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“I-I thought you said you’d hate me, tha-that you’d never forgive me.” Rick sneers the words as he bottoms out inside of Morty, and they burn with self-loathing.
“I-I l-l-lied,” Morty gasps, practically sobs, as his hands scrabble for purchase on the bony ridges of Rick’s ass, skitter up his back. He feels the raised edges of scars beneath his fingertips and some are old, familiar, but then there are ones he doesn’t recognize and is too afraid to ask about. One in particular is shaped like a starburst and Morty wonders if it’s still sensitive because Rick hisses when he presses his thumb into it.
“Yeah,” Rick breathes, and he flicks the head of Morty’s cock so that the boy yelps and his thumb and forefinger are sticky with pre-cum. He soothes the indignity by taking the same two fingers and stroking Morty’s slit, slicking fluid down over his foreskin and pumping him slowly. “Too much of a slut t-to stand by your convictions, h-huh, Mort?”
“Fuck you, Rick,” Morty says, and he means it. Three years. Three years he’d had to think about what he’d say to Rick when or if he came back, yet that’s all he’s able to get out. The rest is a knot in the back of his throat that he swallows as Rick forces his arm above his head and laces their fingers together, squeezing painfully as he slams into Morty again.
“B-bet you couldn’t keep your legs shut while I was away,” Rick groans as Morty purposefully clenches around him. He’s prying shamelessly, totally obvious in his jealousy. He wouldn’t blame Morty if he had - why the fuck wouldn’t he have? - when Rick had given him no reason to believe that he would ever return.
Morty is tempted to lie because part of him - a much bigger part of him then he likes to admit - is still so angry and betrayed, wants to hurt Rick the way Rick hurt him. But something quavers in Rick’s voice and the way he drinks in Morty’s face shifts between hungry, fearful, and earnest, and Morty aches for him, just as he has every moment since the first time. “O-only you,” he whispers.
He tries to turn his head away, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks, but Rick grasps his chin and captures his mouth, his tongue attempting to fill the void of a thousand unsaid words as he desperately ruts into Morty. “God, you’re just as tight as I remember.”
Morty rolls his hips, pushes his erection into Rick’s belly. “D-did you jerk off thinking about me in space prison?” Morty is half-teasing, doesn’t expect a serious response, but Rick meets his eyes with an intensity that makes Morty shrink.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Morty closes his eyes and for a second convinces himself that this is all a dream. He’ll wake up tomorrow morning in his childhood bedroom, drenched in shame and sweat, surrounded by walls tacked with the schematics for a portal gun, old photos and journal entries, the crudely drawn maps of alien planets and Federation ships. Just a lonely, neurotic kid suffering an unhealthy infatuation with his departed grandfather.
Rick’s head sinks, nuzzles into the side of Morty’s throat. “I… I wanted to come back sooner,” he whispers from the crook of Morty’s shoulder, his lips brushing the teenager’s neck with each word. He’s embarrassed by the sentiment behind the words; it’s as close as he can get to saying I missed you aloud.
Morty whimpers and he has tears in his eyes, his whole body vibrating with energy, and it’s all too much. He wants to punch Rick in the face, scream and rage at him as much as he wants Rick to fuck him senseless and call him babe, baby, bebé. He hiccups, wraps his arms and legs around Rick and draws him in tightly. “Rick, I-I need, I need -”
“Shhh, bebé, I know.” Rick rocks against Morty’s prostate and the way Morty’s breath hitches and little moans consistently fall from his mouth make Rick’s balls draw up. He won’t last long, there’s too much heat and repressed emotion, but he wants to make it good for Morty.
Rick wraps his fist around Morty’s length and pumps him in time with his thrusts. He’s rambling because Morty is an insecure little shit and dirty talk makes him feel validated, and because it lets him push everything else to the back of his mind so that there’s room for nothing but gripping heat and Morty’s noises and the lewd sound of skin on skin. “Fuck, Morty, I’ve wanted to pound your hot little ass every day since I left. ”
“Please,” Morty moans, trembling. He’s flushed from head to toe, his hips arched off the bed, bucking to meet Rick with every stroke.
“Y-you’re beautiful like this Morty, ass open, cock dripping.” Rick’s breathes raggedly, one palm cupping the curve of Morty’s lower back. His other arm wraps around Morty’s shoulders, pulling Morty flush to him so that Morty can fuck the gap between their chests made slick by sweat and pre-cum. It’s as close as they can be, but it’s still not enough, will never be enough to sate Rick’s desire to know and own every atom of this boy’s body.
Morty chants Rick’s name until Rick is shaking, too, and Morty is dimly aware that his face is wet, that Rick’s face is wet, and Jesus, is Rick crying? He can’t process that right now, but instead focuses on Rick murmuring Spanish against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He doesn’t know much Spanish, but he’s pretty sure that Rick is saying he loves him, and the possibility sends Morty over the edge. He comes with a wordless shout, his hands fisted in wild blue hair.
“Fuck,” Rick chokes as Morty pulses around him and his hips stutter, rushing to his own climax, feeling like they might both shatter at any moment.
For a while the room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, but then Rick pulls out, collapses next to Morty, and there is only a strained silence that stretches out interminably.