Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10684806.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Pocket_Mortys, Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith, Punk_Morty/everyone, morty/morty
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez, Morty_Smith, Punk_Morty_(Pocket_Mortys), Super_Rick_Fan
      Morty_(Pocket_Mortys), Dog_Morty, Unicorn_Morty
  Additional Tags:
      dubcon, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Overstimulation, Spitroasting, Gangbang,
      Knotting, Sex_Toys, Forced_Orgasm, Dom/sub, Come_Swallowing, this_is
      really_gross_guys_jsyk
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-20 Words: 2547
****** Little Punk ******
by trash_freak
Summary
     Punk Morty loses a fight. Rick reminds him what losers get.
     -
     in which the strong mortys get to play with the weaker mortys
     and punk morty has been the strongest for maybe a little too long
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Punk Morty hits the ground, hard, and Rick sends in the Dog who somehow ends up
winning where Punk Morty couldn’t.
Morty is only vaguely aware of the victory, and Dog Morty yipping happily when
Rick tells him he’s a good boy, because his head is spinning enough that he
feels like he’s about to fall right off the planet.
Rick looms over him, tells him, “I’m dis-eurhhhhhh-pointed, Punk,” the words
sounding far away through the throbbing in Morty’s head.
“W-whatever, Rick,” Morty slurs, dizzy and confused, sprawled on his back in
the dirt. His face burning from the humiliation of losing to a fucking Jerry
Fan. Jesus.
His nose is dripping blood, his piercing ripped out, taste of copper thick on
his tongue. He can’t see quite right in his left eye, everything tinted pink.
His cheek is throbbing from where the Jerry Fan had bit him. That crazy little
shit’d had a lot of serious rage issues.
The other four Mortys that Rick took with him today all bustle around,
whispering amongst themselves, probably over the fucking moon to see Morty
lose.
Rick Fan Morty pipes up, looking up at Rick with wide, adoring eyes, hands
clasped tightly around his creepy little Rick doll. “Wha-what happens to
losers, Rick?”
Morty’s blood seems to chill in his veins, his headache flaring up hard with
stress. That little fuck is trying to throw Morty under the fucking bus.
“Shut y-your fucking suck-up mouth, brown nose, before I break your damn
teeth,” Morty spits, pushing himself up off the ground to sit upright, still
feeling too shaky to stand on his own.
“No, no,” Rick says, with a menace that’s making Morty feel sick. What’s going
on, here? It was just one fucking fight. “My number one fan has a point, there,
Punk.”
Rick Fan looks like he’s about to cream his fucking pants from the scrap of
praise, and Morty’s stomach turns. He looks around at the other Mortys, hoping
to see at least one on his side, but all he sees is vicious excitement.
Sure, maybe Morty has taken out his frustrations on the other boys a little too
hard now and then, but he hates sharing his Rick with these other, weird
versions of himself, and Rick had always encouraged it, always told Morty how
proud he is of Morty’s strength, of how ruthless Morty often gets.
He’s still the strongest.
Right?
Dog Morty is wagging his tail in blatant excitement, Rick Fan shifting from
foot to foot, Unicorn Morty blushing hard and smiling for the first time since
Rick caught him.
The Boring Morty, the plain one, the one Morty hates most for the way Rick will
touch his shoulder or pet his hair, the way Rick will call him ‘my Morty’ like
he’s different when he’s anything but - that Morty advances, points a finger at
Morty slumped on the ground.
“I think- I-I think all of us have had enough of y-y-your attitude, Punk
Morty.”
Rick steps forward, shoving his groupie off him to stand next to Boring Morty,
puts a hand on the whiny little prick’s shoulder, and says, “I thiurrrrr-ink
it’s time we get home, huh, Mor-Morty?”
Morty hates that boring piece of shit more every day, every time Rick calls
Morty ‘Punk’ and calls this nagging bitch ‘Morty’, like- like Rick isn’t his
Rick.
There’s that manic look Rick gets, shining in his eyes, only this time it’s
directed at Morty.
“Uh. W-we are going to the healing centre first... right, Rick?”
The nerves clattering around in Morty’s belly begin to buzz hard enough Morty
thinks he might be sick.
Rick smirks, ruthless.
He takes Morty by his bruised arm and yanks him to his feet, drags him into the
blinding green of a portal.
Rick wastes no time when they get home; yanks Morty’s jeans down to his ankles,
trapping his feet together, and bends Morty over the side of the armchair, all
his weight pressing down across his collarbones and hips, his soft dick trapped
between his thigh and the arm of the chair, his head hanging down, arms bent
awkward against the chair cushion.
Rick lubes him up crudely, fingers him open fast and just a little too dry, and
Morty can see the Dog’s freaky pink erection in his peripheral vision.
He hears Rick telling the Dog, “You guuuuuuuuh- got first dibs, puppy, for
being such a good fighter- such a good boy,” and Dog Morty is whining
impatiently, and then Rick’s pulling back, and Morty feels soft, warm fur all
along the backs of his thighs, and then-
Then Morty finally starts crying, because it’s been a long time since he’s lost
a fight, and Rick didn’t prep him long enough, and Rick is pulling at Morty’s
messy green hair, mohawk long fallen out.
“Morty,” Rick says, and for one short moment Morty thinks he’s talking to him,
until the Boring Morty comes into view, and Morty scowls hard up at the both of
them. “You take this end, babe- baby,” Rick says, pulling Morty’s head up
harder, and Morty spits blood at the dull fuck.
“You might wanna- might wanna behave yourself, Punk,” Boring Morty says, voice
nasty. “You don’t need your teeth to fight.”
“Jesus, Morty,” Rick laughs, palming at his own erection through his trousers.
“You gon- gonna give it good, baby boy?”
“Damn right I- I am,” Boring Morty says, hands fumbling angrily at his jeans
button.
Dog Morty is pounding, enthusiastic, the pain gradually subsiding, and Rick’s
words from months before – “Every Mouuuuurghty is a bottom at hurr-heart,
Punk,” as he fucked Morty deep, made him come without even touching his dick –
those words come back to him now as his cock gets hard, every pull and push
inside his ass seeming to force more blood down into his dick.
Morty feels the swell of the Dog’s forming knot press against his hole, and
he’s panting, spreading his legs wider, as much as his tied ankles will allow,
face hot with shame but unable to hide how much he wants it.
“You enjoying it, Punk? Y-y-you having a good time?” Rick asks, snide, his
fingers forcing Morty’s mouth open. “Enjoy it while you can, little boy,” Rick
says, booze-wet mouth pressed close to Morty’s ear, sending a helpless shudder
right through him. Rick’s voice goes rough, sadistic, when he continues:
“You’re gonna be- g-gonna be begging for it to stop soon enough.”
Boring Morty pushes inside, right down Morty’s throat, easy with how his head
is pulled back, his dick forcing past the ring of muscle trying to keep him
out. Morty wants to gag, feels like he’s choking, like he’s suffocating, light-
headed with lack of oxygen and a possible concussion, and as his vision blurs
everything heightens, his nerve-endings thrumming.
Dog Morty is whining, growling, biting at Morty’s t-shirt and pulling it taut
across his already oxygen-deprived throat, and it’s too much, too full, the
push and pull in both his throat and ass, Rick’s fingers tight in his hair, at
his jaw.
The Dog howls, his dick swelling even more, and then he’s shoving his knot
inside, stretching Morty out more than he’s ever felt, filling him up, hips
still moving like he still wants to keep fucking into Morty even after they’re
stuck together, and the tug of the knot against the inside of his ass, the way
the Dog’s dick is taking up every part of him and pressing relentless against
his prostate, combines with the dizzy euphoria in his brain.
Morty comes hard enough that his balls ache. He feels delirious, overwhelmed,
sharp pain in his ass as it tightens around the Dog’s cock, throat tensing
around the Boring Morty, and his belly feels swollen, filled with come from
both ends. Morty feels stuffed full to bursting, feels sick with it.
Dog Morty laps at the sweat at the back of Morty’s neck and ears, Boring Morty
pulls out, and Morty takes huge, gasping breaths, coughs and chokes and feels
like he’s just been force fed sand. Saliva and come drips from his chin, the
smell overpowering, making Morty heave.
The moment Boring Morty pulls back, breathing hard and stumbling away, Rick Fan
takes his place, grabbing at Morty’s ears and pushing into Morty’s swollen
throat.
When Morty tries to push him away, Rick’s hand leaves his jaw for a second to
pull his arms back one at a time, Dog Morty’s paws holding them behind Morty’s
back, obedient. Rick’s fingers bite painfully into Morty’s jaw when they
return.
“Uh uh, not yet,” Rick murmurs. “You’re-y-you-you’re nowhere near finished,
buddy.”
Morty tries to yell, can’t hold it back any more, and Rick Fan near wails at
the vibrations, rams into Morty’s throat harder, pushing Morty back into the
Dog and getting him going again. The knot pulls at Morty’s hole, shoves into
Morty’s prostrate, and again, and again, and Morty is shaking, face wet with
tears and drool and blood, his dick soft and leaking pitifully.
“Tha-that’s it, Punk, gonna fill you up, know you can take more, come on,” Rick
urges, intensely quiet, making Morty moan pathetically around the twitching
dick in his mouth.
Once Rick Fan, that fucking nasty ass creep, finishes with an unpleasant whine,
Unicorn Morty is there, his dick even bigger, stretching Morty’s jaw and throat
wider, huffing delicately.
Morty can’t help but think of the way the skinny little thing whinnies when
he’s the one getting fucked, the way he bucks when Morty pulls him back by his
horn. This one is Morty’s favourite to fuck, quietly defiant and stronger than
he looks, tight around Morty’s cock. So very pretty.
Morty finds himself sucking as best he can, dick still soft but a small spark
of enthusiasm rearing up inside him. He feels overstimulated and mindless, lost
in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled up, thoughts deliriously stuck
on the way Unicorn Morty’s tears cling to the flare of his perfect eyelashes.
He wants to know if Unicorn Morty whinnies just the same getting his dick
sucked as he does getting his ass fucked.
Morty can feel the Dog’s excited slobber dripping against his neck and
straining shoulders, and, fuck, the Unicorn is lasting too long, making Morty’s
throat feel scraped raw.
“You’ve needed this f-ourgh-or weeks, you arrogant little slut,” Rick pants,
clearly getting worked up now, hand so tight in Morty’s hair he’s sure he’s
gonna rip a handful of green right out. “God, fuck, little Punk, hope he does-
doesn’t last much longer, wanna fuck your throat, can’t stand the sight of you
like this.”
Unicorn Morty huffs, stamps his foot hard, whines, and, yes, whinnies. Whinnies
just like when his ass is getting pounded, his voice going high pitched as he
pushes in and comes, long, too long, too much, the mess overflowing and
spilling down Morty’s nose.
“Please, Rick, I can’t, I-I-I can’t,” Morty splutters and slurs as soon as
Unicorn Morty pulls out, but Rick ignores him, straightening up and unbuckling
his belt.
Rick grabs Morty by the shoulders and pushes him back on Dog Morty’s dick,
making it nudge Morty’s prostate, sparking little flickers of pleasure through
him.
“Please, no more,” Morty pants as Rick rests the tip of his dick against
Morty’s quivering bottom lip.
“Shhhh,” Rick says, strangely soothing even as his pushes his dick against
Morty’s tongue. He pets, almost tender, across the shaved hair at the side of
Morty’s head, gentle behind Morty’s ear, voice smug as he pulls lightly at
Morty’s earlobe. “I told you y-you’d beg.”
Rick’s fingers dance down Morty’s jaw, and Morty’s mouth drops opens, doesn’t
fight as Rick pushes slowly deeper inside. His hand smooths across Morty’s
neck, presses down briefly to cut off Morty’s breathing for just a second, a
reminder of who is and always will be in charge here.
“You were getting just a- just a bit too cocky, Punk,” Rick says, pushing the
very tip of his dick against Morty’s tonsils, just enough to make Morty gag,
throat fluttering, making Rick sigh, his hand moving to cup the back of Morty’s
head.
He pulls Morty forward, choking him, making the Dog’s knot pull at his insides,
then pushes Morty back; pulls, to fuck deeper into Morty’s mouth, then pushes
to impale Morty again on the Dog’s cock. Again, again, again, slow, drawing it
out, making it last, and Morty’s getting hard again, and he’s crying again, and
the Dog is whining and drooling on the back of his neck, and Rick is groaning,
grip on Morty’s shoulder slipping down to Morty’s upper arm, spreading yet more
bruises across Morty’s flushed body.
Morty is moaning as much as he’s gagging, his fists clenched hard at the base
of his spine, every muscle tensed and ready for the build up of pleasure to
reach its peak.
But the Dog’s knot is shrinking down, and finally slips out as Rick starts
shoving down Morty’s wrecked throat faster, deeper, and groans loud and
relieved as he comes, pulling back to fully coat Morty’s tongue and chin.
Morty is gasping and choking, retching, coughing up come and blood all over the
dirty carpet.
His dick is aching, his belly painfully swollen, his back bowed uncomfortably
where he’s draped across the chair. Barely notices when Rick moves to pull the
belt from the jeans tangled around Morty’s ankles, until he feels the leather
being wrapped around his wrists, still twisted awkwardly behind his back even
after the Dog had let go.
“Rick,” Morty gasps, hurting and tired and so, so close to coming.
“You wanna come, Punk?” Rick asks, petting down Morty’s side.
“Ye-yeah- yes, yes,” Morty wheezes, each word like broken glass across his
voicebox.
“W-wuuuhhhhh-ait right there, buddy,” Rick slurs, patting Morty’s butt lightly
before shuffling sleepily away.
He’s back a minute later, crouches down in front of Morty’s limp head, has to
lift Morty’s face for him, holding Morty’s chin delicately.
When Rick raises his other hand to show Morty the Hitachi Wand he’s holding,
Morty abruptly changes his mind. He’s spent hours teasing and torturing the
weaker Morty’s with the toy, and the way he’s taken some of them apart, had
them sobbing and pleading – he can’t take that, not after everything he’s
already been put through today. He fights feebly against the belt around his
wrists, tries to shake his head, but Rick’s grip tightens.
“I thought you liked puh-laying with this thi-ing?” Rick says with a wild grin.
Rick flicks the switch on the Wand, the buzzing of the vibrations making Morty
jolt, and Rick looks behind Morty to where Morty assumes the other boys are
stood watching.
“Mor-uh-orty, come’ere, Morty,” Rick says, gesturing with the vibrator, the
Boring Morty coming into view. Rick hands the Wand over, ruffles Boring Morty’s
hair, and says, making Morty’s chest heavy with dread: “Have fun, boys.” He
casts one last look at Morty, bound and sweating, before taking himself off to
bed with a dark chuckle.
Morty can hear the other boys close in around him, and he lets his head hang
down, exhausted and resigned to a long, sleepless night.
End Notes
     god i whacked this out so fast (if you catch my drift)
     so if there are a million typos it's because i was typing like woah
     heavily inspired by the wonderful riseabovefocusonscience
     go see their tumblr: riseabovefocusonscience.tumblr.com
     they're great
     i find the pocket mortys universe fascinating
     because every single morty you catch thinks you're their rick.
     they all think they're your original morty.
     must cause a bit of jealousy.
     and, oh, how they must all hate rick's actual morty,
     because imo he'll always be rick's fave even if he isn't the
     strongest.
     pocket mortys is a true gift and i am forever grateful.
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