from the very start. With each restrained plunge,
Rick's breathing starts to break down, deteriorating into a smattering of
grunts and heavy pants against Morty's skin.
And Morty—Morty 's enjoying it now, gasping Rick's name over and over, nails
sinking into his shoulder blades, legs clamped tightly around his hips, meeting
him thrust for thrust. Rick is encouraged, lays his full weight on Morty and
fucks him deeper into the mattress, the entire frame rattling from the force,
papers fluttering on the wall beside them. Morty's cock swells against his
stomach, and Rick digs a hand under his back, presses their bodies closer to
increase the friction. He's losing himself, moving roughly, erratically,
consumed by his desire for this stupid boy.  In the assortment of noises
beneath him, Rick thinks he hears a giggle.
He slows his hips, parted lips ghosting along Morty's jaw, sucking lightly at
the corner of his mouth. "W-What is it?"
Morty hums, and Rick can feel the vibrations throughout his body, teasing too-
sensitive flesh. He pulls back, is met with the same warm smile as before. "I-
I—it's just—it tickles. Y-Your chest hair."
Rick traces the grin with his thumb, gently pushes the lips apart, and is
rewarded when Morty closes his eyes and breathes a lusty moan. In that moment,
Rick knows Morty is his. He kisses him hard, sucking out air and saliva,
catches his teeth on Morty's bottom lip and drags it down, releases it with a
pop. From there, he moves lower, nips at Morty's throat, the delicate creases
of his neck, pressing deeper with the occasional bite. Morty mumbles something,
but it's unimportant, isn't enough to keep Rick from bruising skin, gripping
Morty's hair to tug his head to the side, revealing more space for Rick to
claim as his own. He figures Morty can just blame it on some girl, thinks his
parents might appreciate that anyway. Either way, Rick doesn't care, silencing
Morty's complaints with several keen thrusts. He licks the edge of Morty's ear,
growls over the kid's whimpers, "Y-Yeah, th-that's good, Morty. You like my—my
wrinkled old dick in-inside you?" His hips move in circles. "Like—like the way
my saggy nuts smack your ass? That—that get you hot, Morty?"
"Ahh…sh-shut up..."
Rick pushes deeper, harder. "How's that—ahhhn—how's it feel, Morty? Huh? T-Tell
me how bad you—you want it."
But Morty only moans, a dull NNNN forced through teeth. Rick's fingers close
around his throat, squeeze with just the right amount of pressure to alarm
Morty. He goes limp as Rick pushes himself upright, glaring back down with a
stern, one-word warning: "Morty."
Both hands clutch at the wrist pinning his neck, but Morty doesn't struggle,
knows Rick is too strong anyway. He grips weakly, croaks, "Y-Y-You want me
to—to t-t-talk dirty to you? T-T-To m-moan and c-c-cry 'P-Please, Rick, ha-
harder, faster,' li-like I-I'm—I'm your bitch? Do—do you g-get off o-on that?"
Rick smirks. He likes where this is going already.
"We-well I'm—I'm not d-d-doing that, Rick. I'm not gonna—not gonna humiliate
my-myself for you."
"Heh." He huffs, the barest hint of a laugh. "You know, M-Morty, maybe that
gets—does get me off." He relaxes his grip on Morty's throat, and almost
instantly Morty drops his arms to his sides, breathes a sigh of relief,
misguided as it may be. Seconds later, that same hand moves to pin Morty's hip
down while the other grabs his ankle, raises his leg as Rick slides out—slowly,
slowly—until only the head remains inside. The sudden absence of Morty's warmth
is jarring, but Rick can manage, knows it'll pay out in the end. "A-And maybe
you're not gonna get off un-until—until you play along."
Already, Rick can feel Morty's muscles contracting in a futile attempt to suck
him back inside. But he doesn't budge, simply grins and gazes at the helpless,
frustrated brat. "Nice view," he huffs. "Too—too bad y-you can't see it,
Morty."
Morty sucks in his lip, brows twitching, quietly trying to hide his
desperation. He does well up until Rick begins tormenting him with shallow,
circular movements, never slipping further than the head. At that point, his
resistance breaks, and he whines a pathetic "Come on, Rick...", squirming and
kicking feebly at Rick's side with his free leg, his cock bouncing against his
stomach.
"You gonna start talking, Morty?" Rick wraps a slick fist around Morty's cock,
squeezes the base firmly as he continues teasing.
The kid is too damn stubborn, too damn stupid, Rick thinks, watching him cry a
shaky No, his hands reaching for his dick, urging Rick to move. Rick flicks off
the pathetic grip, clamps his hand around both of Morty's wrists and pins them
to his crotch, holding so tightly that all Morty can do is tap against his junk
with his fingers. Completely at Rick's mercy, he starts thrashing his
shoulders, head slamming into the pillow again and again as he pleads with
wordless moans and tears. The sight alone would be enough to sway most people,
but unfortunately for Morty, Rick isn't most people.
"See, Morty, I already know what—what I want." He growls and tightens his grip,
hopes it's hard enough to bruise, that the marks will teach Morty a lesson. "I
wanna fuck you raw, Morty, m-make you feel it for a week, feel it i-i-in—every
time you take a-a-a step. That's what I want, Morty. T-Tell me what youwant."
Morty isn't speaking, at least not anything decipherable; his head is tilted
back, eyes shut, tongue protruding between white teeth, a pool of odd sounds
and gurgles rumbling in his throat. Rick isn't about to stop, is determined to
break him. He speaks loud enough to be heard over the incessant moans, hips
moving ever slower. "All those—those things y-you saw in your videos, Morty, I
wanna do the worst—th-the filthiest of them t-to you."
"Nnnn…R-R-Rick…"
"I wanna tie you up, jack off a-a-a-all over that pretty face of yours."
"FFFF…ahhhhnn…"
"Stick all kinds of—of toys inside you, a-and watch you get yourself off."
"Mmmhh…p-p-please…"
"I want—wanna ride your little prick 'til you explode, and—and then make you
lick the come o-out of my ass afterwards."
With that, Rick's gentle teasing stops, and he slams his hips forward, Morty
nearly screaming from the sudden impact. “That what you want, Morty? Huh?” He's
close to shouting, doesn't give a fuck who hears. “Tell me what you want!”
“Oh god Rick just fuck me, please fuck me, I want it so bad just make me come,
pleaseplease...” Morty spits it all out in one breath, without so much as a
stutter, the last few words fading into sobs.
Rick lets go of his wrists, but Morty doesn't seem to have the strength to hold
his arms in place; they fall to his sides, fingers twitching against the sheets
as Rick pulls out of him completely. He hears a whine—further protest from
Morty—but his complaints are soon silenced when Rick eases him over and onto
his knees. Rick settles behind Morty, his cock nestling between his cheeks for
the briefest moment before sliding back inside, each inch hugging him tighter
than before.
“Mmmm...” Rick sighs, leans over to press his chest against Morty's back, nips
at the nape of his neck, the hard ridge of his shoulder. “I'm gonna hurt you s-
so good, Morty,” he rasps into his ear, lips tickling the lobe.
Morty tries to stand tall on all fours, can't quite keep himself from trembling
beneath Rick's weight. “Y-Y-You b-better, R-Rick, after all th-that t-talk.” He
pushes back upon exhale, awkwardly attempts to grind his ass against Rick,
urging him on. And for once, Rick realizes he has nothing smart to say.
Instead, he lets his body do the talking; he places a palm between Morty's
shoulder blades, shoves his face to the mattress, slips his other hand beneath
his hips and starts pounding into him. Morty isn't the only one aching for
release.
Whatever Rick had started, Morty can't shut up now. He mumbles into the pillow,
chanting "Fuck me, Rick…fuck me…harder…fuck me, Rick…" and Rick laughs,
imagines Morty is afraid he'll stop if he falls silent. No chance in hell of
that happening, babe.His fingers stroke the back of Morty's head, calmly at
first before twisting in his hair and pulling. With a gasp, Morty pushes
himself up, straightens his arms for support, holding firm as Rick rams against
him. Once he's managed to steady himself, he reaches between his legs to stroke
his cock, only to let out an exasperated groan when Rick pries his fingers
away, forces his hand back to the mattress and covers it with his own. But Rick
isn't one to disappoint; he slides the other up Morty's thigh, across his
stomach, wrapping his palm snugly around his length. With each thrust, Morty's
cock slides through the ring of Rick's fingers, their movements falling in
sync, Rick clutching tighter when he feels the telltale twitching, knows Morty
won't last much longer.
"C-C'mon—th-that's it, baby." He rubs a finger over Morty's dripping slit. "C-
come for me, Morty."
Almost on command, Morty arches his back, and Rick feels the tension rolling
along his body, from his calves up to his shoulders, like a wave reaching its
crest. When Morty hits his peak for the second time, it tears through every
muscle, every inch trembling as he spills into Rick's hand, warm and wet and
overflowing. He cries Rick's name again and again, his orgasm slowly subsiding.
Rick weaves their fingers together, tightens around Morty's waist and tries to
keep him upright, close to his body, as if he might slip from existence
otherwise. Morty shivers, causing some of his come to dribble between Rick's
fingers. Rick lets Morty's cock slip from his grasp, splits his focus between
grinding his hips and keeping the spunk in his hand from spilling. It's no easy
feat, but Rick swings his arm around, finds Morty's lips on the first try, is
met with a muffled squeal as he tears them open, smears the mess across
tightly-clamped teeth. He rumbles a low laugh, amused by Morty's coughs and
revulsion at his own taste. Rick hopes to piss him off even more by slapping
the sticky hand against his ass before he reaches for his hip again, ready to
finish. Fuck, he'd been holding it in all damn morning.
Rick moves roughly against him, on him, inside him; he can't tell exactly what
his position is anymore. He's fading fast, losing all perspective yet acutely
aware of every sensation: The way his long legs knock against Morty's shorter
ones, how their balls jostle together as Rick fucks him, even the slide of his
nipples over Morty's sweat-tinged back is enough to send a shiver through him.
“F-Fuck...so good...” Rick can't keep up his frenetic pace, opts to finish with
slow, deep thrusts, actually has to bite down on Morty's shoulder to stifle the
growl that erupts as he does, because fuck, he can't remember if he's ever felt
this good. “S'good...good...” he repeats it, rocks his hips through the last
remnants of his orgasm, every muscle rapidly clenching and unclenching. His
hand falls from Morty's hip, flops around on the mattress until it finds the
smaller one fisted in the sheets, squeezing tightly to anchor himself to the
here and now. With all his energy drained, Rick lets his head hang beside
Morty's, closes his eyes and breathes in, feels hearts pounding, chests
heaving, unable to determine to whom they belong. Everything is a jumble of
parts and senses and realities, and all Rick knows for sure is how amazing it
felt, how great it feels, to be this close to Morty, still deep inside him,
holding on with all they've got.
“Oh, fuck...f-fuck, Morty...s-so fucking...fuck...” And as his breath calms,
and the sweat on his skin starts to cool, Rick realizes what he's done.
Oh fuck.It hits him hard.
“Oh fuck, Morty. Fuck. I fucked up. I—I fucked up.” Of course, no matter how
many times he breathes those words into Morty's neck, nothing is going to
change. Rick is such a fool.
"Get off me, Rick."
Morty bumps his back against Rick several times before the message finally
penetrates his stupor.
He pulls out, cock softening with each passing second, and shifts onto his
side, allowing Morty to crawl out from under him. Without the boy's warm body
as his foundation, Rick crumbles, collapsing onto his back. His arms feel like
lead blocks; he doesn't even try to lift them, can hardly manage to turn his
head towards Morty as he repeats those same words.
Morty is perched on the edge of the cot, his body angled slightly to the side,
glaring at some far-off object.
"You know, Rick, y-you could at least wait—I-I dunno—a daybe-before y-y-you
start to regret everything."
The bed creaks as he pushes to his feet and stumbles around the room, cursing a
mild Dammitwhen Rick's come begins to leak out of him, the hand pressed to his
ass useful only for furthering his disgust.
"M-Morty, I fucked up…I'm sorry, Morty…I-I fucked—fucked up…" He keeps talking,
because he isn't good for anything else at the moment. The words, the echo of
his voice sound foreign, and Rick knows he should keep quiet, knows it isn't
like him to apologize, but he can't help himself—fuck, he hasn't been able to
help himself since the beginning. And now he has nothing left but apologies.
"Sh—shut up, Rick. I-I don't wanna hear it." Morty bends, picks up an article
of clothing from the floor and wipes his hand on it before stuffing it between
his legs.
Rick is pathetic—deplorable—can't even look at Morty anymore, so he just stares
up at the ceiling, choking on his grief. "I—I'm s-sorry, Morty. I never should
have—I knew it—I-I-I knew I could never be satisfied with one—just one sip. A-
And now, I won't be able to stop." He closes his eyes, wishes his mind were as
numb as his limbs. "It'll never be the same, M-Morty. I'll—I'll just keep—keep
draining you, until you—you've dried up completely. I'm sorry, Morty. I can't—"
The dip of the mattress beside him is so faint he almost doesn't notice, the
fingers touching his face so warm and gentle, he doesn't want to acknowledge
them. Rick doesn't deserve such kindness, especially not from his grandson, not
after all he's done.
"It's OK, Rick. I-I-I don't mind if things stay this way. Be-between us, I
mean."
He pries his lids apart to gaze at the face hanging above, Morty's eyes and
lips smiling as sweetly as his words. It's too much for Rick.
"Morty, I don't want you to—"
"No, Rick. I-I've been listening t-t-to you talk about what you want th-this
whole time. N-Now you listen w-w-when I say th-that I want this. I-I-I don't
care how—how crazy or—or sick it s-sounds." Morty's voice wavers a little more
with each sentence, though his eyes remain sincere and resolute. He leans
closer, and Rick catches the smallest hint of a blush on his cheeks. "A-And I-
I-I-I want th-this, t-t-too."
The words are hot against Rick's face, but nowhere near as hot as Morty's lips
on his own. He kisses him softly, snakes the tip of his tongue inside when
Rick's mouth cracks open, fingers moving calmly through his hair. It's a short
kiss, yet just enough to sooth the ache inside Rick, make him feel more like
himself. For now, at least.
"Cut—cut that shit out, Morty. Y-You're gonna make me hard again." He scowls,
tries a little too hard to compensate for how stupid and sappy he'd sounded a
few minutes ago. Like a fucking Morty.Rick thinks he might die of
embarrassment.
Morty grins, raising an eyebrow. "Ohhhh, but I thought you said y-you could go
all—"
"Alright, laugh it up, Morty." Rick pulls himself into a sitting position,
groaning at the strain. "But if you're too sore an—and tired to sit through
math class, your parents are gonna ride my ass for it. A-And then, I'm gonna
come back and ride yourass twice as haAAAUUURRRd." The post-sex burp stings his
throat and ever so slightly tastes of whiskey and semen. Rick suddenly
remembers the sticky mess around his cock; his eyes fall to the rag clutched in
Morty's hand, and he snatches it away with a grumble once he realizes it's his
own shirt. As he dabs at his damp crotch, he hears Morty's voice, soft and
distant though right beside him.
"H-Hey, Rick? Do—do you think i-i-it's OK if I sleep here tonight?"
"Whatever, kid. I don't give a fuck." He tosses the shirt away, watches it arc
across the room before flopping back onto the bed. "Just—just put some—your
fucking clothes on. Y-You know, since no one in th-this house knows how to
knock. And—and I'm really not in the mood to make that amnesia ray."
"What?" Morty is already at the other side of the room, t-shirt bunched around
his head. "D-Did you say something?" He glances at Rick for a moment before
scanning the haphazard clutter for his shorts.
"N-Nothing." With three snaps of his fingers, the light overhead shuts off.
Rick pulls the blanket over him, too exhausted to care about putting his own
clothes on. In the darkness, Morty shuffles around, cursing when he trips over
something.
Thump!"Dammit! Rick, y-y-you know, you should p-probably get rid of this thing.
I-I mean, just in case it—it gains intelligence a-a-and tries to kill me or
something."
"Or we could keep it around if—for a three—" That's as far as he gets with that
thought before Morty's fist weakly connects with his shoulder. Rick chuckles,
slides over on the mattress and lifts the blanket for Morty. But the space
beside him remains cold and empty.
"That—that's OK, Rick. I think I-I'll sleep on the floor. L-Like you said, i-i-
in case someone forgets to knock."
Rick hums deep in his throat, rearranging the covers, telling himself he really
wasn't looking forward to waking up with a warm body next to his. Still, he
promises he'll install a better lock, maybe some kind of security system, even.
In case Morty does decide to climb into bed with him one night. Whatever.
He drapes the excess blanket over the side of the cot, lets his arm fall with
it, covering the quiet boy below. Rick runs his fingers through Morty's hair,
down across his cheek, mumbling as he drifts off, "Just you an' me, Morty. Rick
and Morty, one hundred years. One hundred positions, Rick and Morty. Just—just
us, for—all the time. 'S you and me…"
He falls asleep to the sound of his voice, the gentle wake of Morty's breath
against his fingertips.
                                    [[end]]
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