Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7521391.
  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:
      Beth_Jerry_and_Summer_appear_briefly_but_only_a_bit, dubcon, Anal
      Fingering, Manipulation, Praise_Kink, Dirty_Talk, Quiet_Sex, Fear_of
      Discovery, sex_in_a_tent
  Series:
      Part 3 of RickMorty_Trash_Pile
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-18 Words: 3032
****** Family Bonding Time ******
by trash_freak
Summary
     The family goes camping. Rick and Morty share a tent.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
"…You can pitch anywhere on that hill there, or the one over on the other side
of the showers over there.” There are already a fair few tents scattered across
the neatly cut grass, littering the otherwise peaceful landscape. Jerry had
tried to get there early, but the more he’d nagged the more Rick had dug his
heels in and it’s already four in the afternoon now. The portly man who greeted
the Smith family upon their arrival is still talking. “Try to park next to the
path, not on it, so folks can get past. Barbeques with charcoal are fine, but
no fires using wood, and try to keep the noise down after eleven. Right, guys
and gals, I think that’s about everything. Enjoy your stay.”
They’re camping. It was Beth’s idea; getting away as a family, away from the
confines of the house, and technology, and the stresses of work. Somewhere they
can spend quality time relaxing together.
Morty looks mournfully at the grey clouds above them. Summer looks mournfully
at her complete lack of phone signal. Jerry looks mournfully at Rick, while
Rick looks scornfully back. Beth thanks the campsite manager and turns to grin
at her sombre family.
“Isn’t it beautiful here??” she asks, a little over-the-top enthusiastic, Morty
thinks. “I think we should find a nice high-up spot, where we can see the
lake.” She’s avoiding the fact that everyone looks so woeful and charges ahead,
back to the car so they can find somewhere to park and set up camp.
The trek around the hill looking for the perfect view, followed by the long
struggle up the incline with their supplies, leads quickly to the family
bonding activity of arguing over how to put up the small tents they brought.
Jerry tries his hand at leading the group through the task, but is soon
overthrown by Beth when it becomes clear just how much he doesn’t know what
he’s doing. Beth and Summer successfully erect two tents while Jerry and Morty
fight with the third. Rick is reclining in one of the fold-out chairs, drinking
one of Jerry’s beers and occasionally laughing at Jerry’s complete ineptitude.
“Jesus, Jerry, I didn’t even know it was possible to screw up putting up a tent
this royally,” Rick says, gleeful and mean. “I mean, I mean i-i-it’s a little
shitty fu- it’s, what, six feet by four?” He’s chuckling into his stolen beer,
Jerry holding a tent pole and fuming, when Beth and Summer join the group.
“Here’s my favourite girls,” Rick gushes, standing to kiss Beth’s cheek. She
looks up at him like she should have little cartoon hearts floating from her
head. “You’d better help out these two idiots; they’ll be here all damn night.”
“No,” Jerry cuts in, angry, “No, we can do it.”
Morty’s hopes to maybe sit down any time soon slip away and his shoulders slump
in defeated disappointment. Jerry apparently notices his small sigh. “What? You
think I can’t do it?” he asks, and Morty hates that he feels like he’s looking
at a future version of himself: useless and desperate to prove he isn’t.
“We can help, dad, it’s no biggy-” Summer starts, but Jerry interrupts.
“We can do it, Summer,” he repeats slowly and Summer rolls her eyes.
“Fine. When you’re still not done by bedtime you and Morty can sleep outside,
and Mom can share with me.” She turns with a swish of her ponytail and starts
rolling out her air mattress in stony silence, pumping it up with quick,
annoyed steps, stomping on the pump much harder than necessary.
Beth looks at Jerry disapprovingly. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help,
Jerry,” she’s saying, but Morty can see Rick smirking behind her back, keeping
smug eye contact with Jerry as he sips at his beer. Taunting Jerry. Baiting
him. It’s too easy.
“No. No, Beth. I am capable of performing tasks more complicated than working
the damn toaster. I will put this tent up, and you and I will sleep in it, and
in the morning I’ll cook bacon and eggs for breakfast, and this holiday will be
a success!”
It’s so sad Morty feels kinda sorry for him. Not sorry enough to want to be
roped into wrangling a tent with him all night, though.
“M-m-maybe, dad, maybe you and mom could put it up. Together,” Morty suggests,
letting this train of thought run. “Y-you know, building your shelter together,
as a team. Spending time with each other doing- d-doing something productive.
I-I-I-I don’t, I don’t think I’m too great at putting up tents, I’m ju-just
slowing you down.” He finishes it off with big, innocent eyes, and he can see
the pair of them fall for it; Jerry given an excuse for his failings so far,
and Beth touched by the sentimentality.
“Oh, sweetie,” Beth says with a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You’ll get
the hang of it one day.” It’s patronising as hell, but she doesn’t mean it to
be, so Morty forgives her instantly.
He drifts away to throw himself down into the chair next to where Rick’s sat
back down.
“Pretty impr-eueuurgh-essive hustle, Morty,” Rick comments casually, half-full
beer bottle dangling from his long fingers, two empties at his feet. “Played
them like a – like a fu-uhcking fiddle, there, Morty.”
“I, uh, I-I don’t think I know what you mean, Rick,” Morty replies with a sly
grin, and Rick laughs like he means it, pats Morty’s knee, fond.
“That’s my boy,” Rick says, his fingers just half an inch higher than is maybe
appropriate on Morty’s thigh, and Morty’s body switches gears so fast it makes
him a little dizzy. Rick squeezes his thigh, once, briefly, then uses it to
lean his weight on as he climbs to his feet. “Going to the bar,” he offers, and
Morty rises too.
“I, uh, d-don’t wanna stick around to, to get roped back into putting up that
tent,” Morty says, following Rick down the hill to the bar/restaurant at the
bottom.
They spend an hour in comfortable silence, Morty sipping apple juice and
watching Rick’s throat bob as he drains his whiskey, when Beth comes to round
them up for the barbeque.
The barbeque is, to put it lightly, a bit of a disaster. The sausages turn out
okay, but Jerry drops three out of the five pork chops they brought, and they
forgot to bring buns for the burgers. Still, Jerry doesn’t sulk when everyone
starts laughing at the calamity, and after a couple of sausages and half a pork
chop each they all decide to accept defeat and trudge down the hill to get
dinner at the restaurant.
Summer spends the time taking advantage of the free wifi while they’re in
range, and the others get through the meal relatively good tempered. Morty’s
pleasantly surprised by how much of a good time he’s having so far. It’s kind
of nice not to be running for his life for a while.
When evening rolls in is when Morty fully realises that there are three tents,
and there’s no way Summer’s sharing with anyone. When he looks over at Rick his
stomach twists at the calculating and predatory look on his face.
The rain had made an appearance sometime during dinner, a fine dusting of water
that seems to drench everything, and when Morty crawls into their tent to
unroll his sleeping bag he finds that he’d left it just at the entrance, and
all along the top was soaked through. Typical, really, he thinks in despair.
“No problem, Morty,” Rick says just behind him, “Mine’s a big one.”
Morty had heard Rick crawling in behind him, but he wasn’t expecting him to be
so close. “Wh-whu-what do y-y-“
“My sleeping bag, Morty. We can, we can jUH-ust unzip it and, and i-i-it’ll be
like a blanket instead.”
“Uh. Right, yeah,” Morty mutters, looking down at the cold, wet sleeping bag in
his hands and trying to remember leaving it that close to the entrance. He
thought he’d put it up at the top of the air mattress, where his head would be,
but thinking back now he mustn’t have.
“I guess you can always sleep in the car if you don’t wanna share, Morty,” Rick
suggests lightly.
“No, it should, uh, it should be hot, uh, warm enough w-w-w-with, with just
yours, right?”
“Right.” Rick’s voice becomes this low, deep rumble in Rick’s chest whenever he
wants to touch Morty, and Morty gulps. He’s shaking a little when Rick takes
the sleeping bag from him.
“Forecast says there should be clear skies tomorrow,” he says, putting the
sleeping bag out into the little space between the inside entrance and the
outside cover. “W-we can dry it out tomorrow; should be- should be fine by
night time.”
Rick turns back, and his pupils are huge, and he slides his lab coat off slow,
unbuckles his belt and slips it from its belt loops. Morty’s breathing heavier
than he perhaps needs to, and it feels sort of slutty when he eases himself
back to lie down, propped up on his elbows and keeping eye contact with Rick.
Like an invitation. Like he wants whatever’s about to happen here. Does he? He
still doesn’t know.
Rick unzips his trousers, and when he shucks them off Morty can see he’s half
hard in his boxers. Morty fidgets, huffs out a breath through his nose and
tries his best not to whine when Rick crawls over to loom above him. Morty
lowers himself back, and he’s forgotten to bring a pillow so his head tilts
back a bit too far. He can feel Rick’s breath on his exposed throat, Rick’s
fingers at the button of his jeans. When he shuffles the denim awkwardly down
his legs in the near non-existent space between them his hips tilt up just
right and Rick pushes down like he can’t help it.
Then Rick’s gone; rolls off him and sits up to unzip his sleeping bag and drape
it over the both of them. When he lies back down, lab coat rolled up for a
makeshift pillow, he pulls Morty up against him, lets Morty rest his head on
Rick’s hard chest and lays a possessive hand on Morty’s waist.
The rain is getting heavier outside, beating against the tent like white noise.
“We shouldn’t get up to anything, here, Morty,” Rick mutters into Morty’s hair,
petting up and down Morty’s side lightly, his fingers tingling against Morty’s
skin. His hand slips down to Morty’s ass, pinky finger wandering to brush up
and down between Morty’s cheeks, and a hot thrill rushes right through Morty,
making him smother a gasp. “Your, your parents they’re, th-they’ll-“ Morty
shifts up closer against Rick’s warmth, rolls his hips unthinkingly against
Rick’s thigh, and Rick huffs. “And your sister,” he whispers, his free hand
creeping over to Morty’s knee to pull Morty’s leg over him, pull him closer,
leave him open and exposed. Rick hums, pleased, as Morty starts to build up a
steady rhythm, humping at his side like an overeager puppy and pushing back
against the light pressure of his pinky. “Don’t make a sound, baby,” Rick
breathes, “We don’t want anyone hearing.” Morty nods quickly, his face pressed
down against Rick’s chest to mouth absently against Rick’s nipple the way Morty
knows feels good.
Rick’s hand tightens at Morty’s knee, his hips raising up just slightly, a
little twitch that Morty is sure is unintentional, and just like that Morty’s
coming, too soon, the small slip of Rick’s control enough to send him over. He
feels Rick’s pinky push inside, just the very tip, and his whole body jolts and
shakes with a bombardment of pleasure and panic. Is Rick going to fuck him?
Tonight? Or soon? He’s not ready. He knows he’s not ready for that. But if Rick
wants to… if Rick wants to, he’ll make Morty want it as well.
Rick pulls his dick from his clinging boxers and drags Morty’s hand down. “Like
I taught you, Morty, come on,” he whispers, voice barely there, and Morty pulls
and twists just like the last time he did this, only this time without Rick
talking him through it, and it’s not… it’s not the same without Rick’s voice;
he needs to hear he’s doing it right, he needs to hear he’s doing good.
“Rick,” he whispers, just as quiet, and lifts himself up just enough that his
ear is right next to Rick’s mouth. “Tell me, please, please.”
“What do you want, baby, say it.” Rick’s breath is hot and wet and Morty can
feel it crawling right down his ear. He feels his own dick trying to stir back
to life at the sensation, but it’s still a little too soon. Still, he can’t
help pressing up tight all along Rick’s side.
“Tell me I’m- I’m d-doing good?” Morty breathes out as soft as he can.
Rick’s middle finger is pushing its way into Morty’s mouth, and then Rick is
whispering, “Get me nice and wet, Morty, I wanna, wanna know how you feel,
Morty, all relaxed like you are, fucking just get as much spit on there as you
can, good boy, that’s it, christ, yeah,” and then Rick’s hand is moving back
down to Morty’s ass and Morty stops moving, stops breathing. “You gotta relax,
Morty,” Rick whispers, licking at Morty’s earlobe and nosing against the soft
spot behind his ear that sends shivers all through him. “Breathe in, baby boy,
relax, that’s it.”
It hurts, Rick's finger feeling huge as it forces its way inside, and Morty
screws his face up. But it’s not the worst pain he’s ever felt, and Rick is
whispering how brave Morty’s being, how good he is, so Morty endures it without
complaint, the hand he has on Rick’s cock only faltering a little.
Rick’s more or less just panting in Morty’s ear, now, but Morty can hear the
tiny noises trapped in Rick’s throat, can smell whiskey behind the mint of
Rick’s toothpaste and the musty scent of Rick’s lab coat, and he’s got that
buzz of arousal in his belly, though his dick stays soft with the nagging ache
in his ass.
Then Rick stops pushing further in, and Morty focuses on Rick’s thumb rubbing
firm circles against Morty’s ass cheek, the way the fingers of Rick’s other
hand are digging in hard at Morty’s thigh, the little hitches of breath every
time Rick pushes up into Morty’s hand, and he’s just getting used to the pain
when Rick bends his finger and Morty’s dick fills so fast his head spins from
it.
Morty clenches his teeth so hard they creak in his skull. His hips twitch
forward, an attempt to push his erection up against Rick, but a spike of pain
shoots up from Rick’s un-lubed finger, and Morty stills, huffing out a
frustrated breath. He hears Rick make a small, helpless noise in the back of
his throat, and he feels overwhelmed, Rick’s finger teasing at something inside
him that feels too much and not enough.
“Feels so good, Morty, feels- oh, god,” Rick is whispering absently,
breathless, getting lost in fucking up into Morty’s hand, his finger rubbing
little circles inside Morty in time with his slow thrusts.
It’s too much. Morty feels like he can’t breathe; he feels sick, like he’s
being filled up with Rick and there’s no room for anything else. He feels
scared to come, feels like it’s going to hurt, and he doesn’t want it, but he
doesn’t tell Rick to stop. He doesn’t want to find out whether Rick would
listen or not.
Rick’s nuzzling up against Morty’s face, kissing his cheeks and biting his ear,
thrusts speeding up, and if it wasn’t for the roar of the rain someone
definitely would’ve heard by now because Morty can’t help the pained whimpers
he’s making and Rick’s breathing is loud and hard, the rustling of the sleeping
bag making it so obvious what’s going on that Morty’s face is burning hot and
his stomach is a hard knot of worry that the rain might suddenly stop at any
minute and his whole family will hear them.
When Rick comes, his finger slips in harder, his hand at Morty’s thigh hiking
Morty’s leg up further and spreading him open, and his mouth is tonguing at
Morty’s ear as he hisses, voice thick with pleasure, “Can’t wait to fill you
up, baby, gonna make it feel so good, Morty, gonna take my time with you, get
you so slick and loose, gonna have you desperate for it, baby boy.” His hand
snakes up Morty’s thigh, and Morty wants to wriggle away and he wants to push
closer and he can do neither, trapped and forced into stillness by the threat
of pain and promise of pleasure that Rick’s finger is offering. He’s helpless
as Rick touches and teases at his leaking erection, panting hard and shaking,
and when Rick pulls slow and hard up Morty’s dick and crooks his finger just
right Morty comes apart perfectly, hurting and delirious, Rick’s mouth fixed to
his own to keep his noises in.
Rick’s gentle as he eases Morty through it, kissing his slack lips softly, palm
pressed snug against his over-worked dick, finger burning Morty on its careful
retreat.
“I’m sorry, Morty, I’m sorry, I should’ve have done that, baby, should’ve
waited, but you get me so crazy, couldn’t resist, couldn’t resist it, baby
boy,” Rick is murmuring against Morty’s mouth, and then, “You did so well,” and
Morty breathes in in anticipation, “So good for me, baby, so brave. I’m so
proud of you, Morty.” Everything tensed in Morty goes soft and relieved,
unfurls in warm blooms of contented peace.
Rick’s rubbing up and down his aching back, and Morty nuzzles his way under
Rick’s chin. He’s shaking and sweaty and hurting, and he feels kind of sick
with the pain, dizzy with it, but Rick is soothing comfort, gentle hands and
gentler words, and Morty falls asleep warm and safe.
End Notes
     I went camping with some friends and the SO. Our attempts at
     barbequing did not go as planned, and my sleeping bag got rained on.
     I thought about rickmorty more than is perhaps healthy, and wrote
     this upon my return.
     I might add the next day, but not sure yet, so for now it's just this
     little snippet.
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