Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12336324.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez_(Rick_and_Morty), Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      C137cest, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Rimming, they're_both_such_dumbasses_guys,
      stubborn!Rick, sequel_to_sequel
  Series:
      Part 3 of Common_Decency
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-11 Words: 10278
****** Pride ******
by cousinrayray
Summary
     Like all intelligent people, Rick despised and distrusted change.
Notes
     Hot damn, guys, I did it. This bitch is finally done. Rick pov this
     time, third and final part to the Common Decency series. This all
     started with my strange little brainchild Trust, and it took me for a
     far longer ride than I expected.
     I wanna give all the gratitude to those have read and reviewed my
     sordid little tales so far, for encouraging me to see this through.
     Hopefully it's an ending worthy of you *casts dubious eye over fic*.
     Thank you so much!
     (By the way, there's a little piece of dialogue in here inspired by
     Klei and their wonderful series, Unhealthy Things Taste Better,
     Anyway. Spot it if you can! And go read their shit, it's da bomb)
See the end of the work for more notes
Pride
 
Rick stared at the memory gun sitting on his desk. He took another restless
swig from his bottle. He was drunker than he would have been a year ago from
such a modest amount of alcohol, barely a bottle full. A pussy amount, really.
He snorted at the thought. Fitting.
No point in holding back now, though. Fat lot of good trying to rein in his
drinking had done. That ungrateful piece of shit. Rick had put in real effort
for his sake. And goddamn it he had actually been doing ok, had actually
allowed himself to think he was going to make it, that they would make it out
relatively unscathed.
He swallowed another gulp, still staring at the gun. He wished he had never
even built it. Like most everything Rick made, it was efficient, dangerous,
perfect. All his stress could be resolved so easily, two seconds of calibration
and an instant to pull the trigger. He still had space in the roomful of
memories below the basement, though it had been years since he added to them.
Morty had stopped needing it as much. So had Rick.
Suddenly, he snatched the gun up and hurled it against the wall, where it broke
with a crash. Like it mattered. He could build a new one in a half hour, tops.
But the action was undeniably, damningly satisfying. He consoled himself with
another long swig.
Fucking Morty. That little pecker. He snorted again, he was really on a roll.
The bastard was still sleeping, a fact that was conveniently ensured by the
subdermal knock-out injector Rick always kept in his room, just in case. Fat
lot of good that had done, too. He had looked for it, in those final few
seconds of reason before he and Morty started brawling like fucking imbeciles.
This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He blamed the booze, he blamed the missing
injector, he especially blamed that goddam shitstain Morty, but he knew
perfectly well this was all his doing.
He was the sick fuck that enjoyed sex with his grandson. That despite efforts,
couldn't help but do it again. His memory flashed back to just barely an hour
ago, when he was riding his grandson like a desperate whore, and a chill made
his hair rise.
God, was that some good sex, though. The juxtaposition of his wimpy grandson
being so aggressive had been quite effective. He took another gulp, unconcerned
when it flooded into his nose as he began laughing, loudly. He slipped out of
his chair onto the floor and continued.
Rick Sanchez had just gotten laid, gotten his brains screwed out and an open
pass for more, had gotten what he wanted in unavoidable accordance with the
great law of the multiverse, and here he was moping about it in the garage like
a completely useless wishy-washy bitch. Like, like Jerry. He thought of Jerry
doing what he had done, what he would continue to do, and stopped laughing. He
took another swig, missing his mouth only slightly.
Rick didn't know what he should do. Well, he knew what he should do, but he
didn't know what he would do.
He knew what he was going to do right now, though. He was gonna continue
drinking until he passed out. His thoughts went to Morty, waking up in Rick's
room alone, which was inevitable as the injector guaranteed 5 hours of
unconsciousness and Rick would be out for way longer than that, and he felt a
squirm of something uncomfortable. He drowned it with another hasty chug,
almost cracking his teeth on the bottle this time.
Morty made him stupid. Which didn't bode well for this little endeavor. He was
the ‘irrational and passionate’ Rick, right? He was hardly the right person to
pull off something this delicate.
But enough. Enough about the moronic, eternal thorn in his side. When tomorrow
came he’d figure shit out. Tonight was for drinking and doing nothing. He
reapplied himself to his task with gusto.
His last thought, when he slipped slowly, gratefully into unconsciousness, was
of lonely little Morty, in Rick's tiny narrow bed.
 
He woke to an arm shaking him roughly, some horrible thing squealing like a
dying pig right in his ear.
“Rick! R-Rick, come on, wake up! Rick! Jesus, Rick, c-come on!”
Of course.
He reluctantly cracked opened his eyes, his head already killing him. The first
thing he saw was Morty’s shiny, stupid face, bent over him. The second thing he
saw was his own shirt, which was covered in vomit.
He wanted to be unconscious again.
“God, M-Morty, shut up!” He snapped, then winced at his loudness.
“Are- are you ok?” The insipid moron asked, his eyebrows screwed upwards.
“No, Morty, I'm dead. You're- you're talking to a fucking ghost.” He said
flatly, trying to keep his eyes open.
He sat up and shoved Morty away from him. At some point the kid had put on
pajamas, he noticed, not that he cared. He leaned his head down towards his
lap, fighting the nausea that had started swirling with his movement, though
the smell from his shirt was making it difficult, and muttered, “I'm just
fucking d-dandy. I- I love waking up with a- with a shirt full of puke, and an
asshole s-shattering my eardrum.”
Morty huffed, “You, you're fine,” and went off somewhere, hopefully to get a
hammer and knock Rick back out. There was a rummaging sound from the other side
of the garage and Morty's voice called, “Here.”
Suddenly, a plastic water bottle beaned him in the back of the head.
“Fuck!”
He turned his even more throbbing head, enraged, but Morty was already closing
the garage door behind him.
 
After about thirty minutes of nursing his hangover in the garage, a very quick
stop in his still sex-scented bedroom to grab new clothes, then another hour in
the garage pretending he was building something, Rick made himself go find the
kid.
He was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal, flipping channels, and
greeted him with a nonchalant “Hey, Rick”, still looking at the tv. It was all
so normal-seeming it actually annoyed Rick. Then he was angry at himself. Was
he really going to embarrass himself with awkwardness like he did the first
time they did this? Was he a fucking teenage girl now, needing to ‘talk about
what happened’?
Rick knew what had happened. He had saddled himself with a true fuckton of
bullshit. No point hashing over it immediately. He couldn't encapsulate how
much it annoyed him that Morty seemed more blasé than he was about this. Was
unconcerned, like the blissful idiot he was, like he had been since this
nonsense started a year ago. He grunted a reply and went into the kitchen to
refill his flask.
He came back into the living room and noticed that Morty's pajamas were too
small, that when he bent over his bowl of cereal the back of his shirt rode up
and exposed a few inches of pale skin. He shoved away the twinges of arousal,
annoyance, and guilt with the ease of practice.
He refused to let himself hesitate for even a split second before joining Morty
on the couch. Just watch tv, Sanchez. Just be as chill as your rocks-for-brains
grandson, it's not that fucking hard. He would not be outdone by a fucking
teenager. He sat. He took a drink from his flask.
“So…. Last night.” Goddam it, he was a complete disgrace. He should just stop
now and go into the garage and grow himself a vagina. It was obviously better
suited for him.
“I think- think there’s some shit that needs addressing.” Morty looked away
from the tv and at him, still looking so fucking calm, almost bored. God, Rick
hated the little shit so fucking much.
“First of all, M-ourg-rty, you can just- you can go straight to hell. Don't
think I haven't realized that- that you've played me for a fucking fool.
Scientific exp-experiment, my ass.”
Fuck. He would not let himself blush. Thankfully Morty didn't even crack a
smile, just stared at him, a bit of unease moving across his face. Fucking
finally. Feeling a bit better, Rick continued, belching grossly.
“I-euuuugh-I’m not- not even gonna pretend to kno-ough-ow or care what- what
passed for a thought process in your- in the soundless vacuum that is your
mind, Morty, that made you decide despite, euugh, you know, all common fucking
sense, that this is a good idea.”
He looked at Morty, waiting to see if any stuttering justifications that he
could berate would emerge, but also vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he
really wanted to hear the specifics of how his grandson came to believe this
was what he wanted. But Morty just looked at him too calmly, too blankly,
waiting right back at him.
God fucking damn it, he hated that tactic. He didn't know when Morty had
learned it, but Rick had come to associate it with these damnable
conversations, and he needed to stop letting it unset him. He took a calm, lazy
gulp from his flask, cool as shit.
“But don't, don't you go thinkin’ you've roped me into something you haven't,
b-i-eghh-tch. I- I stand by what I said. I ain't your fucking daddy. And you're
not- not my fucking lover, or boyfriend, or equal in any- any conceivable way
Mo-ough-rty, you hopeless fucking dimwit. And- and don't think I've forgotten
about you fucking assaulting me. Or the water bottle thing, you- you little
fuck.” Ok he needed to stop, he was sounding less chill. But he wanted to snipe
at Morty. He hated stupid things that he had to care about, and stupid ideas he
was roped into by other people. Which was Morty to a fucking tee. His thoughts
went back to the broken memory gun. It would only take a half an hour.
But Morty just smiled and said, “I- I know Rick. Why, why do you keep assuming
I’m so- that I'm so boring?”
That cocky little asshole. Rick watched incredulously as after a pause and what
might have been the beginning of a smirk the fucker turned his eyes back to the
tv, and resumed eating his cereal.
Rick turned his head back to the tv as well and muttered, “You’re always bo-
ough oring, Morty”. He took a drink from his flask. He was not glaring. He was
in control. He wanted to fucking do something, something other than this
awkward bullshit. Might as well go to work.
He stood and said, “Get up- up off your lazy ass Morty. We got shit to do. Meet
me in the garage. Eughhh- take- take more than ten minutes, I'm leavin’ you
behind.” in a dismissive tone, then walked out of the room, taking another very
casual swig from his flask as he walked away.
He ruined it by calling out, “And- and throw those ugly, old-ass pj’s in the
fu-euugh-cking trash. You look like- you look like a total dipshit in them,” as
he left the room. He made himself keep walking to the garage before he
embarrassed himself any further, taking one long extended chug as he went.
 
The day’s adventuring went well, like it almost always did. Of course, things
went wrong and people got killed and they almost died, but their dynamic was
normal. Rick had long since come to depend on Morty when they were out working.
The kid had more than proven his capabilities over the years, was by now more
sharp-eyed and calculating and cool-headed than any normal adult. Hell, today
Rick had seen him manage to sniper shoot a moving target at over 500 yards,
then seamlessly turn and disintegrate an alien that had tried to sneak up
behind them, one that even Rick hadn't noticed.
These were the excuses Rick reminded himself of, when they got back into the
ship bruised and sweaty and Morty immediately threw on the autopilot and ducked
down, unzipping Rick's pants and taking him lustily into his mouth, his hand
already palming himself through his jeans, and Rick just let him. The kid
seemed to have a downright fetish for sucking him off.
At least he was good at it. Rick came from it in under ten minutes, as a matter
of fact. God he almost wished he hadn't, he thought, as Morty sprang up and
began kissing him open-mouthed, shamelessly passing the taste of Rick's own
semen to him while Rick responded helplessly. He wished he could flip the twerp
around like the fucking slut he was and take him against the-. No.
He pushed Morty off of him, but made sure he didn't do it too roughly. He
cleared his throat, “You- you need me to- to get you off?” he said a bit
hoarsely. He'd give himself a break on that one, his brains still felt a bit
like Morty had sucked them out.
Morty blushed to the tips of his ears. “No, uh... I, uh, kinda f-finished
already,” he stammered, with a chagrined smile.
Jesus. What a fucking loser. Then Rick remembered this loser had gotten him off
in almost record speed, and scowled. He quickly wiped it off his face and
pasted on a withering smirk, “Coming in your pants. You know, you never cease
to amaze me, Morty, with your commitment to total patheticness. It's- you've
made it an art form.”
Morty just kept smiling, flipped off the autopilot, and got into his seat. It
made Rick want to scowl again.
 
Morty really was a horny, needy slut. Even the presence of the rest of the
family was barely a deterrent for him. He would utilize every evening alone,
would attack Rick in the ship without warning, one time nearly causing them to
die when Rick almost crashed the ship into space debris. He would sneak into
Rick's bedroom in the middle of the night, blasély finding and activating the
silencer and Rick would wake up to fingers creeping down his pants.
He had to draw the line at that last one. Risks of being caught aside, he had
almost shot Morty three times before he realized the amazingly dense moron
wasn't going to stop unless he said something. Morty had pouted, but agreed,
though he didn't let Rick go back to sleep until he screwed him through the
mattress, “since, you know, y-you’re awake already”.
And Rick let him. He let him every single time. And moreover he found himself
affected, like Morty's teenage hormones were contagious. He found himself
staring at lips that had been wrapped around his cock the day before and
growing uncomfortably hard. Or Morty would be helping him in the garage and
would lean over and the skin of his neck would entrance Rick, make him want to
suck and bite it.
He never did, though. He never let himself initiate anything, he just went
along with what Morty wanted. It was beyond stupid, it was downright pathetic,
but it was about all he had left. Which was, of course, the most pathetic thing
of all.
He had chained himself to this teenage menace, let himself be used like a
willing and eager blow-up doll. That wasn't too embarrassing. Well, it was at
first, but after one particularly intense session in which Morty brought him
off without a single touch to his dick, Rick briefly blacking out from the
near-painful orgasm, he had decided to just let that go and count his
blessings. Rick always knew he was a filthy whore, there was no point angsting
over it, and getting plowed by his grandson was certainly kinky enough. And it
was a definite rush to be so constantly, aggressively desired. No, what
bothered him wasn't his dick but his mind.
Rick was still a Rick. He was still a selfish, aggressive asshole who did what
he wanted and always wanted more. It was what had gotten them in this mess in
the first place, Morty's stubborn dumbassery aside. He had been too weak, too
sick and perverse to say no to all this, but he drew the line, had to draw some
fucking line, and he drew it at pushing himself onto his grandson. He'd accept
whatever Morty offered, but he wouldn't let himself go for more. He didn't
think Morty would come out nearly as unscathed as he had so far.
It didn't mean he didn't want to. It took a draining amount of self-control,
and part of him lived in constant dread of the day he broke. It didn't mean the
whole effort wasn't disgustingly sentimental and probably moot. But he needed
something to anchor his self-worth and self-control in, and he had decades of
practice in ignoring things. As always, if it worked, why dare fuck with it?
And then Morty went and ruined it. Rick didn't know why it surprised him.
 
He was working in the garage, telling himself he really should repair that
memory gun, since they were bound to get caught eventually if Morty kept up
this pace. He could never quite bring himself to do it, however, and he refused
to spend time pondering exactly why that was.
Morty came in and walked over to stand behind him. Rick could feel him
dithering and fidgeting and sighed, taking a long drink from his flask before
turning around. This was practically guaranteed to be a stupid conversation he
wanted no part of.
Morty just continued fidgeting, turning his hands and meeting Rick's eyes, then
glancing away, his mouth opening and closing like a fucking goldfish. “W-What,
Morty?!,” Rick finally burst out, “I'm- I’m getting one step closer to the
grave with every second you waste remembering ho-ough-w to fuckin’ talk.”
“Rick…,” The insufferable ponce trailed off, and Rick took another another swig
to keep himself from snapping again. It would just make whatever this was take
even longer.
“Do you, do you enjoy what we- what we do?” Morty finally got out, managing to
meet Rick's gaze.
Jesus. What kind of nonsense loaded question was that? He rolled his eyes and
groaned exasperatedly, hitting the button on his silencer box with a pointed
glare at Morty, and said snippily, “First off, did you at- did you by some
miracle have the- the ou-ough-nce of foresight to lock the fucking door?” Morty
nodded. Rick sighed and took another drink, buying some time. “Well, M-Morty, I
gotta hand it to ya, you held out longer than I expected before- before asking
stupid meaningless questions like a fucking woman. What the- what the hell is
that even supposed to mean? I'm doing it, aren't I?” Unease drifted up his
spine.
“Why? You- you over it? Are we done here?” He made himself say casually.
Internally he felt a peculiar mixture of dread and relief that he would not
examine right now, would never examine if he could get away with it.
Morty shook his head quickly, “N-No! That-that's not what I mean. It's…
Remember that- that first time when I told you not- not to be a r-robot? It's
like… I feel like you, you never really stopped.”
Rick's eyebrows shot up. Wow. “Wellll, M-ough-rty, I'm sorry if G-Grandpa Rick
doesn't have the pep in his step you apparently require to fulfill your- to
satisfy your sexual needs.” He sneered sarcastically. Holy shit was the kid
saying he was a bad lay? He didn't know whether to laugh or be angry.
Morty looked like he was starting to get angry. “That's- that's not what I
mean, Rick. S-stop being- stop it. You know what I mean. You- you never DO
anything. Like, you just- you just do what I say, or- or do what I do like-
like a fucking robot.” He faltered a moment at Rick's increasingly negative
expression, but plowed on before Rick had the chance to say anything. “I- I
just want to know why. I'm not an- a total idiot. I know you're- you- you get
off on what we do. I know it feels good for you.” He flushed, but continued
agitatedly, “So what's your problem?”
For a moment Rick was speechless. Somehow, stupidly he supposed, he had never
expected Morty to call him out on this, figured maybe he had the good sense not
too. He should have known. Morty didn't have the sense to walk and chew gum
without choking on it.
“My- my problem, Morty, in case you FORGOT, is that I'm- I’m having sex with my
fucking 17-year-old g-grandson. What, did you- did you think this was my
fucking dream come true? That I would just be- what, abounding with enthusiasm?
You- you will never cease to amaze me with how f-fucking self-centered and
stupid you are. If you're- if you don't like how I do things you can just fuck
right off.”
“Rick, that- that doesn't even make any sense! You- you're full of shit! You-
you get off on it, why are you pretending like I- like I twisted your arm-”
“Because you did, M-Morty! You fucking lied and tricked-” He cut himself off.
He wasn't comfortable saying this was the all kid's fault and Rick was some
innocent victim. That was too much. But, god, the stupid bastard was
irritating.
“You insisted, you-you threw yourself into this when I told you over and over
what a terrible idea it was, how fucking dangerous it was. And now, what,
you're- you’re mad that I'm, I'm trying to salvage some scrap of decency? Fuck
off, Morty.”
“R-Rick, I-I deserve to-”
He cut him off, “You d-DESERVE jack shit.” He took a swig and continued,
leaning forward, “Do- Do you know- do- do you have any idea how lucky you are?
You stupid, arrogant shit, do you realize that if you did- if you had any other
Rick, odds are a hundred to one you'd be a drooling fucking waste with cheese
for memories by now, a-a gaslit, worthless, cum-filled TOY, you- you hapless
fool.”
He bared his teeth, relishing the way Morty's eyes widened. “I am a Bad.
Person. Morty. You- you should be on your knees thanking God, thanking your
lucky fucking stars that you get to have your pervert cake and f-fucking
remember you ate it too! But no, you suicidal ass, you just- you just keep on
pushing, keep merrily doing your damndest to get me to fucking ruin you!”
Jesus fucking Christ what was he doing? What was he saying? This was too much,
he was giving up too much. But he was fucking annoyed. Morty really was the
dumbest, most foolhardy, miserable thing that had ever crawled across the face
of the Earth. God fucking damn it. Maybe he would just fix the fucking memory
gun after all, he wasn't sure he could handle Morty remembering this. But the
son of a bitch was still talking.
“Cut the crap, R-Rick! Don't you k-know, don't you realize how-” Morty cut
himself off with a shake of his head and started again, waving his hands
agitatedly.
“This is what I'm, what I'm fucking sick of. I'm sick of you bein- p-playing
the goddam martyr, of-of acting like you're saving me if you just sit back and-
and think of fucking England! It makes no fucking difference! It's- it's so,
it's so stupid it's beneath you! We're still h-here, aren't we?! We're still f-
fucking, Rick!! You want- you want me on my knees, w-wanna fill me with cum? T-
Then be a man and fucking say it! I'd do it g-gladly, I'd do anything you like
with a fucking song in my heart, cuz- cuz I accept what I fucking want!”
He stopped as if he were done, then stepped closer to Rick and started
yammering again. “And you- you- you think I don't know who you are? You think
it's some big f-fucking s-secret? Who the- who the hell do you think’s been-
been standing right next to you the whole time?! Huh?! So just- just get the
fuck over yourself!”
He finished, breathing heavily. His face was red and he looked so brash, so
fucking self-satisfied Rick knew there was a serious danger he was about to
actually hurt the hateful, dumb shit, could feel his fist clenching with the
urge to just swing out and punch him in his stupid Morty face over and over
because it would be the easiest, most immediately soothing way for this to just
be done with.
Instead he leaned forward and said, hard as ice, “Morty… get the f-fuck out of
my face.”
Morty stared at him, eyes blazing. Then he gave an angry huff and walked a few
paces away before turning back and adding, “And- and go ahead! Use your f-
fucking m-memory gun if YOU can't deal, you- you fucking pussy!” He stormed out
of the garage, ducking the gadget Rick hurled enragedly at him without a pause
and slamming the door.
Rick sat for a few moments, clenching his jaw and listening to his own too-
uneven breathing. With slightly shaking hands he unscrewed the lid to his flask
and drained what was left in it. That. That had been unexpected. What a
melodramatic, presumptuous little cockstain.
But the thing was, the fucking bitch of it all, was that half his anger was
definitely fueled by embarrassment. He was clinging to a lie that was so stupid
his shit-for-brains grandson could see through it, had called him out on it.
For not the first time since this started, he found himself wondering how much
of Morty he actually knew. He was so fucking sick of getting caught off-guard
by him.
More importantly, what kind of Rick was he? Weak and drowning in hesitancy,
half holding onto something because he didn't have the balls to push it away.
He had severely underestimated how preoccupied he would constantly be by this
bullshit. He felt too tightly wound, had felt like that ever since this whole
debacle started and he was fucking sick of it.
He got up and rummaged through the garage, looking for another bottle of booze.
When he found it, he paused at the weary, drilled reminder to not lose control.
He cracked it open in spite and started chugging straight from the bottle. God,
he really, really fucking hated Morty. He hated all of this. Fuck it. He didn't
need this shit, he never did.
And without another moment to think about it, still clutching his bottle, he
slammed open the door of his ship, got in, and flew off.
 
Rick was gone for a week. To his exasperation, he found it more difficult than
it should have been. No matter where he went or how much booze he drank, his
thoughts went back over and over again to that incredibly aggravating little
pissant. He had thought that some time and space to breathe would help him
regain a bit of clarity, but if anything it made it worse. He would get trashed
and catch himself looking for the little bastard. Even more embarrassing, Morty
had completely ruined his sex drive.
For god's sake, he was 60 fucking years old, he had had sex and done things
that were so crazy they could barely be recognized as sex with hundreds of
beings. He should be so far beyond this shit. But he wasn't. He had become
accustomed, addicted even. The whores and hookups he plowed through feverishly
weren't cutting it. He actually found himself masturbating to the thought of
Morty, something he had successfully resisted until now. He pushed his self-
disgust aside tiredly.
Eventually, he came to the conclusion that there was no point staying off-world
any longer. It wasn't helping, it wasn't like he was going to bite the bullet
and actually leave for good, and any longer and it would seem like he was
hiding away from a fucking teenager (which he absolutely was, his logic
reminded him). So he swung the ship towards home, resolutely ignoring how he
breathed easier as soon as he breached the atmosphere.
When he arrived, he was surprised and annoyed to find that apparently he and
Morty were home alone. He waited in the garage a bit, drinking heavily and
expecting Morty to burst in at any moment, full of childish anger and hurt. But
Morty never came. It made him uneasy and want to drink even more, but that
fucking nagging voice kicked in before he could let himself get to blackout
level.
Eventually, he was left with no other choice but to hunt the brat down. At this
point he was drunk enough to half-welcome further confrontation. He found Morty
in the living room, watching that goddamn tv without a care in the world. So
that was how they were gonna play this, huh? Rick violently tugged down any
messy emotions threatening to undo him before he entered. The only sign of his
tenseness was his grip on his flask, which he made himself relax when he
noticed it.
They sat in a mockery of companionable silence, Morty merely asking when he
arrived if there was anything in particular he wanted to watch. Rick shrugged,
not looking at him, and took a swig. He was fine. He was fine and in control.
He would not be outdone. The kid flipped around for awhile, eventually landing
on some alien soap opera.
They watched it. It started with two ugly avatar-looking assholes arguing, then
one of them left and the scene changed to the other walking into a room,
presumably some sort of bedroom. There was a smaller alien inside, the room
decorated in bright colors like this was a child. The taller blue thing knelt
down and began speaking gibberish to the child, which responded in kind. They
went back and forth talking like this for some time and Rick was about to speak
up and tell Morty to change this boring shit when things got weird.
The larger one suddenly pushed the child down into the floor and leaned over
it, it's noises sounding angrier, more aggressive. One of its four hands held
it down, while two others began running up and down the anxiously squawking
smaller one in a rough, unmistakable manner. It reached out and gave one of its
antennae things a hard, slow tug, the child honking ever more loudly, thrashing
wildly on the floor.
“J-Jesus Christ!” Morty stuttered, his hand fumbling for the remote and quickly
changing the channel. Rick couldn't help but smirk, though inside he felt much
the same.
“W-What’s wrong, M-ough-rty, did it- did it hit a little close to home? Kinda-
kinda makes you a hypocrite, do-ough-n’t it, you know. I thought you were- you
were into- euugh- this shit, I thought pe-pedophiles and, and kiddie-rape were
totally your thing, bro.” He sneered sarcastically. He knew it was petty, he
didn't care.
Morty just turned, face a bit pale, but a smirk of his own in place. “P-
pederasts, Rick. I'm into- you're a pederast. There’s a- a sizeable difference
in our dynamic. It's an easy mistake to make, though, if- if you're ignorant on
the subject. W-Which I'm not.”
He stared at Rick in blatant challenge.
Rick struggled to think of a response, whether it was a comeback or just an
angry shove, but instead somehow he found himself lurching forward and he
grabbed Morty's shirt, pulling him in for what should have been a punch but was
instead a rough kiss.
God he was sick, he was sick to do this and especially sick to do this with a
fucking prompt like that but he didn't care, he didn't fucking care anymore. He
wasn't sure exactly who he was kissing (his grandson, his brain unhelpfully
supplied) but he was Rick fucking Sanchez and he was going for what he wanted
and it felt So. Good. It felt like booze after a week of the shakes, it felt
like a shot of K-lax right into his fucking aorta and he was out of fucks, he
had hit his limit.
Morty froze for an instant, then began responding frantically, his arms coming
up around Rick to clench him closer and moaning like he was about to die. Rick
knew how he felt, his own heartbeat was way too fast.
He pushed his tongue into Morty's mouth, his already somewhat hard dick growing
fuller when Morty gave an eager groan and pushed back onto him, toppling Rick
backwards on the couch. He began grinding into Rick as they kissed, his face
already flushed and his hand shaking with eagerness as it fumbled desperately
between them, finding Rick's clothed cock and grabbing at it. Rick let out a
hiss, let his own hand snake down to grab Morty's ass, eliciting a gasp that
melted into a moaning “Yesss”. Morty's hands reached to Rick's belt, and he
broke off the kiss to look down as his twitching fingers tried to undo Rick's
pants as fast as possible, apparently.
Rick suddenly had a better idea. He had yet to do this. Morty had never asked
for it, somehow, and Rick was going for it before he could let himself think
about it.
He stopped Morty's hands and pushed them both upright. He couldn't resist the
smirk on his face as he grabbed Morty's legs and swung them around, kneeling on
the floor between them.
As he began taking off Morty's pants he heard a small gasp of surprise above
him, heard Morty's fists already clench in anticipation, and his smirk
deepened. He was gonna make the little punk lose his fucking shit. He slid the
pants down and after making one last concession to himself to quickly mutter
“Don't want it, s-say it, kick me, whatever”, he leaned forward and took his
grandson’s cock in his mouth. He sucked with firm, pulsing pressure, his other
hand coming up to cup underneath it.
A bizarre, ungainly choking noise came from Morty at the first touch of his
lips and his hips jerked forward. Rick controlled the smirk that threatened to
break his suction, his other hand coming up to grab and press down hard on
Morty's hipbone, earning himself a shuddering inhalation from his grandson. He
continued sucking, bobbing up and down, enjoying the feel and taste of Morty
far too much, his own cock throbbing inside his pants. He swirled his tongue
around and over the head, flicking the tip of it into the slit. Morty made
another strange gasping moan, his hands scrabbling for purchase, hips twitching
against Rick's hand futilely.
Jesus Goddam Christ, this was too much fun, he was a fucking moron for not
doing this immediately. His previous concerns felt far off, drowned by his
arousal and the sight, the sounds of Morty coming apart at the seams so
deliciously. Rick resumed moving up and down the shaft, humming lowly, while
simultaneously beginning to fondle his balls, encircling and tugging on them.
Morty panted and squirmed and moaned above him.
“Ahh, God, R-Rick! H-holy shit!” the kid said somewhat shrilly, when Rick
pulled off his dick and took his balls into his mouth, sucking one then the
other in and rolling them lightly with his tongue while his hand jerked Morty
off. Heh. He knew that one would make him freak out.
He could feel Morty's thighs trembling and knew the boys orgasm was approaching
fast. Already. It felt absurdly satisfying to know and his arousal flared
higher. But he ignored it and stopped tonguing Morty's balls, his hand slowing
to a stop as the trembling intensified, then leaving entirely.
Morty looked down at him, panic and frustration all over his face. Rick just
grinned like a shark and planted both his hands on Morty's hips firmly, leaning
down till his partly-open mouth was barely an inch from the boy’s straining
erection. “No,” He admonished roughly, looking up when Morty's hands fisted
into his hair and tried to push his head down.
“Touch my head, and I'll- and I'll stop.” His grin grew wider at Morty's loud
groan. Turnabout was more than fair play, and the little shit had certainly
teased him often enough. He leaned back down and breathed hard, Morty's
erection twitching with every movement of air. Morty's thighs and legs were
shaking, his whole body was shaking, his hands tightly clenched.
He leaned closer, a bare millimeter away, then back out again, relishing the
whimper, and feeling Morty's eyes burning into him. He bent a bit lower and
stuck out his tongue, then slowly licked Morty's cock from base to tip and the
whimper became a near-sob, his hips jerking futilely.
He continued teasing, a breath here, a nibble or brief lick there. Morty was
breathing so fast he was almost hyperventilating, his feet twisting
spastically. He was so tightly wound Rick knew it would take almost nothing to
push him over the edge. But he was gonna make him wait, it was too satisfying
not to.
Or, at least, that was his plan. But then Morty murmured in a ragged, keening
voice, “F-Fuck, R-R-Rick, P-pleease…” his face an agony of arousal, and it was
too much for Rick, he found his self-control breaking as he enveloped Morty's
dick in his mouth once more, sucking hard four times as Morty shrieked, then
came in his mouth, gasping and almost crying, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his legs
flailing and his hands grasping at the air.
It made Rick want to roar with satisfaction and nearly made him come in his
pants. He continued suckling gently as he fumbled himself out of his pants and
jerked off roughly to Morty's little gasps, coming quickly as he breathed harsh
pants through his nose.
It took less than thirty seconds for his brain to kick back in as he came down
and he pulled back and looked up at Morty's face. Morty was slumped on the
couch, red and still breathing hard, his expression dazed and blissed out, an
odd smile playing around the edges of his mouth.
That made Rick uncomfortable. He wondered if Morty was about to be smug, to say
‘told you so’ or otherwise try to rub his face in things. It's what Rick would
likely do, after all. He braced himself to become angry.
But Morty just pulled his pants back up and reached down with unreadable eyes,
grasping Rick's arm and pulling him back up to sit beside him on the couch,
then giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and turning back to the tv. And Rick,
nonplussed, let him.
 
The three weeks that followed were some of the most surreal, yet most pleasant
of his life. He wasn't sure if he was most taken aback by what had changed, or
what hadn't.
The effects of the lessening of his stress were more significant than he had
expected. He wasn't built for that kind of long-term obsessive worry and guilt.
The first time he realized he had actually gone an entire day without wondering
whether or not he was ruining the pissant, he could have cried in relief. And
Morty seemed happier too, less frenetic than before, and he never tried to lord
this new development over him, which just soothed Rick further. He felt fucking
alive again, re-energized.
These changes were made even more improbable by how few external changes had
occurred. He had, in fact, only rarely exercised his new privileges, an
occasional blowjob here (he would never admit it, but it had quickly become his
favorite activity), a stolen, way-too-erotic-for-how-juvenile-it-was make out
session there. Unremarkable shit, honestly, but it seemed to more than satisfy
both of them. It practically flew in the face of what Rick thought he knew
about himself, were he inclined to read into it.
But he wasn't. He was in a bliss of near-balance, letting himself indulge in
what he wanted with a shaky-but-there confidence that, at least for now, it was
ok to. He knew good things never lasted, but he couldn't even work up much
anxiety at the thought. He was too wrung out, too strung out. And at least this
time, he had a pretty good idea what new problem was next in line.
Rick wasn't surprised when Morty asked him. Knowing it was coming, though,
hadn't prompted him to plan much for it. Maybe he had figured there was no
point, that it was better to wait and see how the situation presented itself.
Maybe he just didn't want to think about something stressful while he was
finally feeling so good. Either way, when Morty interrupted their kissing one
evening alone in Rick's room to ask if the man would fuck him, he didn't have a
response planned.
Rick felt the stirrings of that familiar fear-tinged lust, that fascinated
dread of fucking up that he would probably never be rid of. He wondered if the
little shit had any idea what he was asking, though he knew that these days he
couldn't be sure either way. And he started to say no, just to be safe.
He couldn't be entirely certain nowadays of many fundamental assumptions he had
always made about Morty, it was true. But wasn't that just what he wanted to
think? Where would they be now if he had succeeded in fucking Morty that first
night? Maybe he wasn't as sure the answer was ‘somewhere awful’ as he had been
in the past, but how valid was that feeling? How untainted? Should he, could
he, really take that risk?
On one side stood bedrock facts he had always known about himself and his
relationships with others. On the other side stood Morty. It was an impossible
choice. He had spent so much mental energy trying to navigate it.
But as he looked at Morty, looked at his familiar, yet still unfamiliarly
patient face, Rick realized that he could have saved himself a lot of time and
energy. He didn't really have much of a choice at all. He hadn't for a long
time.
He would, of course, do what he had done for years, had been unable to help but
do ever since he moved into his daughter’s house, had in fact been doing
throughout all this, whether or not he wanted to admit it.
He would stand beside the kid.
 
That didn't mean he wasn't nervous, when he nodded in response to Morty's
request. His heart felt high in his throat, his palms were already sweaty and
his dick already stirring. He needed to reel it the fuck in. Shit, he probably
wasn't nearly drunk enough for this.
Morty looked shocked that he had agreed so easily. Part of Rick was inclined to
feel the same, but he felt oddly powerless, fatalistic.
It was fitting, then, that he almost felt like he was watching from outside
himself as he responded to Morty's sudden, nervous, eager kiss, as his hand
came up to cup the boy’s face, feeling it soft and warm under his hand, while
Morty's mouth was hot, hasty, and demanding as always.
His hand was a marked contrast to the boy’s skin, it always had been, pale and
wrinkled and spidery against the life he could practically see emanating from
Morty's body, and he had never known what to think about it, he still didn't.
But he was no longer convinced that it mattered. What mattered was the panting,
needy, unavoidably erotic grandson in front of him, who was currently trying to
take off Rick's shirt without breaking the kiss, apparently. Awareness and
amusement pulsed back into Rick, and he pulled back with a smirk and a soon-
muffled “Jesus Christ you eager fucking beaver” as Morty tugged his shirt up
roughly, Rick lifting his arms in acquiescence. He waited with amused patience
as Morty shucked his own shirt and pants with equal haste, then threw himself
back at his grandfather, holding and kissing him fiercely, as if he thought one
of them would change their mind if not sufficiently distracted.
Rick let him for a while, then broke the kiss with a somewhat shaky smirk and
said, “Calm your tits, k-killer. No, no need to rush.” Morty nodded in the same
eager and mindless fashion as he had been kissing, which made Rick snort.
He pushed Morty backwards and Morty fell back with a plop, grinning. Rick gave
him a small smirk back, more of a smile honestly, but that was ok, they could
both probably use a bit of reassurance, and set himself to his task. If he was
going to do this, he damned well was gonna do it right.
He bent over Morty and gave him one last brief, scorching kiss, then began
kissing softly down his neck while his hand trailed up and down his chest. He
moved ever so slowly downwards, kissing shoulder then chest, briefly latching
onto a nipple then moving on while Morty gave little gasps above him and
caressed his hair. Part of Rick wanted to shy away from such gentleness, such
solicitousness, it felt alarming and uncomfortably exposing for him. But he
would do it for Morty. He lingered on Morty's chest, kissing here and there
while his hand drifted southwards to Morty's dick. Morty's hands clenched
painfully in his hair with a yelp when Rick took it in hand and began giving it
slow, thorough strokes, and Rick couldn't help but grin, relieved to be back on
more familiar territory.
He debated giving his grandson a blowjob. That was always fun for everyone, and
he began to bend down into position when Morty stopped him with another,
deliberate tug on his hair.
“I, d-don't do too much. I-I want to last,” he said, blushing. Rick was torn
between amusement and concern.
“You know, Morty,” he responded, hearing his voice reflecting his mixed
emotions, “Not that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm, but it's- this shit can
be kinda painful. At least when you're starting out. I don't, I don't know if
you remember,” God why did he bring that up. He was making himself anxious.
“But it's- it's- it's not likely you're gonna cum wildly as soon as I'm in
you.” Now he was blushing, way to fucking go, Rick, what a smooth goddamn
operator. Get your shit together.
At least Morty was blushing as well. “I-I guess. But still, just, don't- don't
tease me too much.”
If that wasn't a perfect opener Rick didn't know what was, and he couldn't help
but smile devilishly. “You're, you're just talking gibberish now, Morty. I
would never- when have I ever teased you?” Morty just rolled his eyes, making
Rick actually let out a chuckle.
He had a nagging sense that he was way too comfortable, that this felt much
easier so far than it should feel. That wasn't nearly a good enough reason to
stop, though, so he continued.
He decided against the blowjob after one teasing lick had Morty shouting out in
somewhat panicked arousal. Fuck, the kid was pretty wound up. They had hardly
done anything yet. Rick tried to recall if he had been this eager the first
time he had gotten fucked by a man and couldn't remember, though he doubted he
had been quite so needy and uncontrolled.
But Morty was, well, Morty, and Rick decided to take pity on the red-faced boy
and speed things up a bit. He was hardly about to complain about not having to
make things all drawn out and schmaltzy, though a tiny, almost unnoticeable
part of him felt an odd thread of near-disappointment.
He pulled Morty closer to him, so his hips were tilted up against Rick's legs,
and ran his hands along the insides of Morty’s thighs. Morty let out a soft
sigh, and when Rick looked up at his face he felt himself flush. Morty was
staring not at his hands, but directly at him, chewing on his lip and still
red-faced, but his eyes were filled with emotion.
Rick didn't know exactly what emotions they were but he looked away quickly,
drawing in a suddenly much more shaky breath and trying, yet again, to refocus
on his task. He brought his hand down closer to Morty's anus.
Morty's voice startled him when he suddenly spoke, “W-Wait.” Rick jumped a bit
and froze, his eyes flying to Morty's face. Fuck, was he changing his mind?
“Can we- can we do it the other way? Like, o-on my hands and knees?” He looked
embarrassed to be asking, like he thought Rick would yell at him, and to be
honest Rick did find the idea a bit disquieting, though he couldn't say why.
Something of it must have shown on his face, though, because Morty added in a
somewhat nervous babble, “It's not- I just, I just figured, well, i-it is
supposed to be easier, right?”
That was perfectly logical, and Rick chided himself wearily for being, yet
again, apparently less cool-headed than his fucking grandson as he nodded and
said, “Yeah, sure. W-whatever you like,” trying to sound more blasé than he
felt.
Morty flashed him a quick, nervous smile and turned around, settling self-
consciously on his hands and knees. Rick could see the blush spreading down the
back of his neck all the way to his shoulders, and ordinarily would have
laughed at his grandson's useless, childish mortification, but he was a bit
distracted by the sudden reality of Morty's ass in his face and the line of his
back leading away from him. It was… quite arousing, yet unsettling.
Mostly to make himself do something other than gawk like a moron, he cleared
his throat and said somewhat hoarsely, “Get- you, you should put your face down
on the bed. Angle’s better that way.” Morty complied with a muffled,
embarrassed ‘Oh, jeez’, and after he did Rick didn't let himself hesitate
before spreading the boy's cheeks and licking just off the side of his asshole.
The surprised yelp from Morty made him smirk, reassured him that this would be
a fun way to proceed, and he did, licking a circle around his anus before
pressing the tip of his tongue directly up against it.
Morty shivered and gasped all through it, and when Rick's tongue began teasing
forward and back with just a bit of pressure, threatening to dip inside but
never quite pushing through, he let out a deep, swallowed moan and his hips
began to rock back and forth, as if to encourage Rick.
Rick found it more than encouraging, his cock was already an achy, needy rock
in his far-too-constraining pants. Though, when he finally drove his tongue
inside and Morty responded with a high-pitched, cracked repetition of “Oh j-
jeez!” he almost burst out laughing. He tongued his grandson with enthusiasm,
relishing the way Morty twitched around him, the needy little squeaks he gave
and the way his hips rocked back helplessly, spearing himself on Rick's tongue.
God he wished he had a free hand, his cock was becoming a nuisance. Well, he
should probably move on anyway, both of them were getting a bit too worked up,
it would be counterproductive soon. He pulled back somewhat reluctantly, unable
to help but groan as he watched Morty's ass follow him mindlessly for a second,
then shimmied backwards and shucked off his pants, sighing a little in relief
when his dick sprang free.
He didn't miss how Morty tensed at the sound, and became even more tense when
he reached over and grabbed a palmful of lube before settling back behind him.
“Don't- don't get too excited,” he said, “Still got some work to do before the
main event”. Morty's spine dipped lower as some of the tension left him, and
Rick, satisfied, proceeded.
He pushed a finger in slowly but steadily, though he needn't have bothered
going so slow, the kid was fairly loose from before. So after just a few pumps
he added another, and then he felt a bit of reflexive resistance from the
muscle as he began scissoring, Morty grunting. His mind flashed again,
unwillingly, to that first night. He really, really didn't want a repeat of
that, so he crooked his fingers, searching for Morty's prostate. He knew he
found it when he heard a moan tinged with surprise and Morty's ass lurched
suddenly backwards.
Rick grinned and said, “P-pretty awesome, ain't it? You know, for, for someone
as good at finding other people's, you're surprisingly naive about your own.”
Then he blushed as soon as he realized what he had said. Oh well. It wasn't
like it was some secret that Rick enjoyed getting screwed by his grandson.
He continued pushing in and out of him, lingering over his prostate with every
few thrusts, clamping his lips to avoid responding in kind to the loud groan
Morty gave each time. Then he added a third finger, though all too quickly
Morty pulled his head up and panted, “Rick, you gotta-you gotta go on. I-
I can't wait much more.”
Rick stopped and removed his fingers. As he leaned back, took a breath and
grabbed his throbbing, waiting cock, a sudden wash of intense nervousness
flooded through him and he stammered, “You- you, Morty, are you sure this is
what you want?”
“Jesus C-Christ Rick, yes!” Morty almost yelled into the pillow, and Rick
should have felt annoyed but he just felt a flicker of bemusement. He still
paused for a moment. He wished he could fully see Morty's face, if only to
reassure himself that he should proceed. His grandson's back was beautiful,
young, smooth, but it felt almost like it didn't belong to him.
Shaking off his useless, distracting thoughts, he lined up his cock, and pushed
slowly into the tight, enveloping warmth. Morty grunted and sucked in a breath,
going taut as a bowstring beneath him, and Rick paused after he had seated
himself almost entirely in.
As he waited, allowing Morty to adjust, he felt the impossible, spasming heat
around him, saw the impossible curve of his grandson poised and panting beneath
him, he registered his own reaction. It wasn't grinding fear and nausea. It
wasn't conquering euphoria and satisfaction.
He wasn't sure what it was, to be honest. He felt prickly and shaky and kind of
unbalanced, like his skin was too tight or he had the flu or something, and
something in his abdomen felt hot and tense. He took a half second to be amused
at the idea that right now would be the moment he'd actually snuff it.
His body was shaking as they both stayed frozen, as the moment stretched into
infinity, and though he told himself he was quivering simply from the urge to
push, he was still driven by some unknowable impulse to bend over and place a
slow, trembling kiss on Morty's pale, smooth shoulder.
The moment broke with Morty’s ragged exhale and jerky nod, and Rick began
giving slow, shallow thrusts, placing his hands on either side of Morty's ass.
As he moved, he felt Morty's body gradually loosen around him and somehow that
made him give a shaky, deep exhale of his own, the heat in his chest easing to
a warmth.
He couldn't stop staring, as he slowly began giving fuller and faster thrusts.
His eyes weren't drawn to the sight of his cock plunging in and out of his
grandson, though that was certainly compelling, but to the sight of Morty, his
rippling back and his red face, peeking out as it was turned to the side with
eyes clenched shut.
Still staring, he angled his cock downwards and watched, fascinated, as Morty's
expression contorted and his lips opened to let out a guttural moan, “Oh, f-
fuck, Rick”.
Rick felt his cock throb in response, and felt Morty's walls clamp in response
to that, and they both groaned almost in sync, and it was just too much. He
began thrusting faster, hearing and feeling Morty pant harder and as he watched
him fall apart he felt himself start to fall apart.
Moans were falling of his mouth unconcernedly, mixing with Morty's higher,
gasping ones and the sounds of their bodies hitting together and Rick could
hear everything, could feel everything, from Morty's skin under his hands to
his ass clenched around his dick to his slender legs pushing back against his
own and it felt so terribly wonderful, everything clicking together into an
overtone that was tearing him apart.
His brain was running in tight circles of need and pleasure and Morty, Morty,
Morty, and it was too much, he wasn't prepared for this and he was right, this
kid was going to drive him insane, had already driven him insane, he could feel
something tearing loose and he suddenly knew with terrifying certainty that
Morty could ask anything of him, anything at all, and he'd do it without a
thought.
But there was no time to worry about it now, his orgasm was hurtling towards
him quickly and he reached around blindly for Morty's cock. Though his whole
body was clenching he somehow had the presence of mind not to grab too tightly,
he just wrapped his shaking hand around the boy and felt him start to thrust
into it with a hoarse, panting, “Oh J-Jesus, R-Rick, I, you, I-.”
And in less than a minute his walls slammed down onto Rick and he came with a
broken scream he muffled into the pillow, his body bucking forwards and
backwards and Rick just clung on desperately, feeling his grandson's cum coat
his fingers, part of him wishing faintly he could have heard that scream
unmuffled.
His heart was racing and he pounded into Morty's body like he had seconds to
live. For all he knew, he did, it wouldn't surprise him. That warmth in his
chest was spreading throughout his body, and he was old, and this was all so
surreal, so supersaturated it would only be fair if it killed him. With a
sudden brutal push, Morty gasping, he came with a hoarse moan that scraped and
hollowed him out, bolts of energy fleeing down his body and out of his cock.
His hips jerked as he fell forward, Morty supporting his weight while he
reeled, panting.
Blinking stupidly, rapidly, he pulled himself back together and started to lift
himself off of Morty, his first thought that he was far too old for this shit.
His second thought was that he had perhaps gravely misunderstood the dangers of
this all along. He had never considered that he could be the one in danger of
losing his will.
It was stupid of him, he should have. Rick had always thrown himself into his
few, intense affairs. And he had always had an irrational attachment to Morty,
a deep, constant need. He was truly fucked, now. As long as Morty wanted this,
Rick was never getting out.
But he couldn't find it in him to be angry, at himself or Morty, as he felt the
warmth lingering in his body and he realized that he was still inside Morty,
who was limp, close-eyed and quiescent beneath him with an odd smile on his
face. He began pulling out slowly as Morty groaned softly, his chest tightening
a bit at the sound. But Rick didn't have the energy or desire to give that
little tidbit much thought so he just eased out of his sweaty grandson with a
bit of a grunt and collapsed next to him.
He felt tired beyond belief, satisfied and wrung out to the bone, and more than
anything he just wanted to go to sleep. So of course, after misleading Rick
with a grab and settling of the blanket, Morty leaned back, put his arms behind
his head, and started jabbering like an idiot.
“S-Shit, that was great, you know, Rick?” he said with a smile edging between
content and smug, “Like, I don't- I don't know about you, but, that was just a,
a lot of fun. I guess, I guess it's like they say, ‘w-waiting for something
makes it more exciting’, you know?”
Rick rolled his eyes and lifted a brow. Of course the little shit had to try
and be smug now. “Really, Morty? You're gonna- you're lazily paraphrasing
fucking Andy Warhol at me? How long did you plan, how-how many research hours
on google was that little gem?” The corny nerd couldn't just let him pass out.
“And what a- a fucking tragedy that it took longer than you wanted for me to
get over my- my unreasonable, just fucking bizarre unease with plowing my own
fucking flesh and blood, Morty.”
“Flesh and blood? Oh, c-come on, Rick. Like I'm even your original Morty.” The
little lunatic teased with a yawning smirk. What an unbelievable fucker.
Rick tried to sigh disgustedly, but he knew it came out more affectionate. And
he knew Morty would be able to tell. And he was… ok with that.
“Morty, you’re a fucking idiot.” He moved closer and almost kissed his messy
brown hair, but stopped himself at the last moment. No need to throw all his
cards on the table at once. Instead he threw his arm around his grandson,
pulled him in close, and turned off the light, smirking to himself at Morty's
sleepy, mumbled, “You too, Rick.”
As he lay there in the dark, spooned up against his grandson in his tiny cot,
it felt… nice. Way more than nice, which might still be a problem.
But Rick found he was too tired, and far too content, to care.
End Notes
     Thank you for reading! Rick might be an emotionally constipated
     headcase, but I can't help but love him. I might do some one shots
     some day, because I'm an obsessive glutton for punishment, but the
     main tale is told.
     I hope you all enjoyed! Reviews, comments, and criticisms are always
     welcome.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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