Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12321648.
  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:
      MORTY_IS_17_ALMOST_18, Fluff_and_Smut, Moral_Dilemmas, Guilty_Rick, Top
      Rick, Mutual_Pining, Temptation, Masturbation, Begging
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-10 Updated: 2017-11-26 Chapters: 3/4 Words: 6850
****** Why Do You Stay With This Neurotic Fool? ******
by asinner, LifeInAColorWheel
Summary
     Morty has been distant. Rick decides to make it his mission to find
     out why.
     Long story short: Rick finds Morty's grandpa porn.
     (WE DIDN'T BETA THIS and the blocking is weird butttt we hope you
     enjoy anyway as that wasn't the point of this fic ;P)
Notes
     Hi everyone!! Me and lifeinacolorwheel decided to collaborate and
     create a work of pure sin. Hope you enjoy!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Rick groaned when Morty brushed him off for the third time this week.
“Bullshit! Y-Y-You don't have anymore fucking essays! C'mon, I need another
pair of hands, M-Morty.”
Morty glowered at his grandfather, hugging his backpack tighter against his
chest. “They're not normal essays, R-Rick, they're college--they’re for
colleges! To get into college!”
“I tried college. When I was twelve. T-T-Take it from me, it's a waste--URP--
a waste of time. You'll learn more kicking alien ass with me.”
Morty rolled his eyes and walked past Rick. “I already told you! I-I-I’m not
going with you!”
Rick blinked stupidly. He was used to Morty's occasional bitchfits, but he
could almost always coerce him into an adventure. Morty had been acting off for
months now, and Rick was rapidly becoming more and more sick of his shit.
“Little bitch!” Rick declared as Morty walked up the stairs without looking
back.
~
Rick had the house to himself that night and his anger, although irrational,
was still very much there. Morty was supposed to be his helper. They were a
team. Weren't they?
Rick groaned and plopped onto the couch, freshly-filled flask in hand, and
stared blankly at the muted episode of Quick Mysteries. He absently flipped
through a few channels until he found a porno involving purple tentacles that
looked mildly interesting. He watched the obscenity with a sly grin, which
quickly faded once he realized that this wasn't doing it for him. Nothing
really had been, lately, unless one were to count the fucked up fantasies he'd
have in the dead of night after drinking one more bottle than usual. Rick put
his face in his hands and groaned, frustration returning at full force.
Essays? Yeah fucking right. The kid probably got himself a little girlfriend or
something. The thought made Rick's stomach churn, and he hated it, hated
imagining someone else's hands on Morty's skin, so he stood up decisively and
made a beeline for the stairs. He could hack into Morty's computer with a snap
of his fingers and get all of his info immediately. It had to have the answers.
Rick had to admit that he was surprised that Morty had not yet learned to not
leave his computer out in the open. Especially when Rick, knowledgeable as he
was, had every tool necessary to hack into the laptop and scour through hours
of Morty’s web history.
He grunted with mild annoyance as he leaned back on Morty’s bed. He began to
click through Morty’s history, at first rather disappointed by how boring it
seemed. Study websites, SparkNotes, and Quizlet caused Rick to begin to
reluctantly fall back on his doubts. He would be both annoyed at relieved if
Morty had been telling the truth.
He continued to delve deeper, proceeding to log into Morty’s social media
sites. His Facebook still had him listed as single, but it was also possible
that the last time it was updated was the last time it was relevant—sometime in
late 2010.
Rick sighed and rubbed his eyelids in exasperation. Morty had never been big on
school, why start now?
Rick had nearly given up, willing to conclude that Morty had suddenly decided
to pretend he was a scholar, when he came across another link that was familiar
to Rick himself. At first, he thought that he has read it wrong and had to
double-take.
A link to a porn site was buried in the depths of Morty’s web history. Rick did
not fail to notice that this same particular link had been visited numerous
times. His mouse hovered over the link for a moment, contemplating.
He clicked on it.
The title read across the top of the screen almost mockingly, Grandpa fucks
young twink.
Rick almost dropped the laptop. He felt his face go red and flushed darkly all
the way down his neck. Much to his disappointment, he felt his palms
immediately clam up.
No, he tried to amend, urging himself to just close out before it was too late.
But he couldn’t stop staring at the thumbnail of the video. The boy, who
definitely was barely eighteen, was bent over a bed. Behind him, an older man
about Rick’s age was balls-deep inside of him by the looks of it.
Fuck.
Rick shifted, momentarily trying to get a grip. He shouldn’t be looking at
this. What his grandson got off to in the late hours of the night should be
none of his concern.
Instead of stopping there, he clicked play; he didn’t even know why. God, he
hated himself. No rational thoughts seemed to be coaxing his mind back towards
reason. He didn’t consider that he could watch this on his own computer, didn’t
consider that he was in Morty’s room, didn’t consider that he was watching his
grandson’s porn.
Yeah, that got Rick shifting again.
The video began to play and almost instantly, Rick could feel his pants
tightening. He cursed the fact that kinky tentacle porn couldn’t get it up, yet
this—this was doing it for him. It was so sick.
Rick tried to fool himself into thinking that he would just watch a few
seconds. But, once the video began to play, he knew that he was done for.
He began to hastily undo his pants. It was almost as if the faster he did this,
the faster he would forget.
He slipped them off and slid a hand under the waistband of his boxers, wrapping
a hand around his half-hard cock. This was every level of fucked-up and Rick
was just certain he would regret this later when he was even more drunk.
Why was Morty watching this anyway? Wouldn’t he prefer to see some blonde with
big tits or whatever?
The boy on the screen let out a particularly raspy moan and Rick immediately
decided to dwell on those questions later.
His mind neglected any of his nagging thoughts as he watched, almost in a
trance of some sort. He was nothing new to any kinds of porn but somehow this
was different knowing that this was what Morty was into.
Rick had to resist a little groan, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek.
He grunted, sliding his hand down over his now-hard shaft. He gave himself a
firm squeeze, never removing his eyes from the video. The warm contact on his
needy member felt indescribably good, as though it was something he needed far
more than he had known.
Onscreen, the boy was bent over in front of the older man. He was letting out
high-pitched, raspy moans that would have made him seem feminine if it wasn't
for his lean build. All Rick knew was that the moans were going right down
between his legs, making his cock leak precome profusely.
He didn’t know how he managed to get himself into things like this. All he
could think about was just how tight the younger guy’s ass looked and he could
just imagine how it would feel around his own cock; the thought had him nearly
aching.
Rick began to stroke himself in time with the older man’s hasty thrusts, lowly
letting out a few occasional grunts.
Abruptly, the fucked-up fantasy he had been desperately trying to avoid,
clouded his mind.
Morty.
Rick gave a little convulsing shudder, biting down onto the palm of his hand as
he came. He couldn’t even try to stop himself. Thick stripes of come coated his
hand as he stroked himself nearly into overstimulation.
The whole time, Rick had been thoroughly invested in that video. He had not
wanted to think about why a video like that might get him so worked up.
But, yet, he knew why; he hated himself for it. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly
when his grandson became a sick center-piece of his sexual fantasies, but he
was aware that it was wrong.
Rick never cared about anything being morally wrong, but this was just—wrong.
For a few minutes, Rick laid there until he caught his breath. He stood up,
legs wobbly, and made his way over to Morty’s cluttered bathroom to clean up.
~
Shame began overtaking Rick's thought process not too long after his moment of
weakness. Shame was a rare emotion for him these days, what with his ability to
influence the entire multiverse for better or for worse in a fraction of a
second, so naturally it seemed unbearable. He groaned, allowing his head to
fall into his hands before standing up shakily. Rick scanned the room for any
evidence of his presence and, finding none, grunted and shut the door behind
him.
For a moment Rick stood in the hallway, throat dry and cheeks still flushed. He
reached for his flask, only to realize that it was empty. He made his way over
to the kitchen immediately. Rick needed to drown this out, and he needed to do
it fast, so he grabbed a bottle of Beth's fancy vodka despite having a stash
tucked away in the garage. This was quicker, and he could easily replicate
another one whenever he felt like it.
Rick chugged half the bottle in under a minute, only stopping to breathe. The
taste didn't bother him, hadn't for decades, because he associated the
accompanying burn with sweet relief.
It took a fuckton of booze to get Rick Sanchez wasted, so he made the executive
decision to drink another quarter of the bottle. He burped obnoxiously while
relishing in the beautiful looseness of his limbs.
Rick jumped when the front door swung open, smacking his head on the freezer
which he had left ajar.
"I-I’m home," Morty called out to no one in particular. Rick prayed to a
nonexistent God that Morty wouldn't enter the kitchen, which of course did
nothing. Rick sighed, trying and failing to steady himself when he heard
Morty's shuffling footsteps. What the hell was the little twerp even doing out
so late anyway?
“Hey, Rick,” Morty sighed, walking right past him without so much as a glance.
Morty’s eyes were locked on the ground, and the sight immediately made Rick’s
blood boil.
“F-Fuck y–URP–you.”
Morty did look at Rick then. Raw hurt flashed across his features for a moment,
quickly shifting into irritation. He crossed his thin arms. “What-- what's your
problem, R-Rick?!”
“You,” Rick swayed on his feet and gripped the counter for support. “Y-y-you're
my problem, bitch.”
“You're dr— How much did you drink?!” Morty asked. He seemed worried, suddenly,
brow knitting together in genuine concern.
Rick said nothing, laughed bitterly, and flipped Morty off. He shoved the near-
empty bottle of vodka back into the freezer. “Grandpa can handle his liquor, M-
Morty.”
“I–I know! But that's–a lot, right? Am I gonna have to disarm a neutrino bomb
agai–”
“Fuck. You. Morty.” Rick took a step forward and poked a long, thin finger into
Morty's chest. Instead of reacting like Rick wanted him to, Morty simply stared
down at where Rick was touching him, blinking stupidly. The fuck? Rick thought
as he watched Morty's cheekbones flush pink.
“W-Well I'm gonna head upstairs and do homework, so don't—don't destroy the
house, okay?”
Rick was wracking his absurdly large brain for a witty retort. The fire in his
veins was urging Rick to keep going, to keep Morty pissed. Anything to keep
Morty looking at him with those stupid round eyes—
Morty was gone before Rick could get in another word. Rick ran a hand through
his wild hair and slowly sank to the floor as the world spun. Man, he was
fucked.
Rick’s head lolled against the fridge. Soon he was dozing off, drool dripping
onto his stained labcoat. His nap was short-lasted, however, because Morty was
calling his name in a nearly frantic tone.
“Um, d-d-d-did you move my computer, R-Rick?”
Rick opened an eye, then another before pushing himself to what could be
considered a sitting position. “Wh–URP–What?”
“M-m-my computer,” Morty said.
Rick’s head lolled back a bit, enough so that he could see Morty standing in
the doorway. He was wringing his hands together, a slight flush coming down
over his face; he was evidently nervous.
Rick set the flask down and belched. “Y-yeah, I moved it, M-Morty,” he said,
looking up at Morty.
Morty’s eyes immediately went down. “Oh, o-o-okay,” he said, looking more
nervous. He seemed to be waiting for an explanation, or any sort of
continuation but Rick did not provide one.
Instead, Rick just looked at him. Fuck. Everything was just so fucked up in his
head—he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or if it was just his thoughts. He
was sure the latter was worse.
Some narcissistic attention-whore he was, Rick concluded, when he found himself
pleased with the attention Morty was giving him. Even though the kid was on the
verge of a panic attack, there was something about having his complete focus
that Rick loved.
“Why?” Morty asked.
Rick just snorted. “D-don’t worry ab-about it, Morty,” he said, looking into
his flask; it was almost empty. “Take a fucking chill p-pill.”
Morty bit his lip, still anxiously rubbing his hands together. “O-okay. I-I-I’m
gonna go,” he said, but didn’t move.
Rick couldn’t help but smirk a little bit as he turned to face Morty again,
this time managing to hold his eyes for more than a brief second. “You’re into
some weird shit.”
Morty flushed, comically dark. “Wh-what?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter by asinner
Chapter Notes
     Yay! We finally updated! Thank you so so much for reading, and to
     everyone who comments thank you for the encouragement.
Rick sat there for a few seconds, almost as if he wanted to draw the moment out
longer. Eventually, he sunk back down in the chair and leaned back just enough
to see Morty’s face.
The kid was bright pink, his lips chapped, and he was rubbing his hands
together more anxiously now. “Wh-wh-what are you t-talking about, R-Rick?”
Rick snorted again, shaking his head. “M’not stupid, M-M-Morty. I-I know what I
s-saw.”
Morty was still blushing, the color creeping down his neck. “N-no, I can
explain—I mean, if y-you’re talking about—a-about the—”
“The porn with the twink and the grandpa?”
Morty audibly gasped. “R-R-Rick.”
Rick looked him in the eye again, waving his flask around casually. “Wh-what?”
He asked, somehow managing to keep his composure; he only did this to put Morty
more on edge. “That’s—that’s what it w-was.”
Morty shuffled his feet, no longer looking up. Now, he seemed far more
interested in the flooring of the garage. “I-I know, b-but you don’t have to
say it.”
“Won’t d-delete it from your web history, M-Morty. Th-that should have b-b-been
your job,” Rick grinned, opening his flask and staring inside. He grumbled a
soft, “I need more of this.”
Morty continued to stare at his feet. “S-so…”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“Um,” Morty seemed even more nervous now, hardly able to form a complete
thought. Rick had to admit that he relished having him hanging on his every
word, so worked up—
“Rick?” Morty said.
“What?” Rick attempted an annoyed grunt.
Morty moved a bit closer and then plopped onto the kitchen floor right beside
where Rick still sat, back to the fridge. Rick immediately tensed; their thighs
were touching. He looked over at the boy. He hadn’t been this close to him in
awhile, and as much as Rick appreciated the physical closeness, it was quite
intimidating being as his thoughts tended to shift in an unwanted direction
whenever he met Morty's stupid, big eyes.
“Wh-what?” Rick grumbled again. He stood up, slightly wobbly, and began walking
to the garage. He said nothing, knowing for a fact that Morty would follow him
like a lost puppy.
Rick sighed as he planted his sorry ass onto his stool. In seconds Morty was
standing beside him again. “Did you watch it?”
Rick’s breath caught. “Ugh. N-no.”
“You didn’t?”
“D-does it matter?” Rick asked, exasperated. “Jesus f-f-fucking Christ, you’re
annoying.”
“S-so...you did?”
Rick slammed the device back down on the workbench. “F-fine, Morty, I–I watched
the goddamn video. Is—is this interview over now?”
Morty bit down on his chapped lips before moving in; he created a tight grasp
on Rick’s lab coat and kissed him without another word.
Rick was so shocked that he didn’t even have time to appreciate it. Fuck, and
he shouldn’t appreciate it. But then there was Morty pulling away, blushing a
delectable pink and still biting on his lower lip.
“Sorry,” Morty just barely whispered, blinking rapidly and staring at his lap.
Rick couldn't take his goddamn eyes off of him. Morty looked afraid, almost
like he was about to cry, and Jesus was that a good look on the kid.
Rick wanted to touch. He wanted to touch, wanted to feel Morty's stupid fucking
pouty lips against his own again. But Morty was still a kid, still his
grandson, and that planetary mindset was just barely enough to calm his
impulses. Barely.
Rick allowed himself the luxury of placing a large hand on Morty's clothed
thigh. His eyes fluttered closed at the heat of Morty's skin; he was warm, even
through the fabric.
Morty said nothing for a moment, eyes huge and locked on where Rick's hand sat.
“Y-y-you're not upset?”
Rick rolled his eyes, took a breath, and began making circles with his thumb on
Morty's leg, relishing in the small gasp of shock that the subtle motion earned
him. “No. 'M not.”
“Oh,” Morty said breathlessly, finally looking up and meeting Rick's eyes. His
eyelashes were way too long, way too pretty for a boy, and it took all of
Rick's self control to keep his expression stony and neutral. Morty squirmed
slightly, pushing his leg up into Rick's hand. “You, u-um, does that mean you--
”
“Eighteen,” Rick said decisively, pulling away. “I-I-If you still want this
when you're eighteen, then we'll talk.”
Morty only blinked, mouth agape. Rick stood up before Morty could compose some
semblance of a response.
“C-can we still, y-y-ya’know, kiss ‘n stuff?” Morty asked, his voice lowering
when he saw the look of humor that crossed Rick’s face.
“Kiss and stuff. God, M-M-Morty. What are you—twelve?” Rick said, turning away
so that he didn’t have to look at those stupid big, brown eyes that managed to
irritate him further.
Morty looked down at the garage floor, inching forward just enough for Rick to
not notice. “B-but I’m almost eighteen. D-doesn’t—doesn’t that count?”
“When you were fifteen, you were almost sixteen,” Rick pointed out with a sigh.
“B-b-but your mother didn’t d-drop you into the driver's seat of her car, d-did
she?”
“N-no,” Morty said, looking frustrated.
Rick side-eyed him. “M-maybe—” he exhaled, and Morty perked up. “I said, maybe,
we could kiss a bit. But n-n-nothing else, understand me?”
Morty brightened and leaned over the chair so that Rick was forced to look up.
He gave Morty an annoyed look.
“I didn’t s-say now, you needy p-p-piece of shit,” Rick stammered, waving Morty
off. “I’ve got shit to do, so g-go do something else.”
“Please.”
“Oh, yeah. Now’s the one time manners will influence me in any way,” Rick
picked up his screwdriver, examining the little device he was working on.
Morty crossed his arms and pouted and—fuck, Rick really hated Morty but he
hated himself more because the kid was just so fucking kissable.
Rick set the tool down loudly with an aggravated huff. “Come here.”
Morty's eyes lit up, like a child who'd been given candy, and Rick's stomach
clenched in a strange blend of shame and arousal; a familiar and automatic
response to the bright innocence of Morty's gaze. He was so corruptible, almost
painfully so, and Rick was afraid of himself.
“H-Here I am,” Morty said with a shy smile. No, Rick thought as he sighed and
placed a hand on his temple. Not shy. Morty was fucking with him. He knew
exactly what he was doing, and Rick hated how much he loved it. God fucking
damn.
“Yeah,” Rick grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Here you—here you fucking are.”
Morty shuffled his feet and opened his mouth, probably to fucking ask to be
kissed again. So Rick placed two large, thin hands on Morty's soft cheeks and
gave in. Ricks first thought was how ridiculously soft Morty was. His lips, his
cheeks, the small patch of skin beneath Rick's thumb where Morty's neck met
shoulder.
When Rick deepened the kiss and barely bit Morty's lip, the boy stumbled and
practically fell over. Rick placed a hand on Morty's back to support him, to
keep him standing, that was all. But Morty seemed to interpret the touch
differently; he fucking moaned, pressing his small body up against Rick's.
God, the kid was so easy. Rick could probably make him come with just a few
strategic touches or movements of his hips. Rick would barely have to lift a
finger to make Morty fall apart in his hands.
With that thought, Rick pulled away, albeit slowly. “Don't fucking do that.
We're done.”
Morty wobbled where he stood, flushed all the way down to his collar bone. He
was so obviously turned on, so obviously desperate for any kind of touch from
Rick, who had to avert his gaze.
“O-Okay,” Morty breathed, eyes locked on Rick's very prominent bulge. “I-I-I,
um, upstairs.”
Rick crossed his legs, obscuring Morty's view, and the boy noticeably deflated.
Rick would've laughed at his desperation if it wasn't so fucking hot.
“Okay, bab—M-Morty. Y-y-you go upstairs and let grandpa work.”
For a minute or so, Morty just stood there dumbly with his mouth still agape
and his cheeks a dark pink. After a second, he shifted his legs together and
nodded again but didn’t move.
Rick grit his teeth and forced himself to look back down at his workbench. He
knew Morty couldn’t stay; he needed go right then or Rick was going to make
some horrible mistakes. As if he hadn’t made enough already.
“J-Jesus, M-Morty, what—what are y-you waiting for, huh?” Rick said, still
refusing to look up. He still felt warm all over and crossing his legs was no
longer helping; if anything, it was making it worse.
“Well, I-I-I don’t wanna wait ‘til I’m e-eighteen,” Morty admitted, swallowing
audibly.
Rick snorted. “T-tough shit,” he mumbled, picking up a pencil to write
something down. He gripped it so hard he nearly broke the point. “It’s either
wait o-o-or nothing.”
Morty exhaled, looking a bit crestfallen but that look disappeared quickly.
“Okay,” he said, momentarily putting a hand on Rick’s arm—Rick froze—before
pulling away. “I-I guess I’ll go upstairs.”
Rick relaxed before mumbling a little, “W-whatever you say.”
Morty towards the door and Rick chanced another glance in his direction. God,
he didn’t know how the fucking hell he was supposed to wait until Morty was
eighteen. Not with the way Morty had acted just moments before, practically
falling apart on his grandpa’s lap.
But Rick had to wait. He had to.
He was digging himself a deep hole. And then he felt like the little piece of
shit knew exactly what he was doing.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter by asinner
Chapter Notes
     HAHAH AT THIS POINT THIS FIC IS JUST MORTY BEGGIN FOR RICK'S DICK AND
     WE LOVE WRITING THIS AND TORTURING THE POOR OLD MAN!! Thank you for
     all the nice comments, you guys are the best ever!
Everything was as it should have been for the next few days. Morty seemed to
have come to his senses; No more desperate pleas to be kissed, no more lustful
stares or inappropriate touches. Rick absolutely hated how disappointed he was.
God, when had he turned into such a pathetic piece of shit? This dynamic was
better in every possible way, not to mention objectively ideal. Morty’s stupid
feelings wouldn’t interfere with their adventures, and Rick’s weird fucking
attraction to his own fucking grandson would most likely fade with time.
Nah, Rick thought as he blatantly stared at Morty’s ass as the kid bent over to
harvest some fleeb juice. This shit isn’t going to fade with time.
“Hurry up, Morty. Th-This planet is controlled by the Federation, a-and they’re
not gonna like it if they catch us mooching off of their endangered fleebs.”
“Jeez, Rick, I'm going as fast as I--as fast as I can!” Just as Morty said
this, he stumbled over a piece of pink wood, toppling over and landing on his
ass. Rick was about to lose his shit laughing; that was until he got a good
look at Morty’s current state. His shirt had been ripped slightly, revealing a
small sliver of his smooth chest. Purple dirt was smeared across his stupidly
cute button nose and leaves were tangled in his curls, but that wasn’t what had
Rick’s throat going dry. Morty’s position was practically obscene. His legs
were spread impossibly wide, and his hands were placed behind his back
(probably in a sad attempt to catch himself). How the hell does someone even
fall that way. This stupid fucking kid.
Morty blinked up at Rick for a moment and made eye contact, which didn't help
matters any. All Rick could think about is what Morty would look like without
those dirty blue jeans in the way, what he’d look like with his legs splayed,
waiting so pretty for his grandpa—
Rick shook his head and crossed his arms, willing those thoughts away. He
forced himself to smirk. “Clumsy shit.”
Morty glared at Rick for a moment and then brushed himself off, standing up
shakily in the process. Rick thought for a moment that his suffering was over,
but the universe seemed to be giving him extra shit to deal with today.
“Oh—Oh crap, my shirt ripped,” Morty said, fingers grazing his exposed skin.
“Sh-Should I take it off?”
Rick groaned. Are you fucking kidding me? He thought with a grimace. “I-I-
I don’t fucking know, Morty! Why’re you asking me? Sounds like—sounds like a
you-problem.”
Morty said nothing. He stared down at his chest, contemplating, and then
removed the flamboyantly-colored garment in one clumsy motion. All Rick could
do was avert his eyes and stare at indigo dirt beneath his feet. No, no, no,
no. Morty wasn’t doing this on purpose, was he? No, Rick shook his head, self-
deprecation guiding his thoughts. He doesn’t have it in him. “C-Come on, you
weirdo. Pick up the fleebs and let’s blow this—this popsicle stand.”
“Yeah, okay,” Morty nodded and dutifully scooped up the peach-colored blobs.
“I’m--I’m...coming.”
Rick’s eyes widened and he almost dropped his damn portal gun. Morty had said
that last part way too sensually to be considered normal. Rick felt like he’d
been punched in the gut as he mentally willed his dick to calm down. He wasn’t
a horny teenager like Morty, he could handle a few sexual innuendos without
losing his head.
Unless Morty was the source of them, apparently.
The kid just looked at him strangely, seemingly unaware of how he’d sounded
just moments ago. Rick opened his mouth to say something snarky, but the words
wouldn’t come. All he could manage was a quick “Let’s go,” before he shot his
portal gun into thin air.
Rick was practically out of breath by the time that they got back to their
house.
Morty carefully set the small little fleeb blobs down on Rick’s workbench, and
Rick carefully contained them in little jars. He tried to pretend to be focused
on the task at hand to avoid looking at Morty Morty who was still fucking
shirtless.
“Y-y-you might want to go—go put on a shirt,” Rick said, scratching behind his
head as he tried to look occupied.
“It’s okay,” Morty shrugged, sitting down in Rick’s chair. “It’s pretty hot in
here.”
And damn it, Rick nearly dropped the fleebs when he realized that his palms
were remarkably sweaty. “Just g-g-go put on a shirt.”
“But, I said—”
“Morty,” Rick said, looking up and hoping his face wasn’t beet-fucking-red.
Morty was sitting in his chair, looking all flustered from their mission with
his hair sticky with sweat. “Go put on a shirt.”
Morty looked up, evidently puzzled and Rick had to refrain from rolling his
eyes. This kid really could be ridiculously stupid. “Wh-wh-what’s wrong, R-
Rick?”
Rick just grumbled in annoyance and waved a hand at him.
“Oh!” Even Morty blushed now, but he just sat there and swallowed thickly. And
Rick thought he even noticed him fucking smirk a little bit. “R-Rick.”
Rick grunted again, this time in acknowledgment.
Morty rubbed his hands together. “Well, m-my birthday’s only about two weeks
away, y-y’know.”
“Y-yeah?” Rick dug around in one of the drawers before pulling out a tool.
“Happy—Happy fuckin’ birthday. He’s a jolly good fellow. All that jazz.”
They sat in silence for about five minutes and just when Rick began to calm
down a bit, the kid had the fucking nerve to say: “You don’t have to wait to
touch me.”
And that did it for Rick. He held onto his chair so hard that his knuckles went
white and he bit his lip and don’t think about touching Morty. But it was too
late because he was already picturing it and he willing himself not to get
hard.
“D-d-don’t do th-that,” Rick said, pointing at him. “I have to wait, o-o-okay,
you little shit? This is bad enough, okay? It’s bad enough th-that I jerk off
to the thought of you every fucking night—”
Morty turned an even darker shade of red.
“—I know that waiting doesn’t cancel out the fact that y-y-you’re my grandson,”
Rick said, and paused to take an aggravated breath. “And, I know I have
basically no morals but with this one—I gotta fucking try, o-okay? Guess it
makes me feel better about myself or--or something. So shut it.”
Morty looked taken aback by Rick’s outburst, his mouth slightly agape and his
face still pink. “O-okay,” he said.
“I know what you’re doing,” Rick said. “And I know what you want, and I want it
too but—fuck.”
“I-I-I um. That's what I was hoping. Y-Ya know, that last part.”
Rick snorted and rose his brow. “Seriously? That's--real smooth, Morty.
Reeeeaalll smooth.”
Morty shrugged, chewing his bottom lip. “It's true. I want you to--”
“Jesus FUCKING Christ, Morty. I get--I get the idea. You want me to fuck you.
I-I-I read you loud and clear, buddy. But it's not--I won't let that happen. So
drop it.” Rick's hands were shaking now, eyes locked on his crystalline screws.
Morty deflated a bit at the harshness in Rick's tone, but the older man was
unphased. “Yeah, yeah, go cry about it or something, I don't care. Just stop
trying to-- stop trying to be all seductive and shit. You're torturing me.”
Morty's smile returned as quickly as it had come. And then, with a shocking
amount of confidence, Morty said: “No.”
Rick blinked, finally fully looking at his grandson who was practically oozing
self-satisfaction.
“N-No?!” Rick echoed incredulously. Rick wasn't sure if he wanted to punch the
little twerp or fuck him senseless.
“No,” Morty nodded, small voice dripping with determination. “I'm not—I'm not
gonna stop.”
“G-Get out,” Rick wanted to sound stern, to sound scary enough to get the kid
to run away, but his words escaped his lips as little more than a rush of air.
Rick could've cried from relief when Morty said smugly, “Okay.”
Rick relaxed against his seat, painfully hard from Morty's words alone. He
heard Morty's retreating steps. Thank fuck. But then:
“B-Bye, Granddaddy.”
Rick threw his tools down and stood up just in time to see the garage door
shut.
“God damn it!” Rick sat back down and undid his belt with shaking hands.
~
 
Rick tried to avoid Morty after that. Sort of. The kid was like a magnet,
pulling him closer no matter how high Rick built his mental walls. Even without
dragging him on adventures, Morty always found his way to him. He began wearing
tighter clothes; not often enough for the family to notice, but enough to
engulf Rick in a perpetual state of sexual frustration. Rick had never
regretted anything more than his past decision to give Morty the passcode to
the garage. The little shit was abusing that privilege every chance he got,
coming in at weird times and not-so-subtly touching Rick while ‘helping him
work.’ Rick had half a mind to change the code.
But he didn't.
~
It was family game night when Rick’s resolve almost completely crumbled.
Morty had made a very clear point to sit next to Rick. Summer had given him a
strange look but Beth had smiled at Morty's blatant affection towards his
grandfather. Rick grimaced; if only she knew how layered and fucked up that
affection really was. Jerry, on the other hand, was in his own little world,
immersed in a deadly combination of his iPad and delusions of familial harmony.
He'd initiated the entire thing, of course. What the hell else was new? Rick
was only playing along to escape what would most likely be an obnoxious
conflict between him and his daughter's idiot.
Morty, though. The asshole looked beyond happy to be there, all infectious
smiles and moving limbs. It would've been cute, sickeningly so, if it wasn't
weird as hell. Morty didn't normally give a shit about family game nights. Rick
was on guard.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly. That was, until Morty surreptitiously
placed a hand on Rick's thigh under the table. Rick jumped and practically
kicked the fucking thing; not out of fear, but out of shock. He turned his head
sharply, preparing to give Morty the evil eye, but he wasn't even making eye
contact. He was staring at his Uno cards like nothing was happening, like he
wasn't subtly groping his grandfather's thigh.
Rick grit his teeth and shoved his own hand under the table to swat Morty's
away. He did so with more force than was necessary to get his point across
while staring daggers into the side of Morty's head. But Morty held on tight,
digging his short nails into the fabric of Rick’s pants, and fuck. Rick
swallowed thickly.
His breath caught in his throat when he noticed Morty's plush lips curving into
the faintest of smiles, so fucking smug and coy and--
Rick saw red; a strange combination of dizzyingly sudden arousal and
irritation. Without thinking, he returned the favor and placed a larger hand on
Morty's skinny thigh. Two could play at this game.
Morty squeaked, and unlike Rick his knee did hit the table. Beth made a face
and Summer rolled her eyes.
“Are you alright, Morty?” Beth asked, sounding bored. Morty nodded, which
seemed to be enough for her. Jerry cracked some dumb joke in response that Rick
couldn't hear, couldn't even register, because Morty was pressing his thigh
into Rick's hand. Encouraging him.
God, what the fuck was he doing? Rick was giving the Morty exactly what he
wanted, but despite being entirely self-aware he allowed his traitorous hand to
just barely slip under Morty's obnoxious yellow shirt and brush against the
inhumanly soft skin there. Jesus. Rick allowed himself to look over at his boy,
who was chewing his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and dealing Uno cards
with a shaky hand. Rick wondered if the kid was already hard from one simple
touch, but didn't dare to find out. That'd be...too much. Too far.
Rick began tracing his fingers up and down despite the white-hot shame creeping
up his spine. God, how the fuck was Morty so soft? The barely-there muscles on
Morty's abdomen twitched with every gentle stroke of Rick's fingers.
Rick heard a gentle 'creak’, only to realize that Morty was shifting around in
his chair. Yep, he was definitely hard; Rick would bet money on it. Rick
shivered and repressed a groan. Too easy. Morty's hand began creeping up
higher, and higher, until it was dangerously close to Rick's clothed hard-on.
“Watch it,” Rick breathed, quiet enough so that only Morty could hear. Rather
than drive Morty away as Rick had intended, though, the threat only served as
encouragement. Morty’s hand continued creeping upwards, agonizingly slowly, and
Rick hated how hard he had to fight the urge to press into the touch.
When the warmth of Morty’s small hand actually met Rick’s cock, though, the
sheer realization of how much Rick liked it had him standing up so fast that
the stack of playing cards in the middle of the table wobbled precariously.
“Oh, shit, M-Morty! We have some Floovian spores growing in the--in my garage,
remember?”
Morty blinked, confused for a minute, and then his eyes widened. He seemed to
have gotten the message, thank fuck. “Oh, y-yeah! That’s right! Those things
are--those things can be deadly if we leave ‘em alone too long!”
“W-Wow, Morty, guess you’ve actually learn--learned something for once in your
short human life. I’m impressed,” Rick looked over to Beth, contorting his
features into what he hoped could pass for regret. “Sorry, Sweetie, but we’re
gonna have to cut this short.”
Beth said nothing, just cringed and eyed her newly pissed-off husband wearily.
Before Jerry could speak up, Rick grabbed Morty’s wrist and yanked the stunned
boy away from the table.
“What the fuck were you think--were you thinking?!” Rick hissed through grit
teeth as soon as they were out of earshot. His veins felt like they were on
fire.
Morty toyed with the hem of his own shirt, flushed and so obviously determined.
“I-I dunno, I just wanted to touch you.”
Rick could only shake his head as he entered the garage code incorrectly. He
took a shuddering breath and tried again, getting it right the second time. “In
front of the entire goddamn family Morty? Do you-do y-y-y-you want us to have
to change realities again, you fucking idiot?”
Morty shuffled his feet, his eyes moving down and back up rapidly. “N-n-no,
Rick, I—I just really wanted to touch y—”
“Jesus Christ, w-w-would you stop stop saying th-that?” Rick practically
slammed the door behind them, running his hand through his hair. Only then did
he realize just how badly he had been sweating.
Fuck. He brought a hand over his face; it felt very warm and damp.
Morty sauntered over to Rick who placed a hand on his chest to stop him. He
quickly pulled away because Morty's warmth was noticeable even through his
clothes and, fuck, he wanted to badly to touch him everywhere. Rick took in a
slow breath. It was overwhelmingly quiet, to the point where all he could hear
was the blood in his ears.
Then did he let himself look down a bit—Morty was still fucking hard. And Morty
must have seen him because he—the fucking tease—had the audacity to smile a
bit. “Do you—can we continue?”
Rick groaned and tipped his head back so he didn’t have to look.
“'Can we continue?'” Rick echoed, almost incredulously. “No, we’re not
'continuing' because that shouldn’t have st-st-started in the fucking first
place.” He saw Morty bite his lip (Jesus, Rick loved that look on him) as he
went on. “Y-you obviously can’t fucking k-keep your hands to yourself you
little fucking pervert.”
Morty chewed his lip, rubbing his hands together anxiously. He was breathing
faster than usual. “You couldn’t—you were touching me too, y’know? I felt you
touching me.”
For that, Rick didn’t have an answer. He absolutely hated that the kid was
fucking right. He wasn’t sure if he did it because he was pissed or if he just
really, really wanted to touch. He didn’t want to try to figure it out.
“Besides,” Morty went on. “Y-y-you can’t say that I’m the pervert here—you want
to fuck your grandson.”
“And you want to befucked by your grandpa,” Rick retorted.
Morty swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, I do,” he said, as forcefully ad he could
without his voice cracking.
Rick couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that point. “Q-q-q-quit trying to act
like you’re...like you’re not the blushing v-virgin I know you are..”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Christ,” Rick said again. “You teenagers—always in heat or whatever.
Just—can’t you fucking wait? It's not that hard.”
“No,” Morty said, all breathy and at that point Rick noticed that his hands
were shaking and the kid was so desperately hard. Somehow Rick hadn’t even
noticed how flushed Morty’s face had become mid-conversation. “I want you—I-I-
I want y-you, please.”
"Soon," Rick croaked. Being as his bad-cop attempts at getting Morty to chill
were failing immensely, Rick decided to try another method. He strategically
shifted his caustic tone into something much, much sweeter, softer. "Gotta--
gotta be a good boy and hold out a little longer for me, alright?"
Morty wobbled where he stood, and for a moment Rick thought the little idiot
might fall over. Praise, huh? Rick smirked devilishly and met Morty's gaze.
He'd remember that for later.
"Oh-Oh geez. I-I guess I'll...I guess I'll try," Morty barely choked out,
turning around and practically running away. Rick only smiled wider as his
grandson fled the scene.
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