Work Text:
There are some lines that should never be crossed.
Not even by Rick Sanchez.
One such line is time travel, although if Rick’s to be perfectly honest, that’s only because time travel is messy as fuck and never worth the inevitable, annoying consequences, such as destabilising the entire material realm and possibly causing the destruction of the whole multiverse. Rick just doesn’t have time to deal with that kinda shit.
This, though…
This.
This is a lot, even for him.
But right now, soaked with absinthe and the high of creating something seemingly “impossible” (it’s a spaceship that’s bigger on the inside, but despite this, definitely does not travel in time) – Rick finds he doesn’t care. He’s Rick Sanchez, and he doesn’t fucking care anymore.
(This isn’t entirely true. There’s a part of him – a rather large part, in fact, loud and obnoxious and finally contained in the dark, dank recesses of the back of his mind – that very much does care.)
Objectively speaking, it’s a little ridiculous that this is Rick’s limit – he has, after all, done a lot of bad shit to Morty, even borderline sexual assault that he’s managed to convince himself wasn’t molestation because he shoved the megaseeds up Morty’s ass to smuggle them through interplanetary customs, not out of sexual gratification.
Sure, Rick, that would really stand up in court.
Morty, at least, has no inkling of Rick’s deepest desires; with the confidence of a fourteen-year-old boy, he’s certain that there’s no way his grandfather could be attracted to males, let alone males of the consanguineous, underage variety. Like the vast majority of people, Morty’s never really thought of “sex” and “grandfather” in the same sentence, which is ironic since they’re pretty much the only things he thinks about, albeit independently. (The only time he has thought about the two topics together was when he was trying to figure out the logistics of Rick impregnating a planet, a train of thought that was swiftly terminated.)
Rick has been planning this for a long time, snatching moments here and there in the interval between Rick wrestling his conscience to the ground and it reviving with a vengeance. (Because of anyone’s conscience could do anything “with a vengeance, it would be Rick’s.)
There are, essentially, two ways of doing this: slowly, or all at once. Both are tempting in different ways – the long, slow “seduction” culminating in the final move, and the look on Morty’s face when he finally puts all the pieces together; versus the pure, unbridled shock when Rick makes a move on him with no preamble, coming from such left-field that the field is a radical fucking Leninist and Morty thinks Rick must be under the influence of some sort of drug before he realises with startling, ice-cold clarity that no, this is all Rick – it always has been.
Both are tempting, in their own way. Of course, it is possible to do both, courtesy of his memory gun, but what would the point of that be? No; Rick wants this to be real.
But Rick’s still deliberating a few days later, and it’s starting to look like his conscience is going to get the better of him once again – until his self-control suddenly snaps.
In the end, it turns out that the tipping point is something utterly mundane.
They’ve just got back from an adventure to an empty house – Beth’s at work, Summer’s at school and Jerry’s out doing Jerry things – and they’re lounging on the couch watching the latest episode of Ball Fondlers, which turns out to be an alternate version of Ball Fondlers in which every character is replaced by an anthropomorphic Labrador. They don’t really have the sort of affectionate grandfather/grandson relationship, but Morty seems to be feeling uncharacteristically cuddly, leaning his head lightly on Rick’s shoulder as his eyelids droop closed. It’s not the first time he’s done something like this, especially after a long, arduous adventure, but he hasn’t done it in ages – Rick had thought he’d grown out of it. He stretches widely, a satisfied little groan escaping him as his sunshine yellow shirt rides up, exposing a strip of soft pale skin on his stomach.
It shouldn’t affect Rick as much as it does. I mean, he’s seen the kid naked, for fuck’s sake.
He supposes that fuckin’ movie title’s true. Something’s gotta, eventually, give.
Rick reaches out, the palm of his hand stroking over the exposed skin on Morty’s torso, and Morty’s eyes snap open, looking at Rick through wide eyes. “U-Uh – Rick…?”
“Your skin is so – so fuckin’ soft, Morty – how the fuck you get your skin so soft, huh? You exfoliate? Moisturise? Get all your lotions at fuckin’ – fuckin’ Sephora?”
“Wh- of course I don’t, Rick, jeez -” Morty’s face is flaming crimson, and he shifts away from Rick’s touch. “God, do you really have to bust my balls over ev-everything? Would you r-rather I had wrinkly old g-gross skin like you?” Morty braces himself for a searing rejoinder, but instead Rick just chuckles, moving closer to him again.
“Nah. I like your skin.” He reaches out to flip up the hem of Morty’s shirt again, feeling goosebumps flare beneath his fingertips.
Morty gives a nervous laugh, but doesn’t move away; he seems to be frozen to the spot. “U-Uh – any reason you’re acting like – like Cannibal Lecter –“
“His name’s Hannibal, moron,” says Rick absently, feeling his cock strain against the zipper of his pants as his hand moves in slow circles over Morty’s stomach.
“Rick,” tries Morty again, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “Th-th-this is kinda weird, Rick, what are you - ”
“I can’t do it anymore,” whispers Rick hoarsely, eyes locked on Morty’s. “Fuck, Morty, I’m sorry, I can’t - ” And that’s the last whisper of his conscience leaving him before he’s launching himself forward, shoving Morty down by his shoulders before swinging his legs over Morty’s hips. He looks up at him, those wide, wide eyes almost popping out of his skull.
“R-Rick?! What – wh -”
“Quiet,” says Rick, and the sharpness of that word contrasted with his apologies a second ago makes Morty stutter to a stop.
Morty continues to stare in silence for a moment, and only breaks his silence with a yelp as Rick rips Morty’s shirt clean off his body. “Wh – Rick – what the f- what the hell are you – have you taken something, a-a drug or a- or….”
“Morty, for once in your life, shut that pretty little mouth of yours, okay baby?” His fingers find Morty’s dusky pink nipple, feeling it perk up against the pad of his thumb. Morty lets out an undignified little squeak, wriggling in Rick’s grasp. Another tear rolls down his crimson cheek, and his whole body flinches as Rick runs the flat of his tongue up his face, collecting the saltwater as though it’s the purest ambrosia.
“Rick,” whimpers Morty, and he suddenly sounds even younger than he actually is. Morty has seen many expressions on Rick’s face before – exasperation, literal actual murderous rage, even sorrow – but he’s never seen Rick like this. His grandfather looks like a man possessed, like a man who’s been starving for decades and has just laid his eyes on a veritable fucking feast.
“Grandpa,” he tries as one last Hail Mary, hoping the reminder will snap him out of whatever madness has sank its claws into him. “Please…”
Rick’s pupils actually, visibly dilate. “Fuck,” he growls, rolling his hips forward. “Oh fuck, Morty, knew – knew you were a freaky fucking slut, callin’ me Grandpa as I rut against you - ”
“N-No, Rick, that’s n-not what I -!”
“You’re so fucking – you look so fucking pretty when you cry, Jesus –“
Morty presses his lips together so hard they turn white in a futile attempt to stop the flow of tears.
“Good boy,” purrs Rick in a tone that makes revulsion claw even harder at Morty’s spine, and he closes his eyes. If he tries really hard, maybe he could pretend it’s… well, not Jessica, he wouldn’t be able to manage that, considering, but… someone… else. Anyone else.
(Along with that crawling sensation at the base of his spine, Morty feels… something else. Something hot, something pulsing, something that he’s going to steadfastly ignore, thank you very much.)
A sharp slap on his cheek has Morty’s eyes flying open. “Fucking look at me, Morty.”
“Rick,” sobs Morty. “Rick, please don’t make me – please –“
Rick’s face softens, and for one giddy moment, Morty thinks he’s got through to him.
He should know by now not to get his hopes up when it comes to his grandfather.
“Aw, baby,” murmurs Rick. “I’m not – not gonna hurt you. Gonna – gonna make you feel good, babyboy.”
But Morty is shaking his head vehemently. “No, Rick, I don’t want you to make me feel good, I just want you t-t-to let me go –“
“I’m a-auGhhH-fraid that’s not gonna be an option, Morty. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Have to – gotta admire the way you don’t give up, I guess. Some reeeeaaal chutzpah. Guess you’re – you’ve got more balls than it seems, huh?”
“A-A-And I g-guess you’re a-a-an even bigger f-fucking, horrible f-fucking creep than, than you seemed!”
Rick gives a full body chortle. “Nice comeback, kid. Really worked hard on that one, huh?” Morty opens his mouth to make another stuttering rejoinder, but the words freeze in his throat when Rick’s hand slowly slides down his hip. It’s the closest thing to a gentle touch Rick’s given him… not just tonight, but – ever.
Morty gulps audibly, his mouth making the strangest little twisting motion. Rick leans down, lips ghosting ever so lightly down the side of his neck, and Morty takes in a sharp, shuddering breath, his body twitching involuntarily.
“Oh?” whispers Rick, his breath stirring the chestnut locks curled around Morty’s temples. “Starting to get – get warmed up, huh?”
“N-N-No!” Morty didn’t think it was humanly or physically possible for his cheek to burn so much that it feels as though his skin is being dissolved by acid. “It’s – I’m ticklish –“
“Yeah? Getting tickled makes you – makes you hard, huh?” His hips grind downwards, and Morty squeaks, eyes flying wide open, and oh fuck, fuck, Rick’s right, he’s hard, why is he hard, why the fuck is he hard –
“I-I-I’m a hormonal teenager, I-I’m always hard!”
“Yeah? Even when your grandpa’s getting’ you off?”
“Y-You’re not getting me o- oooOohh – a-ah –“ Morty can only watch helplessly as Rick’s slender fingers undo his jeans, pushing them down over his hips to reveal a growing wet patch on Morty’s underwear. “R-Rick, st-stop -!”
“Still pretending you don’t like it, huh?”
“I don’t – I’m not prete- oh God!” Morty gasps as Rick’s lips wrap around the base of his shaft. “R-Rick, s-stop – stop – oh fuck -!”
Morty’s not attracted to Rick Sanchez. He’s not attracted to Rick, and he’s not getting turned on by the fact that he’s being molested by his grandfather. Like he said before, he’s a hormonal teenager and his dick is currently inside a warm, wet mouth, with the flat of Rick’s tongue swirling around his cockhead, those infuriatingly mesmerising dark, dark eyes staring right into his soul.
“Rick,” whispers Morty pathetically, a tear squeezing from the corner of his eye. “Y-You – pl-pl-“ He clenches his teeth together so hard he swears he hears something crack to stop making any incriminating noises, a ploy that fails a millisecond later when Rick makes a particularly clever motion with his tongue and Morty wails, his back arching. “R-R-Ri – mmmmmh –“
Rick pulls off, smirking up at him. “Got a tip for you, babyboy. Stop fighting it. Give in. Why – why don’t you wanna feel good, huh?” His palms skim down Morty’s inner thighs, and a small bead of pre-cum forms at the end of Morty’s straining cock.
“I don’t – I’m not –“ He breaks off in another gasp as Rick grinds his erection against his soft stomach.
“Knew it,” whispers Rick into his ear. “You’re not just horny because you’re a teenage boy who just got his dick sucked. You – You’re horny ‘cuz it’s me. Or maybe you just are that fuckin’ easy, huh?”
“J-Just – sh-shut up – Rick, just – Rick –“ Morty clenches the blanket in his fists, lust and self-hatred warring within him. Is Rick right? Is he really “that fuckin’ easy,” that he’s ready to spread his legs for his own grandfather if he shows him even the tiniest lick of affection – when that affection’s against his own will?
But could anyone really blame him, when his grandpa is Rick fucking Sanchez? The guy might be the biggest dickhead in the universe, but he’s also one of the most charismatic. He could drag you to hell and back, and you’d thank him for the experience.
Or maybe that’s just Morty. A lot of people – a lot – hate Rick enough to try and kill him, or at least, hire someone to kill him. Maybe Morty really is just a pushover – an incestuous, slutty pushover. But right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he just wants – oh, God help him, he just wants Rick.
“Just what, Morty? What do you want?”
“Please,” he whispers. “Please – d-don’t make me say – please –“
“Say it,” growls Rick. “Say it, or I’ll leave you here, hard and aching and trying desperately to get yourself off but it won’t be enough, it’ll never be enough –“
“You!” sobs Morty, hips bucking desperately upwards. “F-F-Fuck you, Rick, you know you’re right, just – need to come, please, make me come, please, Rick –“
“I was all ready to – for you to be fighting me all the way, but instead you’re begging me like a little – like a fuckin’ whore.”
“Y-Y-You were g-gonna – f-force me – e-even if I begged you – to stop?”
“Yeah.” Rick’s teeth nip at Morty’s earlobe, who lets out a little surprised squeak. “I need you, Morty. I need you, and I don’t care what I have to do to get you. Know what I was gonna do, Morty? I was gonna tie you to your bed and push your pretty little thighs apart and –“
“Rick, please – !”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re getting off on this,” says Rick incredulously as Morty continues thrusting his hips upwards, trying desperately to rut against Rick’s thighs. “You’re getting off on – on me telling you how I was gonna rape you? Fuck, I knew you were a whore, but I didn’t think you’d be this easy –“
“It’s not – I’m not - ! I just – I’m just so - I need –“
“Yeah yeah, you need to come. Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ demanding.” Rick’s hand finally, finally wraps around Morty’s cock, who gasps and bucks up into him.
“Fuck, Rick, mmmh –“
“Such a dumb little slut you can barely even talk,” Rick sneers. “What’s the matter? Rick got your tongue?” Morty can only moan in response, writhing beneath him as rivulets of pre-cum drip down his shaft. “Or maybe…” He pulls off, sitting back on his haunches and watching Morty clench the bedsheets in frustration. “But tell me one thing, Morty – why should I make you come? Why should I do anything for you, when you haven’t done anything for me?”
Morty’s deep brown eyes somehow manage to grow even wider. “Rick…?”
Rick slowly pulls down his zipper, shimmying off his pants and underwear, and Morty makes a little whimper that could either be fear or lust – or, more likely, a combination of both – when he sees Rick’s monstrous cock bob up against his belly. “Come here, baby.”
Morty doesn’t move.
“Morty,” snaps Rick. “Here. Now.”
Morty’s still frozen, staring between Rick’s legs. “R-Rick, y-you’re so – you’re too – you’re so big, h-how am I supposed to –“
Rick preens visibly. “You don’t have to flatter me, baby. Unless you’re gonna do it with those pretty little lips of yours.” After a moment, Rick growls, “That’s an order, Morty.”
He finally comes out of his trance, and slowly crawls towards Rick. The sight of his grandson literally on his hands and knees, head inching between his thighs, makes a drop of precum roll down his shaft. If he didn’t have such an iron grip on his self-control, he’d be busting all over Morty’s cute little face right now.
Morty starts to look visibly overwhelmed, and Rick finally decides to take pity on the poor boy. “Come on, baby, you don’t have to – have to fuckin’ deepthroat the thing, just – lick it. Lick it, babyboy.”
Morty slowly sticks his tongue out, and gives a tiny little kitten lick over the head of his grandfather’s cock. “Good boy,” purrs Rick. “Now, wrap those lips around the tip – careful with the teeth, now. Oh, good – good – oh, fuck, mmmm – y-you were born for this, weren’t you? Born to be my little – little fuckin’, personal fucking whore – fuck, Morty –“ His hand strokes through Morty’s hair, and Rick wants so badly to curl his hair viciously in his grandson’s hair, using his pretty little locks as a handle so Rick can just fuck the breath from his throat –
“Fucking hell, Morty – Morty, you drive me crazy, fuck –“ Rick’s breath actually stutters, words evaporating into the air, as Morty’s doe eyes flick upwards to meet his as his plump lips slide half an inch further down Rick’s shaft.
Morty plays his role well – a teenage boy overtaken with hormones, daydreaming about his classmates’ boobs every ten seconds, but far too awkward and shy to do anything about it – until his lips are around his grandfather’s cock and he’s still trying to seem oh-so-fucking-innocent, surprise in those ingenue eyes as he sucks Rick. But beneath that innocent faunlet patina, a cover that maybe even Morty himself believes, Rick sees the true Morty – a wanton, drooling slut.
***
Morty Smith is on the precipice of insanity.
He’s pretty sure he’s never felt such pain before, and he once dislocated his shoulder when he was seven, only for it to be broken by an extremely drunk Beth who insisted that if she was able to perform a triple bypass on a horse she could pop a human shoulder back into its socket, even after two bottles of wine on an empty stomach.
He’s been sexually frustrated before, obviously, but this – holy fucking shit, his cock hurts so much, and there’s a deep throbbing pain in his lower belly, and oh fuck –
“Rick, please!” gasps Morty as he pulls off his cock. “Rick, I can’t stand it, please, fuck, Rick, please –“
“Please what? C’mon, Morty, you’re a big boy now. You can use your words. What do you want, huh?”
“I w-wanna – wanna get off, fuck, please –“
But Rick gives him a diabolical grin. “Not good enough, Morty. Tell me exactly what you want from me. Exactly what you want me to do to you.”
“I-I-I –“ Morty’s nails dig into his thigh as his face blazes. “I w-want – I want… you to t-touch my – fuck’s sake, Rick, you know what I –“
“No, I don’t, Morty. You’re gonna have to tell me.”
“Fuck, I hate you – I… ugh –“ Morty swallows. “I w-want you to – to touch my d- my, uh, c-cock. Please.”
Rick brushes the tip of his finger against Morty’s slit for a second, a trail of pre-cum stretching then snapping. “Like this?”
“N-No – I – mm –“ Morty’s hips jerk involuntarily upwards, little cock bobbing desperately. “Jerk me off, Rick, fuck, please, m-make me cum – I…”
“How about here? You want me to touch here?” Rick’s finger circles around Morty’s entrance, who makes a choked-off little whimper.
“I d-don’t – I’ve never, um, touched – I – ooooooh –“ Morty’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull as Rick’s index finger breaches him, curling inside him.
“Get me the lotion you use to jerk off with. I know you have some, you little pervert.”
“I u-uh –“ Morty blindly scrabbles behind him until his hand closes around the handle of his bedside drawer and he yanks it open. “H-here –“
Rick plucks it from his hands and glances at the label. “Rose and raspberry? God, you’re so fucking gay.”
“I-it was on s-sale – and h-hey, you’re the gay one, you’re the one w-with the finger up my –“
“Reeeal witty comeback there, kid.”
“Shut u-u-u-ooOoo –“ Morty’s breath shivers as Rick pushes another finger inside him, slicked with fucking Bath and Body Works lotion, of all fucking things. “R-R-R- mmh, Rick –“ He winces as Rick works him open, then gasps in surprise as his fingers brush up against that tender, sensitive spot inside him. “R-Rick – mm – Grandpa –“
“You – you like that, babyboy? You wanna take Grandpa’s fat cock?”
“I-I-I… mmmmh – I d- I- ” And oh God, he does, Morty wants Rick – his grandfather – to fuck him, to hold him down by his hips and pound him until he’s sobbing. “G-God – what’s w-wrong with me, Rick, wh-what’s –“
“Stop thinking. Just answer. You want me to fuck you, Morty?”
“Y-yeah,” gasps Morty. “Please, Grandpa, stop fucking teasing –“ Morty lets out possibly the loudest noise he’s ever made as Rick pushes the tip of his cock inside him. “Oh God oh God oh God oh –“ He’d expected it to be excruciating, but he doesn’t know if fancy hand lotion has magical powers or if it’s Rick’s fingers that are magic, because even though there was a stinging burn when Rick first pushed in, only a few moments later it’s dimmed down to something barely noticeable, overtaken by a flood of pleasure. “Grandpa Rick –“
“Fuck, look at you,” says Rick reverently. “Takin’ my cock so well – such a good boy –“
Morty makes a strange little noise in the back of his throat that sounds almost like a purr.
“You ready to take more, babyboy?”
“Y-Yeah,” moans Morty. “Please…” His eyes flick upwards to meet Rick’s, an odd expression softening his face, lips parting slightly. “Rick…” He lets out a soft breath as Rick’s lips press against his. Morty wants desperately to kiss him back, to kiss him like he’s daydreamed about kissing Jessica (who’s morphed into Rick on more than one occasion, something that Morty hasn’t even dared admit to himself until now), but he knows Rick is infinitely better at this than he is and he doesn’t want to fuck it up – even though the logical part of his brain knows nothing can put Rick off now.
So Morty lets him take the lead, parting his lips when Rick flicks his tongue against them – but he can’t help but moan desperately as Rick slowly pushes his cock inside him, tongue pushing insistently against Rick’s. Their lips part as Morty instinctively throws his head back against the pillow, neck arching as he lets out an unintelligible cry.
“Jesus, Morty, you’re so tight – so fucking good – fuck, why did I wait so long to do this –“
“H-How long – have y-you wanted to –“
“Oh, baby, you really don’t wanna – want to know that, Morty.”
And fuck, that really shouldn’t turn Morty on so much.
Rick begins slowly moving inside him, and Morty’s legs grip around him like a vice. Rick’s head falls down onto Morty’s shoulder, exhaling a hot and heavy breath against his neck, and Morty’s hands curl into his back in response. Rick’s mouth crashes into Morty’s again as he begins to thrust his hips in earnest, the bedframe creaking dangerously, and Morty screams, breath hitching. “Fu-uuck –“ He never imagined anything could feel so good, and he considers himself a connoisseur of jerking off. It still hurts – the burn of his sphincter as Rick’s monstrous cock pounds him, his own poor neglected cock feeling like it’s going to burst – but he also feels like one giant ball of pleasure, like his soul has physically ascended from his body and entered a new plane made of pure fucking decadence. “Rick – Grandpa Rick, I’m gonna – oooo-oh –“
“You gonna – you gonna – gonna come with me pounding that tight little ass of yours, when I’m not even touching your cock? You gonna – you gonna come for Grandpa, huh?”
“Y-Yeah – I’m gonna – Rick, ‘m gonna –“ Morty frantically tries to get more friction between his cock and Rick’s stomach as he feels his release reach its crescendo. His grandfather must be feeling unusually magnanimous, because he slips a hand between their stomachs and curls around Morty’s shaft, only managing to give it a couple of quick pumps before he’s painting Rick’s belly with thick, pearly ropes of cum. Morty’s body shudders, and he sinks bonelessly into the mattress, still managing to make tiny whimpering moans as Rick’s thrusts speed up. He weakly reaches his arms back up in an attempt to grasp Rick’s waist again; Morty just can’t get enough of him, he needs every last square inch of Rick’s skin against his, he needs everything, everything –
“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight – you – fucking - ” Rick gasps his orgasm into the delicate hollow at the base of Morty’s neck, and he swears he feels Morty arch even further into him as Rick’s release pulses inside him.
They lay like that for a moment, Rick still inside him, both of them panting and trembling. When Rick finally pulls out, Morty makes a little noise of distress at this sudden absence, and with a beleaguered sigh Rick lies back down and gathers Morty into his arms, his grandson resting those gorgeous chestnut curls on his chest.
“God, I’m so fucking fucked,” they both think in synchronisation.