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Baby, I'm Yours

Chapter Text

Morty realized two things: he should probably go to therapy and he’s DEFINITELY going to hell. Not that Morty is religious - he’s never even been to church. Besides, Rick’s violent disdain for “p-primitive gEEEUURPibberish, Morty,” would have put any evangelical thoughts to bed long ago.

Still, if there was a hell, Morty was definitely going to it.

He sat back from his computer and groaned, putting his hands over his face. “Oh j-jeez.” He had just wiped his search history of “is it weird to like your grandfather” followed by “is it weird to like your grandfather sexually” followed by “what is an oedipal complex” followed by “oedipal complex but grandfather and grandson” and then “oedipal complex grandfather grandson don’t want to kill my dad”. These searches had only reaffirmed that he was sick and should probably talk to someone as well as finding a really obscene amount of incest porn (one of which he thought about clicking but decided it was a Bad Idea).

It wasn’t as if he was like this intentionally. A few weeks ago, he’d been watching free, 360p porn like any normal 14 year old who has masturbated in almost all of the rooms in the house. Morty tended to look up ones where the girl looked vaguely like Jessica. This one was supposed to be a “male P.O.V.” shot, so basically all you ever saw was a close up of the girl’s ass or pussy and porn moans in the background. Which was fine, whatever, not Morty’s favorite angle, but he was far too young and hormonal to be discerning about porn.

He settled in, hand on dick, ready to rub another out courtesy of PornHub. But whenever the guy talked, his mouth must have been close to the camera, because his voice was louder than anything else. It was the standard porn dialog (this one was a babysitter and her boyfriend) and nothing Morty hadn’t heard before. When they actually started fucking, PornJessica bent on all fours on the couch, the camera guy fired up his dirty talk. He gave her a particularly deep thrust (cue her moaning) and said “That’s it, baby.”

Morty, having the good sense to wear headphones, heard it right in his ear. Morty felt a shiver down his spine and cock, gripping himself harder. And his brain, his stupid fucking brain, remembered that earlier the same day at Blips and Chitz, Rick had been playing some ridiculous spaceship simulator (the whole arcade was a spaceship, why did they need a simulator?). He had flown through an impossibly tight space and as he eked out of it, he had said it, down to the exact same tone, “That’s it, baby.”

That’s it, baby. Thaaat’s it.

Morty’s dick twitched in his hand. His blood ran hot through his body. “Wh-what the fuck,” he mumbled. Shit, what was that? Shit. Shit. He tried to zero in on the girl, on her sounds, stroked himself faster in an attempt to outrace his mind with his hand. The cameraman spoke again. “Just like that. God, you’re so good, baby.”

Morty’s brain gobbled it up, translated it into Rick’s rough and stumbling voice, and played it back.

Morty groaned, another hot pulse going through him. “N-no, nonono.” He protested to no one. Still, he put his head down on his desk, pumped harder, listened to the man talk and imagining it in Rick’s voice. He came with a mewl onto his stomach once the guy said, “gonna ruin your sweet little cunt.”

That had been the first time - just the voice. Morty had done everything possible to forget it ever happened and acted a little squirrely around Rick the next day, but the old man didn’t seem to notice or care, so long as Morty handed him the shit he asked for.

The next time was the day after - again, 14 year old boy - and it was worse. It took Morty twenty minutes to pick something to watch. He didn’t really want to pick another P.O.V. one because, fuck, he really wanted to chalk it up to a weird one-time thing. Like who doesn’t imagine their grandfather talking dirty once in their lives, right? But Morty’s dick got the better of him (it had felt too fucking good last time) and found another Sort-Of-Jessica and the Disembodied Porno Voice. This one was kinkier. Not-Jessica was tied up with a blindfold on.

It was fine at first, not a speck of Rick Sanchez to be seen or heard. Morty started masturbating and congratulated himself on being a normal, well-adjusted teenager, jerking it to normal, grandpa-free porn. Disembodied Porno Voice spanked Almost-Jessica and asked, “Yeah, you like that baby?”


You like that, baby?

Second verse, same as the first. Rick was talking dirty, full stop, in his ear. This, Morty was slightly, shamefully prepared for. What he wasn’t prepared for, aside from the nascent sexual feelings about his grandfather, was the cameraman handing the camera off to someone else. Two people were now in the frame. He knew, Morty KNEW, that it was just another male porn star. But all he could see was Rick. Rick fucking Jessica, right in front of him, calling her baby and making her cum. Morty was shaking when he finished in his hand.

He was freaked out. Reasonably so, he thought. He didn’t masturbate for three days after that and actively avoided Rick. On the third day, Rick cornered him before he could dash straight to his room after school. When Morty came barreling up the steps, Rick waited behind the wall at the top and yanked Morty aside, gripping his arm tight.

Morty practically squeaked.

“Wh-what’s up, Morty?” Rick asked (it was more of an accusation, really), his gaze unfocused on his grandson. He’d been drinking steadily since lunch.

“U-uh, uh, hhhey Rick.” Morty mumbled, looking a little desperately at his bedroom door.

“Where you been, d-dawg? You tryin’ to av-EUURP-oid your, your grandpa, Morty?” Rick’s eyes and tone were markedly unfriendly.

“I, I h-haven’t b-” Morty began. Rick rolled his eyes and cut him off.

“I’m a fucking genius, Morty. And you’re a shitty, y-you can’t lie for shit, Morty.”

Morty stopped and wracked his brain. Rick was right, he was a terrible liar, but he wasn’t about to tell Rick about his perversions. No, no ‘hey grandpa, thinking about you fucking my highschool crush while I jack it!’ He sucked in a breath and looked up guiltily at Rick.

“W-well, you know that science p-p-project you helped me with?” He shuffled his feet. The more pathetic he looked, the less his grandpa would look for a lie - Rick loved to find reasons to call Morty a bitch. “Uh, well, j-jeez Rick, I got a really l-low grade on it, and I didn’t wanna t-tell-”

Rick’s eyes had narrowed into a glare. Maybe it was the wrong lie, Morty panicked. He didn’t want Rick to kill his science teacher, or worse. Rick looked dangerous for a moment, but swayed a little on his feet. The drinking had mellowed him out some. He shrugged his shoulders and let go of Morty’s arm at last. “J-jesus, is that it, Morty? Wh-why would I care about what your idiot teachers think? Man, Morty, you gotta stop being such a fu-EUUC, fucking wuss, it’s messing with my shit.”

Morty breathed an internal sigh of relief. “S-sorry Rick.”

“Wh-ulp, whatever, kid.” Rick took a pull from his ever-present flask and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Listen, figure your shit out, o-okay? Grandpa’s gotta settle a business deal n-no thanks to you, Morty. So you got, you got the weekend to stop being a weird little shit.”

Morty might have felt guilty, if he wasn’t carrying a thousand bricks of sexual shame on his back. “Okay Rick, I will.” Morty willed his foot not to tap nervously.

Rick paused and, almost as an afterthought, reached out and ruffled Morty’s hair. Spineless twerp though he was, Rick figured the kid felt real bad for disappointing him. He knew Morty had a complex about impressing him, and while Rick spent most of the time pushing that as far as possible, he got a tight, warm feeling in his stomach when Morty smiled like he knew he’d done something good. That was gonna fuck him over some day. He withdrew his hand and sauntered down the stairs, figuring out what the best insulting greeting for the renegade Zigerian black market dealer would be.

Morty, on the other hand, felt his stomach fall out his ass when Rick ran his fingers through his hair. The touch didn’t go to his groin, but it went just about everywhere else. He mumbled a goodbye and good luck to Rick before practically running back into his room. Once safely inside with the door shut behind him (why didn’t he have a lock, seriously), he collapsed face-first on his bed. A weekend without Rick. A weekend to deal with whatever the fuck this was, get it out of his system, and never ever let Rick find out about it.

The third time was the charm.

Rick had been gone for a few hours. Morty had turned things over and over again in his head. He rationalized: Rick says ‘baby’ a lot, you just associate it with him. He agonized: you’re thinking about sex with your grandfather, you’re so messed up. He denied: no, you’re a normal kid, you’re not gonna think about Rick anymore, you’re gonna think about Jessica and her butt. He sat in his bed, ruminating under his covers. The past two times had involved porn - what if he just used his hand and his imagination? He could control that. And he wouldn’t be able to hear anything that might spur on fantasies of Rick.

Morty pushed down the waistband of his pajamas and stared, maybe even glared, at his flaccid dick. He was not going to let Rick ruin masturbation for him. He thrust his hand down onto his cock in the most dignified way he could manage and closed his eyes. Jessica, he thought. “Jessica.” He said out loud. He remembered the way she looked at him in his original universe, just before she had gone super crazy on the love potion. How she had wanted him so badly, wanted him right there on the dance floor.

He imagined her on her knees and looking up at him, all starry-eyed, “Oh Morty,” she would say and palm him through his pants. Morty’s dick started to perk to attention as he rubbed himself slowly, over his shaft and down to his balls. “Jessica,” he said again, a little more desperate, as if trying to reassure himself. “Morty~” He imagined she’d say back. “Morty. Morty. Morty.” Her tone was dropping. So was her pitch. “Morty.” Her hair was turning blue. “Morty.” Morty whined quietly to himself, he was getting even harder. “No, no, come on, no,” he mumbled but still didn’t open his eyes, didn’t stop.


Rick Sanchez was in front of him, on that dance floor, shit-eating grin plastered over his big, stupid, genius face. This wasn’t just Rick’s disembodied voice. This wasn’t Rick fucking Jessica. This was Rick, standing up tall in front of him, leaning down and whispering right in his ear,

“Hey baby.”

It was like a shot of adrenaline, but right to the dick. Morty moaned. “R-rick,” he breathed out messily, stroking himself with the pre dribbling out of tip of his cock.

In Morty’s head, Rick licked up his neck, nibbled his ear. “Y-you like that, baby? Tell me you like it.”

“I l-like that,” Morty whispered to himself and rubbed his thumb over the wet head of his cock. He imagined Rick’s hand- no, Rick’s mouth on his dick, hot and tight, he imagined Rick jacking him off, he imagined Rick’s finger sliding into him as his own little finger rubbed pressure around his hole, he imagined, most of all, Rick saying: “Come for me, baby.”

It sent Morty over the edge, one finger dipping ever so slightly into him as he stroked himself to climax. “Ooh g-god, Rick!”

He didn’t move for a minute, finger still shallow in his asshole and hand still on his spent, hyper-sensitive dick. Somewhere in his post-orgasm haze, Morty realized he had done the exact opposite of what Rick had asked. This was not getting his shit together, putting it in a shit museum. This was willfully burying himself further into his shit. Morty wrinkled his nose; the saying didn’t work well in that direction..

Morty cleaned himself off and stared up at his ceiling. “S-so.” He said to the empty room. “Y-you’re fucked.”

He masturbated three more times that day, each time with some iteration of Rick and that word. Which led him to here and now, clearing his browser history at 3 a.m. on a Sunday and a self-diagnosis of “sick pervert” and “hellbound.”

Morty had two options: find some way to erase his memory or learn how to look Rick in the eye while keeping his sick little secret to himself.


Chapter Text

It was 7:30 a.m. Sunday.

If Rick had ever made an amnesia gun, Morty had no idea what it would look like. Morty sat on the dirty floor of the garage, glaring tiredly at the shelf he had just picked apart. What good was all this science if Morty couldn’t use it to solve his problems? And why didn’t Rick LABEL anything?!

Morty groaned and lay down on the cold concrete, spreading out his arms. It felt good against his skin; he’d been running hot the past few days. He sighed defeatedly at the ceiling. What was he gonna do with an amnesia ray, anyhow? Put it to his head and blow his brains out? Or at least the parts of his brain that imagined Rick when he masturbated?

Morty rubbed his eyes tiredly and sat up, giving the room one last once-over. He hadn’t slept at all yet and his plan to find a safe version of a lobotomy (not that Morty knew what that word meant) in Rick’s workshop had been mostly wishful thinking. He stood up, ready to go to his bed and sleep for a few hours before facing the music. But he paused as his eye caught on the computer in the corner. Rick used it for his experiments, of course. But Rick was also human, and a filthy one at that. Morty bit his lip as he stared at it. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But what sort of porn was Rick into? And how fucked up was it? And if it was fucked up, what if it worked like some sort of shock therapy?

The other possibility, of course, would be getting an even bigger, sicker boner for the old man. Whatever. Through a mix of sleep deprivation, desperation, and morbid curiosity, Morty felt the siren call of the computer. He started walking over to the console before he could stop himself and sat down in front of it. He looked at the screen suspiciously, as if it might bite, and moved the mouse around experimentally. The screen lit up, showing crusty parts where Rick had spilled something (or many things) on it. The keys were similarly grody. Morty thought the computer would prompt him for a password but blinked in alarm when he saw a wave of light fall over his face.


Well. That had been easy. The desktop booted up and showed a hodge-podge of oddly named folders and file extensions. As surprised as he was that the computer unlocked for him, Morty also felt a small surge of pride that Rick had given him access to his it. Until he saw the sticky note in the corner that read “THIS BETTER BE AN EMERGENCY MORTY” in big red letters. Morty huffed at it.

“A-alright Rick. Let’s see h-how weird you are.”

Morty spent the next ten minutes clicking aimlessly through different folders. He understood maybe 5 percent of what he saw. Rick was weird alright - weird smart. There were so many documents and plans and notes that didn’t make any sense. A great deal of it wasn’t even English and the majority of it was numbers. It made Morty’s head hurt and he wasn’t even trying to understand it. Finally, next to another folder named “Epsilon Nucleoid Particle Generator no. 328,” was a folder labeled “spank bank.” Morty snorted quietly, biting back a snide little smile. Genius scientist and he labels his porn like an average schmuck.


He clicked the folder, which opened up to another folder inside it, this one labeled “porn.” Alright, fine. Morty clicked on that one too. The folder opened up to a blank file - “fuck_off.txt.”

“Oh come on!” Morty grumbled in frustration and clicked the back button. He glared at the screen for a moment, just about ready to accept defeat and finally go to bed. He moved to exit out of the window and shut down the computer but faltered just before moving the mouse. There was a scrollbar in the spank bank folder. If it only had the dummy ‘porn’ folder in it, there’d be nothing to scroll down to. Feeling a spark of excitement, Morty rolled the scroll wheel a little slower than he needed to. He sort of wanted to savor the feeling, the way his breath hitched a bit in his lungs.

He scrolled and there, in the bottom right corner, was a folder labeled “1”. Morty opened the folder. This one also contained only one file, named “kdsjhfs4.avi.”

Morty licked his lips and took one cautious/paranoid glance over his shoulder. No one around. The house was quiet. He turned back to the screen. Knowing Rick, there was probably a good chance for this to be regular porn with a horror monster screamer tucked into it, but that was a risk Morty had to take.

He double-clicked the file and sat back, cotton mouthed.

The screen flickered a bit before buzzing into grainy focus. It wasn’t VHS quality, but certainly early DVD or camcorder. It was a dark room, with the faint sound of grungy music in the background. At first, the only thing on screen was a wall because the camera holder was laughing and gesturing with his other hand.

“Fuuuuck man, that’s what happened to her? That’s stone cold, bro.”

The camera panned back down jerkily. Three people, not including whoever was holding the camera, were clustered around a low table in the dusky room. A dull green and pink neon sign was on one of the walls, casting everything with muted colored light. Birdperson was the first one Morty recognized. He looked the same as ever aside from white plumage, sitting back on a shitty couch. One of the other people, on the armchair around the table, was actually two: Squanchy and a scantily clad, rather busty woman. Squanchy hadn’t really aged much, it seemed, as the only thing particularly different about him was that he was better-groomed in the video. And the last person was hunched over the table, taking an audible sniff down a line of some powdery drug. The man sat back on the couch and Morty dug his hands, white-knuckled, into his pajama pants.

Rick gave the camera a genuine, shit-eating Sanchez grin. He couldn’t have been out of his 30s, maybe still in his 20s even.

“Hhhey man, s-she’s the one who decided to ride the Rick train.”

His blueish hair was longer and feathery. Apparently it had always had a bit of lift to it, and now as Rick sank back into the couch, he tousled his hand through it in a way that suggested it was a well-practiced motion. His eyes were a clearer shade of ice blue, all drug-sparked and glinting. Morty had gotten so used to seeing Rick in his lab coat, day in, day out, so this... The Rick on the screen was wearing impossibly tight jeans and a black crop top with the words Flesh Curtains in red on the chest. He also wore the same BDSM-inspired choker that Morty had seen in the photo in their living room.

Thanks to the crop top, Morty could see that Rick had always been lanky. But when he was young, Rick had had a litheness to him. He was taut and pulled, had a definition and a cut to the way his hip bones rested above his jeans. Rick had the skinny-boy ‘V’ and he knew it.

Morty’s throat felt like a fucking desert. He couldn’t look anywhere else but Rick.

Birdperson muttered something that the camera didn’t pick up and Rick snickered. Squanchy was a little busy putting his face between the woman’s breasts, but managed to give a muffled giggle.

“Ah yeah, meant to ask,” started the camera guy, “where’s the money for this shit?” The speaker gestured to the powdery residue on the table.

“Aw, c’mon, Toby.” Rick licked his pinky finger (Morty noticed that Rick had painted his nails black) and swiped it across the remaining particles. He dipped the finger back into his mouth obscenely and rubbed it against his gums. “You can give us a freebie.”

‘Toby’ grunted. It sounded as if this was not the first time Rick had suggested something like this. “Fuck off, Rick. You owe me a couple thou as it is.”

Rick looked up at Toby. Which meant he was essentially looking straight at the camera. Morty swallowed; it felt like Rick was staring right at him. Up to this point, Morty’s dick had been a little confused. It definitely liked what it saw, but the shock of seeing a breathing, moving, speaking version of his band-era grandpa was putting Morty into an arousal limbo. The way Rick looked into the camera reminded Morty he had a dick at all, and that blood was beginning to rush to it.

“What’s the, the exchange rate of a favor?” Rick practically purred.

A hot shiver ran down Morty’s spine. He had been trying to pinpoint what it was about Rick that made it so different to see him like this, aside from the clothes. Morty had seen Rick high off similar substances, so it wasn’t just the glassy, speed-inspired look he had. And the smile was the exact same thing, maybe with just a touch more smarm thrown in.

Toby didn’t seem to respond to Rick, but the camera picked up the noise of Toby undoing his belt. Rick grinned, and Morty realized what it was.

Rick looked hungry. Morty had seen touches of this in his grandfather before, when Unity was involved or other risky escapades that fed Rick’s amorality. But this was a pure, unadulterated form. Rick looked ravenous. And dangerous. And terribly, horribly sexy.

“Hey Rick. D’you know what the definition of a ‘crack whore’ is?” Toby snickered as Rick slid off the couch and onto his knees in front of him.

Rick started to pull down Toby’s boxers. “Hey dipshit. D-d’you know what a hedonist is?”

“Aww yeah, I love it when you start talking that science shit.”

Rick palmed Toby’s cock through his boxers in front of the camera, then flicked it hard with his fingers. “F-fucking idiot.”

“Ow, fuck!” Toby used his free hand to grab Rick’s hair and smash his head into his crotch. Rick snorted in surprise before grinning and rubbing his cheek against Toby’s clothed dick. “Shhhit, I always forget what a whore you are, Sanchez.”

Morty whimpered quietly to himself, eyes wide and fixed upon the screen. He had already moved his hand between his legs, grinding against it on the chair.

Rick knew exactly what he was doing. He pulled down Toby’s boxers and let the man’s erect dick slap lightly onto his face. Morty shuddered. Rick never broke eye contact with the camera. He wasn’t looking at Toby, and the young, scummy genius seemed to know just how amazing he looked with a dick on his face.

This was like, a thousand wet dreams realized. Morty’s mouth was a little slack. Actual drool pooled dangerously near the corner of his lip. “Fffuck,” he whispered breathlessly and rolled his hips harder.

Rick leaned his head to the side, letting Toby’s dick drag across his cheek towards his lips. He opened his mouth and languidly stuck out a pierced tongue, giving a wet lick up Toby’s shaft. Morty wiped away the saliva that trickled over to his chin. Toby reaffirmed his grip on Rick’s hair, groaning gently. “God yeah. Open your mouth.”

Rick moved his hands up to rest on Toby’s thighs and opened his mouth wider. Toby released Rick’s head and stuck his thumb over Rick’s tongue, rolling the finger over the piercing. He pressed down and moved his hips to guide his cock into Rick's mouth.

Toby let out a breath with a hiss as he rocked his dick over Rick's tongue. "Uhhhnnn, yeah..." He moved his hand back to Rick's hair. Rick closed his mouth and started to bob his head. The lanky man's gaze flickered back and forth from Toby's dick to the camera and even gave a watery-eyed wink when his nose touched Toby's pubes.

Morty had pulled his pajama pants down the minute a cock had gone into Rick's mouth. He was stroking himself, face flushed and hot. This was so much better/worse than imagining Rick. Now he knew exactly what Rick looked like when giving head. What he sounded like. Morty panted, "Oh, fffuck, f-fuck, Rick. H-holy shit."

Toby started to fuck Rick's mouth, grunting and swearing as Rick gagged around his dick. "Fuck, yes, you fucking, slut!" He punctuated with thrusts. Rick had shut his eyes, focusing on choking on Toby's cock. Saliva and precum dribbled over his chin and down his neck.

Toby's breath grew audibly faster as he got closer to cumming. He yanked Rick's head back and started to jack himself furiously. Rick sat back and breathed raggedly, eyes half-lidded and lusty.

Morty whimpered and his toes curled. He could feel his own orgasm building up inside of him but he had to wait, had to see Rick ruined.

Toby jerked forward with low, staccato moans. The camera almost slid off focus but jolted back into place as Toby squeezed the base of his cock and spurted hot jizz onto Rick's face. Rick sat and took it, his own erection visible through his tight black jeans while cum spattered onto him.

Morty couldn't even breathe he was so close. His stomach was tighter than a bow string and his free hand punctured holes into the desk chair's pleather.

Toby twitched and milked the last few drops of spunk out. "Shhhhit."

Rick opened his eyes. Cum dripped from his eyelashes and over his nose. He licked his lips to get a taste and sneered at the camera. He opened his mouth and said, voice hoarse from getting throat-fucked, "Fffuck yeah, baby."

Morty burst. His eyes fluttered and his hips bucked. He barely had to move his hand - a single shallow stroke was enough. It was too much to even make noise, just choked silence. After the first, massive spurt, a wheezing sort of moan found its way out of him. Morty gave a few more pumps of his hand and shuddered with each consecutive release. When he was finally spent, Morty collapsed back in the chair and waited for his body to stop feeling like pop rocks.

When he could focus again, Morty's vision slowly swam back in front of him. He looked up at the computer screen and found that the video had stuttered, staying on the image of a cum-covered Rick. To Morty's horror (and shameful delight), he had added his own jizz to the mix. A glob of it oozed down the computer screen over Rick's lip.

Morty stared dumbly at it for a moment before shivering. It was fucked, this whole thing was fucked up. The mucus-y white trail slid down the flickering Rick's chin. Don't do it, said the very small part of his brain not consumed by sexual euphoria. Do it, said every other part.

Morty leaned forward, eyes half-lidded. He pushed his tongue out and licked his jizz off the screen, off the image of Rick. It tasted salty and electronic and Morty instantly regretted it.

He pushed back from the computer. Now free from the grip of amateur pornography, the guilt came back like a sucker punch to the gut. It was worse now, because this seemed like a violation. Before, Morty's imagination was entirely his own. Rick as a sexual creature that existed solely within the confines of his brain. But this... Morty shuffled around the garage looking for something to clean himself and the computer off. His head was starting to thud uncomfortably. He was running on a significant lack of sleep and internal moral conflict. Rick has a sex tape, Rick has a sex tape.

Morty found a rag and sullenly wiped himself down. He went back over to the screen and cleaned the grainy image of Rick and tried not to think of any weird symbolism in it. He closed the video file and hovered a finger over the shut-down button.

Fuck yeah, baby.

The teenager clicked on the start button and opened Rick's email. He made a new message and dragged the .avi file into it. Fuckyeahbabyfuckyeah. Morty had grown up with email and smart phones and dumb as he was, he still knew to delete the message from Rick's 'sent items' folder.

The computer shut down with a low hum and the only evidence that Morty was really, truly going to hell was the clean screen.

He dragged himself back up to bed and curled up on it. A few hours of oblivion, then he'd deal with his problems. A few hours, and he’d have the real Rick in front of him and Morty had no idea what the fuck he was gonna do.

Chapter Text

“We’re staying here for a few, f-for a little while.” Rick tossed a dufflebag onto a shitty, saggy couch.

“W-what? Why?” Morty wrung his hands nervously, looking at the door behind him like he might need to run out of it.

“Because, Morty, your, uuuurlp, father,” Rick spat the word, “is a little pussy and thinks, thinks we oughta spend time apart.”

“B-but Rick, I didn’t b-bring anything and I, well, I g-got school-”

Rick patted the stained dufflebag and pulled out his flask. “N-no worries, broh. I got ya covered. Just you n’ me, Morty. A w-week of Rick and M-mmmOOURty. Do whatever we want, no Jerry to shit on anything. Just g-gonna chill.” Rick kicked his feet up on the beat up coffee table in front of the couch and sighed blissfully.

Morty went over to the dufflebag and rifled through it, obviously distressed. “Rick, n-none of this is mine, it’s not gonna fit…”

“Morty, jesus, r-relax. This is a vacation. Wear what you’ve, what you’re wearing the whole week, I don’t give a shit.” There was already a transdimensional cable box in the run down house, and Rick turned it on with a blech. “Aw fuck yeah! Ball Fondlers: The Search for Green September! It’s only o-on seasonally, Morty!”

Morty looked around the house, feeling nothing but stomach acid and anxiety. It was a dingy little place. A simple and filthy kitchen connected to the room with takeout boxes and a small kingdom of cockroaches. A rickety set of stairs led to the next level, presumably to a bedroom and bathroom. The room where Morty and Rick currently were was sparse - the coffee table where Rick rested his feet, an ancient and frankly disgusting sofa, and clustered odds and ends strewn about. Posters for various intergalactic bands were peeling from the walls.

He had been asleep when Rick had stumbled into his room, slurring about some new adventure. Morty had blearily followed his lead, still half in a dream about butt-hamsters and talking chairs. Once he had time to wake up in the ship ride over, the vague panic had set in. Now that they were here, with no adventure in sight and no one but each other, Morty regretted how easily he had let himself be taken away.

Morty noticed there wasn’t a lot of light in the house. So a brief flickering on the far wall caught his attention. It was a dusty, faded neon sign. Every other minute it would light briefly and futilely before trembling out. It was pink and green.

He’d felt bad about the whole thing to begin with, but now Morty felt an icy finger of dread run down the back of his neck. He swallowed and his voice cracked a little.

“Uh, h-hey Rick?” Who, whose house are we in?”

“Huh?” Rick didn’t look away from the TV. “An o-old buddy of mine. Never, urp, never uses the place now. S’name’s Toby.”

Rick had gotten back from his adventure when Morty was asleep. He landed the ship, just barely, in the garage. Rick had indulged in several self-congratulatory toasts on the way home. He’d pulled off a fantastic con on the Zigerians and it had gotten him 1) completely covered in thick, violently blue slime and 2) no less than 22 pounds and 348 grams of pure, finely powdered Helion crystals. A pinch of the stuff could power a particle collider for 30 years.

Rick’s addled brain was operating several minutes behind reality and he rambled as he stumbled through the garage door.

“Mor-EEEURP-Morty, y-yer old grandpa is a f-fucking, fuckin’ FOXY mastermind, Morty!” He swirled an unfocused glance around the living room, expecting to find Morty on the couch, watching TV.

Instead, there was Summer, tapping away on her phone. The TV droned and she didn’t look up when Rick walked in. Rick scowled and oozed alien gunk onto the carpet. “H-hey Summer, whhhherre’s Morty?”

Summer made an ‘I don’t know don’t ask me’ noise. “He slept like, the whole day. Haven’t seen him.”

Rick tried not to feel disappointed. He had imagined coming home and finding Morty all stupid and excited and completely bummed out that he had missed a sick adventure. Rick could hear Beth and Jerry talking in the kitchen and figured the next best thing he could do would be to give Jerry a wet willy with Zeptarian secretion instead of spit. He neared the entrance to the kitchen and stopped, overhearing his and Morty’s name.

“-just think they should spend some time apart, is all! Not forever, just, just for a bit, until-”

“Until what, Jerry? Until Morty gets better grades? And then what, we bring him back and you say, ‘oh well he should go for another semester’-”

“Think about his future, Beth!”

“Oh just admit it, you have NEVER liked my father. You just want to send Morty to boarding school so he-”

“Ew, Grandpa Rick!” Summer squealed, having just noticed the blue ooze Rick was shedding all over the carpet. He shushed her with a growl, straining to hear the argument.

“-and then Rick will leave again. Well fuck you, Jerry,” Beth was starting to get choked up, “because I’ll go before he does, do you hear me? I have not w-waited years, years, for my father to come back just to, just to-”

Jerry was doing his best to console her, voice hushing and thought process backpedaling.

“Honey, no, oh Beth honey-”

Through the muddled pool of liquor, Rick almost felt guilty. Almost. But his brain filed it away, replaced it with the constant drone of ‘Jerry-is-a-dickhole’. They were going to send Morty away, and after scoring such a major haul, Rick knew at least 40 different organizations were gonna have the hots for him. Now was NOT the time to be without his idiot brain-waved grandson.

So he’d done what any reasonable Rick would have done. Packed clothes and a fuckton of liquor and hauled Morty out to his favorite hiding spot.


So they were in what Morty presumed to be the drug-den of a man Rick had blown on camera however many years ago.

Morty had excused himself to the bathroom to wash his face. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. scrolled across the ticker tape in his brain. When Rick had stumbled into his room and woke him up, Morty didn’t have time to feel the creeping shame from his weekend activities. But now they were here, in the very same place Rick had gotten cum on his face and they were alone and Morty can’t lie to save his life.

He splashed cold water on his face, felt it trickle down his neck and under his shirt. Don’t think about it. Just go back out there and don’t think about it.

Morty came back into the room just as an explosion ripped through the TV screen. Rick cheered. Morty flopped back down on the couch and yanked the flask out of Rick’s hands and knocked back a long pull. Instead of being angry, Rick looked genuinely surprised.

“W-woah, Morty, look at you g-OOUGH-go. Finally getting into the spirit of things, yeah broh!”

The kid felt his throat burn and tears well ever so slightly in his eyes, but he fought the need to cough. He could tough it out, just like he could tough out this godforsaken “vacation.” Rick was even looking at him with, shockingly, a certain amount of respect.

“St-stop looking at me like that, g-geez Rick.” Morty said with a flush and wiped his mouth before taking a shallower sip. “I c-can handle my shit too.”

“Gee. sorry I ever doubted you, Morty.” RIck said sarcastically, but without his usual bite. He took the flask back from Morty and indulged in a strong sip. “A-alright, Morty, let’s get fuckin’, get trashed!”

By 2 a.m., they had gone through four feature length Ball Fondlers’ films and an obscene amount of alcohol (mostly Rick). Morty could barely keep his eyes open and everything felt fuzzy and dumb. He hadn’t noticed that patches of time had gone away and that, by 2:40, he was alone on the couch in the dark. Rick must have gone to bed or gone out, because the only thing Morty could hear was the flickering hum of the neon sign.

He waded through the drunken swamp of his brain, realizing his shirt was absolutely drenched in booze and just a touch of vomit. Morty groaned and fumbled his shirt and pants off, squinting in the dark for the dufflebag. He reached in and grabbed the first thing that felt like a shirt. Morty pulled it on and stood up wobbly, needing a glass of water.

The kitchen was only a few steps away, but Morty stopped, confused. He felt air on his stomach and looked down. Morty had managed to grab a ratty old black crop top with the words THE FLESH CURTAINS on it in red.

Morty put a clammy hand on his stomach. He let it travel upwards, over his pectorals, thumb catching over a nipple. He pushed the shirt up to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed in. The shirt smelled like sweat, stale deodorant, and Rick.

“R-rick,” Morty mumbled into the shirt. His cock had been twitching since he realized exactly what he’d been wearing and now he was almost at a full chub. The danger and shame of Morty’s recent perversions was drowned by the alcohol - he was surrounded only by the heady smell of Rick’s old clothes and the memory of Rick’s sex tape.

Morty sank back into the couch - the same couch that Rick had snorted whatever on, the same couch that most certainly contained any number of Rick’s bodily fluids - and took another delightful sniff through the shirt.

His hand pressed down under his boxers and gripped his dick. “Rick,” Morty moaned again, imagining a grainy, camera-fied version of his grandfather between his thighs.

“J-jesus, Morty, e-ever heard of a bathroom?”

Considering the sheer volume Morty had drank, it was a wonder he had a reaction speed at all. As it was, all he could think to do was freeze, hand around the base of his cock under his boxers, crop top bunched up around his chin. He just stared, eyes glazed, at Rick in the darkness. Rick sat down on the couch, beer in hand, and grabbed the TV remote.

“Y’know this thing isn’t j-just, it doesn’t just show interdimensional cable, Morty.” Rick flicked on a channel and a blurry threesome frizzed on the screen. “It’s also got all the interdimensional skin flicks.” Another click and something horrifying and sexual moaned through a writhing mass of tentacles.

Morty was still paralyzed. This was too casual. Rick was playing it off too well. Even so, one of his fingers slid every so slightly over his shaft.

“S-so, what sorta stuff are you into, Morty? Y-you can tell your ol’ grandpa.” Rick snickered. “Lesbians?” Click. Two pairs of tits bounced on the TV. “Bondage?” A flog whipped across a bare back. “Lesbian bondage?”

“I, u-uh,” Morty, trying to find his hoarse voice, mumbled.

“Amateur?” Rick asked, this time looking right at Morty and clicking the remote. Some woman’s homemade masturbation clip showed. Morty felt his breath hitch under Rick’s gaze.

“N-nah. I bet I, I bet I know what you like, Morty. You’re into s-some fucked up shit, aren’t you?” Rick clicked the remote.

Morty felt his stomach tighten and his cock twitch. Young Rick winked up at the camera, Toby’s dick slid to the back of his throat. Morty couldn’t stop the little moan that escaped him, or the burning heat spreading over his face, or the little buck of his hips to meet his sweaty hand.

Rick was half-way between a sneer and a glare. “Man, M-Morty. Do you think I’m an idiot? You, you think I wouldn’t notice shit on my own, ulp, computer?”

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, Rick, I d-didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean to jack it to your grandad’s sex tape?”

Morty felt shame pulse through him, hot and terrible and good. He squeezed his dick and licked his lips, intimately aware that Rick could see everything.

“A-accident.” Morty managed to breathe out.

“Yeah? Are you ‘accidentally’ touching yourself, Morty?” Rick turned off the TV and settled into his spot on the couch. He looked up and down the distressed boy in front of him. It was sick, sick, sick. One fourth of Rick’s genetics lay shuddering before him and the guilt, the immorality, the utter wrongness had been wrung out of him - by the years of substance abuse, by the burden of a too-brilliant brain that valued morals as a social construct. Nothing was taboo to Rick, not even this.

Besides, Morty looked unreasonably appetizing in Rick’s tatty old shirt.

“H-hey Morty, you wanna know somethin’? I've been fucked on this couch. You're probably lying on my thirty year old jizz.”

Morty moaned and his eyes fluttered. He didn't bother to hide the fact that he was stroking himself, precum beginning to spread a dark, wet patch through his boxers. Rick snickered. He was gonna make Morty fucking squirm.

“Y-you like that? It get you off, Morty? Thinking about your g-grandpa getting fucked?” Rick took a sip of beer while Morty nodded with a little wheeze. The kid pushed his boxers down to get a better hold on his dick, stroking faster.

“Thatta boy.”

Morty closed his eyes and shivered, feeling himself near the brink. He didn't hear Rick put the bottle down, but opened his eyes quickly as he felt weight shift on the couch. Rick was over him. Morty felt pinned to the sofa by Rick’s too-blue eyes, like a butterfly in a natural history museum. He forgot to breathe for a second.

“What do you w-want, Morty? I wanna hear you, wanna hear you say it.”

“I. I want.” Morty couldn't feel his legs. “F-” His voice felt squeezed and compressed, it felt entirely wrong. He put his arm up to cover his eyes; he couldn't say it to Rick’s face. “I w-want you to finger me.”

Even though Mort couldn't see it, Rick grinned. “Yeah, I bet you do, you sick l-little shit.” Despite the insult, Rick hand reached between Morty’s legs and grasped his little cock, pushing Morty’s hand away. Morty gasped quietly at the rough warmth of Rick’s palm. Rick gave him a few pumps, mainly rubbing his fingers with Morty’s slick pre. He brought his hand back up and put his palm in front of Morty’s mouth.


Morty had practically been drooling since Rick had started to tease him, so his attempt at spitting was sloppy at best. A good deal of it made it to Rick’s palm, but the rest dribbled over his chin. Morty inwardly braced for Rick’s insult, but it never came. Instead, Rick pushed his hand up under Morty’s chin and slid it up to get the rest. Morty hadn't noticed the glaze in Rick’s eyes until now, or how visibly hard he was through his brown pants.

Rick moved his hand away and also spat into it. A very generous amount of saliva now pooled on his palm. “Scoot up and put. Put a pillow just above your butt.” Morty moved sluggishly to do as he was told, unable to stop staring at Rick’s erection.

Once Morty had wiggled into place, Rick took his clean hand and dipped his index finger into the well of spit. He moved it down and started tracing it in small little circles around Morty’s asshole.

Morty squirmed and bit back a yelp. Rick’s fingers felt so much better than his own.

Rick smirked down at Morty. “How many, urlp, how many fingers have you stuck up your ass?”

“A-ah, just, just one, R-rick…”

Rick took his finger away to rewet it, this time pushing in shallowly when he brought it back. “Only one? Man, Morty. My cock’s gonna split you open.”

Morty made a choking noise and gripped his cock hard as Rick chuckled.

“So fuckin’ keen for it, eh, kid?” He opened Morty up slightly with his index finger before switching hands. He scissored Morty’s hole some, despite the boy’s whimper, and let the palmful of saliva trickle down into Morty’s ass. Rick made sure to watch Morty’s face as he did, licking his lips as his grandson's face went crimson and his eyes wide.

Rick shifted so that he lay on his side next to Morty, starting to fuck him with his fingers. They squelched around the spit inside Morty, audible over Morty’s strangled moans.

The old man finally put his mouth on Morty and kissed roughly up to his ear. “Hear how wet you are, Morty? God, I bet you love, y-you love this, you little slut.”

“Rrrick, f-fuck! Yes, g-god, I love it!” Morty squealed, squirming around Rick’s fingers, dangerously close to coming. “P-please, Rick, oh please, I g-gotta-”

Rick bit down on Morty’s soft skin, relishing how the kid writhed against him and stuttered his moans. “You gotta come, baby?” He felt Morty’s nails sink into his arm. So that was the magic word. Morty turned his head around to face Rick, wanting to hear him say it. Needing to hear him say it. Everything inside him buzzed, electric blue love fuzz, he could feel the word all the way down to his toes. Morty’s face was splotched and sweaty and his eyes were glassy from tears made from just how mind-numbingly good he felt.


“Shh, baby. That's it,” Rick’s voice was raspy and gentle, fingers pushing faster and deeper into Morty’s ass. “That's it. Come for grandpa.” Rick leaned forward and kissed Morty’s whimpering mouth, swallowing all his slutty noises. Morty bucked as he rocked through an almost painful orgasm. His cum spattered hot in his bare stomach and his pelvis jerked with the last sensitive tugs of his hand. Rick could feel Morty go limp after a few shudders, unable to kiss Rick back.

Rick kept a finger inside Morty, lazily pushing in and out. He watched his grandson's eyes go all unfocused and blissed out. He was such a virgin. “Good boy,” Rick muttered and gave Morty’s temple a dry peck.

He sat up and left Morty to his post-orgasm haze. The finger was pulled out and Morty muttered the tiniest protest at the loss. Rick got up to wash his hands in the bathroom. His erection strained painfully in his pants. As the water flowed over his Morty-flavored fingers, Rick stared at the mirror above the sink and snorted at his reflection.

“Y-you’re a sick fuck, Sanchez.” He muttered and dried his hands.

When he came back into the living room, he was surprised to find Morty sitting up. He was even more surprised to see an ancient camcorder in the kid's hands. Morty’s face seemed a little nervous and excited.

“Where’d you find that old thing?”

Morty pointed to the TV shelf with a jitter. “Uh. W-well, I thought, um. Jeez, Rick, I thought s-since I'm wearing the same shirt, and uh-”

Rick stared at Morty, utterly bemused, before walking over to him and taking the camcorder. He turned it on - somehow the thing still had juice. “You w-wanna make a movie, Morty? Wow, you really are a little perv, huh?”

Morty flushed but slid down to his knees on the floor, sliding up to Rick and cautiously putting his hands on Rick thighs.

“I-is that, uh. Is it okay? Do, do you wanna make one with me?” Morty asked, looking up at his grandfather.

Rick pushed the preview pane open and focused the camera down on the boy kneeling in front of him. He licked his lips and grinned.

“Fuck yeah, baby.”