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“They’re rocks, Morty, they literally have no concept of, of biological functions let alone the societal hang-ups around which ones you can perform in public and which ones you can't.” Rick grits through his smile, waving limply at the rolling procession of rock people. Morty squeezes his knees together and tries — in vain —to pry Rick’s other hand off of his dick. “C’mon, don’t be a pussy. We can tell ’em slinging mad skeet is a sign of humility for humans, they’ll eat it up.”
Morty shifts, the glass-smooth crystal of the grand throne warm underneath him. Everything is warm on this planet. Rick said it was due to geo-thermal-tidal-somethings, Morty hadn’t been listening. But the result is that his dirty clothes are now dirty, sweat-drenched clothes, he has a horrible case of swamp-ass, and he’s tired. Exhausted! They've been going non-stop on this adventure for almost a week. And he can’t even complain about it because it’s his adventure.
They’d found a Granodiorite floating out in space some thirty million miles from its homeworld. What had looked like random debris, at first, lit up with life as they approached. Morty convinced (whined) Rick into letting the poor thing in the car, and he persuaded (begged) Rick to invent a way to communicate with the creature. It turned out its planet was under attack and it was shot into space in a last ditch effort to find help.
Lucky for it, Morty had One (1) Free Adventure burning a hole in his pocket.
“C’monnnn, these things reproduce via cleavage, Morty. They wouldn’t know a dick if you smeared one across their weird featureless faces. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon .”
Cleavage... like boobs? Another Granodiorite (boobless) rolls up the ramp to their platform, the cracks in its gray exterior glowing gold and purple as it gently touches a lumpy limb first to Rick’s shoe, and then to Morty’s. The translator crackles to life on Morty’s hip.
<I thank you, humbly. Were it not for your grace and heroism, we would have been shattered apart into so many flecks of mica. We would have lost everything. You have done a good deed.>
“Yeah, yeah.” Rick waves down at the creature as it rolls away, still more focused on trying to get into Morty’s pants. The lineup of Granodiorites waiting their turn to thank them stretches so far down the palace hall that they almost disappear on the horizon. They’re going to be here awhile.
And it’s so warm, and Morty is so sleepy, and the staticky voice of the Rock-to-English translator is whispering <Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’ve done such a good deed> to him over and over. Rick, despite his fidgeting, is comfortable and familiar and Morty leans against him, nestling under his arm and tucking his face against the man’s chest. He probably smells like shit— they both probably do —but that’s Adventuring for you. Morty’s used to it.
“You know you did great out there.” Rick says, his breath hot on the top of Morty’s head. “My little hero.”
Morty shivers. A bead of sweat rolls down his back and soaks into the waistband of his boxers.
Morty isn’t stupid. He knows what Rick’s playing at. But... sometimes it’s okay to play along, right? If it feels good? If he keeps his eyes closed and pretends like it’s out of his hands?
“That’s right, like that.” Rick coos darkly, lips brushing against Morty’s hair as he pops the button on Morty’s jeans. The sound of the zipper is drowned out by the slide of stone over crystal floors. Morty shifts just enough that Rick can push his jeans down to mid thigh as another Granodiorite touches Morty’s shoe with reverence. A pang of guilt rips through him and he covers himself before Rick can take this any further.
“A-are y-you, you know. Sure? They won't know?” Shame burns his cheeks and the tips of his ears and he tries to hide his flush against the fabric of Rick’s lab coat. The older man sighs, laying his hand over Morty’s.
“I’m the smartest man in the Universe.” He dips down and presses a kiss to Morty’s temple. “I’ll take care of you.”
That isn’t exactly a yes.
But the ambiguity is good. Morty feels it take root in some dark, sick place at the core of him. So he lets his knees fall open and scrunches his eyes shut, exposing himself to the hapless, alien creatures of Granitor 7. Another one gently nudges Morty’s shoe and his heart leaps into his throat. Rick hasn’t even touched him yet, still playing with his boxers, peeling the damp material away from Morty’s heated skin slowly. Like he’s relishing the reveal.
<Thank you, thank you, thank you.>
Rick closes his fingers around Morty’s dick and he has three thoughts in rapid succession:
Why am I letting this happen?
This is horrible.
Why am I like this?
Rick lets out a shuddering sigh, shifting so he can palm his own erection through his slacks while he works on Morty’s at the same time. Morty chokes on a moan, nuzzling into the stained, tattered lab coat and biting down on it, the fibers threading between his teeth like dental floss. He pulls back, tearing it more, and the sound of it ripping satisfies some animal part of him.
Rick covers the tip of his dick with his palm so he can buck into it, already slick with sweat and precome. He hasn’t had a moment of down time this whole adventure; he barely had time to power-nap between dodging lasers and navigating endless crystalline mazes. He’s wound up like a coiled spring, and it doesn’t take much for Rick to have him whimpering and rocking against his hand.
It feels so good.
Even though it shouldn’t. Even though he’s supposed to be the noble, kind hearted hero. Even though the Granodiorites don’t understand that what he’s doing is wrong, Morty knows. Rick pulls his own cock out with a groan, an edge of desperation to his voice that makes Morty’s pulse stutter in his veins.
“K-kiss me.” Morty sobs out, he’s close to cumming or crying or both. “Puh-p-please kiss me , Rick. I’m gonna-”
“Look.”
He says it right in Morty’s ear, dodging the boy’s clumsy attempts to make contact with him. His grip around Morty’s cock tightens, and tightens, until tears prick the corners of Morty’s eyes.
“Look. ”
In front of them is a small Granodiorite. It’s barely half the size of the other ones, and instead of a speckled gray outer layer with veins of colourful crystals running through it, this one has a perfectly sheer face. Like a geode sliced by a high pressure waterjet. Its crystal interior glows softly, casting pink light over the scene in front of it.
<Thank you.> It says, but doesn’t move on. It lingers, rolling closer to them until it bumps up against Morty’s knees. It leans to the side like a curious puppy might tilt its head.
“R-Rick, n-no.” Morty’s voice is shrill, breathless, his blood roaring in his ears. He tries to squirm back, to make space between him and the little alien, but Rick pushes him forward and nestles the creature between Morty’s thighs. “Ohh, oh, n-no, please -”
Morty begs. A string of slurred refutations and pleas and I c-can’t, I can’t, please Rick don’t make me pour out of him like vomit. Pathetic and sour and disgusting because he only half means it. Rick braces his other hand on the back of the alien’s body so it can’t pull away either as he carves away Morty’s defenses.
“It’s okay, it doesn’t even know.” He purrs, yanking viciously on Morty’s cock and earning a squeak out of the boy. “Go ahead, Morty. Baby. Hero. ”
“Rick, I’m-”
He can feel it, his body betraying him with each delicious squeeze of Rick’s hand. He melts like honey against Rick’s body, giving in to the horrible person he is on the inside. Yes, he wants to do this, yes, yes, yes. He wants to use this poor creature for his own pleasure and tonight when he curls up in his bed across the hall from his parent’s room he’ll pretend like he hated it. He wants to do this sick thing and then tell himself:
It’s okay.
And:
He made you do it.
And:
It won’t happen again. One time is fine.
(It will happen again and one time is never enough.)
“How’re you doing, baby?” Rick moans out the baby like the word feels good in his mouth. It sounds good in Morty’s ear. “Talk to me.”
“I'm gonna- ” Morty gasps, tightening his knees around the alien’s body. “Rick!”
“You’re doin’ so good, fuck, wait -” Rick drops his own cock, letting it bounce against his thigh dripping with precome. He activates Morty’s translator and says:
“Little one.” The LEDs on the translator glow and the alien perks up, listening to the lights. “Come closer, w-we’ve chosen you to receive a gift.”
Morty’s stomach drops. He tries to grab Rick’s wrist, tries to stop his stroking, but Rick doesn’t stop. The small Granodiorite obeys him and leans up against the throne, close enough that Rick can smear the head of Morty’s dick across its face. It leaves a slimy trail over the glittering surface.
<A gift!> It sparkles a warmer pink colour. <I am only young, this will be the greatest honour ever bestowed onto me. You believe me worthy?>
“Tell her, Morty.” Rick whispers into his ear like the devil himself. Morty lets the hand around his grandfather’s wrist fall to the alien’s face, touching her with the tips of his fingers. He wants to push her away, to save her from himself, but then she nuzzles into his touch, glowing the same yellow as his T-shirt like she’s saying his name.
“Tell her.”
“I’m cumming.” He sobs, jaw slack and eyes blurring, the alien splitting into a million reflected glints of light. Morty squeezes her between his knees and cries as Rick says something sweet, something like “Good boy” as his cum lands, perversely beautiful as it runs down the alien’s crystal face. It feels like the worst thing he’s ever done to someone. He wants to do it again.
Rick kisses him now, his reward for being a good boy, and his mouth tastes like salt and bitters and blood.
The translator whispers one more < Thank you. > And Morty’s heart beats faster.