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Why Try So Hard, My Dear?

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Morty didn’t move until he heard (and felt) Rick’s forehead thunk against the door behind him. He absently reached up for the lock, but it didn’t quite turn; Rick’s voice pushed through the wood and hit his ears like wet silk.

“Mo-Mo-Morty, I-- I th-think we gotta… I think we gotta-- Gotta talk about this.” As much as it pained Rick to admit it, he knew better than to push something like this on someone. He’d killed people for doing less to Morty in the past, and while he was usually at the business end of his own hatred anyway, he didn’t want to give himself an actual reason to off himself. At least, not something like this.

“Th-There’s nothing to t-t-t-talk about!” Morty replied, still willing his fingers to turn the lock, but he was frozen in place. If only he could blame one of Rick’s gadgets for this. The freeze ray, anything. But he knew better; this was all his own, stupid desire to have Rick’s affection. Maybe he sounded a little too squeaky, a little less angry, because the knob was turning and he scrambled forward, managing to get on his bed by the time Rick had entered the room.

“Th-there’s a lot… A lot t-to talk about, Mo-Mo-OURGHT-Morty.” Rick explained in a tired kind of tone, grabbing the back of Morty’s wooden desk chair and dragging it over. Once Morty was settled on his bed, Rick turned the back of the chair to face the other, straddling it and leaning his head on his arms. He yawned, the kind that popped one’s ears and made his eyes water, before finally sighing as he turned dull blue eyes on his grandson.

A silence stretched between them, and Morty’s pensive frown, uncertainty shining in his honey eyes, had Rick raking his nails over his scalp. Morty looked wise beyond his years like that, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“L-l-look, Morty, I… I think we’re both uh… You know… Confused.” Maybe that was the wrong word. Frowning, Rick shook his head, “I mean, you know… W-we… It’s… I’m not sc-scared of Jerry.” Okay, that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say at all.

“M-my Dad is an idiot, Ri-Rick, I’m not… Not real sc-scared of him, either.” Morty managed, finally, shrugging, “I… I’m more worried ab-about mom.” Because she did not seem very happy when she’d burst into his room thinking that Rick was helping him with Gwendolyn. It could have been so much worse.

“Beth? She’s such a sweet girl--”

“She doesn’t think it’s right. Sh-she doesn’t… She might send you away.” Now, Morty’s eyes were down, focused on the socks on his floor, or the planets on his rug. “I… I do-don’t want you gone, Rick. If th-that means I go-gotta take my f-feelings and… And sho-sh-shhh-- Repress them, the-then… Then that’s it.” Shiny brown eyes bore into Rick’s blue ones and silenced whatever argument had been bubbling in his throat. “I’d r-rather be with you th-than jeopardi--”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Rick had vaulted over the chair so fast it fell to the floor with a soft thump, clattering a little, but he didn’t care. His hands, shaking as they may have been, gripped Morty’s cheeks even as he drunkenly stumbled on top of him. Their lips crashed together, and, despite his words, Morty was pushing into the kiss, this time. It was only proving his point; Rick wasn’t able to control his impulses when he was drunk and Morty was even less apt to fight them.

What would they do if something struck their fancy and the family was around? It wasn’t looking good, if they couldn’t even talk about it without getting all tactile.

“Y-you… You can’t control.. C-con--” He couldn’t even get out a sentence, not before Rick’s tongue pushed into his mouth and had him moaning. After a moment or so, he stopped trying, his arms wrapping around his grandfather’s neck, one knee hooking around his hip. Rick seemed happy for this, plotting out every part of Morty’s mouth that he could reach and doing his damnedest to memorize it all.

When their lips finally parted, Morty was panting and Rick found himself struggling not to lose what self control he’d scraped together, the elder rest their foreheads together. Petting his grandson’s cheeks gently, he kissed at his nose and chin, trying to keep himself together. If they were going to try and talk about this, he really should get up and move… But he didn’t think he could quite separate them again. It felt like the worst possible decision to ever have been made in the Multiverse.

“M-Morty, I-- I know it’s not-- N-not a morally good thing w-we’re doing,” Rick forced himself to speak instead of claiming those red, kiss-swollen lips, “But it feels right, right?” Blue eyes sought out brown in hopes of finding that he wasn’t the only one that felt that way. Morty shyly made eye contact, finally nodding a little and sighing.

“It… I… Y-yeah. It feels… Like it’s what we should be doing.” Morty murmured, taking another quick kiss and then tilting his head down, almost as if he were ashamed of himself. Rick angled his chin back up for a slower, softer kiss.

“Then w-w-we ca-can’t fight it, ri-ri-right, Mo-Mo--Morty?” This time, his voice was quiet, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the little world they resided in right now. The only response he earned was a little kiss from the eighteen year old pinned beneath him.

“Y-yeah, I… I gu-guess.” He finally muttered, after Rick had spent several minutes nibbling up and down his neck, leaving him breathless. Every slow-firing thought in his brain was telling him to let Rick do whatever he wanted; he was in good hands, he was safe. Rick might have been the total opposite of a good person on the best days, but the fact remained that there was a reason that Morty couldn’t let him go, and he knew better than to ignore his gut when it told him things.

“That’s a good boy, Morty, so-- So-so, So good for me.” For once in his life, the brunet was sure he was hearing Rick breathless, giddy even, for whatever he thought he might be getting. The praise lit a fire in Morty’s loins that nothing else could have ever possibly done for him. He gripped his grandfather’s cheeks in both hands, tugging him up for a proper, if not sloppy, kiss.

“Rick, I--” The front door opening downstairs and Jerry’s loud guffawing jolted Morty up the bed so fast he might have left behind a scorched trail. Rick was left dazed, confused, about twenty seconds behind everyone else, looking at the spot where Morty had been seconds before. “R-Rick, they’re-- They’re home.” He hissed, as if that was enough to propel the elder into action.

Slowly, Rick began to push himself up, somehow managing not to slip and fall back on top of Morty. It was probably too early in the day, to Beth and Jerry, for him to be quite this drunk and handsy, so he rolled onto the other side of Morty’s bed and thunked his head against the wall.

“Fuck.” There had been so much he’d wanted to do, and Morty had finally (sort of) told him that they could do this… And then that idiot came home. And his daughter, of course. A sigh left him and he shook his head. “Later, M-Morty. I’ll-- I’ll make you see st-stars without going out.” Leaning in for one last, sloppy kiss, he nuzzled Morty’s nose with his own and smiled slightly, a handsome little giggle leaving him. “Promise.”