Archive of Our Own

Rick noticed that Morty had been sneaking out at night. He would barge into his room, the natural prelude to any of their late night adventures, and had been surprised, then angry, two nights in a row when he’d come in just to be greeted by a cold bed; pillows stuffed under Morty’s covers to make it look like he was still soundly asleep, exactly where he should be, and not god-knows-where he actually was. Rick was a god, though, all-knowing and all-seeing, so he should know exactly where his grandson was at all times. After all, who else was he supposed to have assist him with his space errands very important science?

The next morning, the family sat around the table for breakfast, sans Jerry, who had previously announced he was visiting his parents out of town for the week, to the care of no one, really. Even Jerry’s absence didn’t lift Rick’s mood as much as it normally would as he still felt annoyed by the second foiled attempt at late night adventuring.

“Where were you last night, Mor-oorty?” Rick asked causally over the breakfast table, slurring the name on his lips partly for emphasis, and mostly as an uncoordinated side effect of the alcohol still buzzing in his blood from the night before. He’d gone on a bender on the alien planet he was supposed to be on with his grandson.

“Oh, um, just uh, spending time with some f-friends!” — Bullshit, Rick immediately surmised, the kid’s a loner who everyone thought was weird, he had no fucking friends.

“What?” His sister asked in a bored tone, not looking up from her texting. “You don’t have any fucking friends.”

“Language!” Beth looked up from her plate to reprimand her daughter, shooting her a critical look.

“No, Summer’s right, sweetie.” Rick jutted his chin out in Beth’s eyeline, directing her attention on him and drawing the ire away from Summer, feeling pride for his granddaughter for verbalizing his thoughts and calling a spade a spade. “Morty’s been out at night to hang out with ‘some friends?’" His head swivels to Morty, attention back on him. "Ha! Nice try, bud, but no one’s buying that. What friends?”

Morty’s face grew hot under the scrutiny and cruelty of his family’s words. He shrunk further into his seat, slumped and curled down so far he looked like he would slip right out of it. “Umm—”

“Where have you really been?” Rick pressed, twisting to fully face the boy next to him. Using his stature over Morty, two heads taller than him even at sitting height, to leer down at him. He was able to see sweat beginning to bead on the boy’s temples.

“Dad,” Beth cut in, warning in tone. She glanced down at her half eaten breakfast and sighed audibly, looking back at her elderly father with a weathered look. “Listen, if Morty says he’s with friends, can’t we just leave him alone? I think it’s good for him to be spending time with people his own age. For once.” She punctuated her point with a slight squeeze of her eyes, not quite a glare, but a look extinguished from any patience, nonetheless. Really, she just looked tired.

“If Morty can be out late then I want to, too! There’s a party tonight—”

“I’m about to go into a 24-hour shift of nonstop horse surgeries, so as long as you all figure out how to feed and fend for yourselves without destroying the house, that is literally all I ask for at this point. Morty, Summer, just don’t stay out too late, okay? Can the both of you at least pretend to care about the fact you have school?”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. Summer celebrated with a “Hell yeah,” and slipped away from the table as she texted away, likely sharing with her friends she would be joining them for their evening festivities. Rick noticed Morty exhale a breath he’d been holding and had the nerve to look relieved, like a man saved from hanging. Like hell.

It was only natural, after giving the boy a chance to fess up to what he was really up to and lying to his face, that Rick would have to take measures into his own hands — as he so often did. He waits for a moment later that same day when Morty’s back from school and they’re alone watching TV on the couch together. Rick slings his arm behind Morty and casually cups his hand behind his neck. Morty sends him a confused sideways glance, but otherwise doesn’t say anything at the odd touch. Neither of them were strangers to being handsy with each other at times, horsing around — whether play fighting or actual fighting — so it didn’t arouse much suspicion. Just as quickly as he places it, Rick moves his hand and lets it fall back behind the couch. He then cranes his neck to see his handiwork: a miniature, spider-like robotic with spindly legs that end in sharp points crawls along the length of Morty’s vertebrae for a few seconds before Rick watches it clamp down from its vertices and sinks in underneath Morty’s skin, fully embedding itself. Only after it’s fully swathed in skin and is no longer perceptible to the human eye does Morty suddenly smack himself where the tracker sunk in, where Rick’s hand was a moment ago. “I feel a bug on me.”

“I got it.” Is all Rick says and returns to the TV and flask in his hand like they were the only things of relevance.

He should have placed a tracking device in the kid a long time ago. Really an oversight, if he’s being honest. Its what he’s thinking as he pushes the double wide doors open and sees spread out around him a dingy looking, run-down bar. It’s in a town over, and he idly wonders how Morty even made it out here, even knew about this place. It’s the least of his Morty concerns, at the moment.

His eyes scan for any signs of him. Short, big round head, yellow shirt like a hi-res vest. He should be hard to miss; and yet, Rick sees no sign of him. Would this bar even let a kid — a teen, he corrects himself mentally — in a place like this? “Not like its the Hardrock,” He mutters to himself.

Deciding he might as well grab a beer while he waits for Morty to materialize, he sits at the bar and waits for the barkeep to notice him without a glass in hand. When he does get the attention, it’s an man who appeared younger than Rick only by a decade or two. Still, a contemporary. He has a speckled salt-and-pepper beard covering the lower third of his face, and he appears burly underneath a flannel shirt. “Hey Lumberjack,” Rick can’t help himself, spitting the words out before blinking. “Lemme get a Corona.”

If the bartender has heard the same nickname a thousand times over, he doesn’t say anything about it. He just nods silently and grabs the beer, popping the top off underneath the counter and handing it to him. Rick takes a swig and immediately grimaces, swishing it in his mouth and wishing for a spit bucket. “God, I hate Earth beer.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow.

“Tab?”

“Eh, nah. I won’t be here long.” Rick fishes in his pocket and flips down a wad of cash, more than enough to cover the beer plus 50%. He could sense he was being an asshole, and hoped a silent acknowledgement in the form of money would cover for having to deal with his sour mood. “By chance, have you seen a k— a, a young man come in? He would be yay high, brown hair, wearing a dumb yellow shirt?”

The bartender places both hands on the counter as he takes a beat to think. Then, “Yes, he came in about half hour ago. He was with someone, I think. An older gentleman?”

Rick feels his eye twitch. “Oh yeah? That sounds right… Did you happen to see where they went?”

He steps into the bathroom where the bartender pointed him to in the back of the bar, and it reeks of chemicals and piss. There’s a fluorescent light flickering overhead and it makes Rick think of Saw. He might have to put Morty in a Saw trap, depending what he finds the kid doing in here of all places. He’s running through the scenarios: drug deal, illegal gambling, prostitution — either buying one for himself or whoring himself out. No way it was that last one, of course, just Rick running through all possible scenarios.

He has his foot raised to step further to look into the stalls when he’s stilted by a familiar voice.

“Y-Yeah,” is all that’s said, and it’s the airiness of it, how breathless he sounds, and it’s all Rick has to hear. He immediately beelines to the farthest stall, the roomy handicap one, and uses the strength of his cybernetic skeleton to rip the stall door off it’s hinges with ease. Behind it reveals was the manifestation of the fear he’d pushed down: His precious grandson, Morty, on his knees in front of what Rick can only assume is someone older than the bartender he just talked to, maybe even older than him, and overall just a disgusting, unkempt looking old man. He had whispy, sweaty, comb over hair doing a shitty job of covering an overall bald head, dark wrinkles and sun spots on his face, down his neck and exposed skin of his arms and hands, and thank God it’s the only skin that’s showing. He has one of those decrepit, spotted hands wrapped in Morty’s thick, brunette locks, and Rick is seeing red to the point he thinks for a moment all other light receptors in his retinas have permanently rage quit.

“Rick!” The boy squeaks. Oh fuck, oh fuck. “This isn’t—”

Rick wordlessly pulls out the portal gun and shoots it to the wall, the one not haphazardly blocked by a collapsed metal door. It takes everything in him to not yank the boy up and pull him through it. It also takes a lot of mental fortitude to grind a command through his clenched jaw, to form any words at all. “Portal. Now.”

The ugly geezer has the audacity to speak into the air of concentrated dark matter that’s opened between Rick and Morty. He appears frustratingly nonplussed by the sci-fi, otherworldly phenomena laid out before him if his lack of meaningful reaction is to go by, as all he says while looking down at Morty is, “This an old fling or something, babe?”

It takes even more mental fortitude, will power, and the patience of an eldritch God to not cut the pedo bastard's vocal cords. Morty immediately catches the dark crackle of murderous intent emanating from Rick, smartly and hurriedly pulling himself up from the floor and turning towards the portal without looking back at the man in the stall. It’s the same when Rick follows closely behind, shoving into Morty to move them faster onto the other side with enough force that Morty falls and catches himself on his hands and knees, now on the familiar cold concrete floor of their garage.

“You like being on your knees that much, Morty?”

Morty flushes. “S-Shut up. You, you weren’t supposed to… see that.”

“Yeah, no doy.” Rick takes one last look at the portal before it closes up, and mentally makes note to track down the old fuck later for his revenge. He had to prioritize. First, to take care of the little cocksucker below him. “So, you wanna explain to me what the fuck I just walked in on, Morty? Did I interrupt you?” His tone laced with venom.

Morty actually gulps like a Looney Tune. He gets off from his perch of unsteady limbs to gingerly sit himself ass down, favoring to stay rooted to the floor rather than getting any closer to Rick’s heated glare. He also thinks he may be spared some mercy if he can appeal to Rick’s complex of lording over him. “R-Rick, listen, I… I-I don’t know what to say. I, um. I-it’s just something new… I don’t really know, okay, man? Please don’t make like, a b-big deal out of it.”

“Morty,” Rick’s voice is dropped a couple octaves, and it matches the way his facial features are darkening as black rage threatens to boil over. For now, it’s barely contained, keeping his tone clipped and authoritative. “I caught you about to give a fucking blowjob to someone I was probably in diapers with on the floor of a bathroom more disgusting than ones I’ve seen alien carcasses get raped in. Exactly which part of that whole fucked up scenario am I not supposed to make a big deal out of? Because you’re going to have to be a little more fucking specific.”

As he’s ranting, Rick gradually steps towards him while Morty crawls backwards on his hands, scooting in tandem with Rick’s forward momentum to keep the distance between them. He doesn’t give the boy any time for rebuttal as he rails on, all while menacingly, relentlessly crowding Morty towards the back wall. “So what, that’s where you’ve been sneaking off to go do? To suck off random strangers? Old men, Morty!? I knew you were an abominably horny freak of nature, but holy fuck, this is a new low! Do you even realize what could have happened to you? Not that you fucking care, you fucking masochist. All I do to protect you and keep you safe, aaa-and you spit in my face by meeting random old pedophiles who would love nothing more than to rape you and leave you for dead? Ooo-or better yet, kill you themselves? Probably keep your corpse to rape for later! You wanna be shoved in someone’s industrial freezer next to the Digiorno stuffed crust, huh? Bet you don’t even think of that shit, do you, Morty!?”

By the time he feels his back hit the wall of the garage, having run out of room to crawl away any more from Rick’s growing fury and raised voice, there are tears welling up in his eyes. He mentally curses at himself for feeling so weak, so beaten down by Rick’s easy cruelty towards him. It was unfair. Everything he was saying was so unfair!

“That’s such bullshit, Rick! Y-You keep me safe, really? How can you even, even believe w-what you’re saying?”

Rick’s fists clench on either side of him. “What.”

Morty’s too pissed to back down, even though a voice in the back of his mind screams at him to shut up. “You— you almost get me killed all the time! I can’t count how many times I’ve broken a bone, or, or almost gotten eaten, or been shot in the head! I almost die all the time Rick! Is it, is it so s-surprising that I— I might even be numb to danger! Or—” He shakes his head, a tingle up his spine forcing him to stop in self-preservation before he reveals too much. But the impulse is overridden when he’s egged on.

“Or what, Morty?”

“That— that I might even enjoy it!”

Rick sets his jaw. Unfurls his fists and resists the overwhelming urge to yank the boy by his hair, feeling challenged to really show him real danger— the danger of what he could do to him. Jesus, have some self control, Sanchez. He can barely even hear his own internal monologue chastising him over the rushing of blood suddenly roaring in his ears.

“Y-You like being hurt, Morty? Huh? Is that what this’ all about? Just being a fucking idiot to get a lil’ thrill? I mean — jeez Morty, if I would’ve known, I-I could make that happen on purpose, you know? Make you hurt a little more and leave with more bruises, something to remember our adventures by. Since you wanna be in harm’s way so fucking bad!” The thought bubbles up with it a manic laugh from deep within Rick’s chest, an involuntary, too-loud sound. It sounds as crazed as he’s beginning to feel. Feeling the need to get a hold of his senses, he pauses to bring a hand up to his hair, swiping back sweat into his wild locks and with the gesture taking a deep breath, closing his eyes. He pauses in consideration. Morty was just doing something dumb and risky for the thrill of it being dumb and risky… it didn’t mean anything more. Sure, it was weird he’d do it with an old man but, surely that was part of the danger, someone who was physically bigger, stronger, who could easily overtake him. That made a lot of sense, in a perverted way… Rick would be lying if he said he hadn’t done much the same in his younger years. Hell, he did a lot of the same now — just more covertly, with he and Morty’s adventuring being more or less used as a conduit to take that adrenaline junkie edge off. Anything just to feel something.

Rick took another breath, and on his exhale sighed out some of his anger, some of his tension, and a lot of the racketing, helpless, blackened hope he had stored in a locked box deep within himself that was threatening to rattle and burst wide open since seeing Morty on his knees in that bathroom. He’d open his eyes and let the kid scramble to his room, and hopefully Rick’s shaming would hit hard enough to scare the dumbass off from doing anything as stupid as that again. Rick would keep the tracker in him, and everything would go on as normal. Status quo. Just another typical weeknight screaming match for them.

He opened his eyes and looked down, and was not prepared for the intense look on Morty’s face. He also wasn’t prepared for the way Morty was tugging his shirt over the front of his jeans, the promised tale-tell sign of an erection. If the kid was hard before, in the bathroom, Rick missed it — and maybe didn’t want to think about it. But now, it was in front of his face, and paired with the way Morty was giving him the most sultry bedroom eyes he didn’t even know the kid could muster, it was suddenly irrefutable how horny Morty was, actively was, having this conversation. With him.

Morty licks his lips. His voice is just above a whisper when he confesses, “That’s, uh, that’s not all. I-I mean, why I, um. Why I’m meeting up with… you know… older men…”

Rick’s unibrow shoots up up his forehead, it nearly blending into his hairline. He stops breathing. This was not happening.

"Huh…?”

“I kind of… have a thing for…f-for older… yeah…” Morty does the thing of gulping like a cartoon character again. It draws Rick’s attention to his throat. The throat he was about to use to swallow some strange old dick. Strange old dick that Morty is apparently trolling for, has been trolling for at least for 3 days, because he has a thing for old dudes?

Rick’s brain short circuits.

Morty uses the hand that isn’t fisted around the hem of his shirt to cover his boner to rub at his neck, an awkward gesture to reflect his feelings having confessed such a thing to his grandfather. His grandfather. His grandfather. He flushes with shame, and arousal, and doubly more shame for the arousal for good measure.

“Rick, I’m sorry, I-I know its super weird. It’s why I didn’t want to say anything, about what I was doing. Let’s just, f-forget this whole thing—”

Morty’s voice is cut off by the sound of clinking metal, and the hissing sound of sliding leather. Morty looks up, finding Rick taking off his belt and holding up the freed leather strap in a tight fist. Morty’s eyes dart between the belt, to the silhouette of a bulge in Rick’s pants, and finally up to his face. His expression made Morty’s breath hitch, and his dick twitched in equal parts interest and fear. Rick’s eyes are hard, squinting down at him, and while he still sees some anger reserved for him, it’s been diluted by the presence of something else. It’s a look he’s seen above him now by a few different men, eager to see Morty’s mouth go to work on them. A look he’d grown familiar with but never thought he’d see on his grandfather, directed at him. It’s unmistakeably sensual, unmistakeably lust in his grandfather’s eyes for him. To be more exact, he looked like he wanted to devour him.

“You want to suck old dick so bad, Morty? Why don’t you suck mine?”

Morty’s eyes bulge and he’s sure they’ll fall out of his skull. “What!?” He squeaks, despite the way the question makes his whole body jolt. He yanks and fists his hand even harder around his shirt, permanently ruining the integrity of the fabric. His jeans feel too tight.

Rick cocks his head and continues to look down at him, considering him. “I know you want it.”

“Ew,” He says, instinctively, because it’s what he’s supposed to say. “F-fuck off, Rick. Fuck you.”

“That’s obviously what you’re asking for, Morty. To get fucked.” Still holding his belt in one hand, Rick one-handedly pulls his zipper down to reveal a clearer outline of what Morty could already see, his hard erection threatening to burst from out the confines of underwear. Despite his excitement, Morty also felt incredibly nervous and increasingly overwhelmed by the quick change in events. It’s a contingency he never really planned for because he never imagined Rick seeing him this way. His breathing came in short puffs and he was afraid of hyperventilating.

If only to protect himself if this was all some cruel joke, which he wouldn’t put it past Rick at all, he breathed, “What the fuck, Rick. Y-You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m deadly serious, Morty. Deadlier than all this world’s diseases combined with every variant of space AIDs. Suck my dick. Show me the good time you were about to show that asshole. What, am I not good enough? Don’t wanna share that mouth with dear old grandad?”

When he tried to rationalize what he was doing, he could convince himself this was all part of the scare tactic. Threaten to mouthrape the kid, make him face the reality of what he’s doing throwing himself at pedophiles, and then they go out for ice cream to seal in the message with some positive reinforcement. No real trauma done by Rick, anymore so than usual.

However, Rick could feel his inhibition quickly slip away as he hears Morty moan at his words. Moaning and poorly concealing his boner at Rick demanding he suck his dick in the same breath he reminded them of their familial relationship.

Morty shot a meaningful glance into Rick’s eyes. When their stares met, in that instant, the rubber band of tension building between them finally snapped.

Before he could make himself stop, Rick suddenly took the belt he was holding and looped it around Morty’s neck, tightening the buckle behind his head so it sat like a collar around his small throat, and kept hold of the longest end like a leash. Once it was strapped securely to the appropriate tightness, he yanked Morty up by it so he was now sitting on his knees proper, spine straightened like a rod. The sudden movement and lessened autonomy made Morty whimper. His hand finally fell away from his shirt, and he could feel the front of his jeans dampen with precum.

Rick salivated at the sight of him. He looked perfect. “There you go, much better. Now, be a good puppy and pull grandpa’s dick out, sweetheart.”

It took Morty by surprise, not only to be collared and leashed like a dog, but also how much and it ignited more heat in Morty’s belly. He lean forward to curl a finger into the waistband of Rick’s briefs and taking only a beat longer to take a deep breath, he pulled them down with finality. He moved his head back, making himself choke slightly on the makeshift leash that was pulled taut in the man’s hands, to make room for Rick’s dick when it flopped forward, standing at half-mast in front of him and pointed right between his eyes. Morty went cross-eyed trying to drink in its length. He felt mesmerized for a moment before being pulled back to Earth by Rick’s crackling laughter, like a lightening bolt strike above him.

“Big, aint’it?” An understatement. Morty felt lightheaded looking at it, trying to picture how he could wrap his mouth around it. But he wasn’t about to back down now, and give Rick ammo for more humiliation and torment. He wanted to wipe the shit-eating grin off his rugged face.

It helped that Morty had recently discovered he was a bit of a size queen, and been able to get some practice in. His heart pounded almost out of his chest in anticipation.

He decided to take his time to adjust and reached forward to nuzzle his nose against the length, sniffing and enjoying the scent he found there of musk, sweat, and the slight acrid twinge of body odor mixed with piss. Morty feels saliva pool in his mouth with want. He replaced his nose with his open, wet lips, mouthing along the long expanse of his grandfather’s shaft, making it easily slip and slide along his slotted mouth and tongue. He switched to continue his slathering on the other side of it when he felt a big hand land on his scalp.

“Go on then,” Rick’s voice comes out rough. “Don’t be a cocktease. You should be a pro at this by now. Aren’t you?”

Feeling riled up with indignant anger again, and feeling emboldened by it, Morty looked up into Rick’s eyes as he took down half his length in one swift motion.

“Fuck!” Rick’s fist clenched harder into his hair, and the pain alongside the way Rick’s cock glided down his throat caused Morty to groan around him. The vibrations only made Rick that more aroused, and he felt himself twitch in his grandson’s hot mouth. “Fuck, Morty.”

He decided to show Rick what he’d been learning without him. He stretched his lips further down, getting a couple inches deeper down Rick’s long, girthy cock. He brought both hands to wrap around the length he couldn’t fit in his mouth. His gaze had been focused on his task at hand (literally), and looked up again to search for Rick’s half-lidded eyes. He made eye contact when he started sucking on Rick’s cock in earnest, building a steady rhythm.

As he worked up and down the large dick in his mouth, Morty used his tongue to gather saliva trapped underneath it to keep his mouth wet and lubricated as he strained to fit more of Rick down his throat. Morty jerked him off with both hands, arms out like he was working a plunger, his fists rhythmically meeting up to his mouth with their tandem motions.

Despite the belt around his neck, Morty’s throat was able to flex enough around the cock stuffing him, feeling the bulge Rick made in fitting inside his small esophagus. Morty swallowed and took shallow breaths from his nose, and felt particularly pleased with himself; he had been practicing getting past his gag reflex, and he was doing a damn good job of not choking, especially given that Rick is definitely the biggest dick he’s blown by far. It was an odd sense of pride he felt in getting to show off his efforts like this to Rick of all people. Not only was he the object of his deepest infatuations, as Morty had been secretly coveting after his grandfather sexually for some time, but also in the parental, grandfatherly sense, as he was someone Morty always secretly wished to please, to make proud, to earn praise from. The thought of being able to both make his grandfather proud and make come in one fell swoop was causing exhilaration to thrum Morty’s blood, and he bobbed on Rick’s cock as wet, soppy sounds filled the air, becoming more lost in the sensations of pleasure.

Meanwhile, Rick stared down as his grandson locked eyes with him, making sure he was being watched as he started on a slobbery, enthusiastic blowjob on his dick. It was messy, the kid was struggling to fit him all down, and it really should not have been as erotic as it was. But holy shit, was it ever. Tears started to form in the kid’s eyes, likely from him holding back on choking, trying to keep a brave face on, and Rick’s hand fisted in his hair went with the motion of Morty’s head bobbing up and down, forwards and backwards. Rick thinks distantly that he could watch his do this for hours.

“Holy shit, Morty, baby, fuck. You’re lovin’ this. You like sucking cock that much that you’re really— really going to town on grandpa’s, huh? You like sucking grandpa’s cock, Morty? This what you wanted, baby?”

Morty keens at the pet name. He liked being reminded of his age, his youth, and of the dirty way Rick kept repeating himself, calling himself grandpa so obscenely, Morty guessed he liked it, too. In response, he moans purposely to send vibrations through the nerve endings of Rick’s cock. He’s rewarded with a low groan, sounding so hot and dirty coming from his grandfather. Morty’s heard Rick have sex before, usually with a random alien somewhere in a seedy alley way on some faraway party planet while Morty waited patiently in the ship a mere few feet away, pretending not to hear or be affected by his grandfather’s pornographic noises. He knew Rick liked to be loud, that was evident. But, hearing those same noises of pleasure and arousal coming from him now, knowing that Morty was the one pulling them from him, god was it making Morty feel powerful. The boy shifted on his knees, trying to adjust how his own erection felt confined against his jeans. He removes a hand from its grip on Rick to reach down with the intention to touch himself, maybe even to pull down his zipper for some greater relief.

The belt around his throat is suddenly tightened and Morty lurches forward, so that Rick’s cock is further swallowed down his throat; he's not all the way down still, but he’s got a solid 8 inches widening his esophagus and Morty can’t prevent from choking on it, the intrusion uncoordinated and unplanned for. He tries to pull away to gain some air but he’s held firmly in place by the strength of Rick’s grip on his makeshift leash. He’s breathing shallowly through his nose, trying to fight down the panic that’s building in his chest.

The belt is tugged again, more gently and upward as a gesture to direct his attention more than his movement. Morty looks up, and as he does, once unshed tears now begin to run down his burning cheeks. Rick is glowering down at him.

“I never said you could touch yourself. You ask permission like a good little slut.”

It’s undinifying, its humiliating, and it makes Morty’s dick jump in his pants. He gargles around Rick and at the noise, Rick finally releases his grip on the belt. Morty takes the opportunity to fully unsheathe himself, taking deep gulps of breath. Despite how aroused he is, he makes a point to furrow his brows and glare up at him. “You asshole, I couldn’t breathe!”

“You seemed to handle it just fine.” Rick’s smirk turned down at his next thought. “You must’ve gotten a lot of practice in. I’m not wrong, am I — you are a fucking slut, aren’t you, Morty?” He says it with some venom that makes the boy below him flinch.

Morty looked ahead of him to stare longingly again at the upright cock in front of him, now glistening with his spit. He brings his hand up to lazily jack it off as he considers Rick’s insult, feeling rewarded at a low sound he hears the older man make as he does. “W-What if I am, Rick? You seem to be— be enjoying this just fine. Maybe it’s even, you know, a good thing.” He looks up again, making eye contact with Rick, hand still gliding up and down the thick cock in his hand. “Means I can be good f-for you.” He leans forward and starts tonguing at Rick’s cockhead. He’s just a tad delirious by his lust for it, how big it felt in his throat, especially when Rick made him choke it down. How stretched and fucked out his throat feels; he's eager to fit him back in.

Rick had other plans. He lets the belt fall from his hand and scoops Morty off the floor, causing the boy to yelp in surprise as he’s placed on the workbench, his legs kicking in the air for a moment as he gains his new bearings. Rick noted how ridiculous it looked anytime Morty sat up on the bench like this; his legs dangled, far from the ground, and in comparison didn’t even end past midway up Rick’s upper thighs. He was such a small thing, and looked even smaller crowded by his own towering figure. Rick cages him in by placing flat palms next to the space on either side of his hips. His grandfather leans over him, his face dark as the light coming from behind eludes them, casting them both in shadow.

“How many guys, Morty.” His voice is steady, with a lethal edge. It doesn’t sound like a question.

Where Rick’s is steady, Morty’s voice wavers. “Umm, n-not many. Um. I just, just started—”

“Morty.”

“I don’t know! F-four, five at most!”

“Fuck,” Rick makes a low threatening noise, almost a growl, from his throat. “Fuckin’ whore.” 

Morty didn’t think it was possible for his face to burn any hotter, the shame like gasoline to the flame of arousal lit in his belly, feeling himself melt from the inside out from the raising flame.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Morty shudders at the question. He had thought he wanted to, but… “N-No.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you are.”

“I’m not lying! I swear. I-I didn’t, we didn’t—”

Rick sneers and cuts his gaze away from Morty, turning away from him but keeping the boy trapped below him. He didn’t like the sound of that we on his grandson’s lips. There should only be one we he was ever apart of, and if it didn’t include Rick, it was wrong. A dissonant chord in a concerto. A rattling sound coming from the ship’s engine. A signal that something was very, very wrong.

How could Rick have let it get this bad? How could Morty even dare to think he could have this — whatever “this” was, Rick was quick to mentally shove to the side — let alone have the balls to go through with it, with anyone but him? Did he really think he wasn’t going to get caught, that Rick wouldn’t find out so easily? Morty having his little prepubescent crushes on girls or boys his own age, that was fine, because it was normal. It made Rick feel like the kid could have at least something about his life that was still on track to normalcy, that maybe Rick hadn’t touched and corrupted every single thread in the fabric that made up Morty’s reality. He wasn’t an ape, he knew he had psychologically, physically, emotionally, morally, and maybe even spiritually fucked him up — probably for the rest of his life (not that Rick planned on letting the kid age out of 14 anytime soon… he had the quantum age stabilizer to thank for that.)

But, he was the one who hadn’t dared to think (or, dream) he had infiltrated the kid’s sexual desires, too.

Rick’s interior was a war between elements. There was the crashing flood of emotions that came with the weighted reality, the recognition of how much he’s ruined this boy. Finding Morty, the forever young little boy he was, on his knees of a dirty bathroom stall, mouth agape and hungry to suck the dick of a stranger, an old, dirty pedophile, something he has apparently done four or five times already and how the fuck had he not noticed sooner — it almost felt inevitable. It didn’t take the smartest man in the universe to retrace the steps back to figure out just how the fuck they got here. Rick’s hands, Rick’s influence, Rick’s grooming.

Because, if you had an eyes and a brain, that’s what you would call it. Grooming. No more deluding himself could ignore that fact.

And another fact? Rick was no better than that pedophile he’d found with Morty, or any of the other ones he had been meeting up with. The boy had ended up below them all the same, on his knees and mouth wide open ready to receive what they’d give him. The only difference is they had just gotten to his oral cherry first. Rick vowed to hunt down and kill each and every last one of them who dared to touch the boy, doomed from the moment Morty's lips met their leaking cocks. Didn't matter if they couldn't have known he was already claimed, already in the waiting jaws of another, deadlier predator. Rick would probably imagine the men as stand-ins for himself when he would watch the brain matter fly off each of their skulls.

For all the guilt, shame, and pangs of suicidal ideation that washed over Rick, at the same time of this self admission, there was another part of him, perhaps a stronger part in this moment, a part of him that has been biding its precious time, that lit a firestorm of reawakened possessive, carnivorous arousal within him, setting his lower abdomen ablaze with heat and heady need. It radiated outward until he could feel the nerve endings of his fingers twitch and sizzle, feeling as though he could burn a hole through anything he touched. Morty trolling for random dick, putting himself in harm’s way just for a taste of it, his want to be hurt, abused. Morty sucking his dick as beautifully as he had, and the kid hadn’t even put up a fucking fight. Rick could still imagine the small cavern of his mouth hollow and close around him like a fucking vacuum sealer, the little cock-sucking slut. Worst of all, the way Morty struggled to fit him in that small “o” of his mouth, the way he couldn’t cover the rest of Rick’s cock that wasn’t in his mouth even with both hands, those little fucking baby hands of his contrasted against the massive length they framed — even the innocence of Morty admitting how he wanted to be good for Rick (Means I can be good f-for you) — all of it just reminded Rick of how small and young he was.

“Rick…?” Morty’s small voice cutting through the noise of the storm.

The worst of all of it, is it only made the need to consume him insatiable. Rick felt it rock through him, and he didn’t know how long he’d been shaking.

He had been consuming him this whole time, hadn’t he?

So, what was one more fucked up thing?

Rick brings his large hands, still shaking, up to frame the line of Morty’s neck, up to his jaw, fingertips grazing his ears. He held his head almost fully in both hands, and it just dumped more heat, more need through Rick. His thumb caught the belt still wrapped around his neck, peeling it off from the reddened, sweat-slick skin to pull it tautly. Morty gasps, and with a final drop of restraint, Rick leaned in to whisper against his ear, “I’m gonna show you who you fucking belong to.”

With more force necessary he crashes into Morty’s mouth, and it’s mean. He bites his lips hard enough to bruise plush flesh, turning his pink pert mouth into crimson, and when Morty gasps in pain or surprise, takes advantage by pushing his tongue roughly into that same mouth he did his cock. He hears and feels the boy moan into him, the rumbling vibration heating up their kiss more as their wet muscles slide against each other.

Morty feels saliva slip past his mouth, lips stretching to accommodate Rick’s assault on his mouth, trying to slot himself against the force of it. His eyes fall closed, and he moans again, feeling consumed, ravished.

I’m going to show you who you fucking belong to.

God, please.

And as if Rick really was the all powerful, omniscient God he always claimed to be, he answers Morty’s silent prayer by tugging down his jeans, just as Morty was sure they were about to burst from the crotch seams. Morty scrambles underneath Rick and his working hands to assist in the removal, lifting his ass up as much as he can without disrupting their make out. He wraps his arms around Rick’s neck for leverage as his pants are pulled fully down.

Rick finally breaks off from their kiss to look down and drink in the sight of Morty’s clothed erection, tighty-whitey underwear damp with precum. The fabric formed onto his little hard-on, translucent veil a whisper of modesty barely hiding the sight of the blushing, virginal bride that was Morty’s baby penis. Rick’s mouth waters at the sight like a fat kid in a candy store, and Morty whines at the feeling of finally being out of his tight jeans. He’s about to reach back up to make their lips meet again when Rick meets him halfway, groaning noises of need and fever into each other’s mouths.

“Damn, Morty,” Rick says as he pulls back again. His hand drops to Morty’s dick and the boy jolts. “You ever get sucked off, or just you doing the sucking?”

Morty can barely comprehend the question with the way his mind fuzzed out as Rick stroked him. He registers it a few seconds later, “Huh? I, hah, I-I’ve only done the s-sucking, yeah.”

It takes him longer to catch up to the image of his grandfather as he’s suddenly moving, stepping back and shifting, and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of him. Sitting on the workbench created the perfect match in height for Rick to make direct eye contact with Morty’s dick. Morty could actually look down at him from this position, and he bit his lip to hold in a groan. Not only was the position ripe with the promise of sexual pleasure, but he realizes he’s never looked into his grandpa’s eyes from this angle before, from above. And Rick’s eyes were dark, almost animal-like. A predator’s.

The look makes Morty shiver.

“Rick—”

“I’m gonna blow you, Morty. Since you’ve been such a good boy for grandpa.”

Matter-of-fact in his announcement, Rick doesn’t pause for Morty’s reaction before he mouths at his clothed penis, swallowing him easily. Morty feels like the bench beneath him has given out with the way he feels the gravitational pull of the last of his blood rushing south, and he wonders if he could actually pass out from this.

“Rick! Nnng, fuck!”

Rick’s about to tell the kid to quiet down lest they wake the whole house up, now that their screaming has taken on a different context, but memory quickly supplies the details of the other family members’ plans for the night that should be keeping them out of the house. Rick makes a mental note to add state of the art soundproofing to the garage for the future, and an automatic door lock, while he’s at it. 

He pops Morty out of his mouth to take off the veil of underwear, as cute as it makes Morty’s little dick look, pulling down them to meet the pile of his jeans on the floor below them. It was well worth it, Rick thinks, as he watches Morty’s dick slap flush against his stomach. It doesn’t reach his belly button even as hard and engorged as it is, a small pink volcano slowly dribbling out precum lava down its sides, and Rick wastes no time to take it back in his mouth, now without barrier.

Morty brings his knees up to bracket Rick’s head as he begins a quick pace of swallowing Morty over and over again, the boy keening and tightening his thighs around his grandpa. “Oh my God, Rick, fuck, fuck!”

Returning Morty’s gesture when he blew him, Rick stares up at his cute little grandson as he moans Rick’s name. His mouth hangs agape, saliva dripping from bitten-bruised lips, and eyes blown wide. He’s both parts adorable and sexy the way his face takes on a look of pure ecstasy, and Rick feels resentful of the fact he can’t kiss him at the same time he’s sucking him off. The limitations of man.

He swirls his tongue, paying special attention to the head as he holds Morty in his mouth. From the small whimpering noises and the way his dick is twitching in his mouth, he can tell the kid’s close. Rick grabs Morty by his hips and, with the kid’s thighs still wrapped around his head, forces him forward so that his dick is jammed in to the absolute hilt. He’s not big enough to reach the back of Rick’s throat, but the feeling of the hollowness inside juxtaposed to the feeling of being tightly crammed in between Morty’s shaking thighs, nose and chin flushed to the soft expanse of his pelvis, makes Rick moan loudly, albeit muffled. Rick relishes in the feeling of being both crushed and cushioned by the baby fat of Morty’s plush thighs, the soft pudge at his lower belly, and the soft handles of his hips. The sensation is akin to being swallowed by a cloud from heaven.

Morty’s orgasm is approaching like a bullet train, and he’s not sure he can stop it despite how badly he wants to experience this feeling forever. “Rick, I’m gonna—”

It’s too late, he’s already spilling into his mouth, and God he tasted fucking good. Morty screams when Rick hollows his cheeks around his twitching dick, milking him dry.

Morty loses the battle of gravity and strength and he collapses back onto the workbench, laying on his back as he takes large gulps of air to catch his breath. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Rick wipes his arm across his mouth and smirks at the boy in his exhausted state. “No God here but me, baby. No one else to do that for you, either. Remember that.” He places a hand on the ground to gingerly lift himself back up to standing, metallic cybernetic joints creaking as he does. At least it wasn't his real bones he had to worry about anymore, making his own stamina something to be admired, despite being 56 years the boy’s senior.

It’s fucked up how that math made his erection throb.

He leaned over Morty’s limp form, watched as his small chest raised and lowered on his inhales and exhales, and had a moment to consider his next move. He really wanted to fuck him. He was still hard as a rock, and watching the boy come, tasting his load, only made him more ravenous. But… Morty was a virgin, self-admittedly, at least when it came to getting fucked in the ass. Well— if megaseeds and other contraband Rick had the boy smuggle for him up there every now and again didn't count. God, Rick really had been fucking the kid up from the start, he’s really seeing it all now. No wonder they ended up here.

Rick lifts a hand up to rub Morty’s belly in slow circles. So soft. “Morty…”

Morty blinks his eyes open, half lidded. He was tired. It’d been such a long night, and the sweet release of his orgasm had him on the edge of wakefulness. He yawned before responding, “Yeah, Rick?”

Rick’s hand lowered, rubbing down over Morty’s pelvic bone, more jutted out and pronounced with how Morty was laying against the desk. He did this until he slipped past the meeting point between his inner thigh and groin, past softened dick, until he languidly moved close enough where he could drop his pinky to lightly fall against Morty’s taut little butthole. Even at this slightest of touch, barely there, he sees Morty’s hole contract and tighten, and Morty lets out a quiet whine at the suggestion. “Have you, uh, ever played with yourself here? Y’know, fingers?” Rick licks his lips, swallows before he speaks again. “Toys?”

Morty’s eyes open wide, and he’s suddenly snapped awake. Thank God for teenage hormones, because he can feel his dick begin to swell again with interest at Rick’s questions. He blushes. “Y-Yeah. Um, both.”

Rick’s hand at his ass and his dick center framed between Morty’s open legs both twitch, and again Rick finds himself trying to calm himself against an ocean and a wildfire. The kid obviously wants this as badly as he does, right? He wants to reach out for some of the wrath he had felt at the start of this encounter, to summon it and use it for just fucking taking what he wanted from Morty, to make the boy cry and suffer and maybe scare him away from ever wanting anything like this again — scare him from Rick. The part of him that wanted Morty to hate him, because that would be easier to deal with and explain to the world than whatever the fuck he was doing now, leering over his grandson who he just made come in his mouth. Rick’s hand twitches again, against Morty’s pillowy, milky flesh, and he feels something almost religious in the way he feels overcome by the sight of the boy so pliant, so beautiful, so angelic below him. He’s overcome by a different fear, suddenly: that he might actually fucking cry if they have sex.

Sex? Maybe try statutory rape?

If the proverbial angel on Rick’s shoulder had a final assignment before retirement, it would be this one. Couldn't blame the guy for trying his last best attempt at salvation for himself, for both of them. But, he was too far past the point of no return.

“Morty, can I… Do you…” Fuck, how was he supposed to ask his underaged grandson if he could fuck him? What the fuck?

Morty, the angel he is, too good for him, would always be too good for him, looks up at him sweetly, still languid from his orgasm. “Rick, a-are you asking if you can fuck me? If so, the answer is yes.”

Have mercy on his soul.

“Fuck, baby.” The hand not resting on Morty immediately goes to task pulling open a nearby drawer and rifles briefly before pulling out a tube of mechanical lube. He knows its the closest thing at hand that wouldn’t require him to step away from Morty, something that feels impossible for him to do, like his feet have been nailed to the floor with a hammer. It does the job fine, synthetic grease coating Rick’s fingers as he slicks them up and presses his index finger to Morty’s hole. Despite the boy’s admission of not being new to buttplay, he feels so tight when Rick just begins to press in, not able to go in against the wall of Morty’s firm flesh. “Goddamn, Morty. You’re so tight, fuck, I can’t even… relax and let me in, baby?”

Morty let out a deep exhale, not realizing the tension he was holding. God, Rick was really going to fuck him. He’d fantasized about this for so long, has fucked himself on dildos while imagining it’s Rick cock up his ass, Rick he’s riding and his name on his lips as he comes — the kind of masturbation session he would only ever do hidden away in the back of his dark closet, the one place in his bedroom he’d found that didn’t have a camera pointing at it, a complete blind spot from Rick’s perverted security system. But then, Morty would also fantasize about a day he would masturbate out in the open, baiting his grandfather to watch through the cameras as his grandson fucked himself on a fake cock while yelling his name. Came over and over at imagining what the fantasy version of his grandpa would do if he found out about his big fat crush on him.

He had thought about a moment like this for long enough that it almost feels like it’s happened already, but no, Morty reminded himself— this was the real deal. His grandpa was about to take his virginity, for real. Rick wanted him as badly as Morty wanted him, and the revelation had Morty sucking in another breath, before slowly exhaling again, trying his best to release the tension holding his sphincter tight. His voice wavering, “A-Anything for you, g-grandpa Rick.” He meant it.

Rick swore and plunged his finger in without mercy this time, him and Morty both keening as he felt the warmth of his insides engulf his digit. He needed to speed up this pace and get this boy seated on him immediately. He rocked his finger back and forth until he felt the glide against skin get easier, then added a second, then third finger. It wasn’t long before Morty’s moans were filling up the garage again. It was fucking sexy hearing how much the kid liked to talk back, volleying Rick's dirty talk, going directly to both of Rick’s heads.

“Yeah, you like getting fucked on grandpa’s fingers, baby?”

Morty’s noises are nonstop once Rick’s fingers curl and find his prostate, abusing the soft bundle with precise thrusts of his digits that has Morty writhing and his dick fully hard once again, leaking and red against his stomach. Rick’s mouth is uncontrollable, too. “You’re so cute like this Morty, can’t believe I’m seeing you like this, fucking finally. Shoulda been me this whole time putting my fingers up here, my dick in your mouth, yeah baby? I wanna hear you say how badly you need my dick inside you.”

“Rick, Rick, fuck, p-please,”

“Please what, baby? Use that gorgeous mouth and tell me what you need.”

“Ah! I-I need, I need y-you, I need yourrr dick i-in— FUCK!” Rick squeezes his pinky in to fit half a hand in Morty, and alternates between rubbing himself firmly against his prostate and fucking Morty with the strength of his mechanic arm. Morty breaks into a full body sweat, panting and squirming under him. “Rick! Please just fff-fuck me already, please, I need your cock! Fuck, please!”

“Well, sweetie, since you asked so nicely,” and Rick is pulling himself out gingerly, not wanting to hurt Morty unnecessarily. He’s feeling overcome with the desire to treat Morty sweetly, reverently, even, like a religious idol. Distantly, he thinks he may be experiencing madness. Maybe it was good; all the better he could play the part of senile grandpa for his little horny, slutty, perverted grandson.

Rick grabs the lube and drips more of it directly onto his dick, fisting himself to slather it generously to fully coat his length. He’s about the toss the bottle when he has a stroke of genius, and squeezes more of the slippery gel out so it falls onto Morty’s hole, now winking slightly. Morty moans at the cold sensation, heightening the empty feeling left by Rick’s big, strong hand. He felt he could die if forced to live another minute without feeling his grandfather’s fat cock filling him up.

The boy wraps short legs around Rick’s waist and pulls him forward, his message clear. Rick wastes no more precious time as he aligns his cock and shoves into the boy, the access of lube and his prepared hole thankfully making enough headway for Rick’s cockhead to push in with just enough friction for it to not be immediately painful. Morty keens and arches his back, and Rick groans in ecstasy; he knows he’s barely in, and yet, it’s like instant relief from a fever he’s had for 100 years. It’s world stopping, the way Morty’s small body feels around him, the squeeze of his tight hole on the tip of his dick. He slides in further, unable to resist more of the addicting sensation, and it makes Morty scream.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod,”

“Holy shit.”

“OhmyGod you’re inside me Rick—”

Morty chokes on a sob. Rick forces himself to still to let the boy catch his breath. The reverence floods him as Rick’s eyes scan over every inch of him that he can see from this vantage point, until he’s looking down to where they’re connected, and he feels impossible pleasure curl up and down his spine. It was so dangerous, to let himself have this. Because there was no way he was ever going to stop, now that he knew how addicting his boy felt inside.

Rick hadn't even realized when he had started fucking into Morty, meaning to pause for him to get used to the intrusion but now he was idly gyrating with enough force that made the slide in and out of Morty’s hole that much easier, that less taut with each snap of his hips. He was still so fucking tight.

Morty was crying — at least Rick wasn't the one to break that seal, thank Christ — and he sobbed rapturously. “Rick, grandpa, yes, yes! You-You feel so good, grandpa,”

Of course the little pervert wanted to call him that during sex. Rick was right behind him, no better— worse. “I’ve got you, baby, my precious little grandson, you feel so fucking good squeezing grandpa’s big cock, yeah. Yeah you fucking do. Wished we’d— fuck, goddamn it, Morty— we should’ve been doing this a looong fucking time ago. Grandpa’s neglected you, haven’t I? Well, not. Any. More.” He punctuated his last words with purposeful thrusts, shimming the last of his length so he was fully seated in Morty at the hilt. The shift in feeling, full to the brim and satisfying, had them both loud, in tandem. Rick groaned through clenched teeth as he felt the boy bare down on his full length.

“Fuuuck, yeah— aaall the way in now baby,” He breathed it out in one long word (sounding like “aaallthewayinnowbaby”), as he leaned over Morty, hovering inches over his face. A bead of sweat from Rick’s forehead trickled and dripped onto Morty’s, Rick tracking its path as it ran down the boy’s slender neck. It drew Rick’s attention into the damp creases around the belt-collar he still had wrapped around him. A thought hit Rick like a sack of bricks, over and over again as it solidified and rang out in his mind like a mantra. Mine. His puppy, his grandson, his fucktoy. Mine, mine, mine.

He grabbed onto the end of the makeshift leash again and furled it around one hand until it was almost entirely wrapped tightly in Rick’s fist. He held it up so it was in Morty’s eyeline, exhibiting how short the length of his leash was, now. The other hand grasping the boy’s hip pulls him in with each new thrust as he fucks into him harder, mechanical skeleton giving Rick the strength to use his little body like a fleshlight one-handed, punching more cries of pleasure and overstimulation out of Morty.

Rick’s manhandling on his body, forcefully pulling him over and over on his dick, causes an equal-and-opposite reaction of the leash already pulled taut to tug him forward with each rocking motion of their fucking. Morty’s eyes bulge and more fat tears spill down his reddened cheeks as he chokes, sputtering and unable to catch his breath.

If being barely able to breathe was a predicament of importance to Morty, he doesn’t dwell on it, his mind quickly succumbing to the numb, fuzzy edges around it. His own dick is slapping against his stomach as Rick — his grandpa Rick — fucks him hard, and he’s losing himself in the ecstasy. He feels himself teetering on the edge of another precipice, and he’s delirious.

“Grandpa— grandpa!”

Rick’s rhythm falters at Morty’s child-like cries. “Fuck. That, that’s right, I told you I-I’d remind you who you belonged to, didn’t I? Such a, a good slut for your grandpa, baby.”

Morty is screaming. Rick is loving the way the kid is getting off so much to the sick reminders of their relationship, causing him in turn to fuck into the boy harder, better. A twisted idea comes to him, then, and he drops a few centimeters of Morty’s leash to let the boy regain his oxygen. He needed him to be able to talk clearly, and to think somewhat coherently.

“Morty,” He starts, line of his mouth turned up in a smirk, shark-like. “Remind me, how old are you again?”

Morty’s breathing regulates enough for his eyes to travel from the back of his skull, lulling his head towards Rick. His eyebrows furrow, his only indication of confusion at Rick’s question as he huffs out, “F-Fourteen.”

Rick’s cock pulses inside Morty, and he swears as he feels the boy’s guts squirm around him. “Fuck. And how old am I again, Morty?”

Morty’s eyes water as more intense waves of arousal flood him, Rick’s deep thrusts unrelenting as he forces Morty to think about their massive age difference. God, if he hadn’t already come and wasn’t fighting against his refractory period, he would have busted then.

“You-You’re, you’re s-seventy—”

“And who am I, Morty?”

Morty blinks at him, confused. Rick tugs at the leash again, pulling a whine from him. “Come on, think who’s fucking you right now, sweetheart.”

Morty’s eyes suddenly brighten in recognition, and a dopey, fucked out smiled splits his face in two. “My grandpa— my grandpa Rick!”

“Fuck yes!” Rick drops the leash-wrapped hand to frame both side’s of Mory’s hips, fucking him in harder, brutal earnest. “I literally am your grandpa, Morty! We’re both sick fucking freaks for this, you know that, don’t you, Morty!?”

If Morty seemed disturbed by the news, he didn’t show it, only screaming and spasming as Rick’s cock tore through him.

Filth continues to spill from his grandpa’s mouth. “But it feels too good to stop, doesn’t it? You love the way grandpa’s making you feel don’t you, baby?” The boy excitedly nods his head, accidentally catching himself again on his leash from where it’s trapped between his hip and Rick’s hand, and he makes a choking sound. Cute little puppy, Rick thinks, being fucked stupid.

“Tell me how good it feels baby,” Rick demands. He’s hitting Morty’s prostate over and over, and Morty sobs.

Morty can barely think or breathe let alone talk, so his words comes out sloppy and slurred, tumbling out of his mouth like a cut-off drunk out a bar. “Grandpa it feels sooo fucking good fuck it feels so good so good fuck yes right there grandpa Rick so good so hard so deep FUCK— !”

Rick watched in rapt attention and awe as Morty became completely wrecked, sobs pouring out of him as he was overcome by the sensation of his second orgasm, the boy arching his back so far off the workbench that his taut body looked like an archer’s bow, and its like a cord is snapped and curls in on itself with how he’s collapsing. The tight squeeze of Morty’s insides become even more pronounced as he comes on Rick’s cock, resulting in Rick feeling suffocated through his dick in the best case there could be of erotic asphyxiation. Rick chases his own orgasm until it hits him like a semi-truck, and he’s rambling off obscenities and praises for the boy as he holds him up by his hips in a death-grip, dick buried to the hilt as Rick relishes the feeling of spilling his seed deep inside Morty’s constricting, fever-like heat.

As they both slowly descend back down to Earth, trembling against each other, still connected and held together by tender flesh, Rick feels his own eyes well with tears. He’s satisfied, bone-deep, so much so that the self-hatred he’ll have for himself for this — all that this entails — will come later, when he’s alone.

For now, in this moment, he lets his tears fall, and he lets Morty reach up and grab his face, and Rick is gathering him into his arms as he falls into him in a needy embrace. He lets himself feel soothed by the sound of his grandson’s pounding heartbeat as Morty hugs his face against his chest, and he lets himself need this, too.

They stay there for some time, clinging to each other for dear life, as if fearing if they let go the other would slip away from reality at any moment.

* * *

Later

“Rick, for the last time, I’m not going to tell you his name!”

“Morty, he’s a fucking child rapist. I’d be doing the world a favor.”

“Yeah, then what does that make you?”

“Don’t….”

“You know, you seemed to, to really like it when you were asking how old I —”

“MORTY. DON’T.”

“Riiight. Rick, come on, I initiated things, okay? I was like, literally asking for it. And-and I don’t mean in a, a victim-blame-y way, like, as in, ‘I literally solicited these guys for sex’ way.”

“…….”

“And anyway, it-it’s not, you know, like anything bad happened to me! S-Some of them have families, probably. A-at least one of them, I remember, h-he mentioned his grandkids.”

“…. You can see how that doesn’t help your argument, right, Morty?”

“You can’t kill them, Rick!”

“Oh, you wanna tell me what I can’t do, Morty? Are you sure? I somehow feel like, like that’s a lesson you should have learned by no-ooo--ow, buddy. Need I remind you of vat of—”

"Don’t, Rick! Don’t even dare!”

“I’m dead serious, Morty. If you don’t give me a list of names of all the disgusting sex pests you’ve sucked off, I’m going to look up every guy on the sex offender list and go down the line and single-handedly murder each one of them, one by one, in cold blood. First starting with the ones in our zip code, then I’ll expand into the next radius, then all of them in the city, the county, until I’ve murdered every pedophile in the whole fucking tri-state area, Morty! Each and every one of them— I’ll hunt them down for sport. I’ll bet I’ll hit ‘em all eventually doing that, and I won’t even stop if you tell me to. You want all that pedo blood on your hands, Morty?!”

“RICK! You-You can’t—!”

“SAY THAT ONE MORE TIME AND I’LL CAN’T YOUR ASS BACK TO SUNDAY MORTY I SWEAR TO GOD—”

As they raged at each other, there was an unspoken, underlying understanding they shared in that moment; quiet and hidden, cloaked in the decibels of their screaming, was the relief that nothing between them had actually changed much.

That is, besides the obvious hard-ons they both sported by the time Rick wrestled Morty onto the floor, not knowing whether to fight or fuck each other within an inch of their lives.