Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12204312.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Morty_Smith/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Morty_Smith, Evil_Morty_(Rick_and_Morty), Gunk_Morty_(Rick_and_Morty),
      Detox_Morty_(Rick_and_Morty), Just_all_the_Mortys
  Additional Tags:
      69_(Sex_Position), Dubious_Consent, Self-cest, Verbal_Humiliation, Dirty
      Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-27 Updated: 2017-09-29 Chapters: 2/3 Words: 2783
****** God I Hate Me ******
by twitchtipthegnawer
Summary
     In an infinite number of universes, there are an infinite number of
     Mortys who've gotten a bit too creative with each other. Of course,
     there are also an infinite number who couldn't be less interested in
     themselves, but they're far less fun to think about. With them, you
     don't get the narcissistic dreams, the self-loathing turned
     masochism, or the decidedly unsexy hentai references.
***** Kidnapped Morty/Evil Morty *****
Getting a break from being part of the “shielding dome” was both a blessing and
a curse. On the one hand, yay for not dying. On the other, the scabs that
formed on his sides were even more painful when they were broken apart than raw
wounds were, and getting to wear clothes again made it all the harder to strip
when he was told to.
Which was why Morty had come up with a plan. The eyepatch Morty was able to
move about freely. If Morty could get that traitorous weirdo on his side, then
maybe he’d be able to avoid some of the bullshit that was going on in this
dimension.
Of course, Morty being Morty, he knew how Mortys thought. So winning over even
the weirdest of himself shouldn’t be  too  difficult, right?
“So, uh,” Morty said, trying to rub the goosebumps off of his arms. Why did he
only ever wear t-shirts again? “H-how long have you and your Rick been hiding
out in the - in the ass-end of nowhere? Like, is this a recent development, or
what?”
Eyepatch Morty straight up ignored him. Several other prisoners turned to stare
at him, identical, incredulous looks on their faces. He winced at the
expression; okay, so maybe he wasn’t all that smooth.
“Hey um, so I - say I wanted to maybe not go back in the Morty holding room, j-
just hypothetically.”
That  got his attention. One eye slid to lock onto his nervous face, and a
single eyebrow rose in a movement much smoother than Morty himself could
manage.
“Not like I want to escape or something, geeze. I just was sorta - I wanna
sleep on something other than concrete for once.”
With a wave of his hand, the Fallen One (as the cult of the One True Morty
called him) dismissed the rest of the resting Mortys into their usual room.
Some of them shot him sympathetic looks as they passed, but he steadfastly
ignored them. They were somehow even more cowardly than he was, and that was no
mean feat.
Opening his mouth for the first time in a while, the other boy spoke in his
robotic voice. “You are not the first one to ask something like this. What
makes you think you are deserving of better than other Mortys?”
Morty shrugged and gave a wry look out of the corner of his eye. “I dunno, just
- just desperation, I guess?”
There was a long pause, and then, “And you will not even attempt to run away?”
“What’s the point? You’ll just catch me again.”
He nodded, as if that was the right answer  (please fuck  let it be the right
answer) and turned on his heel. He didn’t motion for Morty to follow him, but
he didn’t need to. The other boy was close on his heels the whole way to an
unfamiliar and grey room, barely bigger than a closet.
A shitty cot sat shoved in the corner, and Morty tried to make a beeline for it
as soon as he saw the tattered, white sheets. Before he could actually touch
it, though, an arm shot out to bar his way. “There is a price for comfort,”
Eyepatch Morty said.
“Er,” Morty drew back a half-step. “Okay, fine, is it like I have to spend
extra - like I have to be part of the dome more, or what?”
If the answer was yes, he didn’t honestly know if he could go through with it.
But he got a head shake in response, and his shoulders slumped before he heard
what the  actual  cost was. “You are a Morty. You know what Mortys most want.”
His first thought couldn’t  possibly  be what that was supposed to mean. No way
in hell.
“Freedom from this place?” Morty offered tentatively. Another head shake.
“Jessica?”
“Do not play dumb, you know what I meant.”
“Aw, geeze.”
The one thing about this that didn’t actually make logical sense was… well,
Morty may have been curious about boys before, but he’d certainly never been
curious about himself. He was just sort of  gross,  to be honest. Self-love was
some bullshit out of a hippie novel to him.
Still, he shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth, and all that shit.
So Morty stepped forward, closed his eyes, and thanked his lucky stars this
wasn’t his first kiss.
Eyepatch kissed… weirdly. He barely moved, as though he expected Morty to do
all the work. But when Morty tried to press his tongue in, he only got it
bitten viciously. He wasn’t quite bleeding, but it hurt like a bitch.
Tentatively, Morty tried changing his tactics. He opened his mouth wider, tried
awkwardly exerting some suction to coax Eyepatch’s tongue into  his  mouth. It
kinda worked, and then Morty was able to stroke their tongues together like
some of the girls he’d kissed had done. Breathing through his nose was harder
while he was concentrating like this, but it was better than sleeping on cold
concrete.
He didn’t realize he was doing the exact kind of teasing, submissive thing he
usually loved until Eyepatch pushed him towards the cot in a sudden burst of
violence.
Landing hard on his back, Morty broke the kiss with a gasp. Before he could get
his breath back Eyepatch had already gripped the hem of his yellow shirt and
pulled it smoothly over his head. Morty was left blinking, wondering how he’d
done that so quickly. Did he have super-strength or something?
“Take off your -”
“D-don’t say it!” Morty sat up enough to kick off his shoes, and then wiggled
out of his jeans. He could feel heat in his cheeks that was almost as bad as
when he was faced with a Jessica.
Left in only his socks and tighty whiteys, Morty waited for Eyepatch to follow
suit and strip. Instead, he got another hard shove to his shoulders, this time
forcing him flat on his back once and for all.
“If you do not want to talk,” Eyepatch said in his creepy robo-voice. “Then
act.”
With that he turned, repositioned himself so that he was straddling Morty’s
head. The position made Morty blush even harder, but Eyepatch didn’t hesitate
before unbuttoning and unzipping his own jeans.
Pulling himself out of his jeans and underwear, Eyepatch finally leaned down
until his forearms were resting on either side of Morty’s hips. The sudden
increase in pace had him opening his mouth, about to ask that they wait, just a
second, please, but all that got him was the head of a dick bumping his chin.
Even though he was still pretty much as soft as he could get, obviously his
more evil version was getting off on some sick part of this. Not that he was
fully hard, either - they’d barely had, like, any foreplay. But still.
Morty jerked as he felt a hand suddenly wrap around his dick. He was uncut, but
Eyepatch wasn’t, and that small difference seemed to be a point of fascination.
Eyepatch rolled his foreskin up and down over his head, pressing a palm against
his lower belly when that made his hips twitch. He got the memo that he was
supposed to sit still, but how was he supposed to when he was getting jerked
off for the first time in forever?
It got harder and harder to focus as the movements went from teasing to firm
strokes, until -
“What do they call you, selfish Morty?”
“Hey, I’m not - not the one who asked for this!”
“You agreed to it.” Eyepatch pointedly ground down, smearing his balls over
Morty’s nose.
Okay, fuck, he got the picture. Morty raised his hands to touch the familiar-
not-familiar dick, but got a slap to the thigh for it.
“Use your mouth.”
Nausea threatened in the pit of his belly, even despite his growing arousal,
but he could do this. He could. So he strained his neck and licked a long
stripe, from the base to the head. It didn’t taste like much, to be honest,
just salt and skin, and he was grateful for that.
Giving a blowjob hands-free was way too hard. Tentatively, Morty reached up
once more, hoping that he’d be allowed now that he was giving the Full Service
(™). He didn’t get slapped again as he angled the cock to slip the head into
his mouth, so he figured he was safe.
For his part, Eyepatch was keeping to using his hands. Which worked just fine
for Morty. The slow pressure rolling against his (totally not small and
hairless, fuck you) balls felt nice, and it was less… complicated than getting
a blowjob from himself would be. It was also less distracting, and allowed him
to press the cockhead to his soft palate in a trick he’d learned from a mermaid
a long time ago.
The pleasure felt so slow-moving and lazy that Morty didn’t realize he was
close to the edge until it was too late. He’d thought that the weirdness, the
pain in his sides, would outweigh the fact that he hadn’t gotten off in
forever. He maybe should’ve known better - he’d heard other kidnapped Mortys
furtively jerking it in the middle of the night.
Abso-fucking-lutely he wasn’t going to come first. He redoubled his efforts,
hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head up and down as best he could. His
hand furiously stroked up and down on what length he couldn’t fit in.
Two things happened a moment later. The first was Eyepatch hissing, “Too hard,”
slapping Morty’s thigh as he said it. The second was that Morty came with a
strangled groan.
Sticky, white spurts coated his bare belly. He would be annoyed, but he’d
completely expected Eyepatch pulling something like this. The other boy pulled
away, and though Morty couldn’t see his face he could imagine the analytical
look on it, observing him twitching through orgasm like some kind of creep.
When he finally calmed down enough for him to at least breathe, Eyepatch
flipped himself around so that he was straddling Morty’s chest instead. They
made eye-contact, Morty wincing and Eyepatch calculating.
“O-okay, you - you want me to return the favor now, right?” Morty forced out.
Eyepatch simply scooted forwards a bit, putting his dick back in range of
Morty’s mouth.
Though he did his best to make it quick, his jaw was still aching by the time
Eyepatch pulled him back by the hair. That might’ve been his own fault,
actually; he’d pushed himself too far a couple of times, making him gag and
leaving his throat awfully sore. His eyes had teared up and his nose was
dripping snot. Overall, he felt wet and gross even before Eyepatch smirked and
came all over his face.
It was weirdly hot, hotter than his own come. He touched his cheek gingerly,
barely noticing as Eyepatch stood and tucked himself into his pants once more.
He looked barely disheveled, while Morty was sure he was the spitting image of
a cheap callboy.
“There is a bathroom next door,” Eyepatch said. “It is stocked with enough
towels to get you clean. You have twenty hours.”
A final soft click as the door slipped shut, and that was it. Morty officially
knew what he’d be doing the next time his “shift” started. No one would notice
- the Mortys were pretty much interchangeable after all, except for one
particular, special Morty.
***** Detoxed Morty/Gunk Morty *****
The dream started the same way it always did. Morty didn’t know whether he
liked that or hated it. All he knew was that he was glad it hadn’t started
until he’d been reintegrated with himself, because as he’d been a month ago, he
wouldn’t have hesitated to jerk off to it. Saved from humiliation by his own
lack of imagination.
Gunk was a strange substance. Thick and viscous and warm all the way through,
not like humans who got cooler towards the outside. It meant that frotting
against the whiny bitch’s ass was just as searingly good as his (admittedly
clumsy) blowjobs.
“Yeah you little slut,” Morty said, punctuating each word with a thrust of his
hips. “You’ll let me do anything I want, won’t you?”
“Y-yes Morty,” Gunk gasped out.
“Why, piece of shit, tell me why.”
Gripping the back of the couch harder, knees slipping on the cushion, Gunk
said, “Because that’s - that’s all I’m g-good for.”
In his freshly-shined dress shoes, Morty had no trouble keeping the hardwood
floors firmly beneath his feet. Gunk’s struggle to stay in position made him
smirk. “Go on.”
“I-I’m just a - just a hole, I’m not even a person. I o-only exist so you can
fuck my ass-pussy -”
“Have you been reading hentai again?”
Whatever Gunk’s response was going to be, it was drowned out by a warbling
moan. Morty didn’t understand why he took so much pleasure in that - or, he
kind of did, but he wasn’t that sociopathic fuck anymore, so why was his grin
widening? And why, in the dream, was he so familiar with Gunk, how his body
would go pliable and soft as Morty pressed in -
Morty leaned forward to sink his teeth into Gunk’s shoulder. A deep bite tinged
with a taste like licking a battery, like raw metal and something that lingered
on his tongue. It successfully distracted him, which was all he needed. Stupid
lucid fucking dreams.
With that, Morty was able to focus on rocking his hips, on driving  hard  into
Gunk’s pliable asshole until he was hilted in almost unbearable heat. If
anything could improve his mood, this was it.
“I-it hurts Morty!”
“Yeah and it’s what you deserve you piece of - ngh, shit.”
“I know I d-do but it - I can’t h-handle pain very w-w-well.”
“That’s because you’re a weak - pathetic - hah,  fuck.”
Focusing was hard when Morty was driving in as fast and hard as his hips could
manage, fucking into Gunk with all the obscene, squishing noises a fourteen-
year-old could ask for. Luckily, he didn’t need to focus; Gunk would insult
himself all on his own.
“I’m a piece of trash and I - I can’t handle th-this Morty, I can’t, you’re t-
too strong and intimacy kinda scares me and I j-just want this to be over.”
Was he crying? Morty didn’t even know if he  could  cry. The sobs in his voice
were nice, though.
They were fucking in Morty’s nice apartment, which somehow just made it better.
All around them were reminders of how much better off Morty was while detoxed,
powerful and controlling and yeah,  strong,  even if his arms were still
spindly-weak.
The two of them had been going at it for Morty didn’t even know how long, but
he didn’t feel like he was going to be done any time soon. And he had no idea
whether or not Gunk  could  come - more importantly, he didn’t care. The burn
in his muscles was deep and pleasant, and he felt as though he could keep doing
this forever.
Sadly, he was going to have to wake up sooner rather than later. Wake up to all
those fears and insecurities he had writhing underneath him  inside him
instead.
Might as well try to fuck all the bad stuff out of his head and into the couch
in front of him while he still could.
“Morty, Morty - M-M-Morty!” Gunk cried out, and Morty had the answer to the
question he hadn’t cared one bit about.
“Did you seriously - hff, d-did you just come while shouting your own name? You
disgusting - narcissistic fuck.”
“I did, I did, I’m s-sorry I don’t deserve to feel anything good -”
“That’s fucking right you don’t,” Morty slammed his hips in harder on the last
word. “Did you get disgusting spunk all over my couch too, you useless shit?
Bet it’ll stain, I should make you lick it up o-or something.”
Pleasure made his brain fuzzy and his insults inexact. The message got across,
though.
In-out, in-out. Morty kept the rhythm the same even though the timber of Gunk’s
moans had changed, gone from near-sobs to desperate gasps for air, like he was
drowning, like he was barely holding on from second to second and praying for
Morty to finish. It was those gasps that got his heartrate up the final notch,
and he sat up in bed covered in sweat.
Even though he was sticky and disgusting between his legs, Morty flopped
backwards on the bed with a frustrated noise. His hands fisted in the
bedsheets, and he stubbornly did his best to think nothing at all. Rick would
say that should be easy for him. When he’d been detoxed, it  had  been easy.
Fuck his life, honestly.
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