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“... you got all that, Morty?”
“Huh?” Morty said, blinking hard. Not even he knew where exactly his mind had been. Driving tended to do that to him.
“God dammit—why do I ever tell you anything? Whatever, just stay here,” said Rick.
“Fine,” Morty mumbled, pulling out his phone. Didn’t much matter to him. Rick opened the ship’s door and got out so noisily that it had to be passive-aggressive.
Waiting for Rick was normally his least favorite part of adventuring. They'd left the house at 3 AM, however, so Morty crawled into the backseat for a quick power nap. Rick didn't tell him to keep a lookout; he figured it would be fine.
When Morty awoke, there was still no sign of his grandfather. Sighing, he sat up and pondered his next move. Surely it couldn't be that dangerous. Rick hadn't bothered to hide the car, nor had he seemed apprehensive when he left.
Morty got out and crept around the side of the house. To call it a house was generous; it was more like a shack, and a poorly maintained one at that. He picked a lock and went, for the trillionth time, in search of his wayward grandpa. He didn't have to search long.
Rick was lying on his stomach on what may have been the rattiest couch Morty had ever seen, which was a powerful statement considering the types of shady establishments they frequented. He wasn’t alone, and Morty’s stomach dropped when he saw the burly alien sitting atop him, pinning Rick’s arms against his back. Its other hand, orange and six-fingered, pressed Rick’s face against the seat cushions. Morty tensed, ready to act—until Rick made a noise that was distinctly pleased, and he took in some visual information that he’d missed earlier.
Such as the fact that both parties were only half-wearing pants, and that whatever passed for the alien’s dick was buried in Rick’s ass.
Fucking classic.
Morty’s mood soured instantly. To think he was worried when Rick was taking so long.
The alien looked at Morty then. To an ordinary resident of Earth, its features might have been creepy; its long, inky hair, muscled limbs and bottomless black gaze could have been the stuff of nightmares. To Morty, though, it was just another extraterrestrial being, and vaguely resembled a human at that, which made it less threatening. It didn’t faze him in the least, even if it did look like it could snap Rick’s body like a popsicle stick.
Rick noticed him then, eyes widening before he relaxed into an easy grin. Morty denied him the satisfaction of a stupid quip—he turned on his heel and left immediately, slamming the dilapidated door halfway off the hinges.
* * *
He should’ve known better than to expect even a speck of remorse.
"You drive," Rick said, sliding bonelessly into the passenger seat.
“Rick, did you bring me all the way out here just so you could do this?”
“Only kind of, Morty. I did say it was an acquisitions run knowing there was a possibility I would acquire some premium alien dick in the process. But,” he said, gesturing at the briefcase sitting at his feet, “we have enough Skrillian silicon shards to last us a, a whole year! The things I can make with this—we’re gonna be fuckin’ drowning in flurbos. Blips and Chitz is calling our naaaames, dawg!”
Rick met his eyes, grinning, only for his expression to fall flat when he saw Morty's lack of excitement.
“Don't tell me you're actually annoyed.”
“You're - of course you would act like I shouldn't be,” Morty muttered.
“Uh, obviously not. I got the shards and sex, it’s like a - it’s a win-win situation, Morty. You're supposed to say—o-oh jeez, thanks, Grandpa Rick, for keeping my standard of living so high that I bitch at you for maintaining it,” Rick said, affecting a whiny tone for his Morty impression. “You’re—urrp—welcome, by the way.”
“Win-win for you! I-I-I had to sit here while you were just—while you were getting—”
“Absolutely railed, yeah. Trust me, Morty, it was worth it.” Rick got a faraway look in his eye that said he was reliving the finer points of the encounter. Then he fixed Morty with the kind of shameless, excited stare that usually accompanied an off-the-wall suggestion. “You curious, buddy? Want your grandpa Rick to get you an alien dick appointment? Just say the word, Morty, I got contacts like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, I think I would,” muttered Morty.
“When did you develop such a - such a complex about this? Pretty sure the leg you had to stand on got sawed off when you sired a Gazorpazorpian sexbot baby, Saint Morty, and knowing your internet history, it wasn’t all that clean a limb to begin with.”
“Whatever, f-forget about it,” Morty said, hoping in vain that Rick wouldn’t press the issue.
“O-kay… You embarrassed ‘cause you think your grandpa’s the universe’s bicycle? I mean, I won’t say it’s a lie, but liking sex isn’t a crime, Morty. Not on planets that matter. In fact, taking it up the ass is pre-tty tame in the grand scheme of things. There’s plenty of weirder weirdos out there, you know. I know a guy who—”
“I-i-it’s not that!” Morty snapped.
“Then what—”
“Why did I have to be here, Rick?”
“To hide my brainwaves, Morty, we’ve been over this.”
"Yeah, b-but there's nothing else you could do? How did you do this kind of thing before you moved in with us?"
"Very carefully, if you have to know. Helps that I have fuckbuddies in high places, though. And low places. And—"
"You brought me with you because you're too lazy to be careful?!"
"Morty, I don’t get how my selfishness is a new thing to you every time you experience it. Anyway, I’m bored now, so if you really don’t want to remember this, remind me when we get home and I’ll erase - I’ll make it all go away." Rick leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
Morty drove in silence, not even turning on the radio. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit about the memory. He’d seen Rick naked before, and it’s not like his mind had needed much to fill in the blanks in a sexual context, having already seen his grandfather in nipple clamps and a leather thong. Other than the thoughts that Morty was not going to acknowledge about Rick’s expression when he burst into that living room, the surprise quickly overshadowed by lust—clearly a few wires had gotten crossed somewhere in his hormone-addled brain. He hated that Rick had an exhibitionist streak.
Well, other than that, the most annoying part of Morty’s day was wasting two hours of his life sitting outside a dingy house while his grandpa got fucked in it. He felt he should get something in return for that.
Wait a second.
Morty slammed on the brakes, causing Rick to lurch forward in his sleep. His head met glass with the satisfying thunk of karmic retribution.
"Rick!" said Morty. "I should be getting paid for this!"
"For what? Giving me a TBI?" Rick rubbed at his face. "No one's gonna pay for a chauffeur who can't actually drive, Morty."
"No, not that, I mean… I should get paid for, you know, going on adventures with you."
Rick looked at him like he was a one-armed juggler, which was to say, with great amusement. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! I - I've spent a lot of hours helping you make money, Rick, and I haven't seen a penny of it. I think it's only fair."
Rick arched his brow. "What are you talking about, I buy you shit all the time. A-and I usually regret it."
"I meant actually getting paid in coins or bills, not in objects, or, or arcade tokens!”
"What would you spend money on, Morty? You gonna start yourself a little college fund or something? I don't think so."
“I don’t know, Rick! M-maybe I just, uh…” Morty trailed off, starting to drive again while he thought.
Money equaled independence, he knew that. Rick never liked it when he tried to do things on his own—like go to school, or make friends, or have hobbies—unless it benefited him too. It was always Rick and Morty joined at the hip, can’t even split up in the mall Rick and Morty, a hundred years doing everything together, unless Rick wanted to do something by himself. Like fucking an alien. Anyway.
Morty decided to appeal to logic and Rick’s ego, which was a valid strategy most of the time. “I - most kids get an allowance for mowing the lawn and doing dishes, and I do a hell of a lot more than that! And… maybe I wanna buy things for you too, once in a while?” He offered Rick a shy smile.
Rick considered it, which counted for partial credit in Morty’s book. “Cute as that is, Morty, I'm not sold on the idea yet. You'll just have to earn it."
Morty didn't respond. Annoyed with driving, he flipped the autopilot switch and selected the coordinates that would take them home.
"Or,” Rick said, grinning wide and winking, “maybe the eyeful you got today was enough payback, huh?" He stretched, and Morty struggled not to stare at Rick's body, at the curve of his spine and his hips where they jutted out enticingly. “Sick little bastard.”
It wasn't a serious jab, Morty knew, but the phrasing brought less than decent thoughts to mind. He felt his face grow hot and looked away, searched the infinite blackness of space for something more interesting than Rick to look at. His dignity breathed its last as Rick put the pieces together and laughed in what sounded like disbelief.
"Hold on, are you - are you into this?"
“I’m into getting compensated for my work, Rick,” Morty said, voice clipped.
“You are,” Rick breathed, fascinated. Morty fought the urge to fidget, knowing Rick would pull at this loose thread until the whole damn tapestry lay unraveled at his feet. “You can’t lie for shit, Morty. Not to me.”
“F-fuck you, Rick,” Morty mumbled, arms crossed.
“You wanna?”
A wave of dizziness washed over Morty. “What?”
“You wanna toss your hotdog down your old man’s hallway, Morty?”
“Y-y-y—jeez, you can stop now, Rick!” Morty said. “You don’t have to, to go that far with it—”
Before he could finish, one of Rick’s bony hands grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling Morty toward the other side of the cab so they were face-to-face.
“No,” Rick said, whiskey-scented breath tickling Morty’s cheek. “I don't.”
Morty’s head spun at the proximity, at the flicker of interest in Rick’s eyes. Like he was actually serious about it.
“Are - is this for real?” he asked, hesitant, raising his hands to hold onto Rick’s wrist. “I mean, you looked like, um, like you were having fun earlier and I-I don’t think I, y’know, that I’m really on par with that.”
Morty could pinpoint the second Rick lost his patience, and he wasn’t startled when Rick dragged him the rest of the way onto his lap, though it did make his stomach flip for other reasons.
“You trying to talk me out of getting something that you asked for, Morty?” Rick’s voice was soft and threatening, a dagger in a velvet sheath.
“I didn’t ask for anything!” Morty struggled, trying in vain to pry Rick’s fingers apart.
“You didn’t deny it, either! That - that's practically the same thing!”
“Okay, okay, just let go of me already! I have to think,” said Morty, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that he was still sitting on top of his grandfather. Rick laughed with an obnoxiousness that grated on Morty’s frayed nerves and released his grip. Morty yelped as he lost his balance, ending up with his face buried in Rick's shirt. Where was he supposed to go from here? He pushed himself upright, one hand on either side of the seat. Rick took it in stride and kept talking.
"Look, Morty. Sexual encounters are like a buffet. Sure, maybe I just finished my first plate, but that doesn’t mean sloppy seconds are out of the question.” Rick waggled his brow. “S-So we doing this, or what?”
Morty, despite the blush creeping across his face, narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Are you into this?”
“One way to find out,” said Rick. “E-Enough waffling, Morty. Get in the backseat with me or don't.”
Morty climbed off of him and into the back, shucking his clothes off just in time for Rick to shove nakedly past. He wrung his hands together nervously, eyes on the floor.
Rick rolled his eyes and lay down, pulling his legs up and out of Morty’s way. “It'll only get worse if you overthink it. C’mere.”
Morty repositioned accordingly. “Rick, this is too weird! I-I mean… I don’t know if I can…”
“Tell that to your boner, Morty,” Rick drawled, somehow retaining a smidge of dignity with his knees pulled to his chest. “Be honest, you’ve done wa-aughh-ay worse to get your dick wet. Pretend it's lube, y-you'll be fine.”
The logical part of his brain was still ringing deafening alarm bells, trying to tell him that this sequence of events was completely insane. Then he looked at Rick, who gave him an unusually earnest smile.
“Don’t think too hard about it, Morty,” he said. “Just - just fuck me already.”
It was then that Morty realized something else.
He was extremely into this.
However, under no circumstances was he allowed to freak the fuck out about it now. After taking a deep breath, Morty took himself in hand and pushed into Rick, slow and cautious. The residual lube and/or alien cum made it an easy glide, but Rick was actually tighter than Morty had previously been led to believe. And warm—very warm…
He thought Rick was saying something to him distantly; maybe it was even encouraging, but Morty didn't need to listen. This was the easy part.
Rick always underestimated him, and he was sick of it. No one else he'd slept with had ever complained, after all. Earn it, Rick said? Earn it he would. Morty fucked Rick eagerly, bursting at the seams with fourteen-year-old enthusiasm, trying to make it good for him.
He could tell Rick felt a little awkward about it at first, but he was getting harder, and sweat was beading along his hairline.
“M-Morty, I,” Rick said suddenly, “Your cybernetic arm—you’re gonna use it on me.”
“Jeez,” said Morty, stopping, hips flush to the backs of Rick's thighs. “For what?”
“To choke me, dumbass.”
“R-Really?”
Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, really,” he said irritably. “Do you need it in writing, Morty? Wha - what's not to get?”
“Is this the reason why we started cybernetics training?” Morty asked, regarding him with a doubtful stare.
“No, Morty, what kind of perverted fucking mastermind do you think I am? Rhetorical question,” he warned immediately, holding up a hand. “I-I guess I get your suspicion under the circumstances, but no. I started your training so you wouldn't discharge a firearm every time you lifted a spoon to your mouth. So for the second time today, you're welcome.”
“Uh… okay,” said Morty. “Do you need, like, a safe word or something?”
“I’ll tap your arm twice if I need a second,” Rick said. “If you can manage it, that is.”
Morty nodded. Extending his right hand towards Rick, he concentrated like they'd practiced. It was still weird to him when he heard a click, then a whirring noise as his hand advanced, bit by bit, eventually coming to rest on Rick's neck. It took a good deal of mental effort; he was only able to maintain control if he reduced his pace. All the better for his endurance, he supposed.
He’d done this before, too, the choking. Stacy had shown Morty a lot of things in their brief time together: breathplay, she'd called it. He wiggled his fingers experimentally, then squeezed from the sides, careful not to apply too much downward pressure. Rick’s free hand crept up to grab his wrist, keeping him there. When he let it fall, Morty let go.
“Fuck yes—” Rick gasped, as soon as he had the breath for it. “Just like that, M-Morty, perfect…”
So Morty learned how Rick liked it, watched him tease himself. A few times, hand on Rick's throat, he watched those long fingers twitch on an agonizingly slow upstroke. It drove Morty a little crazy, putting Rick under like that again and again; it stoked the flames inside him, feeding the desire to exert power of his own.
“Wow, Rick, y-you look really good like this,” he said, putting his hand on Rick's stomach, swiping up the few drops of precum that had collected there and, without much thought, tasting them. Rick startled like Morty had slapped him, then groaned. He had an awful lot of restraint for a man in his position. Morty wanted more noise from him.
As his chest heaved, Rick's eyes looked somewhere far away, unfocused, even dreamy. Morty wondered how many people he'd trusted to do this before. It had to be single digits. To be fair, it wasn’t something that Morty had pictured himself doing—he could scarcely believe it was happening, in fact. But Rick was always giving him new ideas.
“Sometimes I think you don’t know anything about me,” Morty said. “Th - this wasn't even that gross to me, by the way. I fucked Gwendolyn too, just like this, didn't I? I didn't exactly take her virginity.” Rick shuddered at the comparison, jerking himself off faster.
An idea struck. Clumsily, Morty used his cybernetic hand to grab Rick’s free one, guide it back to his neck, and squeeze. Now we’re both accountable, echoed a distant memory.
Rick's abs contracted, and his cock throbbed, precum dripping steadily now. Morty was so distracted by the sight that he missed the taps the first time. It took another try for him to yelp, “Oh, shit, sorry!” and move his hand, but Rick was already thrashing under him as he came, hand flying back down to work himself through it.
When Morty looked up, Rick's eyes locked onto his. Flushed all the way down to his chest, he looked exhausted, but satiated. Carefully, Morty pulled out of him, aware that only the slightest stimulation stood between him and orgasm. Rick noticed, said, “Let me,” voice breaking.
Unsure if he'd understood correctly, Morty scrambled up his grandfather's torso and Rick, regaining some strength, grabbed him by the hips to maneuver Morty's dick fully and perfectly into his waiting mouth. He cried out, vision blurring, and came down Rick's already-abused throat, trembling, clutching at his hair.
Morty retreated after, the silence in the cab only broken by their ragged breathing. Rick’s eyes were closed.
“Christ, Morty,” he finally said. “Not bad.”
“Fuck you,” said Morty after a few moments, this time laughing. He located a rag in one of the ship’s storage compartments and handed it over.
“F-fuck me,” Rick agreed, wiping himself off. “Okay, you can have an allowance. Fifty bucks per adventure.”
“Seventy-five,” Morty countered. “A - a hundred if you make me drop what I'm doing or wake me up to come with you. You totally could've kept those megaseeds in your ass, you piece of shit.”
Rick closed his eyes again, smiling. “I guess you did drive a hard bargain today, huh… Fair enough, Morty. Deal. Now fuck off.”
He shot a portal onto the floor of the car and pushed Morty into it. It ejected him onto his bed, and Morty recognized with surprise (and more than a little glee) that Rick had sounded… embarrassed. That he'd shooed Morty away not because he had something urgent to do without him, but because he wanted to spare his ego from further injury. And yet, he’d also sounded content and agreed to everything Morty asked. Was this all he needed to do to keep Rick in check?
Morty pictured his grandpa lying there on those grungy pillows, the ship still autopiloting towards home. It had felt so good to be the one controlling things, for once. He doubted Rick would let it happen often. Wonder if I could cash in an adventure card for this, he thought. Wonder if I could get him to kiss me. Before anything, though, he did feel pretty gross. Time for a shower.
* * *
The family was eating dinner when Rick finally returned—Mom and Dad had broken out the grill for steak and veggies night. Rick’s portion was in the smart oven, holding at the perfect temperature. The table shook slightly as the ship touched down, and Mom went to retrieve the plate. Dad and Summer were embroiled in a discussion about reality television while Morty continued to process the day’s events.
Rick walked in a few moments later looking completely normal. Morty tried to catch his eye, but Rick evaded it. He did reach out to mess up Morty’s hair a little as he took his seat, and when Morty looked up at him, he received an extremely pointed don’t-be-weird look. Okay, okay. He spaced out again until Mom said—
“Dad, are you getting sick?” She leaned forward to press a hand to his forehead, which he allowed. “You sound a little rougher than usual.”
Morty inhaled some of his water in surprise, which sent him into a coughing fit. Mom frowned. “Morty, that wasn’t an invitation. I don’t love people extra just because they’re sick, you know.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Jerry muttered. Summer rolled her eyes as Mom bristled.
“What was that?”
Rick used the distraction to shoot a what-the-fuck-did-I-just-say look at Morty. Morty, unwilling to let this devolve further, gave a wobbly smile and a thumbs-up. “I-it’s fine, Mom! I just drank my water wrong, is all.”
Mom was still looking at Rick, who waved her concern away. “I’m fine, sweetie. Better now, even. This is perfectly cooked.”
Her eyes lit up. “Aw, thanks, Dad. I was hoping you’d make it tonight.”
Morty stood up, excused himself, and walked off without waiting for permission. It had occurred to him that the afternoon's events created an imbalance—one that Rick would be looking to correct very soon. If that were the case, he wanted to get out ahead of it.
In his bedroom, he rummaged around for lube, then stripped his lower half. Rick wasn't the only one who could put on a show. Worst case scenario was an hours-long edging session alone, which Morty had done many times. He pictured Rick walking in on him, and his cock stirred. Then he popped the cap on the lube and went to work, wondering about all the ways this impending power struggle could play out. Both of them, he knew, were entirely unwilling to lose, but Morty was going to give it his best shot. He thought about the look on future Rick’s face, watching Morty take him like it was nothing—and stifled a moan as he added another finger. Game fucking on.