Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10662606.
  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:
      Slow_Burn, C137cest, Incest, rorty, rickmorty, spoilers_for_s03e01, the
      angst_is_real
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-18 Completed: 2017-05-15 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 12225
****** Feel You in My Bones ******
by E707
Summary
     There would have been nothing unusual about the dreams at all,
     really, if Morty hadn't woken after each and every one with a fierce
     and unrelenting erection.
Notes
     This story contains spoilers up to and including Season 3, Episode 1:
     The Rickshank Rickdemption.
     All sexual interaction between Rick and Morty occurs when Morty is 16
     years old, so read with caution.
     Title taken from the Meg Myers song 'Desire', which never fails to
     give me Rick/Morty feels.
***** Chapter 1 *****
The night of Thanksgiving when he was 12 years old, Morty wet the bed.
He remembered, because a fortnight earlier he had seen Steven Spielberg's cult
classic 'Jaws' for the first time, and for months afterward had envisioned
sharp teeth rising from the depths of every possible source of water, haunted
by dreams of a terrible endless ocean.
As he stood watching his father gather up his bed sheets, exchanging his soiled
pajama bottoms for a worried smile, Morty had promised himself that it would be
the last time.
Two nights later, it would happen again.
Morty had never been a lucid dreamer. In sleep, as in the waking world, he
found himself powerless. Naturally it followed, when he spent so much of his
time being dragged through one adventure after another by the man, that Rick
would soon begin to invade his dreams as well.
The appearances were innocuous by nature. Morty would be asking Jessica on a
date in some doorless hallway full of snickering onlookers, and Rick would
appear in the crowd, mocking him; or a monster of some kind would have its jaws
closing around his head, and Rick would spring into the dream just in time to
'save your ass, yet again, MoUAOrty.'
Sometimes his dreams were really just memories, enhanced. The smell of the
garage late at night, the sound of Rick's fingers tapping against the steering
wheel as he piloted the ship, the way the man arched his eyebrows when he was
making it clear just how stupid he thought Morty was.
There would have been nothing unusual about the dreams at all, really, if Morty
hadn't woken after each and every one with a fierce and unrelenting erection.
At 14 years old, Morty felt reasonably sure that his bodily responses, though
mortifying, were purely hormonal. If, after one of these dreams, he avoided eye
contact with Rick over the breakfast table, or stuttered a little more
noticeably whenever his grandfather said his name, then that was nothing to be
scrutinized either.
The pleasant tingling of his skin whenever Rick shoved him out of the way of a
coming projectile, or leaned in a little too close to deliver a scathing
account of Morty's intelligence, indicated, at worst, an emotional dependency
problem coupled with masochistic tendencies. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to
bother mentioning to anyone, anyway. Least of all Rick.
In fact, Morty had planned on taking all knowledge of these sensations to his
grave, until he woke late one night with a customary tightness in his groin and
a pair of eerily familiar eyes boring down into his own.
Fear seized him, a scream clawed its way up his throat, but the hand clamped
over his mouth silenced him before it had a chance to escape.
"Your pistol." A voice demanded, and the deadly confidence of it gave his
intruder away instantly. It had been months since he had disappeared in a crowd
of Mortys bound for other dimensions, but even without the eye patch, this
Morty stood apart.
Shakily, Morty pointed across the room to his dresser, and the other, 'Evil'
Morty as he had heard Rick dub him once, slowly removed his hand, though not
without a piercing stare that warned his nervous counterpart to remain in his
bed.
Sweat rolled down Morty's temple as he watched his doppelganger reach a hand
into his sock drawer, emerging with the hardly-used laser pistol that Rick had
given him only a few months prior, a 'safety measure' in case they ever became
separated. It rested in Evil Morty's palm with a comfortability and sense of
belonging that Morty himself had never been able to achieve.
"H-hey man," Morty stuttered, and the other's eyes fixed on him again, sending
a cold shiver down his spine. "There's no need to, y-you know, do - do anything
rash here..."
Evil Morty watched him, expressionless, before his gaze fell to Morty's lap,
where the sheets of his bed were tented tellingly. Morty's entire body flushed
with shame, though he was mortified less by his state of arousal than the glint
in Evil Morty's eyes which told him that somehow, inexplicably, he knew the
reason why.
The silence between them was thick with things unsaid, seemed to stretch for
ages, and Morty wondered, briefly, if it was pity he saw reflected in those
eyes, identical to his own in almost every way, or disgust.
At last, Evil Morty fished a small device from his pocket, pointing it at
Morty's bedroom door. Green light washed over the room as the gaping mouth of a
portal opened in its place, the static pull of the temporal shift standing
every hair on Morty's arms and legs on end.
Apparently having retrieved what he came for, Evil Morty spared his
interdimensional duplicate one last, fathomless stare, before turning toward
the portal. Morty was struck by an immense sense of relief, before the other
halted mid-step, hand still gripping the loaded pistol.
Evil Morty's voice reached him in a cool monotone. "Watch out for him... for
Rick." He said, and Morty blinked in surprise.
He opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn't sure what he could have to
say, but Evil Morty was gone and the portal closed behind him before he had
time to do more than gape in reply.
In the sudden, quiet darkness of the room, as the sweat cooled on his sheets,
Morty found himself thinking: since when had that guy concerned himself with
the well-being of a Rick?
The next day, as they stood in what approximated to an interstellar shipyard,
Rick seemed to sense Morty's disquiet.
"Shit, Morty, what - what's got your panties in a bunch, huh?" Rick demanded as
he took a long swig from the foul-smelling flask he kept in his coat pocket.
"We're, here we are on our way to Cremulon 5, home of the plumbus, to h-have
some great adventure, and you're moping around like some chick whose prom date
just ditched her for the head chUOHEerleader."
Morty shifted uncomfortably, tore his gaze away from where he had been staring
listlessly at the stars, focusing instead on his grandfather's narrowed eyes,
lingering on the thin, disapproving line of his mouth.
"I-it's nothing, Rick." Morty replied quickly, colour in his cheeks. "Just -
just I didn't get a great night's s-sleep, that's all."
"The problem with you, MmOURty," Rick belched as he dragged Morty toward the
next shuttle, "is you've let yourself grow depen - depend - you're addicted to
sleep, Morty." Another long swill of alcohol accompanied his words. "Dulls the
mind."
Despite planning to do so, multiple times, Morty could never quite bring
himself to tell Rick about Evil Morty's appearance in his bedroom that night.
He could easily have omitted the more embarrassing aspects of the story, even
made it out like he had put up a fight. It certainly would have been easier
than submitting himself to Rick's verbal abuse as he blathered his way through
some lame excuse about misplacing his laser pistol. But something about what
Evil Morty had said, or perhaps the way in which he had said it, always stopped
him just short of telling Rick the truth.
It wasn't until many months later, as Morty stood in Birdperson's nest-like
tree house, gazing at photos of a younger, happier-looking Rick holding what
could only be a baby Morty in his arms, that the pieces of the puzzle finally
began falling in to place.
Because if there was any one thing he knew about Rick, any solid fact at all,
it was this: he had grown up without ever knowing the man. Even his mother,
Rick's own daughter, hadn't seen him for twenty odd years, since she herself
was in high school.
And so the question remained: who was Rick holding in those pictures?
"Rick," Morty asked him once, mustering his courage as he sat on the cold
titanium floor of a Traflorkian jail cell. "Did you ever want to see mom, you -
you know, all those years you were gone? Like... did you know she was married?
D-did you even know that I-I-I existed?"
"What?" Rick grunted as his head emerged from a panel in the floor, wires
clutched in his fists. "Th-this isn't the time for your insipid blatherings,
Morty. Now get over here and reach those skinny arms of yours through these
bars, we're getting out of here."
Morty found himself pondering the day that he had met the Interdimensional
Council of Ricks, and the Rickcidel epidemic that had led them there. Ricks and
Mortys alike had gathered for the debriefing. He still remembered standing in
the grand Council chambers, echoes of his own voice as Mortys whispered all
around him, and the haunted expression on Rick's face as they were told the
truth.
'Evil' Rick, who had been the puppet of an unknown master, had enslaved
countless Mortys to power a shield against the Council, and ruthlessly
exterminated Rick after Rick in an elaborate effort to frame and lure Rick C-
137 to his lair - and for, what? His memories?
For the first time, Morty wondered if his 'evil' counterpart hadn't had more to
do with it than he led on.
'Watch out for him... for Rick.' The words resounded in Morty's mind, repeated
themselves in an endless loop, growing in significance each time. He hadn't
said 'my Rick', but then, he hadn't said 'your Rick' either.
"Do you remember the day I was born?" Morty tried on a different occasion, "w-
where were you? Why weren't you there? What were you doing?"
"Shit, Morty," Rick had shrugged, refusing to meet the teenager's eyes. "That
was ages ago I-I, how the fuck do I know?"
Morty was surprised how much it hurt when he finally realised that he wasn't
Rick's original Morty. It struck him in the center of his chest and spread to
the tips of his fingers, a strange sort of grief.
Of course, that didn't stop the dreams.
Long, clever fingers clutching his shoulder, the stench of spirits so strong he
could taste it, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Morty was assaulted by
the visage of Rick almost every night, and awoke to sticky sheets and skin
tingling with the need to be touched.
It wasn't as though Morty didn't try to steer his sexuality toward a more
attainable, less psychologically scarring target. When Morty touched himself,
he forced images of bouncing breasts and painted lips into his mind. Each time,
he would cling desperately to the faces of girls he had passed in the hall, the
body of the voluptuous school librarian, the sights and sounds of the porn on
his computer, even as he turned soft in his own hand.
"W-why do I have to wear a seat belt?" Morty complained as they climbed into
the ship early one morning, before his family woke. "You never do!"
"Shut up, Morty." Rick barked impatiently. "Buckle in, you - you little shit."
Morty bristled, tugging his seat belt on roughly. "I'm, you know, I'm not a
little kid anymore, Rick."
"Yeah, yeah," Rick replied sarcastically as he put the ship into overdrive and
peeled out of the garage at light speed. "You're a real man now, Morty.
WaOUHtch out, universe, Morty Smith's coming for you."
Morty glowered silently out the window for the entire journey, mentally
cataloging everything about Rick that made him such an asshole, all the reasons
he shouldn't put up with him, shouldn't want him. If Rick noticed, he didn't
care.
Only once they reached their destination, a celestial dwarf with four huge,
luminous moons and no sun, did Morty allow himself to take an interest. The
surface was dense with overgrowth, and long slug-like creatures clung to the
bulbous branches of what he could only assume were this world's equivalent of
trees, glowing a soft purple in the dim light.
The moment they disembarked, Rick shoved an old gym bag and a pair of kitchen
tongs into Morty's hands, to match the set he himself wielded. Morty raised an
eyebrow contemptuously.
"This is what we're doing?" He asked, tone lethally acerbic. "Collecting space
slugs?"
"Bilzom tubes, Morty. They only breed once every lunar cycle, you know how
often that happens on a world with four moons, Morty?" Rick leaned in close,
grinning. "Once every twelve years. And it's happening right now. We'd be
foOUOols not to get a piece of that action, Morty."
Morty hated how easily Rick could sway him, could feel the chilly silence he'd
maintained for the past few hours already melting away under the warmth of
Rick's smile, of the hand he placed on his shoulder.
Tearing his gaze away from the old man's, he focused once again on the
peaceful, glowing slugs.
"I don't know, Rick," Morty said uncertainly. "These things look pretty
harmless. Isn't it, you know, 'wrong' to disturb their fragile ecosystem?"
"Are you kidding me, Morty?" Rick replied. "You know how much a mature bilzom
tube fetches in the right market? We could get 250, maybe 300 flurbos a pop for
these babies!"
Morty rolled his eyes. He should have guessed it was about money. "How are we
supposed to capture them?" He asked at last, resigning himself.
"Don't even worry about it." Rick answered, eyes wide with enthusiasm. "They're
so dumb, Morty. They live on a world with no natural predators. You can just
pluck them right off those branches, they won't e-even fight back. Just don't
disturb the trees. They pack a reUHEal punch."
Rick clapped him on the back, beaming. Morty tried hard not to let it show how
much it affected him.
After twenty minutes or so of listening to Rick lecturing him on the exact hue
and luminosity required to optimise a bilzom tube's value, Morty agreed,
reluctantly, to splitting up and covering more ground.
The forest was eerily calm and winsome almost to the point of being unnerving
as Morty wandered its depths, stopping now and again to extend an arm, take
hold of a bilzom tube and work it carefully off of the branch it clung to,
before shoving it into the filling bag slung at his side.
Inevitably, Morty's mind wandered. The warmth he still felt where Rick had lain
a hand on his back led him to wonder, what would it feel like to have those
hands sliding over his bare skin? Would they feel calloused and greedy, or
smooth and gentle?
What would they taste like?
Morty almost jumped out of his skin when something akin to a hoof fell on his
shoulder, heavy and alien.
A nasally screech erupted from behind him, and Morty turned to see a long,
yellow snout with tiny, black eyes squinting down at him. He tried to squirm
away as the creature emitted another horrible, angry cry.
"I don't, I-I wasn't..." Morty stammered, shaking his head as he tried
desperately to separate himself from the impossibly strong grip of the limb
clasping his shoulder.
"Hey!" A voice carried from between the trees, and Morty's heart skipped a beat
as he spotted his grandfather running toward them. Within seconds Rick was
there, wrenching Morty behind him and out of the alien's painful grasp. "You
got a problem with my grandson, asshole, then you got a problem with me."
The alien's gaze slid from Morty, who shamelessly hid behind his grandfather,
to Rick, who returned the alien's scowl tenfold.
Another terrible, shrill bellow escaped the alien's elongated trunk.
"We got here first, buddy. I a-ain't leavin'."
Several short, aggressive shrieks.
"Yeah, sure, I got a permit, it's from the interplanetary committee of kiss my
aAOUss."
Morty noticed the alien's hand reaching for its gun before Rick did. The club-
like appendage unfurled into a mass of fingers, slid over the glowing handle of
the weapon at its hip. Morty's heart leapt in to his throat as he yanked Rick's
pistol out of his coat pocket and shoved it in the alien's face.
"Woah, Morty, what the fuck!" Rick exclaimed, and the alien reeled back in
surprise.
"Just - just stay where you are! D-don't move!" Morty shouted, voice cracking.
The pistol felt unsteady in his hands, but his finger was poised over the
trigger.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Rick demanded angrily. "You trying to get us all
killed, Morty?"
Morty ignored him.
"Put your h-hands up where I can see them!" He ordered.
"Morty, you little bitch ass punk-!"
At the same time that Rick reached for the pistol, the alien's momentary shock
subsided, and it lunged itself at Morty with a scream so painfully high-pitched
that Morty dropped one hand from the gun to cover his ears, and pulled the
trigger with the other.
A powerful electric charge shot from the end of the pistol, spectacularly
missed the alien's head, and punched a hole straight through the bulbous trunk
of the tree behind them.
No one moved. When Morty dared a glance at the alien's face, he expected
murderous anger, but found terror instead.
"What-?"
"Run!" Rick shouted.
The alien needed no further encouragement, knocking Morty to the ground in its
haste to escape as noxious violet gas began bleeding from the tree, erupting in
thick waves that swept the forest floor. Morty felt the burn of a hundred
thousand tiny mouths biting at the skin of his ankle, before Rick yanked him to
his feet. With one hand buried in Morty's shirt, he took off sprinting.
In a deadly cascade, gas began oozing from the porous surface of every tree
they passed. Within seconds the burning smog was building up to their waists,
licking at the backs of their legs as they ran, singing their clothes.
Ahead of them, the alien tripped and fell. Crying in terror, the smog quickly
enveloped it. All that emerged were the alien's gurgling screams, echoing far
behind them.
"Rick!" Morty cried.
"Get to the ship!" Rick ordered, pointing to a distant metallic gleam in the
dim light.
The gas was quicker, it billowed around them, burning their chests and filling
their lungs. The pain was excruciating, every step harder than the last as they
gasped for air and there was nothing to breathe but the carnivorous fog.
Rick was slowing down. Wracking coughs sent spittle and blood flying. As he
doubled over himself in pain, Morty met his eyes, and for the briefest of
moments he could read everything Rick was thinking. Rick let go of his shirt.
Quick as a flash, Morty buried a hand in Rick's coat.
"Come on!" He commanded.
He had known for years now that his purpose in life was to protect Rick, to be
his human shield. But it wasn't until that moment, with every inch of skin on
his body burning as he dragged Rick to safety, that Morty realised he would die
for him.
As soon as the doors were sealed, Rick was tearing through the ship, hacking
and wheezing and toppling everything in his wake as he scoured its contents for
whatever it was that would make the pain go away.
Morty's lungs were ablaze. He could feel them being eaten from the inside,
blood pooling on his palms as he coughed.
A popping sound accompanied a deep groan, and then hard fingers were burying
themselves into Morty's arm, held him still as Rick pressed cold metal against
his skin, and a vial of dark, viscous fluid was emptied into his veins.
The burning stopped almost immediately, and sweet, cold relief swept through
Morty's body.
"Oh my god," he breathed, chest rattling. "That was a close one, Ri-"
Rick took hold of Morty and shook him with such force that Morty felt his teeth
snap together.
"You fuck, you - you idiot!" Rick shouted, his fingers pressing hard enough to
bruise. "Y-you - what the fuck were you thinking, Morty, huh? I'm not dying
quick enough for you, you gotta expedite the process?"
Morty surprised even himself when tears began to prick his eyes. "I w-was
thinking that y-y-you were gonna get shot, Rick! Okay? I-I thought that guy was
gonna-"
"What? Shoot me with his ticket gun?" Rick asked, bitingly sarcastic. "He was a
permit officer, Morty. A - a glorified groundskeeper! He was gonna give me a
fine!"
Red, hot humiliation washed over Morty's face. Rick's expression informed him
that he had reached a new level of stupidity.
"H-how was I supposed to know that?" Morty countered. "He was screaming at you-
"
"That's how piklions speak."
"I-I was trying to defend you, you know that?" Morty exploded angrily, shoving
Rick's hands away. "I thought that guy was gonna kill you, and I put my life on
the line to - to s-save your sorry ass!"
"Oh, yeah, real good - good job, Morty." Rick spat, glaring down at him. Even
for all he'd grown, Rick still towered head and shoulders above him. "Not only
did you almost get us killed, but you ruined all the - the bilzom tubes, Morty.
They're worthless now. Really greOUAat thinking there, genius. Good fucking
job."
Morty didn't know what to say. How was it that no matter what he did, it was
always wrong?
It was a long ride back to Earth. Neither of them spoke, and eventually the
gentle hum of the ship's inertial compensators and Cher's 'If I Could Turn Back
Time'crackling over the radio lulled Morty to sleep.
Images of Rick, lying in a pool of his own blood, haunted his dreams.
When Morty woke, he was still in the ship. Curled up in the worn leather seat,
he could hear no sound, not even the engine was running, and from behind his
closed eyelids he could tell that there was no light.
Rick was watching him.
Morty could feel it, the presence of a body in the seat beside him, the sharp
instinctual knowledge that eyes were trained on him.
The liquid sloshing sound as Rick rose his flask to take a long swill confirmed
it.
"Mmmorty," the man said in a loud, slurred stage whisper. "Are you - you awake
there, Morty?"
Morty remained perfectly still, lips slightly parted, breathing evenly.
Rick shifted in his seat. Like a string pulled taught between them, Morty could
feel Rick drawing closer. Acrid breath hit Morty's cheek, the stench of alcohol
strong enough to peel paint, but he didn't move. Only his heart thundering in
his chest could have given him away.
A hand ghosted over Morty's hair, around the shell of his ear, and Morty
suppressed the shiver that ran over him at the touch. Resisted the urge to lean
into it.
"Morty..." Rick murmured.
He felt breath sweep over his lips, hot and damp, so close he knew all he had
to do was to move a little to the left and they would be touching.
Morty cracked open his eyes, and found Rick's boring into his soul.
An inscrutable moment passed before the spell was broken. Rick pulled away with
a belch, noisily cranked the pilot door open and slammed it shut behind him.
With the ghost of Rick's breath lingering on his lips, Morty found himself
alone in dark.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     I am so, so flattered by all of the amazing kudos and comments this
     fic has been given! Thank you all!
Two weeks after Morty dragged himself to bed with the taste of his
grandfather's voice on his lips, a wedding, betrayal and desperate family
escape would end with Rick in a Galactic Federation prison.
For the first time in years, Morty focused on his school work. He passed his
classes. He joined the school Spanish club. Hell, he even kissed a girl.
It was a complex experience. At a classmate's New Year's Eve party, Morty had
managed, through sheer dumb luck, to land fifteen minutes in heaven with a girl
too pretty and too popular to have ever even been in the same room as him. She
was beautiful by anyone's standards, and Morty was ecstatic, giddy with fear
and excitement as they were guided inside a basement closet by their snickering
classmates.
Hesitantly, he met the girl's doey hazel eyes.
"I - uh, well," Morty stammered, cheeks flaming and palms sweating. "I-I'm not
sure if you, uh, I'm Morty..."
The girl giggled, flipping her long black-brown hair. Morty was mesmerised.
"Sarah." She returned, in a voice as warm and smooth as honey.
Morty grinned, a little bashfully. In that moment, all he could think was how
grateful he was for the growth spurt he'd had at the beginning of the semester,
that he could stand eye-level with her.
"Nice to, uh, to meet you, Sarah."
"Well, Morty?" She replied, smiling, waiting for him to make his move.
It took all of Morty's courage, even his hair felt like it was sweating as he
leaned in, but he let his eyes slide closed and pressed his puckered lips to
hers.
It was a strange feeling. Messier than kissing Annie had been, those years ago
in Anatomy Park. But there was something about the way Sarah tilted her head,
and placed her hands gently on his chest, that made Morty feel strong and
confident, for the first time in his life. After a few minutes of sliding lips,
Morty grew bold, daringly rose a hand to one of Sarah's breasts, and was hit
with a jolt of pride when she moaned approvingly.
It was going well, going fantastically, in fact, before her hand dropped to
Morty's crotch, and she pulled away in confusion.
Nothing. Not even the stirrings of it.
"Am I doing something wrong, Morty?" Sarah asked, frowning as she withdrew her
hand.
No. Yes. Morty gaped, his mouth opening and closing mutely as he ransacked his
brain for a suitable reply, and came up empty.
Sarah looked offended. "I thought you liked me, Morty?"
"I-I-I do, Sarah, r-really," Morty stammered as his heart sank into his
stomach, heavy as lead.
"Well, it doesn't seem like it." She replied in clipped tones. She was pulling
away from him, toward the closet door.
"I-I just..." Morty stretched an arm toward her, saw it all slipping away
before him, the best chance he'd ever had at something normal. What was wrong
with him?
"It's fine, Morty." Sarah told him, though clearly it wasn't. "Don't worry
about it, okay?" And then the closet door was open, and she left him there
alone.
Outside, their classmates booed and laughed. A boy in the grade above stuck his
head through the door to give Morty a scrutinizing look.
"What are you, gay or something?" He demanded.
Morty didn't reply. He had no idea what to say. If only it were that simple.
The day of his 16th birthday, Rick returned from prison.
In spite of all the fuss Summer had made about rescuing him, in the end, Rick
hadn't needed their help at all. Morty couldn't say he was surprised. As he lay
on the grimy garage floor, Rick looming over him, shouting maniacally about
szechaun sauce, all Morty could think about was the shape of the gun still
imprinted on his hand where he had clutched it tight, pointed it squarely at
his grandfather's head, and shot.
He knew now that, unlike Rick, he would never be free.
Despite destroying a good portion of the Citadel and causing the deaths of
innumerous Ricks and Mortys, it didn't take long for Rick to reconcile with his
interdimensional selves. Co-operation was in the best interest of every Rick,
and at the end of the day, every Rick only cared about himself. Morty never let
himself forget that.
The dreams were worse than ever. Whereas before Rick had been a phantom,
drifting in and out of otherwise unremarkable scenarios, Morty was now plagued
by visions of Rick bending him over the kitchen table, cornering him in the
living room, pinning him to his bedroom wall.
All pretence of masturbating to anything else had long since fled. Even then,
it barely took the edge off the sexual frustration.
"Morty Smith of Earth Dimension C-137."
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Morty cried, scrambling to cover himself with a towel
as the door to the shower, in which he was currently relieving himself of a
rigid hard-on, was yanked unceremoniously open. "I-I-I'm, can't you see I'm
showering here, Rick!"
But it wasn't Rick, he realised belatedly. Not his Rick, anyway. The same messy
grey hair, sharp eyes and frowning mouth, but the familiar insignia emblazoned
on the front of his crisp white uniform informed Morty that this particular
Rick was not his grandfather. A badge pinned to his chest read 'C-920'.
"Your contract has now been delivered." The Rick continued, unfazed, and a
gloved hand shoved a thick wad of neatly-pressed paper into Morty's arms.
"W-what..?" Morty stammered as he juggled the heavy document, trying not to
drip on it as he squinted at the dense text. It had to be at least 200 pages
long.
"Have it signed and returned for review by the Interdimensional Council of
Ricks." C-920 replied drolly, already turning back to the portal he had opened
over the bathroom mirror.
"Oh, I - I knew it!" Rick crowed as he, too, sauntered into the bathroom
without a care for Morty's modesty. "I knew I - I smelled a Rick-pig in the
vicinity."
"Hey, fuck me, C-137." The Citadel Rick growled. "It's your fault I had to drag
myself to this stinking cesspit of a dimension."
"No, fuck me, buddy-"
"Wait, c-contract for what?" Morty interrupted, adjusting his towel awkwardly
and flushing a dark red when both Ricks' eyes trained on him.
"For you." C-920 said, fixing Morty with an impatient glower. "You Mortys have
been kicking up a shitstorm, you're real p-pains in the ass, and the Council in
all their infinite wisdom have decided to pander to your little tantrums, so
now all us Ricks are required to give you - you Mortys the opportunity to
demand something in return for your 'service'."
"What?" Rick barked incredulously. "Since when?"
"Since you killed most of the senior leadership at the Citadel and a new
Council of Morty-sympathisers was elected in their place."
Morty gazed down at the contract in something akin to awe. At the very back, he
found a section of blank, lined paper where he was instructed to detail his
requests. "I can ask for anything?"
"As long as your Rick agrees, sure." C-920 grumbled. "Now if you'll excuse me,
I have 367 other dimensions to get to before lunch. Adios."
After flipping his counterpart the bird in a final, emphatic farewell, C-920
departed and Morty was left with a stack of damp paper in his hands, an
uncomfortably half-hard dick that he hoped his towel was obscuring, and his
grandfather.
"Well, what do you want?" Rick demanded without missing a beat, arms crossed
over his chest in a display of boredom. "Ice-cream every other Tuesday? Your
own p-portal gun? Don't think that one's gonna fly with the Council, buddy."
There was only one thing Morty wanted, and it wasn't ice-cream. Images from
last night's dream resurfaced, and Morty shoved them away hastily before his
erection resurged and gave him away.
"I think I... I'll need time to think about it." Morty decided, holding the
contract protectively to his chest, as though it might take wing and fly out of
his reach.
The expression on Rick's face was curiously strained, and for a moment Morty
was afraid that he might somehow have read his thoughts.
"Fine, whatever." Rick replied at length, the manufactured ease with which he
waltzed out of the room serving only to accentuate the hard line of his
shoulders.
Morty had wondered, at times, what might have happened to the Rick from his own
dimension, the one who had disappeared three years before his older sister was
born. Was there any chance he was still alive out there, somewhere? Or did he
die on some alien world, having always intended to return? Had this Rick killed
him, to take his place?
As Morty discreetly tucked the contract behind an old shoe box in his bedroom
closet, he briefly considered requesting the truth. In the end, he decided
against it. What did it really matter, anyway? This was the only Rick he had
ever known.
It took almost a month of freedom for Rick to chose a night to get totally,
completely plastered.
Morty was in his room, attempting to study when a loud crash traveled from
downstairs, followed by the sound of breaking glass. He encountered Summer on
the stairs as he begrudgingly went to investigate, and the concerned expression
on her face broke his heart a little.
"Don't worry, I got it." Morty told her, with a smile he couldn't feel. He pat
her back reassuringly as he made his way down to the garage, where loud
swearing could be heard drifting from beyond the door.
As he stepped inside, Morty was greeted by the sight of Rick on his knees,
gathering the shards of a broken container and nearly falling over himself in
the process.
"What the hell are you doing, Rick?" Morty asked wearily.
"Mmmorty," Rick slurred loudly, looking up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes.
"Come help, help grandpa over here, Morty. Got-gotta finish... 's not safe..."
"Be quiet," Morty hissed, taking hold of the drunken man's arm and pulling him
away from the floor just as Rick's face began veering dangerously close to a
large shard of glass. "Just... sit here. I'll clean it up."
Whatever Rick was doing, he had been at it all night. Hastily-written formulae
lined the paper strewn over the garage workbench, and as Morty bent to gingerly
collect the remains of the beaker Rick had dropped, he could have sworn he
spotted his name mentioned, more than once, in the frenzied scribble.
Abruptly, Morty felt Rick hovering behind him. The old man moved so silently,
he hadn't even noticed him stand. Turning quickly, Morty found Rick's chest
inches from his face. Slowly, he tilted his head to meet his grandfather's
eyes.
Sometimes, when Rick looked at Morty, it was as if he were trying to see right
through him, to find something under his skin.
A hard shove was delivered to Morty's sternum, almost caused him to lose his
footing, glass crunching under the soles of his sneakers.
"What the fuck, Rick?" Morty demanded, hurt flashing over his face.
Rick's expression was utterly impassive, suddenly far more sober than he had
been a moment ago, his gaze locked with Morty's in unmistakable challenge. He
shoved him again, and Morty's back collided violently with the shelf against
the wall.
Pain rippled through his body as Morty's hands curled into fists. Anger, and a
sick sense of satisfaction, bubbled to the surface of his skin as he waited for
the blow. If Rick wanted a fight, Morty would relish giving him one.
With a strength that belied his age, Rick took a hold of his shirt and lifted
Morty almost entirely off of his feet. Hot breath, thick with the stench of
alcohol, washed over Morty's face. Rick's hand rose steadily, and he flinched.
At the first clumsy drag of fingers through his hair, Morty's eyes flew open,
just in time to see Rick's mouth descend upon his own.
It wasn't like kissing Sarah or Annie had been at all. Rick's mouth was rough,
stubble scraped against Morty's chin, and the groan that followed was deep and
needy, and male.
All the tension in Morty's body escaped in a rush. His knees buckled, and he
emitted a long, embarrassing whine that had Rick pressing even closer, crowding
Morty against the wall until all that he could see and hear and taste was Rick.
"S'all I was thinkin' about..." Rick murmured, nosing Morty's jaw, lips sliding
under his ear. "The whole time..."
Morty's heart was slamming against his rib cage. This can't be happening, he
thought. I'm dreaming.
A revealing lump brushed against Morty's belly, hard and demanding, and
suddenly it all felt very, very real. Liquid fire pooled in his stomach as he
met Rick's eyes, and found the same soul-eating lust reflected in them that had
haunted Morty since he was 14 years old. Morty wasn't sure if that revelation
elated him more than it terrified him.
All he knew was that he wanted more.
Just as it seemed like he was about to lean in and capture his mouth again,
Rick turned his head, and vomited over Morty's shoulder.
"Fuck, Rick!" Morty exclaimed in disgust.
"Knew those tacos wer' bad." Rick belched, slumping against Morty's neck.
Morty ran a trembling hand over his face. His lips felt sensitive and raw. "W-
we should get you into bed." He said at last, shakily.
Rick offered no resistance as Morty half-carried, half-dragged him up the
stairs and dropped him onto the creaking single cot that was the only real
furniture to be found in the man's bedroom.
Even as he stood watching drool puddle on the pillow beside Rick's head, Morty
considered shaking him awake. Screaming at him for everything he had ever done
to make Morty hate him and love him the way that he did. Because, yes, they
were grandfather and grandson, but they were also Rick and Morty, and the line
between them had always been blurred, really, hadn't it?
Morty blinked, and it was morning. Sunlight pierced the room, falling warm and
gentle on his face. Curled up on the floor at the foot of Rick's bed and still
dressed in yesterday's clothes, he couldn't even remember falling asleep.
Rick was gone.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Days turned into weeks without news.
Nothing held Morty's interest for long. Predictably, his grades slipped, the
few friends he had made grew tired of him, and Morty retreated in to himself.
Rick was gone, and only the sad gleam in his mother's eyes told him that he
wasn't the only one who hoped that, this time, it wasn't for good.
In his dreams, rough, experienced lips raked over his own. Hands, trembling
with inebriation, held fast to the base of his skull and quivered over the hem
of his pants. A voice, husky and dark, murmured hot breath over his ear. When
he woke, bitter tears falling in to his hairline as he jacked himself off
viciously, Morty consoled himself with the knowledge that if he was to live the
rest of his life in this hell of wanting and never having, at least Rick, where
ever he was, had to be in there with him.
Late one night, as he lay in bed not sleeping, Morty's phone rang. The number
was long and unfamiliar, and his blood stopped cold.
"Hello?" Morty answered quickly, and hoped his voice wouldn't sound as
desperate through the receiver as it did in the loneliness of his room.
No voice answered, only the muffled honking of passing cars and heavy footsteps
falling on pavement. Distantly, the 'aga blagh blagh' of a loud Garblovian
could be heard.
Morty felt heavy with all the things that he wanted to say, but none of them
seemed to make it any further than the tip of his tongue.
"Come home, Rick." He said at last, a simple, fervent plea.
A long, pained exhale was the only reply, and the line cut out.
Morty let the phone fall out of his hand and on to the pillow, feeling somehow
more hollow than before.
The next day at school, as Morty watched his feet fall on the hall's checkered
laminate floor, something Rick had once said to him swam unbidden to the
forefront of his mind. 'It goes without saying that the Rickest Rick would have
the Mortiest Morty,' the voice rang in his head. Morty felt like an idiot. He
should have known, even then, that Rick wasn't talking about him.
A sharp electric charge cut the air. Green light washed over the whites of his
sneakers. A moment passed before Morty dared to look up, but when he did, he
found Rick, coat billowing in the static breeze of the portal behind him.
Incandescent.
"Morty, there you are!" The man crowed, as though no time had passed between
them at all. "There was a - a tragic accident, Morty. These two shuttles, they
crashed, just outside Earth's atmosphere. Everyone died, Morty. Now there's at
least fifty crates of fleeb juice - that's a year's worth of juice, Morty - and
i-i-it's just floating out there! W-we've gotta go Morty, before someone else
finds it. There's no time to lose!"
Morty's arms lifted wordlessly. A look of horror swept over Rick's face, and he
recoiled as though afraid that the teenager were going to embrace him, before
Morty slugged him in the stomach.
Rick wheezed in pain as the air was knocked from his lungs.
"Don't you ever do that again!" Morty was shouting, throwing every ounce of the
anger and fear he had been grappling with for the past two weeks behind his
fists. "Do you hear me, Rick?"
"Jesus, Morty, calm down!" Rick rasped, catching and holding Morty's arms above
his head. "What the hell has gotten in to you?"
"Two years!" Morty howled. "Two years you used me as your human shield,
dragging me through one t-traumatic experience after another! And then y-you
just, just up and leave?"
"Keep your voice down, Morty," Rick hissed, just as heads were beginning to
peer out of classroom windows up and down the hall.
"No!" Morty shouted. "You, you think you can ambush me at my school and I won't
talk about what happened? You ki-"
Before Morty was aware of much more than a sharp yank on his wrists, he found
himself standing on thick grass under soft sunlight, far removed from the
sights and smells of Harry Herpson High School. The portal closed swiftly
behind him, and Rick dropped his hold on Morty's arms.
"You want to talk so fucking badly?" Rick said. "Fine. Talk."
Wind thick with sand waved through Morty's hair, carrying an arctic chill. All
around them, in every direction, the horizon loomed; a landscape of forests and
hills that reached no higher than lengths of their waists. It took entirely too
long for Morty to recognise the tiny planet upon which his family had once
attempted to rebuild their lives, and even longer to convince himself it meant
nothing that Rick had brought him there.
When Morty gazed up at his grandfather, he knew it must have been written plain
on his face, could see it shining in Rick's eyes too, the fear of facing up to
everything they are.
"I can't keep living like this, Rick." He said, quietly, exhausted by the
weight of it. "I just can't do it anymore. Pretending that this thing between
us-"
Rick snorted loudly, like it was all some big joke.
"Y-you know what, Rick?" Morty snapped. "The Spanish have a saying; a lo hecho,
pecho."
"¿Oh sí? Los españoles tienen otra expresión; ojo que no ve, corazón que no
siente." Rick replied.
Morty stared at him blankly, before throwing his arms in the air. "Whatever!
What I'm saying is, you - you can't run away from this, Rick! Not this time."
"You want to fuck someone?" Rick barked, and Morty's heart skipped a beat. "Go
find some girl. Or some guy, I don't give a shit."
"You think I haven't tried?"
"What about that girl you like, huh? The one we - that you wanted that love
potion for?"
"Jessica?" Morty asked incredulously. "I haven't thought about her since the
ninth grade, Rick. She's not - she's not the one I think about, you know. She's
not the one keeping me up at night."
"Jesus fucking Christ, Morty, stop-"
"You kissed me!" Morty shouted. "You don't get to take the moral high ground
anymore!"
They glowered at each other in silence. Distantly, Morty could hear the sound
of birds chirping at the rising sun that would descend again in only an hour's
time.
"You're my grandson." Rick replied at last, soft and sober. "It's wrong."
Morty was shocked, before bursting into laughter, loud and harsh. Of all the
excuses he had expected from Rick, this was the worst.  
Morty knew about grandparents. They were lame Christmas presents under the
tree, awkward Thanksgiving dinners across an unfamiliar table, birthday cards
in the mail. They were lipstick-smearing kisses and 'look at how much you've
grown', or 'how old are you now, my boy?' or 'you look so like your father did
at your age'. Rick was about as far away from being a grandparent as you could
get.
"You never gave a shit about right and wrong," Morty spat, his tone taunting.
"So what are you so - so fucking afraid of, Richard?"
Rick scowled deeply. "Why don't you just f-fucking spit out whatever it is your
tiny brain is struggling so hard to articulate, Mortimer?" He returned,
scathing.
"I want you to say it!" Morty barked. "I want you to tell me how you feel,
Rick!"
"You want me to tell you what a sick piece of shit I am?" Rick challenged.
"That I, that I get off on thinking about you, huh? That I only get off
thinking about you? I-is that what you wanna hear?"
Heat rushed over Morty's skin. "What's so wrong with that?"
"What's - Jesus Christ, Morty! What isn't wrong with it? I'm your fucking
grandpa!"
"You know it isn't that simple." Morty objected. "Its never been that simple,
not between us."
Rick scoffed, eyeing him sharply.
"Look, you want to hear me say it? I want you." His gaze locked with Morty's,
and burned with the truth of it. Morty's chest swelled and swelled. "I know you
want me. But, Morty, listen to me, it just isn't-"
"You don't know," Morty countered quickly. "You said there are infinite
dimensions, infinite versions of you and me, what if somewhere out there-"
"You think just because other Ricks might be thinking about their Mortys-"
"I'm not even 'your' Morty!" He shouted, suddenly furious. "That-that eye patch
Morty, that 'evil' Morty," he took a deep, shuddering breath, and thought,I'm
finally saying it. "He's your real Morty, isn't he? I'm just a - a
replacement!"
A dark cloud passed over Rick's face, and all the gentleness in him was gone.
"Is that fuck - is that what you fucking think?" Rick thundered, and Morty took
a hasty step back. "You think I-I-I - that I abandoned my real grandson in that
fucking Morty-torture dimension and what, murdered your grandpa to steal his
family?"
Well, yes, Morty thought, all his confidence shaken.
"H-he, what he did, the way he looked at you," Morty stammered. "He hates you-"
"He hates every Rick," Rick retorted bitingly. "Because his Rick was some evil
asshole who - who didn't keep his distance, okay? Who took more than - who got
too fucking close!"
Realisation dawned on Morty in a terrible, long sweep.
The parting words of his cold counterpart returned in a rush, and, two years
too late, Morty finally grasped their meaning. 'Look out for him... for Rick'.
Not concern, but a warning.
"The pictures," Morty said, grasping for all the intricate strings of evidence
that had held his certainty together all this time. "In Birdperson's house, of
you holding that - that baby - i-it's not possible-"
"I take you all across the galaxy, to universes where I-I'm a fucking god, I
halt time for six months for you to clean the goddamn house, and you don't
think I could visit my own grandson without anyone knowing?" Rick demanded.
"I'm," he breathed, looking up at his grandfather, meeting his eyes. "I'm
really... really your Morty?"
Rick smiled at him, a cruel, thin line, full of self-loathing. "My f-flesh and
fucking blood. Still want me to - to touch you, Morty?"
From the very pit of his stomach, the visceral center of himself from which all
instinct stemmed, the answer came, at once more potent than any thought or
feeling he'd had over the past two years.
Morty took one step, had time to see only a flash of Rick's stunned expression
before he launched himself on to the tips of his toes to mash his mouth against
his grandfather's.
Teeth clicked together, noses were squashed, and Morty moaned brokenly.
Rick's hands were on him in an instant, crushing the boy to his chest. Fingers
pressed against the nape of Morty's neck, dug into his back, holding tight
enough to bruise.
"Morty," Rick groaned, pulling away. "Wait."
Years he had spent thinking about this, dreaming of it; Rick's hands moving
over his body, Rick's mouth hot and needy on his own, Rick's voice moaning his
name. Morty was done waiting. His tongue darted over his lips, aching with the
need to be kissed again, and Rick chased it with his eyes, exhaling unevenly.
"I'm an old drunk, Morty. I'm not, I'm not the one you want." He protested,
even as his fingers slipped beneath his grandson's shirt, mouth hovering over
Morty's own. "I'm not a good pick, kid, even you could figure that out."
Morty knew he was hard, had never felt so hard in his life, could feel that
Rick was too as he leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the long line of the
man's throat, his pulse thundering under Morty's lips.
The hand buried in Morty's hair ripped his head back, forced him to meet his
grandfather's gaze.
"It won't be enough." Rick ground out, as though every word were painful to
say. "Whatever you give me, i-it won't - I'll want more. I want it all."
"I know." He said. He'd always known. Once would never be enough, for either of
them.
"I'm a selfish bastard, Morty." Rick threatened. "I'll take it. I'll take what
I want from you."
"It's already yours." Morty replied, reaching for the collar of his coat.
Rick's expression faltered. Morty could see the cogs in his brain turning at
light speed, searching for the right thing to say to make him understand. "I'm
not going to keep saying no, Morty."
"Then don't." Morty said, as he dragged Rick's mouth back down to meet his own.
The truth was, Morty was hurting. Had been hurting for so long with the need
for it. And maybe Rick had been hurting, too; every sound he made was pained,
drawn from him like blood from an old wound as his hands moved over Morty's
body. When Rick's tongue slipped between his teeth, it felt as though the whole
world had tilted on its side.
Morty hadn't even noticed they had been moving until his back met with the hard
wooden exterior of the cabin. It was a wonder it was still standing, hardly
looked any worse for wear, and Morty's legs almost gave out beneath him as Rick
hauled him through the front door. As they staggered inside and his gaze fell
on the misshapen straw-stuffed bed in the corner of the room, Morty understood.
There was no going back from this.
"You make me feel like a r-real demented fucker, you know that, Morty?" Rick
told him as he kneeded Morty's ass through his jeans, ground their erections
together with a groan. "Like I'm going fucking crazy, watching you walk around
like that. You're killing me, kid."
Together, they stumbled toward the bed, and Morty was pushed until his legs
gave way, falling on to his back on the hard, lumpy mattress. His heart pounded
as Rick tore through his clothing, eyes raking over Morty's body, lingering on
his flushed, heaving chest and bare, smooth stomach.
Rick's hand trembled as he unbuttoned the fly on Morty's jeans.
"I'm going to hell." He murmured to himself.
"Like you weren't already." Morty replied, breathlessly.
Rick's mouth descended on Morty's skin, pulled a whine from him as he kissed a
trail of heat from his ribs to his abdomen. When his fingers dipped beneath the
waist band of Morty's boxer shorts, the boy lifted himself off the bed, allowed
his grandfather to pull his jeans down to his thighs.
Rick gripped Morty's hips with both hands, kept him planted firmly in place as
he leaned forward, hot breath sweeping over the teenager's rigid erection.
Morty couldn't stop shaking, opened his mouth to speak, when Rick drew a slow,
dirty lick up the underside of his cock.
Morty moaned low and long.
"Yeah, you like that?" Rick asked coarsely, pupils blown large and dark with
lust as he took hold of Morty's arousal in one long-fingered hand and closed
his lips over its leaking head.
"Fuck," Morty cried, hands flying to cover his face.
The fact that he could tell Rick had done this before turned him on more than
Morty was comfortable admitting. He knew he wouldn't last long, dared to glance
down again, and the sight of Rick's eyes, locked with his own, as he bobbed
steadily up and down Morty's hard shaft was almost immediately too much to
bear.
"Rick," Morty bleated, pushing at his grandfather's shoulders in warning. "I-
I can't..."
Rick opened his mouth, let Morty see his own reddened cock laying heavy on his
tongue, and Morty came right there, Rick stroking him through it, swallowing it
down.
"Oh my god," Morty gasped as Rick climbed on top of him, captured his lips
again roughly.
"You know what I wanna do to you, Morty?" Rick rasped, hardness pressed against
Morty's hip. "You know what I wanna do?"
Morty did know. He had read countless stories, watched innumerable videos,
fantasised for years about Rick doing it to him.
With unsteady hands, Morty pushed Rick's coat off of his shoulders, tugged at
his shirt until the old man allowed him to slip it over his head. Rick's hands
covered his own as Morty fumbled with the belt of his pants, helped him drag
the zip down until his grandfather's trapped erection sprung free.
Morty's heart was beating in his throat as he, too, was at last divested of the
jeans tangled around his legs.
"Jesus, Morty, l-look at you..." Rick said, like he couldn't believe it.
He drew Morty into a deep, devouring kiss, and the taste of himself on his
grandfather's tongue combined with the slide of Rick's naked skin against his
own brought Morty surging back to semi-hardness once again.
"Rick," he wailed, unable to find the words, rutting mindlessly as their hips
ground together.
"I know, baby," Rick groaned, and Morty's entire body shook.
Rick lifted his legs, let his hand drift down past Morty's arousal and beneath
his sack to where his entrance sat, untouched. Morty bit back a desperate moan
as fingers pressed lightly against the crease of his ass, when suddenly Rick
froze.
Frustration wracked Morty's body. His hands balled into fists, eyes flashing as
if to say that Rick shouldn't, couldn't hold back on him now, when Rick's
strained voice beat him to it.
"Lube, Morty. We need," Rick pulled back slightly, and Morty felt gutted by the
loss. "My left pocket."
Rick's gaze followed him hungrily as Morty hastily reached over the side of the
bed, dug into Rick's discarded pants and emerged with a small, pink tube of
something, covered in bright alien writing.
Under normal circumstances, Morty would have asked what it was. As it stood,
every second he spent, his senses filled with the sight and the sound and the
smell of Rick, he burned with need to feel the man's hands on him again.
Rick wasted no time in unscrewing the cap and emptying the tube's contents onto
his fingers, coating them in thick, clear liquid the consistency of toothpaste.
When he pushed Morty's legs apart and rubbed against his entrance again, it
felt cold and slimy, sent a shiver down Morty's spine and kicked his frantic
heart into overdrive.
This is really happening.
"Breathe, Morty." Rick soothed, stroking the teenager's side with his free
hand, sending sparks of electricity rippling over his skin when his thumb
brushed over Morty's nipple. "Y-you gotta relax."
Morty did his best to calm himself down, took a deep and steadying breath, but
a strangled gasp clawed its way past his lips the moment Rick eased one slick
finger inside of him.
It was a strange sensation, the feeling of being opened. Rick stretched him
carefully, expertly skirted the line between uncomfortable and unbearable,
always just on the edge of something good.
His erection was waning, too much of his focus centered on the struggle not to
clench himself shut, until Rick's finger twisted, pressed against a spot about
two knuckles deep, and Morty was choking, a cry of rapture erupting from his
chest.
"There we go," Rick smirked as he added another finger to Morty's slowly
loosening hole, arching toward his prostate again and drawing a string of
curses from him.
"Fuck, Rick, o-oh my god," Morty whined, writhing under his hands.
He hissed when Rick added a third finger, knew that he was going too fast, that
Rick was losing his composure, that he wanted it just as badly as Morty did.
Worse, maybe.
Morty raked his nails over Rick's shoulders as Rick kissed the curve of his
jaw, the corner of his mouth, the edge of his hairline above his ear, all over,
until Morty was gasping, aching for it.
When Morty's moans hit a crescendo and Rick couldn't wait any longer, he pulled
his fingers out of his ass, moved to roll him onto his belly - but Morty
refused to turn, wrapped his legs around his grandfather's waist defiantly.
Rick hesitated, slick hands gripping Morty's hips. "It'll hurt more like this,"
he warned.
"I don't care." Morty replied, locking his ankles together. He wasn't sure
exactly why, but he needed to see his face.
Rick's eyes bore into Morty's own as he reached for his lab coat, still
clinging to the edge of the bed, bundled it together in his hands and lifted
Morty's hips, slipping it beneath him.
The last of the alien lube was spread over Rick's erection as he lined himself
up between Morty's legs, hands running up and down his grandson's trembling
thighs as the hard, blunt head of his cock probed the ring of muscle at Morty's
entrance, far larger than any finger had been.
Blood rushed in Morty's ears, he fisted one hand in his mouth, pressed the
other against his grandfather's stomach, and whimpered as Rick slowly pushed
inside of him.
"Fu-uck," Rick's voice hitched.
Morty couldn't breathe. His chest felt as tight as a vice, his ass hot and full
and stretched impossibly wide. He felt as though he were falling apart, and
more than that, he welcomed it; savored the sharp sting that reverberated up
his spine as Rick's cock sank gradually deeper. It didn't feel like suffering,
it felt like relief.
Finally, Morty thought.Finally.
"So tight," Rick grunted, the muscles under Morty's fingers twitching as he
stilled, allowed the boy to grow used to his girth. "Goddamn it, Morty, y-
you're so..."
For just a moment, Morty's mind drifted, and he saw them both as an outsider
would. There they are, Rick Sanchez and Morty Smith, he said to himself.
Grandfather and grandson, fucking each other on a canvas bed sewn together with
tiny, dried palm fronds, the only two people in the world at last.
When Rick moved inside of him, it shocked Morty to his core. He was gentle, far
gentler than Morty had thought he would be, his thrusts shallow and steady,
sending stabs of pain ricocheting over his body.
"Rick," Morty gasped, fighting the urge to clench himself shut. "I-I..."
"It's okay, baby." Rick cooed, his brow creased in concentration. "J-just hold
on..."
It took some maneuvering, but at last Rick angled his thrustsjust so, hit
Morty's prostate with the full brunt of his probing cock, and Morty spasmed, a
strangled shout tearing itself from his throat.
"Fuck yeah," Rick groaned, drawing a shuddering breath through his nose as he
picked up his pace, Morty's hips rising to meet his own as he began thrusting
in earnest.
The pleasure was harder and sharper than any Morty had ever known. It built
quickly between them, and before long Morty was drowning in it, his moans
bouncing off the walls, mingling with Rick's, timed to the sound of their
bodies meeting again and again.
Trapped between them, Morty's cock felt as hard as stone. He took himself in
hand, pumped only once before Rick swatted him away, whining as the man shifted
his weight, threw one of Morty's legs over his shoulder and the other into the
crook of his elbow, bent Morty almost in half as he leaned over him, wild eyed
and wanting.
"You're mine, Morty." Rick growled, bearing down on him. "Say it."
Morty gazed up at Rick, rose one shaking hand and raked it through his
grandfather's hair.
"You're mine." He said, like a promise.
Rick looked stricken, his thrusts faltering before he pinned Morty down to the
bed, drew him into a crushing kiss.
Morty knew he couldn't hold out much longer. The pleasure was reaching a
critical point, like the feeling of weightlessness just before a roller coaster
plunged over a steep drop. His toes curled as he dug his heels into Rick's
back, his erection leaking pre-come, smearing it over his stomach, over Rick's
chest.
"Oh, baby..." Rick moaned, low and rough.
This man held me when I was a baby, Morty thought with sudden clarity, he's the
reason I was born. As Rick panted above him, face screwed up in pleasure, Morty
realised, really, finally comprehended for the first time that it was his
grandfather who lay on top of him, moved inside of him.
The orgasm that accompanied this realisation ripped through Morty's body with a
vicious, white heat. He was certain that he screamed, reasonably sure that it
had been Rick's name.
Rick's mouth captured his own violently, hips stuttering as they lost all
rhythm, pounding in to him with abandon.
"Fuck, fucking shit, Mmmorty," he rasped in Morty's ear, hands sliding up
Morty's sides and down his chest shakily, reverently. "F-fucking so, s-so
goddamn..."
Morty wrapped his arms around Rick's neck, thought to himself then that he
would never let him go, held on for dear life as sparks flew behind his eyelids
with every powerful thrust to his now almost painfully sensitive prostate,
waves of pleasure wracking every muscle in his body.
"Beautiful," Rick grunted into his neck, "just, love, fuck - Morty!"
Rick came with so deep a groan that Morty felt it in his bones, knew he would
feel it for days, reverberating to the very depths of him.
As they lay boneless and breathless in the afterglow, neither of them spoke.
Their chests were pressed so tightly together that their heartbeats could be
felt thumping right beside each other. Rick made no protest, watched with eyes
glazed with satisfaction as Morty ran his fingers over the stubble on his
grandfather's chin, his own carding through Morty's sweat-damp hair, slow and
tender.
Morty winced when Rick pulled away, felt semen trickle from the stretched cleft
of his ass, pulling the lab coat from under his hips just as Rick dropped
beside him on the lumpy mattress with a sigh.
"This isn't gonna have a happy ending, Morty." Rick's voice rumbled beside him.
"It'd have to be a secret, from everyone we know."
"Yeah." Morty replied. He had been keeping secrets for as long as he could
remember.
"And I'm not getting any younger. Well, unless Operation Phoenix 2.0 succeeds-"
"Rick, listen." Morty interrupted, turning his head to look at his
grandfather's face. "I'm not here with you because you're, like, the best
choice out of a list of - of viable candidates, okay? There's no one else.
Never going to be anyone else, I think. And I've... I'm okay with that. I mean,
shit, Rick, how many people ever get what we have, anyway? O-our adventures, if
they've taught me anything, it's that there's so little happiness in the
universe, you can't let any of it slip away, you know? And this, being here
with you... this makes me happy."
Rick didn't reply. He lay perfectly still, his brow creased ever so slightly.
Morty knew better than to press him. They lapsed into a pensive but comfortable
silence, basking in the shared warmth of their bodies, laying close enough to
touch.
"You still got that contract?" Rick said at last.
The question caught Morty off-guard. Of course he had it, had gazed at it with
bitter longing almost every day during Rick's absence.
"Uh, yeah, I think so." He replied.
"Should hand it in to the Citadel." Rick stretched, swinging his legs over the
side of the bed as he stood and retrieved his pants. "D-don't really want a
Rick waOUAlking in on us when we're getting busy sometime, y-you know, chasing
us for paperwork, or whatever."
Elation swept through Morty's entire being, and Rick must have sensed it,
turned and scowled at him as he pelted the boy's boxers at his chest.
Morty smothered the grin that threatened to break over his face as he carefully
stood. His legs felt like jelly, and sharp pain shot from his lower back as he
bent to retrieve his jeans.
"I haven't written anything in it yet." He said at length.
"What do you want?" Rick replied, and Morty stilled.
For once, Rick didn't sound defensive. When he turned and looked up at his
grandfather, Morty found him relaxed, pants tugged lazily around his hips, face
still flushed with gratification. Morty may be as dumb as Rick was smart, but
even he could recognise an olive branch when one was handed right to him.
"You can't leave again." Morty said, and he wasn't asking. "You can't go
anywhere off-planet without me knowing."
Rick's face was inscrutable, a picture of careful indifference, but he nodded
slowly.
"Beth can never know." He replied. "Not now, not ever. Not even when I'm dead."
Morty's heart clenched painfully, both at the thought of Rick's death and the
look on his mother's face if she ever found out the truth.
"I get a say in all adventure-related decisions." Morty answered. "W-which
means, if you want to do something crazy and reckless, something which might
get us both killed, I get to say no."
Rick's brow furrowed. "No more school." He countered.
"I have to go to school, Rick." Morty sighed.
"Fine. Then..." Rick's eyes skittered away, before fixing on Morty's again
firmly. "I-I know your brain is soaked in, in crazy teenage hormones, and that
y-you're basically a walking hard-on with legs, but I don't take sloppy
seconds, you got it?"
Morty was floored. Out of the two of them, he would never have guessed that
Rick would be the one to ask for exclusivity. "Deal." He said quickly.
"Deal." Rick grunted, and held his hand out for Morty to shake.
Morty smiled a little, extended his own hand, wasn't surprised at all when Rick
yanked him to his chest and sealed the deal with a kiss.
It was ridiculous. Beyond stupid, really, knowing everything he did about Rick.
But standing there in his arms, still giddy and warm with post-orgasmic bliss,
Morty felt good. He felt safe.
They dressed each other in the gilded light of the falling sun, took their time
cleaning semen from their skin and letting their hands move over each other's
bodies one last time before they stepped away, prepared to face the outside
world again.
Almost two years to the day that Morty had first laid eyes on the Citadel of
Ricks, he emerged onto the palatial Council grounds of the Citadel Central. How
much of the station had been rebuilt from its collision with the Galactic
prison, Morty could only have guessed. By far and large, he found it much the
same as he remembered.
There was, however, one key difference. Alongside the gleaming golden effigies
and towering gardens of immaculate hedge, endless queues of Mortys could be
seen, each with a thick wad of paper held protectively in their arms, buzzing
with nervous energy.
The moment he joined the queue and Rick wandered from his side, Morty was
alight with anxiety, had to keep reminding himself that the words 'I fucked my
Rick' weren't etched on his forehead, that no one there could know.
As his gaze flickered uneasily over the crowd, he wondered how grave the
punishment would be if they were somehow discovered. Whether it would be he or
Rick on whom the Council would place the blame. How many more of the Ricks and
Mortys standing around him now would have to die for them to escape alive.
Morty was unable to mask his surprise when he finally reached the front of the
line and found himself standing before a fellow Morty, dressed in Citadel
Security garb and wearing a weary expression.
"Contract." The Security Morty instructed, extending one gloved hand
impatiently.
"Uh, r-right," Morty stammered, shaking as he handed the document over,
crumpled slightly from his sweaty hands.
The Security Morty wasted no time, flipped his contract open straight to the
back and dragged his gaze over the hastily scribbled terms of he and Rick's
agreement, written at the last minute in the cramped space of Morty's bedroom
closet.
Morty felt sure he was on the brink of a heart attack by the time the other
Morty's eyes rose again to center on his own. They couldn't have given
themselves away, he told himself. They had been so careful, every word chosen
with agonising discretion; but a flop-sweat had developed on his brow, and
dread crept through his veins all the same. Just as his hands were balling into
fists at his sides, prepared to fight or flee, the Security Morty arched an
eyebrow at him.
"You haven't even decided on a date night?" He asked, wearily.
Morty's heart stopped beating. He couldn't have heard that right. "W-w-what?"
"A date night." The other replied, sighing. "You're gonna want one, you know,
when you can't get your parents out of the house and your Rick gets frisky.
Trust me."
"I-I-I don't-" Morty spluttered, heat rushing to his face - and then he noticed
something, his gaze drifting over his counterpart's shoulder.
The Citadel was, as always, filled with Ricks and Mortys milling about
together, standing, sitting, talking. But now Morty saw, there was something
off about them; in the way they angled their bodies toward each other, a subtle
difference in the nature of their expressions, a softness reflected in their
eyes.
It can't be-
"Hey, come on, buddy," the Morty behind him complained. "You're, you know,
you're holding up the line here."
"You're going to have to wait a moment, sir," the Security Morty replied. "This
Morty hasn't written a date night into his contract yet."
"What?" A Morty further down the queue piped up. "Y-you gotta have at least one
date night, man. And like, w-what are your signals? How are you gonna know when
you're needed in the garage and when you're 'needed in the garage'? You gotta
think about this stuff!"
"Yeah!"
"Come on, man!"
"Get your shit together!"
At the Security Morty's insistence, Morty stepped out of the line, contract
held weakly in his hands as orders to review his requests echoed dully in his
ears.
Morty found his Rick standing in the center of the grounds, indelicately
rinsing his mouth out with the contents of his flask and spitting into a nearby
water fountain.
"Guess we all caved." Rick said as Morty approached him, completely
unsurprised.
"We..." Morty breathed, as all around them, for every conceivable dimension
within the central finite curve, there stood a Rick and a Morty, hovering just
a little too close, gazing at each other just a little too long. "Were we the
last ones?"
"Looks like it." Rick belched, kicking his heel against the side of the
fountain, dislodging a sapling from the sole of his shoe.
Morty couldn't believe it. Somehow, in the space of a single day, they had gone
from being completely irredeemable perverts to something approaching normality.
He regarded the crowd with wonder, felt tension begin to ease itself from his
shoulders as his gaze caught on one Rick in particular, holding his Morty's
hand somewhat sheepishly.
"Ugh, how embarrassing." Rick groused beside him. "Hey, Z-501! You carry his
puOHUrse for him too?" He called, and loudly imitated the sound of a whip
cracking.
Morty couldn't help but laugh, and Rick grinned at him in response, held his
gaze. It was love, Morty realised then. Their own fucked up, messy version of
it, but love all the same.
Morty turned away. "Wow, these Mortys," he said, clearing his throat. "They're
really making some changes around here, huh, Rick?"
"Yeah, w-who knows?" Rick said. "Maybe they'll get their shit together, start
the, uh, Interdimensional Council of Mortys." He shrugged, taking a swill from
his flask and swishing it around his mouth again. "Anything is possible."
"Yeah," Morty smiled. "Anything is possible."
Morty leaned into Rick's side, and felt the man's hand come to rest on the
small of his back. It was warm, as natural as breathing, ever so slightly
possessive, and it made Morty's heart sing.
"Yo, C-137! Get a roOUOom, loser!"
 
Chapter End Notes
     Spanish Translation:
     A lo hecho, pecho - translates loosely to 'in the face of deeds done,
     present a full chest'. It means 'what's done is done, and you're
     going to face the consequences whether you like it or not.'
     Ojo que no ve, corazón que no siente - translates literally to 'eye
     that doesn't see, heart that doesn't feel'. It means 'what you don't
     know can't hurt you.'
     The full line of Spanish that Rick says is: "Oh yeah? Well the
     Spanish have another saying: what you don't know can't hurt you."
     Many thanks for your patience with this third and final part to the
     story! Its been a labor of love, one I hope that you enjoy.
     I am tremendously proud to have contributed to this fandom, and with
     season 3 coming soon, you can absolutely expect more Rick and Morty
     fics from me in the future! Until then, keep it real, my glip glops.
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