Archive of Our Own

 Morty hadn't noticed when he came to, the numbness of sleep still freshly glazed over his mind. His brain felt like a bowling ball filled with marbles, rolling around with every movement. The cool tiles of the bathroom floor were damp - they were always damp, no amount of towels or airflow could stop the water from finding its way onto the bathroom floor and refusing to evaporate. A fluffy matted bathroom rug was the first texture Morty could feel - the confusing blend of texture caressing his leg. He blinked a few times, the glaze of sleep refusing to be washed from his eyes.

 He was on the bathroom floor, Morty had concluded. It took a few heavy seconds to set in, but he then concluded his head fucking hurt. It was a pressure pain, as if his brain had soaked up all of the other liquid in his body and was trying to swell out of his ears. It was especially sore on the back of his skull, as it made contact with the cold floor beneath his body.

 His limbs were splayed out in an odd way, and he stirred, trying to sit up to recall why he was on the floor. It was a mistake, he realized within the second, because shots of stinging pain came from his arms and head, and his - everything. He moaned out pathetically, but made no move to try to sit up again, or comfort himself. He just sat until the stinging subsided, squeezing his eyes shut until he felt as though he was going to permanently blind himself.

 He knew why he was on the floor, but he kept digging in his brain for hints, as if the surface level answer wasn't something he'd wanted to come to terms with. In this moment, he wanted to play innocent with himself - a mind game against his own cruel thoughts. He ran around in theoretical circles, nipping at his own tail, until his own thoughts were a new cause of pain. Morty decided he had had enough of his own feigning innocence, and grit his teeth, cautiously pulling himself off the floor. He looked down, straight at the problem - he had given himself enough time to courteously tiptoe around the issue at hand.

 Angry red scoremarks stared right back at him from his arms, making the atmosphere fat and heavy. The job was done in a flurried manner, the marks either been done too shallow, or too deep - at which Morty could feel a wash of uncomfortable prickle sweep over his chest, and up his throat. He felt sick, but not enough to puke. Morty turned his gaze away, and worked on using his legs to steady himself off the floor rather than his hands - hissing at the way his arms shifted with the changing in weight. It really fucking hurt. 

 Morty used his less fucked arm to twist on the faucet, and run the water at a cool temperature, hoping this would help with the itch of his new cuts. He moved his body at an awkward angle to hold the long of his arm under the running water, letting the mix of water and blood run off him and into the sink. He repeated with the other arm, and once he was satisfied, he shut off the water and simply pat them dry with a towel draped over the counterside.

 Rick was oblivious to Morty's newfound hobby, getting high off his ass with self harm. Sure, he had noticed how gaunt the boy's stature had gotten, but he just chalked it up to stress from their recent adventure, one that had left them responsible for killing yet another version of their family in cold blood.

 Rick had killed himself thousands of times, one on one; or all at once. He had killed enough to make a new plethora of multiverses, with barely enough wiggle room for extras. He was quick to brush it off like wiping your nose, but he had trouble still acknowledging Morty's moral skews weren't as bad as his were. He wasn't even sure he had morals anymore - every line in the sand he had was now lost among crushed shells, and crushed walls. Rick had done everything and nothing all at once, as he was a man who had conquered the universe. But, even then, that was just one piece of the pie. A universe was a laugh to what was really out there. 

 And it was something even Rick shuddered thinking about, it wrapped around his head and squeezed, like a pillowcase encasing too much cotton. Stuffy.

 But, yes, Rick was oblivious. He had been smart, book, and textbook smart, but he was in the dip when it came to social behaviors. It was always something that puzzled him - sure, it could follow a formula; such as, with love, but it never was that simple. Rick liked things laid out in black and white for the most part - but Morty was so. 

So grey.

 No, more like a dusty dark blue. Like the shade of when dawn is barely breaking, and you've been up all night in your bed, praying the moment never ends - just loops forever, because the peace is immeasurable. But all you can do is pray the next dawn is just as good. Remind yourself that it will come again once more.

 Rick had noticed how much more reluctant Morty had been, noticed the metaphorical lines dragging behind him wherever the boy had walked; but he didn't comment on them. Morty had grown in the years they spent together - including emotionally; but not speaking growth as in improving, but as in growing bigger. Morty wasn't scared of Rick as much anymore, as the kid had already been introduced to the horrors that laid within and beyond Rick Sanchez. He had laid Rick down on a table in his mind, picked him apart, and put him back together until he got somewhat of a sense to read the man - and it put another wrinkle in Rick's forehead. He was losing his grasp on Morty, he had liked having the boy within his fingertips, but now it seems as though Morty had become melted wax in his fingers, burning him as he slipped through.

 Morty stared at himself in the mirror for awhile, unsure if the face matched the mind. He knew if he kept looking, he'd start to dissociate hard enough to cause a panic attack. Ever since Rick had bent time and space just to fuck with the boy, dissected every inch of Morty; killed him just to breathe life back into him - Morty had a hard time deciding if he was the consciousness in his body, or if it was him. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

 He was sure about the stinging pain in his arms, and he swore under his breath, reaching hastily into the cabinet under the sink for the big brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He figured it would be good enough, until he could eventually get his hands on Rick's healing salve. He squeezed the bottle as he angled it over his arm, shushing himself like he was an outsider - to quiet the weeps and whines of pain creeping up his throat. It numbed after awhile, and he switched arms. He threw on the hoodie that was hanging over the wall of the bathtub, a sense of comfort hugging him as he cocooned himself within the soft fabric. He looked around the floor, swiping away splots of blood with his foot and the mat - until he found what he had been looking for at the foot of the toilet. A razor, angled on the floor as if it was mocking Morty. but he knew it wasn't mocking him, logically. He was mocking himself.

 He picked it off the floor gingerly, tucking it into a wad of toilet paper, then in his hoodie pocket. Once all evidence was gone, he stumbled out of the bathroom, his head feeling like it was both going to float away, and drag him down - a water buoy unable to make a decision. He didn't bother being extra quiet, closing the door behind him and shuffling down the hall. No one was home anyways, he had been left behind.

 Beth and Jerry had gone to another divorce retreat, and Summer had gone to a party to get trashed. It was well past midnight, and Rick was fuckelse, probably high off alien drugs or deep in guts. He shuddered sickly at the thought.

 His mind had been wandering in loops lately, his grandfather consuming most of them. Rick was the pinpoint in his world, he was his world . Rick had once told Beth, then Morty, that the universe would try to buck you off.

Rick had told Morty the universe had bucked him off,

but it had made a mistake.

It had made Morty.

 And that alone had given Rick the passageway into his own form of creation, life itself.

 Sure he had dabbled with gadgets and planets - but Rick had learned to take the power of creation into the palm of his own hand, playing God on his own terms - and Morty was going to be the wake of his claim. Rick had it in his grasp - and now he could rival that of the universe. He could climb the rungs of the ladder, intending to eventually surpass it all together, and become the whole thing.

 Rick Sanchez was a fucking enigma; and God forbid those who tried to define him as anything else.

___

 Morty had been lazing around, well into the dusk of the night. Rick had gotten home at some point, grumbling through the halls about some stickup at one of his deals - but Morty was too wrapped up in pretending to watch interdimensional cable to care. He was too wrapped up in pretending to be wrapped up to care. He didn't know what else to do around Rick, really. He didn't want the elder worming his thin lanky fingers deeper into his mind even more than he already had.

 Rick eventually had settled next to the boy on the couch, beer in hand. A silent understanding was strung between the two, although Rick was itching to complain further to the boy. Rick eyed Morty, watching as his glassy eyes reflected against the flashing lights of the TV screen, but didn't watch any of it. He was retaining none of the bright colors or deep plots of whatever was happening.

 Morty was hitting 17 now, at least Rick thought so. He didn't want to admit it to Morty, as it was already known between the two wordlessly; but Rick had killed and paused Morty enough to lose how truly old he was. Time may march on for man, but Rick had surpassed man a long time ago. Time-play was as easy as wiping his ass, although he hated how finicky it could be.

 Morty had some baby fat on his cheeks still, but his body was lean - more of a mix between the two really. Rick hadn't, at least consciously, realized how borderline inappropriate his thoughts about Morty had gotten. A few times, he caught his eyes wandering down; he swore it was simple observations - but something locked down deep near the stem of his brain muffled otherwise. The air was engorged with loud thought between the two; Morty was a bit better at seeming more absentminded about it, though. Rick continued to analyze the boy, before tilting his head back to drink.

 It was Morty's turn to stare, from the corner of his eye he watched as Rick's adam's apple bobbed with every swallow. He choked down his own saliva, feeling a strange urge to bite it swell in his chest. His fingers twitched, but he turned his unbridled attention back to the TV.

 Rick had moaned in relief, breaking the silence and cutting through the thoughts hanging heavy in the air. Morty simply turned to face Rick, his expression there - but unreadable. Rick turned to face him as well, a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face.

"H-hey..Hey buddy."

 It was a simple greeting in theory, but it opened a door Morty had to go through. He studied Rick's posture, expression, and tone, before deeming there were no hidden intentions behind it. He felt himself relax a little.

"Hey, Rick." He replied, as if everything was another day. As if he hadn't been knocked cold and bleeding on the bathroom floor earlier.

"Watching TV, b-buddy? My little man." Rick seemed to be pushing the words from his mouth from Morty's perspective - but Rick was just tipsy. He had had a few drinks before coming home, and this beer was just adding to the pile.

Morty snorted.

"Y-yeah Rick. I'm your little buddy. Gonna p-put me in your pocket." He answered absentmindedly, lazily sprawled out on the couch, one leg within Rick's space, while the other hung off the edge. He snuggled his back into the cushions, and looked up at Rick over his chest in the awkward positioning. Rick just continued to smile.

"Yeah MeeuOGHhorty. Y-y-you'd like that huh? Hitching a ride on grandpa." He in turn, settled into the couch as well, choosing to prop both of his legs on the couch, tucking them next to Morty.

 They stared at each other for a few moments, before Morty turned his head back towards the TV.

"W-what'd you do today Rick?"

 Rick buzzed at Morty, and the floodgates opened. In a drunken haze, talking with mostly his hands, Rick went over how he was almost fucked over at a deal today - the weapons dealer deciding to change the deal last-minute and demanding a larger cut.

"Larger cut," Rick snorted at himself,

"So I cut that bastard's head clean off, Morty. C-clean off." He repeated himself, watching to see if Morty was amused as Rick was. A smile found it's way at the corner of Morty's mouth.

"Of course you did." He sounded amused, which satisfied Rick, and Morty brushed his leg against Rick's, a touch of affection. Rick mused back, stretching over to pinch at Morty's lovehandles - drawing a squeak of surprise from the boy. He groaned at Rick,

"Oh it's on. " He leaped at Rick, on him in seconds. The two fucked around for a bit, wrestling became a show of love between the two. Morty was careful of his arms - but not careful enough, as Rick had pinned him down to the couch, looking down at the boy with a predatory grin. He squeezed, and Morty gaped in pain.

"Say uncle!" Rick mused, this time it was playful cruelty. 

 Morty was opening and closing his mouth like a fish, trying to keep down the whimpers that were threatening to bubble behind his lips. He could feel his wrist muscles contract under Rick's hold as new shots of pain traveled along his arms.

"S-say it Morty! Say uncle!" Rick tried again, lightly shaking his hold on Morty.

"Uncle! Uncle!" Morty found the words after jumpstarting his brain, forcing them from his throat, followed by an uncomfortable moan of pain.

 Rick cocked a brow. His hold on Morty wasn't that strong.

 Morty stared up at him with glossy eyes, and Rick noticed how deep they looked today. How Morty had dried drool at the corner of his mouth, and his hair was more tossled than usual.

"What's euUOGH- what's up with you, man?" Rick questioned, his hold on Morty not wavering. Morty could sense the spark to the ignition - and tried to play sane as long as he could. He could last pretty long when he was up against his own - but Rick knew how to break him into a box, then back again. He could feel his palms get sweaty.

"Nothi-Nothing Rick! Fuck! Get off me m-man. I said Uncle!" He huffed, feigning annoyance over pain.

 Rick called his bluff. He was socially unaware sometimes, not stupid. He squeezed once more, and Morty bucked under him - a silent scream falling from his lips. Red lights went off in Rick's head, and he quickly moved to hook his fingers under the hem of Morty's hoodie. Morty reacted all too late, still coming down off that wave of pain. It was a flurry of movement - Rick had yanked off the hoodie, and held Morty's arm to the TV, letting the light bounce off to provide light.

His skin prickled. 

 A hush could be heard over multiple dimensions, as Rick was experiencing this in multiple times and lives; multiple planets and multiverses - but it still didn't prepare him for what he was looking at.

 Morty was still lagging behind, and simply looked up at Rick. As Morty's tend to do.

"How long?" Rick could feel sobriety hit him like a sack of bricks.

"H-huh?"

" How. Long." Morty's hair bristled at Rick's growl, and his brain seemed to finally snap in place, like the buckling of a seatbelt.

"D'snt matter." He mouthed out, missing a few syllables along the way, but Rick got the point. He wanted to squeeze off Morty's hand. He was pissed. He was so pissed. Infuriated. No words could describe how enraged Sanchez was, from any language across any galaxy. 

"Morty." He growled out again, a warning this time. His voice was low, practically just rumbles. Morty was so - so nonchalant.

 Why should Rick care? He had humiliated Morty in ways no one could ever fathom, he had the boy shot, gutted, eviscerated, hung, bled out - 

 Rick sat motionless, from this angle, the light from the TV couldn't reach his face - so it was unreadable; but the air wasn't. Alcohol wafted from Rick, along with something Morty couldn't describe as anything other than anger.

 They sat like this for quite some time, unsure as to how to press on. At least, that's how Morty felt.

 Rick had let go of Morty's arm, he wasn't sure when exactly - but it hung limply off the side of the couch, and the TV had been turned off. Morty finally registered that Rick was holding the remote, his attention turned briefly away from him.

 Morty could run, he thought to himself. But where? How? You can't exactly run from someone who is everywhere and anywhere at once. No one could really help him, and he'd have to keep running like

like Prime.

 Morty shifted uncomfortably under Rick, and metaphorically shook his head. He wasn't anywhere close to as bad as Prime; but he still had disappointed Rick. At least, that's what he read Rick's hard expression as. It sunk down, heavy like a bundle of pebbles in his throat. He hadn't noticed the extra shine on his eyes as they filled with tears - until they had started to fall down his cheeks, following the curves and dips of his face.

 First it was the silent tears, then the shuttering, then the soft whimpers and sniffles, then the sobbing. Morty wailed, he wailed as he knew he was caught, trapped, unmoved. It was a fate worse than death really - death was something he could fix . Something he could juggle on his tray along with math class and remembering to brush his teeth - but Rick had caught him.  

 The very one man who had sandwiched him in at every side, rotted his every waking thought and had him on a pike, displayed for the whole galaxy to pity him. He didn't ever want Rick to find out - he really didn't. 

 But he knew, in the back of his mind, Rick eventually would. He hadn't exactly been careful with his cuts, or when he cut. He'd occasionally leave his razor out in his room in plain sight, or bloodied tissues at the top of the pile in the bathroom trash can; but he shrugged it off, Rick would be too plastered to notice. Or simply, would choose not to notice. But this has happened in infinite timeliness, with infinite outcomes; and Morty had no way of knowing what was his. Rick was unpredictable as the rest most of the time, but when he did manage to scare Morty - he fucking terrified him. Morty had enough mental scars to earn himself a quick euthanization; a quick mercy on him. But Rick would simply shock his body once again, force him back into consciousness to live for him - always for him.

 He wouldn't let Morty die until he had absolutely wrung the boy dry; until he was braindead. Even then, he would keep going.

 Morty's sobs had heightened, and Rick just sat on the boy's thighs to watch it all. Like a peanut gallery, he sat quiet - waiting for the moment where Morty would crack. He knew Morty would, it was the one habit Morty couldn't break - even if he forced himself to, he'd find ways around the block.

 It continued on for what seemed like hours, Morty's pitiful sobbing had softened down to whimpers once more, his face covered with snot and hot tears. Rick could have comforted him, but he wasn't a God , the ones that treat all their children with kindness. He was a Rick . One that was messy, complicated, and cruel at times. This is what Morty had told himself. Rick was cruel , and he wouldn't be held, or babied, or bottled through this. He might even leave this dimension and find a new tool to hunt Prime down with - one that didn't have a voice to cry and whine, and bitch.

'Morty you big fucking baby. You can't take a few measly cuts?' 

 His thoughts rang out in tandem with one another, attacking him once he could handle thinking once more.

'I-I should just leave you here. Hang you up so the entire family could see what a fucking bitch you are. A pathetic snob like your father.' 

 Morty couldn't control the thoughts - he flicked through every scenario of what Rick's reaction could be; anger, abandonment, laughter . Rick could laugh at him - he probably created Morty, fabricated him and pushed and pulled until the boy broke like another doll, and could laugh at him about it.

 Metaphorically, he had Morty's beating heart in his hand - and he was squeezing .

 The thoughts got louder and louder - splintering from Morty's core, carefully reading his mind to find the perfect thing to say to crumble the boy to pieces right before his eyes. He was falling apart beneath Rick's gaze - and he only hoped he was giving Rick one last good show before what was inevitable, came.

 His breath hitched, and all was quiet - before it was swallowed whole by Morty's gulps of air; struggling as his lungs rattled in his chest. He couldn't breathe . He was suffocating, it wasn't his first rodeo, but he was scared. He felt alone, isolated, the pressure from Rick seated on his thighs wasn't as present anymore as he drowned in his own gasps for oxygen. He felt like a boat without an anchor, drowning and re-emerging against the waves of a panic attack,

a light touch.

That's all that it took.

 Morty had whiplash, his chest ached as he sucked in a good breath. He was wheezing, sure, but he was breathing. His face was cupped by two calloused hands - the texture against his soft cheeks sent sparks down his spine. He looked up through wet lashes - at how the moon shined through the glass doors of the livingroom, and encapsulated everything about Rick - like he was being written out before Morty's eyes.

 His lip quivered, and he braved the gaze to Rick's face. A soft breath escaped his lips, a sigh of treaty between his thoughts, body and mind.

 Rick was looking down at him, and it was simply that. A soft look, void of glaring or malice; just watching Morty's face as he held Morty's head like it would crumble beneath him if he wasn't careful. Like Morty would float away and sink at the same time if he didn't keep his hold on the boy - he could lose him forever in this moment. Time was always so finicky.

"Morty." A soft request, and Morty's body reciprocated faster than his brain. Morty sat up and heavy into Rick, burying his head in the curve where Rick's shoulder met his neck. He smelled of motor oil and cheap cologne, and something else he couldn't quite place. It was thick on Morty's nose, and he shuttered, a sob falling from his lips subconsciously.

 Rick had wrapped his arms around Morty like a vice, leaving no room for escape. He pressed his face into Morty's hair, abandoning all his habits of pretending like he didn't want to hold Morty - especially in this moment. They sat, again, for what seemed like hours.

"F-for a coup… a couple months now." Morty's voice was soft, mousey, broken from his sobs. The answer hung in the air, and Rick squeezed him gently.

"Why?" Rick's voice didn't waver, but Morty knew his tone had changed. It was a comfort, rather than anything mocking. An open door for conversation. 

 He didn't want to tell Rick the feelings he started developing for him.

 He didn't even want to tell himself the feelings he started developing for Rick.

 He had cut, because it grounded him to the feeling of being a human, not just a consciousness . He could feel the sharp slices of pain, even if he was numbed to the feeling of getting stabbed, sliced, torn apart - all of it. The pain was a constant he could hang to, something he could wrap his brain around.

 The only other emotions he could feel were a mix of fruit punch in a bowl that had been spiked. Admiration, anger, hate, and love for Rick.

Only Rick.

 He loved Rick - in a way an underaged grandson shouldn't love his grandfather. But what should he have done?

 Rick had plagued his heart, becoming rid of any other person he had ever attempted to let inside, his ever-so-present grandfather refusing to leave the confines of his soul as he ripped ownership of it; as if it was rightfully his .

 Jessica had lived through a whole civilization's rise and fall, declared herself a time God, and skipped out on Morty. Summer had simply, not cared enough - choosing to come along when she wasn't shoved out of the garage by the two boys for adventures, and really nothing more. Beth had chosen Summer - and Jerry was. He was Jerry. If all had been exposed to the rest of his family, Beth would wail about how much of a failed mother she was, and Jerry would blame Morty on-target to avoid the blame all together. Summer would shrug it off most likely. 

They were bound by blood, not water.

 Morty loved Rick. He said it simply to himself, but never to Rick - at least, in a way that could express how he really loved Rick. So he cut; avoiding those few emotions he could feel - and blamed it on his lack of morals.

 Rick's question still hovered in the air, and Morty supposed he owed an answer - he had nowhere to run anymore, really, and he was too tired to spin a lie.

"I can't really f-feel anything anymore Rick. I've killed - killed so many people I don't know if I'm human anymore. I f-follow you like a dog, do what you ask; kill and be killed for and by you." He started, feeling the confession slip from his lips. He couldn't stop now.

He just hoped Rick would shut up for the entire thing.

"There's in-infinite timeliness. Infinite tools at your grasp - and you still choose me. Every single time ."

Rick could feel his hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"I only have you Rick. M-my parents.. we've hopped how many? How many times now, and they don't care. Summer doesn't care. You've," He pointed a finger, digging it into Rick's chest as he sat back, his eyes glossed over with tears. 

"You've been the one constant in my life!" His voice was rising to a scream.

"You, Rick Sanchez! A-are you fucking happy? I have nothing to my name, besides you! Without you, I-I-I.. I'm not even Morty anymore! Who am I? What am I? " He seethed at Rick, unwavered by Ricks's unmoving face.

"You've fucked me over, R-Rick . I no longer can feel - feel anything for anyone else than you. You're the only thing in my head, you eat every waking thought!" He was hysterical, a mix of cries, screams, anger .

Rick's mask faltered for a moment. And Morty knew.

"I love you. Y-you sick fucking bastard. I love my grandpa - a-a-and not in a 'oh I'm a grandpa's boy, I-I love doing puzzles with my grandpa!' I want to- to fucking.. I wanna-" He couldn't find the words, and just growled in frustration, looking at Rick like he wanted to pull the man's hair out. He was seething, even more so when Rick's expression softened.

He is mocking you. He felt sick.

 Rick was hushed, his head swimming from behind his veil - and Morty hated the silence. He had enough, and rather take his chances with death again. He struggled to pull out of Rick's hold - but was met with a death grip. Morty soured.

"Fuck! Fuck! Let me go! Wh-what more do you want from me?" His voice was hard, angry with venom - but Rick didn't reply. He was blurred by Morty's eyes, like a shadow you thought you saw in the dark, but wasn't completely sure.

 A hand tenderly grabbed his chin, and he had a second of clarity before lips smashed against his own. 

 Morty was a statue, his face that of a plaquette, decorated with all the emotions he felt towards Rick. He shuffled through each one individually  and all at once, a fog overtaking his brain. Rick's chapped lips moved against his despite the unresponsiveness, tender like a virgins first kiss.

 This wasn't Morty's first kiss by a longshot, he had practically kissed his way through the galaxy - but it was his first with him. With Rick .

 It hurt - it really did - but he reciprocated. A movement without thought, he kissed Rick with fevour, clashing their teeth together, biting tongues and lips and melting to one. Rick didn't complain when Morty drew blood, in fact, he groaned in pleasure and in turn, kissed Morty like a starved man. He growled against the boys lips, and moved in, caging him against the couch with a shove - but kept them liplocked.

 He, for a brief moment, had Morty back in his hold. He wasn't going to let go again.

 Rick moved from Morty's mouth, caressing his cheek with his lips as he trailed down, to the other's neck. His breath was hot and heavy - and he hesitated for a moment, waiting for any movement of protest from Morty. There was none.

 He latched to Morty's jugular, nipping and biting as he went. He moved across Morty's throat, slowing his pace as he bit at the tender skin. Morty whimpered low in his throat, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. Rick could feel the vibration against his lips - and he kissed Morty's throat as an apology, and moved on, down to his collarbones. He was licking at Morty's skin, mapping the flavor on his tongue - treating Morty as a high-end meat at a tasting. 

 He used his fingers, they were long and spindly, covered with scars and discoloration from years of usage - to coax Morty's head back farther, stretching his hand over Morty's throat to feel the boy swallow and whimper underneath him. He kissed at Morty's suprasternal notch, nipping at the thin skin taut between the boy's collarbones. It made Morty's shift uncomfortably, bucking his hips.

 Rick noticed, and ground back, having settled between Morty's legs in the previous shuffle. A smile found it's way on his lips when Morty keened in response. This is what Rick had been looking for, noises of conformation. 

Desperation . 

 He had missed how Morty used to whine and groan around Rick - he had gotten so used to the sound, and now the space shared between them had been left empty, words unsaid. Morty had grown from a nervous boy into a somewhat off-put teen in a heartbeat - and even Rick, who was capable of respinning fate, was left with whiplash. He never really got the saying, 'they grow up so fast ', until recently. Time had once again, snuck up behind him.

 Morty was writhing under Rick, desperate to get away from and closer to Rick - he felt so indecisive, it sat so unclear in his mind. Rick was his grandfather, sure, in a planetary mindset - but Rick was also his partner . The one he could see every time he turned a corner, everytime he shut his eyes, or slept. Rick was there. And he was here now ; touching him . He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but here he was staring it in the eye.

"Rick.." He breathed out softly, his head still being pushed back by Rick's cold fingers. They were rough against his throat - but to Morty they felt like spikes, one wrong move and he'd be dead by Rick's fingers alone. He was cautious, unsure, of what he was to Rick; if Rick saw him as a plaything or, as Morty .

 Rick groaned against Morty's skin, the heat leaving wet-spots. He moved his fingers down, resting them on Morty's shoulder as he peaked his head up to look at the boy.

"Yeah, Junebug ?"

Oh.

Oh .

 Rick only used that nickname on special occasions, like when they had an especially good run and Morty had done well enough to impress Rick - or when Morty had managed to curb death for the both of them. In one instance, when he was particularly drunk, he had used it along with a slurry of other petnames, calling Morty his baby, or his little man . Morty had laughed at the time, recognizing how drunk the man had been; but now, it brings a sense of heat to his groins.

 Morty was hard in an instant, and he had his answer to his own lingering question. Funny how that works.

" Fuck. " He tried to hide it under his breath, but Rick caught and clung to it, the predatory grin wiping it's way back on his face. He was scary, his eyes glinting and searching Morty's face, probably thinking of all the ways he could consume the poor boy. His lips were chapped and bleeding in some spots from the kissing - running down and mixing with the saliva on the corner of his mouth and chin. He was looming above Morty - hungry .

"You want this, ba- Morty?" Rick corrected himself swiftly, unsure if he could use that just yet - as it had a new meaning to it. Morty switched between Rick's eyes, his own flickering; and Rick mused - finding it like a doe checking it's options for fight or flight.

 There was so much to be said, but it was clouded in a thick haze of lust and lazy adrenaline. Morty had already gotten this far, why not finish it?

 He reached out, hesitantly, placing his hand on Rick's chest, where his heart lay.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

 It was a steady rhythm, soothing Morty's nerves. Rick hadn't seemed upset or rushed - in fact it seemed like he could see this coming. He was two steps ahead in times when Morty didn't understand. He wasn't sure how they had even gotten to this point.

 It was a tender moment, Rick had given him that. The light from beyond the glass doors illuminated the room just enough for the two to see one another's forms in the dark - and it was good enough. Their hands would do most of the looking, using their fingers as eyes to roam eachother's bodies in a way that they hadn't done before.

 A sigh, Morty's response. It wasn't heavy or laden - it was just a soft yes without words. He was tired. He wanted Rick.

And Rick provided.

 He continued to kiss down Morty's chest, starting at where he had been interrupted. He moved down with feathery movements, stopping to play and pinch at one of Morty's nipples. The arreola was big and soft, Morty having a bit more cushion to his chest than other boy's his age. Rick didn't complain, instead he used it to his advantage and latched on with his teeth; drawing a yelp from Morty.

 His hands wandered along the curves and stretches of the body beneath him, stopping to dip into Morty's navel, or brush down Morty's side. He was eagerly feeling Morty up, mapping out every nook in his brain until it burned into his skull. He would want to remember this for as long as he could.

 Morty's hands found their way to Rick's hair, and tangled themselves into the silvery whisps; even as age had grasped Rick - he still managed to look good with it. He was in tandem with time, even reaching past it at times. He was a silverfox who had no intention of becoming senile.

 Rick groaned low in throat, and bit down hard on Morty's soft flesh - causing Morty to groan with him. He had discovered something today, Rick enjoyed his hair being pulled. He noted that and stored it in the back of his head for another time, mainly for when Rick tries to blow another raspberry on his stomach.

 Rick caught Morty's wrist in his grasp, and the boy hissed, the sweat from Rick's palms stinging against the fresh wounds. Morty's dick twitched. Rick noticed.

 He was quick to snap Morty's head forward with a tug of the chin, forcing the boy to watch him. It was an odd angle, Rick had pulled Morty's forearm up by his cheek, his wrist out and exposed against the moonlight. Morty bit his tongue, having an idea of what Rick was going to do - but he wasn't sure about the follow-through. But Rick was a man of his word, unspoken or not, and his mouth hung open, lewdly, his tongue curling at the end as it slithered out. His mouth's heat was radiant, like a furnace against Morty's cuts. The air around his mouth was damp and Rick's eyes on Morty was heavy; pining him in place. He leaned down, before making contact with Morty's skin. He licked up flatly with his tongue, letting it run over every bump and slit on Morty's forearm. It stung , it really stung .

But Morty loved it.

 Rick's tongue burned against his skin, saliva, blood, and traces of alcohol blended into one; and Rick was slow to lap it up, savoring the taste. When he had reached Morty's up hand, he looked down at the boy, not breaking contact with his arm. Morty was a mess, his eyes were blown wide and glassy; and he was in tears, sniveling under Rick. He also couldn't hide the shameless erection in his jeans, the shifting of Morty's squirming and the tight rough fabric not doing much to help. Rick felt as though this was all to easy, he had Morty laid out in his hand once more; and enjoyed pressing him down in his grip with a finger. He kneed between Morty's legs, applying a pressure great enough to make Morty uncomfortable, but not enough to make him hurt.

 Soft whimpers accompanied a groan, and Rick used his knee as a bow to play Morty like a violin. 

 Morty could feel precum add to the friction in his pants, the slick and heat driving him to the edge. Something built, low in his stomach, and alarms were ringing in his head. He looked up at the ceiling, gasping - at least he thought so, he couldn't feel his lungs anymore, and gripped what he could beneath him, his fingers digging in dull to the couch cushions. Everything was heightened, every sense - he could feel everything . 

 Rick was still tonguing his way up and down Morty's arm, enthralled by how he was threading Morty apart bit by bit. He could see Morty's mind shutting down, all sense and thoughts getting thrown out the window so he could release. Rick just kept going, despite the soft, 'no, no, no, no!' that chanted from Morty's lips like a mantra. His voice was cracking and shaking, along with his thighs, his chest heaving. He had never experienced this before, he had experienced dry dumping and orgasms more times than he could count on his fingers and toes, and yet - this felt different. Like Rick could read his body and heighten it. Like he was pushing Morty beyond what Morty could handle; pushing him into a wall and trying to force him through - knowing with an eventual attempt his atoms would scramble and he'd push through.

 He came, the orgasm ringing hard in his head like a church bell, and his body seized. He saw white, and stars, and Rick . Rick's scent surrounded him like a hug, rocking him through his orgasm, as he creamed himself in his pants. Rick found it amusing, pathetic, cute - but Morty felt like he was looping in his own head, spinning until he was nauseous, pounding in his head like a rattling bouncy ball against walls.  He was cumming to Rick's knee, a simple fact, that had Morty raw in Rick's grasp.

He went limp, with a moan of Rick's name, a soft,

"Sanchez…"

 It was intimate, a soft prayer from his lips, fallen to a cruel God. Morty was strung out like a fallen angel in Rick's lap, and he wasn't one to pass up an opportunity like this one; an eye in the the needle that is the universe.

 Morty was truly a key to every lock, a once in a generational tragedy; he was a mistake that Rick utilized to his own fingertips.

 Rick preened at the praise, kissing at Morty's wrist with a soft peck.

 He felt good, having Morty beneath him, basking in the afterglow of a hard orgasm. 

"Yo-y-you did so good, baby. So g-good for me." Rick's voice was muffled against Morty's wrist, and Morty was drunk on the soft words. He cried out for Rick, raising his other arm to desperately grasp for the older man. He whined loud, grasping at the lapel of Rick's labcoat, pulling him down with what strength was left in his fingertips. Rick chuckled, and leaned down, brushing his lips against Morty's, a show of affection. Morty's wrist was still in his grasp, but the grasp had softened, and Rick had closed the cold gap between them in a swift motion.

 Morty's world had expanded and collapsed within him, he knew the answer to his question, yet uncertainty was prominent between them, tossed in the air haphazardly. Rick pressed into Morty, sheathing the boy from the rest of the world for a still moment. All was quiet, the labored sounds of Rick and Morty's own breathing falling on deaf ears.

 Morty was at peace - too far gone, floating in the waves of serenity Rick had finally provided. Morty had finally been left with something other than nails on skin, a ghosting of Rick's touch - instead, in it's wake, trails of what Morty used to be, a soft, obedient boy; grew, a seed nurtured, thriving in a rich environment. He felt whole again, no longer the second choice, seen and heard, even for a moment; he was encapsulated in Rick's hold like he meant something once more. He was more than a tool in this moment, he was melding to Rick, becoming a part of him - and the gut wrenching guilt that ate away at him everytime he took a breath away from Rick, had silenced.

 Rick had kissed and licked an understanding into Morty, that he was once again his . Morty's scars were his, owned and caused by him, and he acknowledged it with a simple press of the knees. He had broken everything Morty had worked so desperately hard for over countless years, seeming like a neverending bad dream - everything Morty had fought for, tooth and nail; now laid out before him as Morty presented a way into his very flesh and blood.

 Morty cooed at Rick, loosening his arm away from the man's hold to wrap both around Rick's neck in a loose embrace; and Rick reciprocated, tucking his own underneath Morty. Their chest pressed together as they breathed, the rhythm of both soothing Morty to a soft babble.

 Rick had played the waiting game, and came on top once more, securing his spot in Morty's mind and soul as an etch.

He had unraveled Morty in a single night.

He imprinted on this boy once more, staking his claim.

Morty was bred for Rick, after all.