Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7636477.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Summer_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez_(Rick_and_Morty), Summer_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Irresponsible_Drug_Use, Underage_Drinking, Incest, basically_the_usual
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-31 Completed: 2017-04-06 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 8894
****** Moves Like Sanchez ******
by eastcoastlighthouse
Summary
     When Rick begrudgingly picks Summer up from a party, he doesn’t like
     what he sees. Determined to show his granddaughter what party hard or
     not at all really means, he drags her to an extraplanetary nightclub.
     Featuring a playlist and drinks recipes so you can get down and dirty
     with Rick and Summer from the comfort of your own home!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Tiff McNeil’s parents were out of town for the weekend. They were out of town a
lot, and Summer quietly suspected that might contribute at least in part to
Tiffany’s general attitude (or oppositional defiant disorder as the school
counselor had told Tiff, and as Tiff had indignantly relayed to the rest of
them). At any rate, while Summer tried to be sympathetic, she found it
difficult for two reasons: for one, she would have been thanking her various
lucky stars and guardian angels on her bare knees if her parents deigned to
clear out every now and then, and secondly, it meant that Tiff’s parental home
was the perfect party venue.
This Saturday, it seemed like every force of good in the universe had worked
together to make this particular party a fantastic one. It was a clear night, a
slight chill in the air as spring turned into summer, and Cody’s brother was in
town for the weekend and had been courteous enough to hit up the liquor store
for them, asking only a modest five percent service charge on top of the cost
of the booze. They’d had to pool resources, but it was still better than their
usual hook-up, who wouldn’t even take their calls for less than a fifty dollar
down payment.
“You having a good time?”
Summer turned around. She’d been queueing for the bathroom and was starting to
suspect it was being used for more nefarious purposes. Cody handed her a drink
-- a red solo cup with slightly murky contents. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Baileys, root beer, and bourbon,” he explained, tapping her cup with his own.
“I call it a Get Drunk Or Die Trying.”
“Sure,” Summer laughed despite herself and took a sip. The name seemed quite
apt. “Are you like, bartending now, or -- ?”
He shrugged, shaking his head to get his dark fringe out of his face. “I
figured you might need a drink. I’m pretty sure they’re hooking up in there.
You could be standing here for a while.”
Summer eyed the door wearily. “I was only gonna check my makeup anyway.”
From the living room, a raucous cheer and a rolling “Oooohhh!” went up as the
music changed from unrelenting drum ‘n’ bass to something sappy with violins
and trembling vocals, and just as Summer wanted to make some snide comment
about it, Cody leaned in, his breath cloyingly sweet, and said: “Well, you look
great to me.”
Caught unaware, Summer immediately went for the hot girl defense mechanism, and
slapped him on the arm, her laugh a bit too high and tittering. “Shut up.”
He grinned, his teeth still a bit too big for his narrow boy’s face, and backed
off. The DJ apparently felt that whatever moment had been there had passed as
well, and the music changed back to pounding bass lines and seductive synth.
“Let’s go dance,” he insisted, and he took her by the elbow before she could
protest.
They stumbled into the living room, which was bathed in red light for the
occasion, making the McNeils’ subdued, suburban living room look more like an
especially spartan brothel. The crowd was that perfect mix of people Summer
knew and people she’d never seen before in her life. “Summer!” a small group
near them shouted, and Summer watched several heads on the dance floor turn in
her direction with satisfaction. She raised her cup to her friends, and then
she was dancing with Cody, and she could tell he wanted to kiss her, and she
had just decided she might just let him if he kept smiling at her in that
bashful kind of way when she was yanked away from him by the back of her dress.
Expecting some jealous bitch (and ready to claw someone’s eyes out if strictly
necessary), Summer whirled around, only to be faced with over six feet of pissy
Sanchez goodness. Her grandfather said something she couldn’t hear over the
music and the noise, and she gestured angrily at him to indicate as much,
spilling a little of her drink. Rick seemed to misunderstand (perhaps on
purpose) and grabbed the drink out of her hand, gulping down at least half of
it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grimacing.
“What are you doing here!” Summer screamed, the same heads and then some again
turning in her direction. She could feel a blush creep up her neck and she
glanced around at Cody, who simply stared at her grandfather.
Rather than respond, Rick seized her upper arm, and Summer barely had time to
form the thought I wish all these guys would stop pulling me around like
they’ve got me on a leash before he was leading her off of the dance floor and
out of the house, past the couples drunkenly making out in the hallway and the
guy throwing up in the umbrella stand.
Rick slammed the front door shut behind them, and finally let go of Summer’s
arm. She jumped back, rubbing her arm where his fingers had held her tightly
enough to leave a white imprint. “What’s wrong with you?” she said, trying to
will away the angry tears welling up in her eyes.
“I-I-I’m coming to -- eeuughh -- pick you up, Summer,” Rick said, sniffing the
cup. “Y-your mom, she’s -- she’s pretty pissed, Summer. You know you gotta ask
for permission instead of begging for forgiveness.”
“What do you care?” Summer folded her arms sullenly, looking over towards the
living room window. Cody had apparently cut his losses and was now dancing with
some hot brunette. Shit.
“I don’t,” Rick shrugged, “or -- or let me say I didn’t until I showed u-
EEEUGHH-p to this lame-ass excuse for a party. What the fuck, Summer? You
listening to Pendulum in there? I feel like I’m back in 2007. And what the hell
is this?” He downed the rest of the drink. “I’m a -- a fucking alcoholic,
Summer, and this is -- it’s shit. This is a shit beverage. And this,” he threw
the cup towards the house, “is a shit party.”
“I was having a good time!” Summer protested. She helplessly watched Cody put
his hands on the brunette’s ass.
“Because you, y-you don’t know any better, Summer.”
“And you do?” She turned back to face her grandfather, her face red with
embarrassment and hot with barely suppressed fury. “You’re like a hundred!
When’s the last time you went to a party? During Prohibition?”
Rick, who’d been a bit unsteady on his feet, suddenly stilled. He raised one
steady index finger and wagged it in Summer’s face. “Don’t you -- don’t you
start that. Grandpa parties hard and you know it.”
“Getting high and throwing up on a lawn isn’t partying, Grandpa Rick,” Summer
bit back, and strongly considered biting his finger, too.
“Look, Summer,” Rick said, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “I-I’m just
saying, this is -- life’s too short to waste it on, on Baileys-based mix drinks
and teenage boys and -- and dancing next to a, a fucking ficus.”
Summer opened her mouth to argue but clamped it shut. There was no use debating
Grandpa Rick. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go home. Fine.”
Rick looked as if he wanted to say something more but stiffly nodded and led
her to the spaceship, which he’d haphazardly parked on top of Mrs. McNeil’s
rose garden. They took off into the dark blue, star-speckled night, and when
they arrived back at home, she got out of the ship without another word and
headed up the stairs, responding to her mother’s angry “And where the hell have
you been?” with a surly “Out.”
She fell down on her bed, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered why she spent
so much time trying to help out Grandpa Rick when he was caught in some kind of
fix when all she got in return was this bullshit.
The next morning, her parents briefly tried to lecture her during breakfast
(her dad even making a half-hearted threat to take away her phone) before
getting into an argument with each other about the appropriate consequences for
Summer’s misbehavior and subsequently forgetting any consequences were in order
at all. She spent the rest of the Sunday moping around the house on her phone
while her grandfather and Morty went off on some stupid adventure. That was
just like Grandpa Rick, wasn’t it? Ruin her Saturday evening and then take her
little brother out for some exciting Sunday outing.
Growing up in the Smith household, despite its many drawbacks, at least ensured
that Summer wasn’t the kind of person to hold a grudge, and after a
particularly awkward Monday morning at school (“Was that your actual grandpa?”)
Summer more or less forgot about Rick’s interference in her Saturday plans.
Rick seemed to have forgotten too, as he didn’t bring it up during dinner. More
likely, he just didn’t care.
On Wednesday night, however, Summer was roused from her sleep in a way that
Morty might have been totally familiar with, but that took her by surprise. In
the darkness of her bedroom, her grandfather’s sour breath wafted over her face
as he none-too-gently shook her by the shoulder and whispered: “Wake up. C’mon,
Summer. Y-you gotta, you gotta come with grandpa.”
“What?” Summer scooted out of his grasp, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Not important,” Rick said, before changing his mind: “It’s time to party.”
Summer stared at her grandfather blearily, her eyes adjusting to the darkness
just enough to see something that surprised her even more than the fact that
Rick had paid her a nocturnal visit rather than her little brother: Rick
seemed, for all intents and purposes, almost sober. “What?” she repeated.
Rick whipped the blanket off of her. “I was - I-I was thinking, Summer. That
was a real dick move, me coming to -- me dragging your ass home last Saturday.
And -- and I was thinking, you know, you’re my, my flesh and blood, Summer, and
you’re in high school and y-y-you party like it’s 1999 in-in the bad way,
Summer. So get -- put on y-your dancing shoes and, and let’s cut a rug, okay?
Cut a rug with grandpa.”
“Grandpa Rick,” Summer began, but now that her eyes had fully adjusted to the
darkness, she could see that her grandfather wasn’t in his usual lab coat. He
wasn’t even wearing his sweater and those godforsaken corduroys. His shirt
looked filthy, but in a studied kind of way, and the tears in the fabric
strategically exposed the less liver-spotted parts of his chest. “Is that one
of your old band shirts?” Summer said, squinting at the print. “Does that say
bearded clams?”
Rick pulled his shirt down and looked at it. “Oh, uh -- they, they used to open
for us. The chick they had on synth was a -- y’know, it’s, it’s not important.
I’m pretty sure half of them overdosed back in the eighties.”
“Are you wearing ripped jeans?” Summer asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Is that a studded belt? Grandpa, what the hell?”
“Look, I-I’m not gonna apologize for wanting to relive my glory days, Summer,”
Rick rolled his eyes. “At least I had glory days, y’know? Y-you might still
have a life of perfect mediocrity ahead of you. Or,” and here he put his
calloused hand on hers, “you might -- you could get a head start on your glory
days and come party with grandpa.”
Summer wanted to point out the way party with grandpa sounded like it would
involve Werther’s Originals and ballroom dancing, but there was an eagerness in
the way Rick’s mouth hung open a little, a sincerity that made him look
uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Really?”
“If you’ve got something good to wear,” Rick said, but he grinned crookedly,
and she knew there was no way she wouldn’t be accompanying him.
“What kind of party?” Summer slid out of bed and headed over to her wardrobe.
“Extraplanetary,” Rick said, “so it doesn’t actually matter what you wear. Y-
you’re gonna get looks either way. You could probably wear your pajamas and
it’d be fine.”
Summer scoffed. As if. “Okay, I’m gonna change, so,” she said and made a little
shooing motion.
Rick didn’t move, simply gaped at her, until he finally understood. He shook
his head. “Yeah. Of course. Hey, don’t -- y-you’re just gonna, this is just
gonna be you and me, so you don’t have to put on your face. I-I’m leaving in
ten, with or without you.”
“Fifteen,” Summer said without looking at him, rummaging through her wardrobe
to find something suitable. When Rick didn’t reply, she turned around, only to
catch him wiping a trace of a smile off of his face. He nodded and left.
Twenty minutes later, Summer was sneaking down the stairs. She might have
received a personal invitation from her grandfather, but she was still fairly
certain that if her parents caught her leaving the house at 1AM on a school
night, there’d be trouble. It had been difficult to find an outfit -- Summer
prided herself on her ability to dress for any occasion, but going clubbing
with your grandpa on a different planet had stumped her. The pink halter dress
she’d decided on was a safe choice, and there was something rebellious in her
that wanted to dress as differently from her grandfather in his black vintage
punk bullshit as possible. She’d slapped on some mascara and prayed she’d be
able to shake off the sleepiness in her eyes once she was outside.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Rick and Summer proceed to have themselves a real good time. One
     might even say they're having a ball.
Chapter Notes
     A playlist for your perusal.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Rick, for all his posturing, hadn’t left yet, although he was impatiently
fiddling with his portal gun by the time Summer made her way downstairs.
“Ready, princess?” he said, a little too derisively for Summer’s taste, but she
nodded, glanced up the dark stairs she’d just come down, and found herself
bathed in the unhealthy green glow of the portal. Before she knew what was
happening, Rick was pulling her through the portal, and the oppressive silence
of her home was exchanged for a bone-shaking bass and the combined noise of
hundreds of different life forms singing along and screaming in each other’s
ear (despite some of them not seeming to have any ears at all). If Summer had
been a little worried about her outfit before, it was clear enough that Rick
had been right -- the variety among the partygoers was so great that there was
no real way to fit in or stand out.
“See?” Rick’s mouth practically touched her ear as he shouted over the music.
“Doesn’t matter. I-I’m getting us a drink.”
Summer grabbed his shoulder to pull herself up so she could reach his ear. “I’m
not twenty-one!”
Rick laughed and headed towards the bar, mouthing something that looked an
awful lot like who the fuck cares? over his shoulder.
Left to her own devices, Summer suddenly noticed the stares she was getting. In
fact, other than Rick, none of the other people in the club looked human. There
were plenty of humanoids, but even those eyed her -- some turning to their
friends to jerk a thumb at her and grin at each other, but some looking her up
and down in a way that had her flustering. One particular alien who had
apparently elected to wear a pair of wedges and then called it a day slid up to
her and nudged her in the side, smiling a smile that involved entirely too many
teeth and gesturing towards the dance floor with one sleek arm. Summer shook
her head and to her relief, the alien shrugged and headed off on their own.
Just as she was starting to feel a bit more comfortable, her hips swaying
slightly to the infectious beat, Rick returned bearing two drinks. Summer took
one, squinting at the highball glass which was filled with a rather plain-
looking liquid. “It looks so normal,” she shouted in Rick’s ear, and he rolled
his eyes.
“If you want a fucking Hpnotiq you can go order it yourself,” he shouted back.
“This is Numandian rye[1] and it will riggity-riggity-wreck your shit.” He
tossed back half the drink, produced his flask from one of his pockets, and
refilled the glass.
Summer sniffed it, had a taste, and barely had time to think that’s not so bad
before she was stumbling backward, only held upright by Rick’s strong hand
around her upper arm.
“It-it’ll pass,” he laughed, but there wasn’t an awful lot of malice in the way
he looked at her. “Next sip’ll be better, trust me. Just y-your -- your shitty
human body trying to process what’s happening.”
Summer immediately took another gulp, and although her legs almost gave away
(Rick lurching forward with the effort of keeping her standing up), the mildly
impressed look on her grandfather’s face was entirely worth it. “You’re right,”
she nodded and pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Okay, grandpa, I got it.”
Rick raised an eyebrow at her but then headed towards the dance floor,
motioning for her to follow him. The music seemed both familiar and foreign
somehow. She felt like she recognized several of the samples used, but some of
the sounds were unlike anything she’d heard in any song (was that a bicycle
bell?) and whenever she tried to pay more attention to the words, she found she
couldn’t understand them at all. If it hadn’t been for the undulating movements
of the crowd as she pushed through it, she would’ve had trouble picking out the
beat -- as it stood, the ripples traveling through the bodies surrounding her
had her moving to the rhythm despite herself.
Rick seemed to know more than a few people -- he handed out high-fives
generously, and Summer was relieved to find that walking in her grandfather’s
wake meant nobody was paying her any attention any longer. A few times, she
watched him turn around and jerk his head in her direction as he shouted
something at an acquaintance, and Summer wondered what he was telling them. I’m
just here to show my dumb granddaughter what it means to have a good time?
Somehow, from the way he grinned when he caught her eye, she doubted that.
Once he found a spot that apparently appealed to him he stopped, and the crowd
made space for him as if he was surrounded by some sort of field that people
wanted to be close to, but not touch. Summer stepped towards him and found that
they were close enough that she had to look up to look him in the eye. Not that
he was looking at her any longer -- he’d raised his glass, spilling a little on
the people dancing next to them, and was shaking his hips with a lot more
fluidity than someone his age should be able to. He’d tossed his head back and
closed his eyes, and Summer felt that if it had been anyone else getting lost
in the music like this they would have looked like a tool -- but not her
grandfather. She took another sip of her drink. This time, she only felt it
burn on the way down.
As the music seamlessly transitioned into something with a bass that changed
the rhythm of her heartbeat, Rick threw the rest of his drink down his throat
and looked down at her. He handed his glass to a passing alien with a
shimmering exoskeleton and then gestured at her glass. Summer scoffed but
handed it to him anyway. Truth be told, she was feeling the kind of light-
headed that usually signaled that it was time to start pacing herself. Rick
made a little mock bow as he took her drink, quaffed it too, and wiped his
mouth before thrusting the empty glass at yet another passerby.
Now that she no longer had her drink to keep her hands busy, Summer started to
feel a little self-conscious. “Cool music,” she said, trying to match the
volume of the music.
“What?” Rick said, frowning and cupping a hand next to his ear.
“I said I like the music!”
“Sure!” Rick said, not looking particularly like he’d heard her.
Summer was starting to worry that this entire night would just be her trying to
hold an increasingly vapid conversation with her increasingly inebriated
grandpa when she was surprised by him sliding an arm around her waist. Her
first instinct was to punch him in the face, but it was a lot easier to dance
to the unfamiliar music with Rick’s body guiding her. Her hands hovered
awkwardly at shoulder-height. Should she wrap her arms around his neck? Would
that be weird? What if he pushed her off of him -- if things got awkward, she
couldn’t even get home without his help. Her fingers trembled, and right as she
decided that even if he gave her shit for it, he was the one who’d slipped an
arm around her in the first place so she might as well reciprocate, the warm
pressure against the small of her back was gone.
Rick had spotted someone in the crowd and was now making a beeline for them,
shouting at the top of his lungs, the other patrons of the club parting before
him like stage curtains. Summer could see the path he left on the dance floor
begin to close, and lunged after him without a second thought -- unfamiliar
bodies touching hers, skin of all varieties: slimy, dry, scaly, soft, freezing
cold, almost scathing. She could only just spot her grandfather’s hair peeking
over the crowd ahead of her, and she could feel her throat constrict at the
thought that she might lose him.
And then she lost him.
She whirled around again and again, disoriented by the bright lights flashing
in her eyes and the unfamiliar sights and smells distracting and confusing her
terribly terrestrial mind. “Grandpa Rick!” she shouted, cringing as she heard
her voice break. No one seemed to notice, and she knew she’d have to push
through the crowd in the last direction she’d seen him leave.
She jumped up to try and look over the crowd, but it was a hopeless attempt. So
many of the partygoers were taller than her. She could only just see the DJ
booth, where a many-limbed alien was spinning records on something that looked
like a stovetop. Could she go up to them and ask them to put out an
announcement? No -- that would just cement her as a child in Rick’s mind. She
could find this asshole on her own.
Looking around for a sign of her grandfather, she suddenly bumped into another
person. She was ready to chew them out in case they looked like she could take
them, but was faced with an alien that looked somehow familiar. Blue skin,
antennae -- “Unity?” she shouted.
“What?” the alien, dressed in an oil slick-colored suit shook his head. “Hey,
you look like you’re looking for something.”
Summer couldn’t believe her luck and grabbed the alien’s hands. “Yeah!”
“You look like you’re looking for a good time!” the alien winked, and before
Summer realized what was happening he’d slung an arm around her shoulder and
was slowly but insistently guiding her through the crowd. “We don’t get a lot
of humans here,” he said, his breath hot on her ear. “They’re gonna love you in
VIP.”
Summer tried to struggle but found she couldn’t resist both her guide’s
assertiveness and the natural flow of the crowd. “No, you don’t--”
The alien was babbling on about something she couldn’t hear over the incessant
beat and shrill female vocals, and she could feel tears welling up despite
herself. She’d been in plenty of shitty situations with grandpa Rick, but at
least he’d always been there. Now she was all alone, and for all she knew she
was being carted off to the VIP room as a snack.
Finally, they arrived at a curtained-off area, guarded by a bouncer that did
the concept of being built like a brick shithouse absolute justice. “She’s with
me,” her consort grinned, and the bouncer wordlessly stepped aside, inclining
his massive head at her as she was pushed through the velvet curtains and into
the sanctuary of the rich and the shit-faced.
The more she saw of the universe, the more she realized it wasn’t all that
different from Earth. Here too there were scantily-clad aliens dancing up on
people that would never have been in the same league as their private dancer
for the evening if they hadn’t been loaded. A small group was huddled over a
table in a corner, cutting up something that Summer first thought was LSD,
until she realized it’d probably be something much less innocuous.
Especially because Rick was part of the huddled mass.
“Grandpa!” she shouted, her hand itching to shake him or slap him or worse.
He looked over at her, his pupils dilated and a lazy grin on his face. “Yo,
Summer,” he said, giving her a little wave.
Summer stormed up to him, but stopped when she realized the people Rick was
sitting with were looking at her -- some curious, but others seemed none too
pleased. “I lost you,” she said, folding her arms. “You can't just leave me
like that.”
“But you found me!” Rick lurched to his feet, and to Summer’s great surprise
wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his warm chest.
Summer pushed him away. “Are you on something?”
“Yeah, no shit, Summer,” Rick said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw my
buddy Gloop here and -- and, y-you know how it goes.”
Summer frowned. She'd never met an old friend only to do drugs with them
minutes later.
“Maybe not,” Rick decided, grabbing the ass of one of the passing dancers.
“Hey, no judgment. Y-you, you've got a different lifestyle. I get it.”
Summer felt her face flush. The other people at the table were now looking at
her with unanimous pity. Rick was trying to paint her like some stupid Earth
bumpkin in front of all these strangers, but she wasn't about to let him. She
slapped her hand down on the table, grabbed a few of the tabs, and shoved them
into her mouth.
It was the first time she’d done any sort of drug, except for a little weed
here and there, and it hit her like a train. The edges of her vision blurred
like she was traveling through a tunnel at great speed, and it was as if
someone had put a filter over her eyes, red hues emphasized in a way that made
everything look like the inside of an oven. She clutched her forehead, which
was disconcertingly hot to the touch, and could feel her legs shake with
adrenaline.
“Hey, hey,” Rick said, and he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders to set her
down on one of the soft couches lining the walls. “That's -- you go from zero
to a hundred real quick, Jesus.” He grabbed a glass off of a tray and held it
to her lips. “Water. If y-you're gonna be like this, you gotta hydrate, dummy.”
Summer gratefully drained the glass and then made an effort to focus on Rick.
Her eyes seemed to want to wander, and she had to squint to force herself to
look at him. “Thanks,” she said.
Rick, for all his inebriation, looked a little worried but was quick to flatten
out his features when he caught Summer’s look. “Don’t sweat it,” he shrugged.
“It’s -- it’s only that first kick that hits you like a mule. Try standing.”
Summer got to her feet, and although she couldn’t help but sway a little, she
felt reasonably certain she could stay upright on her own. In fact, she was
starting to feel like she’d never want to sit down again, as if standing still
was the same as being dead -- and she was alive, wasn’t she? “I want to dance,”
she realized, and looked over her shoulder, the eyes of the crowd now less
threatening and more inviting. She reached behind her to grab her grandfather
by the arm, her innate sense of self-preservation telling her it’d be a good
idea to have him around right now, but miscalculated and found herself holding
his hand instead. She turned back, looked down at his hand in hers, and noted
that in her red-tinged vision, his hand looked less unhealthy and old.
“Jesus, Summer,” he said after a moment of silence that seemed to last a
lifetime. “Okay, okay, we’ll dance.” An alien that looked more like a sheet
flapping from a laundry line than a person half-enveloped Rick, Rick’s face
hidden from Summer’s by its opaque body, and her heart rate quickened. “No, I-
I gotta, I gotta hang out with my granddaughter,” she heard Rick say, and she
only realized how widely she was smiling when the alien wafted away and she saw
her own relief and joy reflected on Rick’s face. “Let me -- one more drink
before we do, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, only to immediately add: “I want one too.”
“Y-you don’t gotta do all this stuff to convince me you can party with me,”
Rick said. “It’s, it’s starting to feel like I’m some clubbing sleazebag
preying on young women.”
“You’re not,” Summer was quick to assure him, giving the hand she was still
holding a squeeze.
“You would know,” Rick shrugged, and headed to the small private bar in the
corner of the VIP room, kissing the bartender -- four tits, a wide and friendly
face, too many digits -- on both cheeks before placing his order. He returned
with two tumblers that gave off an inviting orange glow through the pink drug-
induced haze. “A Sunny Afternoon[2]. Nothing like it when you're already in a
mood like this."
Summer laughed -- the drink seemed so unlike her moody grandfather, but she
took one of the glasses anyway and sipped it. Rick had been right -- the
restless energy that had had her tapping her feet felt more enjoyable now, like
the universe was full of opportunities and she could reach out and seize
whichever ones she liked.
“You gotta toast me, Summer,” Rick chastised her. “C’mon.” He held out his
glass, and she dutifully clinked it, then noticed his intense stare. “Y-you
gotta make eye contact, Summer,” he explained. “It, it’s bad luck if you don’t.
That’s seven years of shitty sex right there.”
Summer felt a blush creep up her neck. “Don’t be gross,” she said, trying to
laugh it off but not particularly successful. Rick’s undivided attention wasn’t
something she usually experienced, and it felt a little like those nightmares
where she was pushed onto a stage in a packed theater without knowing her
lines.
“To Rick and Summer,” Rick said solemnly. “Rick and Summer, one hundred years.”
Summer wanted to be glib, lighten the mood a little -- one hundred years? Like
our combined ages? -- but again there was that unfamiliar sincerity in the way
the corners of Rick’s mouth trembled almost imperceptibly, like he was trying
to smile (or trying not to). “Yeah,” she decided, “Rick and Summer, one hundred
years.”
Rick grinned crookedly and took her free hand before apparently changing his
mind. He let go, and with a little bow said: “You lead.”
And she did, but not before grabbing his hand -- deliberately this time -- and
giving him her most dazzling of smiles, brighter still than the smiles she used
to get out of things or the ones she used when she really needed to get her
way.
Chapter End Notes
     1 If you want to get riggity-riggity-wrecked on Numandian rye like
     Rick and Summer, this is considered an acceptable Earth substitute.
     Take two parts of your favorite rye whiskey (I’m partial to Rebel
     Yell myself), one part ron miel (Cocal, for example), and three parts
     Jamaican-style ginger beer. Shake gently with ice and pour into a
     highball glass. You could garnish with orange peel, but Rick would
     judge you. [ return_to_text ]
     2 Even if you’re not flying high on intergalactic MDMA, a Sunny
     Afternoon is bound to make your day just a little brighter. Mix two
     parts grapefruit soda with one part sparkling water, one part
     Cointreau and one part elderflower liqueur (like Marie-Brizard Fleur
     de Sureau). Add a dash of rose syrup and pour into a tumbler filled
     with crushed ice. Garnish with a sprig of mint. As a side note, while
     Rick and Summer are mixing alcohol and drugs, please don't follow
     their example. Rick might have the hardest-working liver in the
     galaxy but us mere mortals need to be more careful. Remember to get
     fucked up responsibly. [ return_to_text ]
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Summer and Rick take their private party far from the madding crowd.
Chapter Notes
     I feel terrible for leaving an E-rated fic up for so long without any
     real action. If you came here expecting hot smoochin' and left
     disappointed sometime during the past, um, nine months – this one's
     for you!
The dance floor felt different now, and Summer wondered if the friendly faces
around her were the drug messing with her perception of things or if it was the
fact that she’d just come from the VIP lounge that made the rest of the crowd
that much happier to have her there. She looked behind her, Rick stumbling a
little to keep up with her while not spilling any of his drink, and finally she
got to where she needed to be – the very center of the floor. Like before, the
people around her only took one look at Rick before parting just enough to give
them space to breathe.
“Center stage, huh?” Rick said, his glass now mostly filled with crushed ice.
Summer took his drink from him and turned to her side to find a mesh-covered
alien that looked like the result of an unfortunate crossbreeding experiment
involving a human and a lobster. “Could you hold these for us?” she asked,
amazed at her own self-confidence as the words left her mouth. To her even
greater surprise, the alien nodded eagerly, their mouth hanging open a little
as they took care of the two glasses like a glorified bar table.
Dancing with Rick was only awkward for a little while – his dancing style was
so different from hers, all fluid movements and raised arms. Summer had to keep
her instincts to get rid of some of her excess energy by jumping around in
check, hypnotized by the smoothness with which her grandfather dominated the
dance floor. He had his eyes closed once again, his shoulders moving to the
rhythm more so than his hips, and Summer was almost thankful for his ridiculous
habit of dancing blind – this way she got to look at him without having to face
that piercing stare.
The music changed, the beat growing dirtier and dirtier. She noticed the crowd
around her grow denser as people sought out a dance partner to get up close and
personal with. The lyrics were unfamiliar to her, but she realized that Rick’s
lips were moving – was he really singing along? She’d partied with her
grandfather before, of course – but this time there was no Morty, no
Birdperson, no groups of friends that adored Rick without exception. Despite
the fact that they lived in the same house, she’d never felt as close to Rick
as she did now, and as the chorus hit and the crowd around her erupted in an
ecstatic roar, she wrapped her arms around Rick’s waist.
She half-expected him to push her away, and flinched when he grabbed her arms.
When he opened his eyes, they seemed darker than their usual brown, his dilated
pupils boring into hers. He said nothing as he guided her arms to wind around
his neck instead.
He leaned forward. “You’ve got no rhythm,” he said in her ear, “you, you gotta
pay attention – let grandpa show you how it’s done.”
All air was pushed out of Summer’s lungs when he then grabbed her hips and
pulled her flush against him. Underneath his ridiculous outfit Summer felt his
heart race, and his skinny body felt surprisingly solid – so unlike her almost
ephemeral grandfather who flitted in and out of her life at a whim and barely
spared her a glance when their paths did cross.
He made good on his promise to show her the ropes – with their bodies this
close, Summer couldn’t help but move in perfect sync with him. The music
sounded very far away now, and she could only bear to look at him for a few
moments before casting her eyes down, uncharacteristically demure.
“Hey,” she heard him say, his gruff voice melting seamlessly into the thumping
music, “y-you okay? Is it – if, if you start feeling nauseous you need to tell
me, Summer–”
Perhaps it was the concern in his voice that had her looking up, and perhaps it
was the way he tried to hide his worry behind a studied mask of nonchalance,
and perhaps it was the fact that that mask couldn’t cover the look in his eyes.
Maybe it was the serotonin that was at that very moment flooding her system
after the alcohol had made quick work of the parts of her brain that controlled
her inhibitions. Or it could have been because his mouth hung open a little and
so did hers so it was only natural to close the gap.
She was kissing him before she knew it, and she tried to tell herself she’d
meant it as a grateful peck on the cheek and she had just missed, but then she
could feel his lips tremble against hers and there was that sour taste she’d
always suspected would be there – hypothetically, of course, because she’d
never envisioned a moment like this, with her mouth on his and his lips dry and
chapped and his nose a little in the way and his body tensing up.
He pushed her away then, looking around wildly, but no one seemed to care very
much. “What the fuck?” he said, although he looked more scared than angry.
Summer felt her stomach’s contents rise up – no, it almost felt like her
stomach itself was clawing its way up her throat, as if she was about to turn
herself inside out. “I’m, I’m,” she stammered, and she was still trying to
formulate an explanation in her mind when Rick firmly put his hands on her
shoulders and steered her off of the dancefloor.
That was it, then. He’d portal the both of them home and never speak of it
again. He wouldn’t tell her parents, but he’d ignore her with more fervor than
before, she was sure of it. He might even disappear completely – Morty had
articulated concerns like that before, that he wasn’t sure Rick wouldn’t just
run away again if things became difficult, that he didn’t know if he wanted
Rick to take him with him if he did leave. Summer had never cared all that much
because she’d never had anything to lose, no connection to Rick beside a
tenuous one in that his existence had eventually led to hers.
But Rick kept going past the spot where they’d portaled into the club. The
music was a bit more muted now, her elevated heart rate still keeping perfect
time with the pounding bass, and he guided her right past the wardrobe, past
the private rooms, past another bar, and finally into something that turned out
to be a spacious bathroom – the toilet positively dwarfed by the empty space
around it. The light was dim and orange, and Summer was a little disturbed by
how visible her veins were under it – but not as disturbed as she was when Rick
locked the door behind them.
The music was still audible, but Rick no longer had to raise his voice to make
himself understood. He raised his voice anyway: “Summer, y-y-y-you, you can’t,
you can’t be doing shit like that in public!”
“It’s the drugs,” she said too quickly, needlessly tugging down her dress.
“Is it?” Rick asked.
Summer couldn’t force herself to nod or to shake her head, so she did neither.
Rick continued: “Look, I, y-your grandpa’s got a lot of friends in this scene,
but not – not everyone is aboard the Sanchez party train, so to speak, so why
don’t we – y’know, you, there’s no reason to give them any more ammunition than
they’ve already got, Summer.”
Summer was quiet for a moment, before she finally managed: “Why did you drag me
here?” and she’d meant to this club, she’d meant to follow it up with a if
you’re just going to cozy up to me and then get upset, but then he was upon her
and she couldn’t finish her sentence because his tongue was in her mouth and
his hand was grabbing her ponytail to make sure she didn’t pull away and still
he was pushing, pushing until her back was against the tiled wall.
It was what she’d wanted back on the dance floor but without the crowd around
her or the music loud enough to drown out her thoughts, it felt like a worse
idea. Rick was too greedy, too aggressive, sandwiching her between his own body
and the wall as if he feared she might run away if he didn't. He jammed a wiry
thigh between her legs and pushed it up forcefully, hiking up her dress in the
process. Summer was forced to stand on her tiptoes but even that wasn't enough
to alleviate the pressure against her crotch. She raised her hands, still
deciding between shoving Rick off of her and embracing him until Rick made the
decision for her and pinned her wrists against the tiles.
Rick kissed like people kissed in movies – devouring her entirely, catching her
bottom lip between his yellow teeth, pulling away before moving in again, his
tongue warm and strong and insistent against her own. Suddenly there was an
angry pounding on the door and someone shouted something Summer couldn't
understand. Rick broke the kiss to look over his shoulder and shout “Fuck off!”
at the door.
He turned back to look at her, looking disheveled, his lips wet and his eyes
shining with the same thing that possessed him when he was running away from
government officials or shooting at law enforcement. “What's with the look?” he
rasped. “Isn't this what you wanted?”
“This is – this is gross!” was the only protest that rose to the surface of
Summer’s conscious mind.
“Yeah,” Rick grinned, and with his rictus grin and his torn jeans, with the
wild look in his eyes and his old, sweat-soaked band shirt, Summer got a brief
glimpse of who her grandfather had been long before he'd even had her mom.
Still his leg was between hers and when he purposefully ground it up against
her she had no choice but to gasp. “Grandpa Rick!”
“Y-you're gonna call me grandpa while we do this?” Rick said.
“Do what?” Summer asked, feeling herself slip into the very role of terrestrial
ingenue she’d been trying to avoid all night, but powerless to stop herself.
“We’re gonna fuck in a nightclub bathroom,” Rick graciously explained, and the
matter-of-factness with which he'd said it was even more shocking than the hand
he promptly shoved inside her panties. The tip of his index finger found her
clit and it was a good thing he'd let go of one of her wrists because Summer
needed to sling an arm around his clammy neck just to keep herself from sliding
down the wall.
“Grandpa Rick,” she said, her voice too high and urgent. She tried to pull away
from him but the wall behind her was as immovable as Rick in front of her, and
Rick only seemed to respond to her protests by getting more aggressive. His
fingers intertwined with hers and he rested his hot forehead against her own,
closing his eyes but still grinning that Cheshire grin. “Please,” she choked
out.
“You want me to stop?” Rick asked, and his devious finger paused. He pulled
away a little to look at her, but there was none of that previous concern in
his expression, masked or otherwise. He was challenging her.
And Summer wasn’t one to shy away from a confrontation with her grandfather,
wasn’t one to keep herself from calling him out when he was crossing her
boundaries or anyone else’s. But this was different – this moral quandary was
harder to figure out than the ones she usually found herself caught in. Somehow
Rick’s warm palm against her stomach made it a lot more difficult to think. She
realized then that he wouldn’t continue unless she told him to, and she glanced
away. “No,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
“Don’t be shy,” Rick said, and he kissed her on the cheek she’d turned towards
him. “I bet this isn’t gonna be the last time you get down and dirty in a
bathroom. Runs in the family.” As if that was what had Summer flustered. He
seemed intent on distracting her all the same, and continued tracing tight
circles around her clit, before he had her wet enough to slip a finger inside
her. “Looks like you don’t mind all that much.”
Summer still found it impossible to look at him and focused on the tiles,
gleaming orange as if reflecting a fire somewhere in the room. She wondered if
this would be less fucked up if she thought about someone else – if she
conjured Cody and pretended he was the one currently roughly penetrating her
with two fingers. Yet another impossibility. Her grandfather refused to stop
running his mouth, and every time he rasped a new obscenity in her ear any
thoughts of Cody evaporated and she was left with just her sweaty grandfather.
“You’re lucky,” he mumbled, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in deep.
“Don’t usually go to all these lengths when I’m planning on banging a chick in
a bathroom somewhere. Foreplay and everything.”
“You think this is foreplay?” she bit back, jerking her head to shoot him a
withering look.
Rick didn’t seem too impressed and simply winked, licking his upper teeth with
his tongue. “Give your ol’ grandpa Rick some sugar,” he commanded, and when
Summer didn’t immediately oblige, added: “C’mon. You were so eager to suck face
just now. Should I get some people in here? Get you an audience?”
Summer sputtered: “No! Of course not.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, Summer,” he replied, sliding his messy fingers out
of her to fumble with his zipper. “You think you were safer in there just
because you weren’t alone with me? I-I could’ve fucked you right then and
there, could’ve just thrown you down on the dancefloor, pushed you up against
the DJ booth, which-whatever. Nobody would’ve minded.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Summer said, although she suspected he might very
well be right. She suddenly was hit by the fact that she’d given their drinks
to that crustacean alien. Would they still be holding them, just waiting for
her and her grandpa to return? She’d never admit to any nervousness, but it
rang out clearly in her subsequent giggle.
“Something funny?” Rick asked, his cock now free of the confines of his jeans.
He was only half-hard, but pumped himself impatiently (almost aggressively),
his cock looking especially blood-flushed because of the contrast with the pale
skin of his fist. It wasn’t a pretty dick by any means – Summer had seen a few
dicks in her time (although two of those belonged to her dad and her little
brother and were by virtue of that not something she’d taken a lot of time to
contemplate) and was well aware it wasn’t a particularly attractive body part
in most cases, but her grandfather’s cock almost looked hostile, veined and
thick and with a surprisingly dark glans. Like something dangerous.
She only became aware that she’d been staring when Rick snapped his fingers in
front of her face. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he said, and pressed his lips to
hers once more – whether it was to shut her up or for some other reason wasn’t
entirely clear. His spidery fingers curled around the hem of her dress and slid
it up until her underwear was fully exposed, and even that final barrier proved
no hurdle to Rick. Still kissing her, he pushed the gusset of her panties to
the side before hiking up one of her legs.
“You gotta help grandpa out a little,” he panted in her ear, and Summer could
only feign reluctance as she wrapped her leg around him. He grunted approvingly
and then lined himself up with her.
Summer almost expected him to just push right in, but he was surprisingly
patient, cradling her ass with his rough hands. The ridge of the head of his
cock had her gasping as it penetrated her, but that was nothing compared to the
feeling of his cock sliding home in its entirety – thick and invasive and
filthy.
“You like that, baby girl?” Rick asked, and she nodded, hooking her chin over
his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him as tightly as possible. The leg
keeping her grounded was already trembling – as much with the responsibility of
bearing her weight as with the almost painful stretch in her cunt, courtesy of
her grandfather’s cock – and she was desperate to stay upright for as long as
this would take.
“Fuck,” she managed. The rhythm Rick decided to set was punishingly slow and
deep, deep, deep – even the almost tender kiss he pressed to her shoulder
couldn’t extinguish the sheer frustrated fire crackling across her skin or the
churning in her stomach. Was this how people fucked in bathrooms? She’d
expected something more fierce and urgent and violent, but this was more like a
tidal wave than a forest fire – growing and growing until it finally crested.
And crest it did. She squeezed her eyes shut, almost unwilling to let her
grandfather tear an orgasm out of her but unable to stop him all the same. The
brutal stretch, her overstimulated clit, the way he smelled like smoke and hard
liquor and decades-old sweat, the sheer sliminess with which he licked the
shell of her ear and whispered syrupy encouragements in her ear – how was she
supposed to resist any of that?
“That’s right,” Rick said, “y-y-you’re welcome.” He pulled out, but before
Summer could even wonder if he really was going to blue-ball himself after she
got hers he put her down on her feet, turned her around, pushed her cheek up
against the wall, and rammed his cock up her pussy once more. Any tenderness
that might have been there might as well have been a dream. There was nothing
gentle about the way he wound his fingers into her hair and tugged her head
back, nothing saccharine in his selfish thrusts.
Summer tried to brace herself against the tiles, her face squished up painfully
against the tiles every time her grandfather bottomed out. Was she aware (even
if only subconsciously) that there was no stopping him now? Was that why she
didn’t even try to fight back?
Did it have anything to do with the good girl he growled in her ear as he
fucked her like a dog?
Maybe it was the booze or the drugs or the still-audible bass from the
dancefloor, but Rick sped up and sped up until his balls slapped against her
with every violent piston of his hips, and it only took a little while of that
until he pulled her hair viciously, arching her back – and that was it. When he
pulled out, cum dribbled down the inside of her chubby thigh.
“Clean yourself up,” he said, and wiped himself down with a bit of toilet
paper. “I’ll be outside.” And with that he left her, sweaty and buzzing and
bewildered.
Maybe part of her had not expected to actually see him when she did step out of
the bathroom – as clean as she could get herself; the hem of her dress had been
stretched enough to no longer hug her hips and her mascara was running with
sweat and sex and god knew what else – but there he was, looking for all the
world like nothing had happened. He glanced back at her, and shot a portal at
the wall.
Before she could walk through, however, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged
her closer. The kiss he planted on the top of her head came as a surprise, and
it was a good thing he dragged her through the portal because if he’d left her
to her own devices she might have just stayed rooted to the spot.
Still, the moment they stepped out onto the driveway he let go of her and
headed to the garage without another word. Summer knew better than to demand
his attention and so she simply slinked upstairs and crawled between the
covers, her panties still crusty with her grandpa’s cum.
The next few days were painfully ordinary – almost unbearably so. They had
their family breakfasts, their family dinners. Rick took Morty on adventures,
smiled at Beth, scolded Jerry. The few words he spared Summer were neutral at
best (“Yeah, whatever, Summer”, “Y-y-you think that’s algebra?”, “The fuck are
you watching this shit for? Paradise Hotel is where it’s at, biiiiiitch”) and
indeed they were all he deigned to throw her way. Maybe nothing had changed
after all.
Summer tried her hardest not to mind. Still, every time she glimpsed Rick
dragging her little brother through a portal her stomach sank. Had he been
disappointed? Maybe he felt she had taken advantage of him in his state of
drugged intoxication.
Maybe he just found her boring.
After yet another miserable family dinner – her parents fighting, Morty half-
asleep, her grandfather silently masticating and ignoring all the rest of them
– she retreated upstairs once more, fully ready to reach out to anyone (anyone)
who might actually like being with her.
She had just about made up her mind to send Cody a salacious text when her
phone buzzed. She reached for it but the number that had just texted her didn't
look familiar. Whoever it was, they'd sent her a picture of what looked like a
poster. It advertised an X-Ray Rave, whatever that might be, and was followed
by another text that consisted simply of a question mark. Summer stared at her
phone, feeling hope bloom in her chest and trying her hardest to squash it
immediately.
Then another text: this is ur grandpa btw.
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