Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12596032.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez_(Rick_and_Morty), Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, C137cest, Morty_has_no_idea_what_he's_doing, spaceship_kisses
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-01 Words: 3658
****** Gadfly ******
by cousinrayray, Hay_Bails
Summary
     Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people
     talked about soul mates.
     (Morty wants to give Rick a blowjob.)
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Rick Sanchez had never agreed to be born.
It was horribly clichéd, and he hated himself the instant the thought pinballed
through his rapid-firing brain. But it was true. It was a personal truth, one
he had never shared with anyone. This made it, to his mind, an ultra-truth.
Truer than truth.
What was the point of living, if all that existed at the end was nothing? And
Rick was utterly convinced of the nothing. Afterlife was for people who needed
to take comfort in being told their most horrible actions were forgivable. If
nothing else, Rick took responsibility for his horrible actions. He never
believed that he wasn't horrible.
He realized, bemusedly, that these nostalgic theories only seemed to occur to
him in the air. The sun bounced asymmetrically off the scratched aluminum of
his ramshackle spaceship. It glinted along the windshield and illuminated the
face of his peacefully sleeping grandson, curled up in the passenger seat next
to him. Rick flicked the autopilot on with a practiced finger and uncorked his
flask. He took a long draught, eyes half-lidded as he observed Morty. The
teen's shoulders rose and fell lightly with each breath.
Rick's thick lab coat felt suddenly too warm in the unfiltered sunlight. He
capped his flask and shrugged off the offending garment, tossing it haphazardly
onto the headrest of his seat. He kicked his feet onto the steering wheel and
weaved his fingers together behind his head.
"Hm..." Morty sighed, blinking himself awake. "R-Rick, um... how fast does your
ship go?" he mumbled.
Rick raised a luxurious brow. "Am I driving too slow for you, buddy?"
"No, just, just curious." The boy yawned and stretched. "Airplanes go like a
million miles an hour, and they take hours to get anywhere."
Sleep thoughts. Rick smirked. "Rounding up into the millions is for little bit-
little babies," he proclaimed. "Seven-forty-sevens only reach like, six
hundred. This thing," he paused, belching extravagantly, "this junkheap does at
least twelve hundred in Earth's atmosphere."
"Thought so," Morty replied sagely, as if he had known this all along. "It
always feels like we get home so fast."
Rick scoffed. "What, you wanted a s-scenic drive or something?"
"No. Well. Sort of. I, uh," Morty yawned. "I like flying. With you." He rubbed
his eyes sleepily.
Rick's gaze flicked over the boy's face. A wayward emotion flitted through his
chest. He beat it down.
"Jesus Morty. I take you to the best theme park in the multiverse and you're
only interested in the spaceship? Could've saved me an assload of money there,
kiddo."
Morty flushed. "No, no, that's not what I meant. The park was great! But I'm
just... I mean... it's nice. Hanging out. With you." He fidgeted in his seat.
There was that emotion again. Rick prodded at it experimentally.
"I hope you don't use these lines on Jessica."
Morty blushed furiously. "You're, you're twisting my words, Rick."
The old man laughed callously.
"Oh, Jessica," he mocked in a high-pitched voice. "I just want to spend time
with you. I just like being with you." He cackled.
"Forget I said anything," Morty mumbled, now fully awake and fully embarrassed.
The sun was starting to creep down over the horizon somewhere to their left,
accentuating the curvature of the earth.
"Hey," Rick said, forcing himself back to seriousness. "I, uh, I like flying
out here with you too, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Who's reading into words now?" he bit back a little too harshly. He regretted
it the instant it was out of his mouth. "I mean it though," he added hastily.
"Um, I like spending time with you too, kiddo."
He raised his hand to pat Morty's shoulder, brought it down on Morty's forearm
instead. That was correct, wasn't it? Grandfather and grandson, out on an
adventure. Perfectly innocent. Good. Wholesome, even. Rick blushed without
quite realizing why. He hid his face in his flask.
Morty was grinning. God, Rick loved it when the kid smiled like that. It made
his whole day. It was worth any amount of bullshittery and frolicking, if an
adventure ended with Morty smiling like that. He smiled back, momentarily
unselfconscious.
Without stopping to think about it, Rick allowed his hand to wander down
Morty's forearm. He squeezed his fingers gently.
Then, realizing what he was doing, he inhaled sharply.
"Uh," Morty said.
Rick's hand was back on the steering wheel quicker than a snake. His grandson
looked confused.
"We're only a few minutes away," Rick babbled, choosing not to acknowledge the
gravity of what he had just done. What he had just allowed to happen. Then his
eyes narrowed because, hadn't he been thinking only a few minutes ago how
ethical he was for taking responsibility for his actions? What a terrible old
man he was. "You need to go to bed soon. You have school tomorrow, r-right?"
Morty looked suspicious. "You've never cared whether I have school or not. Also
I just woke up."
"That was a power nap, M-Morty. You, uh, you need real sleep."
"Not... really?"
"And school is important."
"But-"
"No buts! Only the best education for my, my grandson."
"Rick..."
"I said no buts!" Rick snarled.
Morty stared at his grandpa for a long time. He thought hard. Then, without
another word, he placed his hand on the steering wheel beside his
grandfather's.
"Morty, what are you-"
Morty hooked his forefinger around Rick's pinkie. The old man stared at him in
surprise.
"The ship's on autopilot," Morty observed wearily. "You don't have to pretend
you're driving."
Rick went a violent shade of crimson. Morty gently lifted his hand from the
steering wheel, interlocking their fingers a little clumsily. His hand was
sweaty, Rick noticed. Then, because the thoughts weren't coming as clearly or
as quickly as they usually did, he noticed that he was holding hands. With his
grandson.
"Uh," Rick said to no one in particular. There was only one person who could
stun Rick Sanchez into silence.
Morty smiled, not as brilliantly as he had earlier, but a tiny little lopsided
thing with one side of his mouth turned up at the corner. Rick knew that smile.
That was the smile Morty smiled when he thought something was cute.
This was straying into dangerous territory.
"Whoa there, buckaroo," he said in what he hoped was a gentle tone. This
couldn't continue. "Save some for the ranch."
"It's o-okay Rick," the kid said, ignoring his good advice like always. Morty's
fingers, Rick noticed, were surprisingly supple. Then, noticing that he had
noticed, or perhaps just because he was young and stupid, Morty began circling
his thumb on Rick's cool skin. The sensation was, Rick had to admit, not an
unpleasant one. Perhaps a few more seconds wouldn't hurt.
He closed his eyes without intending to. Morty's hand was warm and his thumb
was soothing. Then Rick felt Morty come up closer, felt him lean into Rick's
face, and Rick knew what was likely to happen but he was frozen with eyes still
shut.
He had expected it on the cheek, he supposed, which was bad enough, but it was
a brief, and very un-chaste kiss on the mouth. He jerked and his eyes flew
open. His grandson was crouched beside him, dizzyingly close.
“Morty…” he started, then realized he had no idea what to say. He had to say
something, surely. “That’s, that's not a good idea,” he began to stutter in
lieu of anything intelligent.
Morty, bold and stupid, cut him off by putting his small hands around his jaw
and kissing him again.
Rick's arm came up and it should have pulled Morty away but instead it paused
on the boy's shoulder. Morty tasted sweet, like soda, and Rick couldn't help
his small shudder and groan. God, he was disgusting.
Alarmed, he broke off and pushed Morty back. He muttered urgently, “Morty, for
real, what- what the hell are you doing?” He scrutinized the now-blushing teen
before him.
“I, um, s-something I’ve wanted to for a while. Is, is that ok?” Morty
answered, looking nervous.
Part of Rick wanted to snap out from the absurdity of it. Of course it wasn't
ok. Also holy shit, what did Morty even think of him? But, well...
“It's, it's pretty fucked up Morty, I f-figure you sorta realize that.” He was
a terrible old pervert. “You sure you really wanna go there?” He was beyond
damned for giving him the option.
Morty gave a little laugh as he rubbed his neck and said, “Well, Rick, it would
probably be like, the- only the third strangest thing we’ve ever done, you
know, if, if you think about it. I’d say, let's just, let's just roll with it.”
Rick raised his eyebrow, striving for unimpressed, really just a bit
speechless. But when Morty came forward and kissed him again he felt himself
kiss back, his tongue and teeth tugging at Morty's lip while Morty’s hands
tugged into his hair.
Then, in a move that would have floored Rick with its boldness if he wasn't
filled with a buzzing haze right now, Morty climbed into his lap and gave a
small, experimental grind into him. He continued to kiss Rick, moaning softly
into his mouth.
The old man felt his arousal sharpen, blunt and insensitive. His hands found
their way to small of Morty's back and toyed with the edge of his shirt.
After a brief intake of breath, he slowly slid his hand up under Morty’s shirt.
Morty’s mouth opened with a groan that turned into grin as he arched his back.
It was a grin that Rick recognized in the brief moments it existed before
Morty’s lips locked back onto his. It was the same happy, almost jubilant one
he saw after an exceptional day out, like today. The one that told Rick when he
had done well.
That nameless emotion lurching almost unpleasantly, Rick threw himself back
into the kiss with a moan, his hand tracing a line down Morty’s vertebra.
Morty’s resulting squirm on his lap sent a throb through him, and he jerked
unthinkingly forward, kissing down Morty's neck.
He wasn't sure where this was going. And he couldn't help but feel uneasy
despite the low pleasure pooling through him, beginning to burn him up as he
moved his hands in circles on Morty's skin, made noises into his mouth. But
when Morty started fumbling for Rick's belt, Rick got his answer for where it
shouldn't go.
“M-Morty, wait. Wait a second there,” he said as he broke, breathing harder
than he should. “What’s, what's your agenda here? What are you looking for?” He
could feel himself want to blush at the seeming hesitancy of the question, but
he ignored it. This was important.
“Uh, well, whatever you want to do, I'm, I’m down for anything, Rick,” the kid
replied, flushed. Rick tried not to look at his lips.
“Yeah, o-ok tiger, that's great but, I-I’m thinkin’ this has been plenty for
tonight.” And it was. As laughable as it may have been, Rick found he was the
one not quite ready to progress further. He cursed himself for sounding so
awkward but for fuck’s sake how else was he supposed to handle this.
“So… wait. So you wanna d-do this again, some other night, then?” Morty asked
with wide eyes. But there was a hint of a smile at his lips. Rick thought it
might even have been a smirk.
He cursed himself for his slip. He cursed Morty for being a little shit. And he
cursed the universe for all of it. He had never asked to be born, after all.
But that didn't change the fact that he was who he was, where he was.
Rick gave a long-suffering sigh, but it trailed into a smile that he hid with a
scrub of his hand as he mumbled,
“Sure, whatever.”
===============================================================================
 
One week passed.
"What do you want?" Rick growled. He seemed angry.
Morty had made him wait.
"I want," Morty said, barely breathing and enunciating each word with the
utmost care, "to suck your dick."
Each consonant was carefully rounded, even in his low whisper - he couldn't
bear the thought of repeating himself. His face was maroon. He was positively
convinced Rick could hear his thundering heartbeat from across the tiny
bedroom. The enclosed space, if anything, caused it to ring louder in his own
ears. But he stood firm, holding his ground. He watched the old man carefully,
awaiting some - any - response.
"Wow," Rick choked, stunned. "Uh."
Morty looked at the ceiling. Oh god, he had fucked up. He had fucked up badly.
How could he even have begun to consider the possibility-
Rick cleared his throat. He patted the bed next to him."Uh, come sit down,
kiddo."
Morty hung his head. Wordless and shamed, he obediently crossed the room on
shaking legs. He sat.
"I-I-I'm so-"
"Hey, no apologies," Rick reassured him quickly. He fidgeted uncomfortably,
gesturing to himself. "I, uh, I just can't stand up."
"Oh..."
Oh.
Morty, if anything, blushed an even deeper shade. Rick wouldn't meet his eyes.
"God damn, kid," he muttered. "You can't spring that shit on an old man. I'm
like sixty. I could have died."
Despite himself, Morty grinned. Rick hadn’t had to wait for long. It had only
been a week or so. But the awkward, drawn-out silence felt even longer when
weighed against the events that had taken place in Rick’s ship only a few short
days prior.
“Where’d you even learn to talk like that?” Rick mumbled, “Always, always a
mystery, Morty.” He rubbed his face, which looked a bit pink when his hands
lowered. “We can, uh, do that. We can do whatever you like. Just, uh…” he
hesitated, and he looked at his grandson, his eyes looked almost pleading, “Y-
You know you don't have to do this, right? Like, this isn't to gain favor, or,
or some other fucked up shit?”
Morty laughed gently, feeling emboldened, as he always did, by the signs that
Rick cared.
“No, Rick, I just, I would really,” he could feel his blush burning all the way
to his ears now, but fuck it, he had come this far, “really like to.”
And those seemed to be the magic words for Rick, who, after a moment’s intense
stare, closed the gap between them and seized Morty's mouth with his own,
muttering, “You're, you're really going to drive me crazy, one day, kid,” in
between breaths.
Morty could have laughed again, because he was pretty certain they were both
crazy already, but now didn't seem like the time to bring that up. Rick's mouth
on his was burning hot, and he flicked his tongue against Morty’s, making him
gasp and shiver.
He began kissing down the boy’s neck, pausing at the presence of his yellow
shirt. His old, bony hands came to grab its bottom edges, and he ceased his
kissing to look at Morty and mutter uncertainly, “Can I touch you? Is, uh, is
that ok?”
Morty nodded eagerly, feeling like a bobble head. That was more than ok, that
would be fucking amazing.
Rick tugged his shirt up over his head with surprising speed, then paused for a
moment, staring at Morty in a way that had Morty’s blush creeping back in. He
wasn't exactly a looker, underdeveloped and scrawny.
But Rick's hand came up slowly, to almost reverently trail a thumb along
Morty’s collarbone. He leaned in to kiss him again, more softly than before,
while his other hand crept around Morty's back, pulling him closer.
It felt so unexpectedly tender, and it made Morty’s chest ache. His hand came
up, wavering, to thread into Rick’s hair, and his eyes widened at the shivering
groan Rick gave when he ran his fingers through it, snagging lightly on a few
of its chaotic tangles.
“You, uh, have a nice body. To touch,” Rick mumbled, seemingly not realizing
what he was saying, as he continued his practiced ministrations upon the teen’s
warm skin. Morty laughed breathlessly at the strange compliment. It wasn’t a
normal thing to say, given the circumstances, but what about Rick was normal,
really?
He needed to get a move on quickly, he realized, gasping and arching as Rick
sucked pulsingly on Morty's neck, a hand idly tracing around his nipple. He
could hear quiet little moans with almost every press, and he thought they were
his own, but he suddenly realized they were Rick's, and he whined with the
surge of arousal that shot through him. Every touch from Rick made his breath
speed up, make his dick pulse, and if this kept up he'd come in his pants
before he even got to do anything, which would be embarrassing beyond words.
So he pulled back, smiling reassuringly at a Rick who seemed almost
defenseless, dazed. He shifted down off the bed and pushed at Rick's leg,
settling down on his knees between them.
Morty took a deep breath, and reached up with shaking hands to undo his
grandfather's belt. At the first touch of his hands, he heard an intake of
breath from Rick. He didn't dare look up though, worried he would lose his
nerve.
He hooked his fingers around Rick's pants and tugged downwards, Rick lifting
his hips to help, and before he could even really process that he was actually
doing this, this was really happening, he was staring his grandfather's
erection in the face.
For a few seconds he could do nothing but look. It was… large, far bigger than
he had imagined, and for a split second it made him wonder if he'd ever have
the courage to let Rick see him naked, after this.
As Morty stared at it with wide eyes, it twitched, and a small, strangled gasp
emerged from his mouth. Then his attention was broken by the sound of Rick
chuckling.
“You,” he laughed, “You hanging in there, kiddo?”
Morty began to stammer, feeling his face heat. Oh God, he was such a dork. Rick
was laughing at him already, and he hadn't even started yet.
But when he looked up at Rick his expression wasn't mocking or smirking. His
smile was small, lopsided, but looked genuine. It changed his whole face, and
it made Morty smile back a touch goofily and reply, “Yeah, Rick. You know, you-
you look great like this.”
It was only after he said it and Rick started laughing again that he realized
what it sounded like. But he found he didn't mind, not when Rick smiled like
that.
“Here,” his grandfather said, gently grasping his hand and guiding it to his
member. “Start there, see what happens.”
For the first few moments, Morty was shocked into stillness, marveling at the
dick which he held now, in his hand. Rick’s dick. Holy shit. Rick stared down
at him impassively, the very picture of self-control.
Then Morty experimentally moved his thumb, and oh, if that wasn’t the most
beautiful face he had ever seen Rick make. Emboldened, Morty gave a gentle tug.
“Shit.” Rick cursed as elegantly as the brushstroke of any classical painter,
and that’s when Morty knew. Rick was all his.
Morty smirked, stroking just the tiniest bit faster. His palm cupped the bottom
while the fingers of his other hand caressed the top. He had seen violinists in
an orchestra once, and he tried to emulate them now, quickening his wrist to a
brisk vibrato. A bead of precum smeared across the tip of his pinkie.
Rick wasn’t even attempting self-control at this point, moaning and cursing
under Morty’s touch as the boy continued his inexperienced, but enthusiastic,
exploration. Suddenly inspired, Morty switched his grip. His right hand now
grasped the top of Rick’s dick, while his left came up to cup the old man’s
girth in his palm. Rick groaned.
“Fuck, Mort, uh, Morty,” he panted. “You, you gotta slow down, I, uh, shit.”
Morty chuckled. “Too much?”
“It feels fucking amazing. But I, I won’t last long,” he admitted, a tinge of
shame coloring his cheeks.
Morty struggled to hide a wide grin. Impulsively, crazily, he whispered, “Come
for me.”
Rick had always prided himself on doing what he was told - in bed, at least. He
came in warm ribbons all along Morty’s stomach, holding the boy’s shirt up with
both hands anchored firmly to his ribs. Morty, overheated himself, wasn’t
entirely sure what had even happened until he looked down. He saw his
grandfather’s semen dripping lazily along his skin toward his waistline.
Shit.
He had really wanted to give Rick that blowjob.
Rick, whose hands were now hastily detaching themselves from his body. “Stop,”
he was saying, and Morty wasn’t really listening. “Yo. Morty. Morty… Morty!”
Rick grabbed Morty’s hands. Morty realized he was still unconsciously tugging
at the old man’s retreating penis. He blushed.
“Oh geez, uh, sorry,” he hastily offered. He clasped his hands tightly within
each other, trying to prevent himself from doing any more damage.
Rick took a long second to breathe. “God damn, kid.”
Morty looked down at the mess on his chest, and prodded it with his finger.
Curious, he lifted his hand up and touched it tentatively to his tongue.
Rick groaned loudly, “Jesus, Morty stop. Just stop. Enough. I, I’m just one old
fucking geezer, I wanna make it through tonight.”
“Sorry, Rick,” Morty said with an unrepentant smile, “I’ll- I'll try to keep
your sensitivity in mind.”
Rick grumbled and cuffed roughly him on the side of the head.
“The cynic has become the converted,” he suddenly recited in low tones, his
usual stutter missing, “the sceptic, an ardent zealot.”
Morty grinned and stroked his grandfather’s chest with his hand. Rick’s heart
beat a brisk tempo under his fingertips.
He wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, but somehow, it felt like the greatest
compliment he had ever received.
End Notes
     Quote and title borrowed from E.A. Bucchianeri, 'Brushstrokes of a
     Gadfly.'
     Story co-written with cousinrayray.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!