
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11184903.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez, Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Drug_Abuse, Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Verbal_Abuse, all_the_abuse, Rough
      Sex, this_is_the_worst_thing_I_have_ever_written, tread_lightly
  Series:
      Part 13 of RickMorty_Trash_Pile
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-13 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 1903
****** Drugs Not Hugs ******
by trash_freak
Summary
     Rick takes.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
They’re alone in the house, Jerry and Beth away at couples counselling, Summer
staying at her boyfriend’s with a departing promise to not get pregnant thrown
over her shoulder.
It’s warm, enclosed in Rick’s tiny bedroom, pressed up against Rick’s side,
sticky with sweat and come. Morty is panting still; breathless in the close,
stuffy heat, and he blows out a long sigh of relief when Rick shifts away and
up off the bed.
“Wait here,” Rick mumbles as he staggers off, stark naked, drunk and high; on
what, Morty doesn’t care to know.
He’d been like that already when Morty found him, and his vacant eyes and
clumsy words had made Morty almost want to try running away. Rick is always a
little… rougher, like this. Sometimes impatient and selfish, surly; sometimes
passionate and giddy and hasty. Big hands holding Morty still, voice slurring,
mouth too wet.
It often isn’t something Morty would describe as pleasant when Rick’s like
this.
When Rick returns, glass bottles clinking together in one hand, the other
clawing at his scalp compulsively, Morty can see Rick’s half hard despite the
fact his come hasn’t even dried yet.
Must be the drugs, Morty thinks with an uneasy commotion in his stomach.
There’s a slight breeze coming from the half-open bedroom door, and when Rick
doesn’t shut it behind him Morty feels an irrational fear of being caught.
They’re alone, he tells himself, but the fear remains.
He’s just as to blame in all this as Rick is, he knows. He keeps letting it
happen, keeps not telling Rick to stop. Keeps asking for it. And if anyone were
to find out… Rick would leave. Rick would leave Morty here, in this dull and
dreary dimension, trapped forever.
“Why the- the looooong face, M-urgh-M-Morty?” Rick asks, gruff voice scattering
Morty’s thoughts like startled pigeons. Rick jostles the bed as he crawls back
in beside Morty and hands Morty a cold beer.
They’re both propped up against the wall, half a foot between them, Rick
slumped back casual and Morty curled up tight. Rick doesn’t crowd back into
Morty’s space and the breeze quickly turns into a chill. Morty wants to cover
himself but the blanket is crumpled on the floor and he doesn’t much want to
stop hugging his knees.
“Uhhh, no, no reason, nothing, Rick,” Morty replies after maybe too long of a
pause.
Just thinking about how long it’ll be before we crash and burn.
“What-whatever, Morty, if you wanna, wanna keep all your shit- all your fucking
worry-worting to yourself, Morty, th-tha-that’s more’n fine wURGH-wi-hic me,
Morty.”
Morty’s stomach turns as he watches Rick chug at a fresh bottle of whisky,
drool and alcohol slopping down the side of his mouth. All of the tension that
was temporarily forgotten moments ago is steadily creeping back in, each burp
and hiccup and drunken murmur making Morty’s muscles tighten more and more.
“For fu-uck sake, Morty, fuckin- will you just- w-will you relax for one damn
minute, we, we’re, I could fucking blow you in the kitchen right now if you
wanted and you’re sat there like you’re on your fucking deathbed.” Rick takes
another long pull at his whiskey, then eyes Morty sternly. “Drink your goddamn
beer, Morty.”
Morty doesn’t want beer. He doesn’t want to get drunk, ever, not in his entire
life.
Morty drinks his beer, just a mouthful – coughs a little at how bad it tastes,
face wrinkled up in displeasure.
“Fucking weak ass little bitch,” Rick snorts, spraying spittle and wiping his
mouth lazily with the back of his hand.
Morty doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to sit in sweat-damp sheets
listening to a mean old man’s drunken insults. He pushes himself up to stand by
the bed, legs shaky with nerves and anger, and slams the beer bottle down on
the bedside table.
He feels exposed, covered with nothing but goosebumps as he’s embraced by cool
air on bare, sweat-wet skin, and he has to fight tooth and nail not to hide
away from Rick’s critical stare.
“You- y-y-y-you know what, Rick? I don’t- don’t have to sit here and listen to
your shit. Come a-a-a-a-- come and find me when you’re sober.”
Morty’s fists are clenched, hands shaking as Rick rolls his eyes.
“Aw, Morty, don’t be such a fuckin- so sensitive, come on,” Rick says as Morty
struggles to put his boxers on, not wanting to sit back down on Rick’s bed
after his outburst. “Fuck, y-you’re- you’re too fucking cute, just look at
you.”
“Sh-sh-shut up,” Morty attempts to say, but Rick’s chuckling, so fond, and
Morty’s trying so hard to stay mad but his mouth is twitching up at the edges.
“Sh-shut up, Rick,” Morty says, voice shaking with reluctant amusement.
“Come here, baby, please?” Rick says with a smile and an outstretched hand, his
eyebrows tilted like he’s sorry, his voice all soft, and Morty wavers.
Rick looks playful, eyes wide and dark, twinkling with amusement, his fingers
making little grabby motions in Morty’s direction, and Morty feels his
irritation falter and fall away, his shoulders slumping in defeated affection.
Morty lets himself be pulled back into the dirty sheets, into Rick’s dirty lap,
Rick’s dirty hands wandering from his ass up his back, firm and confident.
Rick presses light, quick kisses across Morty’s face and neck, clumsy and wet
and sweet, breath hot against Morty’s already too-warm skin as he mutters, “I’m
sorry, Morty, you’re, you’re so patient with me, I-I know I’m a f- I know I’m
fucked up, Morty, don’t deserve you.”
It’d be nice, if not for the too-tight grip Rick has at the back of Morty’s
neck, not knowing his own strength with the numbness in his hands.
Morty’s riding a dangerous line, here, and he knows Rick wouldn’t mean to hurt
him, but he could, easy. Not just physically.
The kisses become bites, gentle at first and then harder, and Morty lets
himself go limp and loose. Fighting Rick off now after he’s just gone willingly
back to him would be contradictory behaviour. Still, when Rick starts pulling
Morty’s boxers back down, Morty pushes at Rick’s chest, not ready to go again
so soon, still tender from the first round.
Morty’s back hits the lumpy mattress with a ‘thump’.
“You’re giving out a lotta m-uuuh-ixed signals here, Morty,” Rick growls into
the thin skin at Morty’s throat, sounding impatient, pressing himself down
heavy on top of Morty, forcing Morty’s knees apart with his own.
Morty’s breathing too hard, dizzy with adrenaline and anxiety, but his dick is
getting hard, the pressure and heat and friction of Rick rubbing up against him
making sparks shoot through Morty’s reluctant body.
Rick’s different when he’s like this, but he’s still Rick, and Morty still…
Rick’s hands shove down the back of Morty’s boxers, making the elastic dig into
Morty’s hips uncomfortably, demanding as he kneads the muscle of Morty’s ass.
He pushes two fingers inside Morty’s still loose hole, hasty, sucking what’s
sure to be a nasty bruise at the side of Morty’s neck, and Morty squeaks,
moans, overwhelmed.
“Rick,” Morty says in complaint, and he wants to say ‘stop’, but he doesn’t.
Rick’s going too hard, putting bruises on top of the dark smudges he’s already
painted on Morty’s skin today. Morty shoves at Rick’s shoulders, knowing he
shouldn’t, and Rick moves back about as much as a brick wall would.
Rick bites down hard, pushes a third finger inside, a hard, punishing jab,
chest vibrating in an angry rumble.
“Make up your- your damn mind, Morty,” Rick says, harsh and frustrated, holding
Morty still with a tight hand in his hair as he fingers Morty too hard, makes
Morty’s dick twitch and leak with it.
“Don’t- d-don’t worry baby, I’ll, I’ll help you figure out what you want.” He
presses his mouth close to Morty’s ear, pushes a wet tongue inside before
whispering, “Trust your granddaddy Rick, I’ll show you what you want.”
Morty wriggles, gasps at the way it makes Rick’s fingers feel inside him, and
he’s tugging at the hair at the back of Rick’s neck, grasping with desperate
fingers and asking himself if it’s to pull Rick away or to pull him closer.
Either way it’d be like trying to wrangle a hurricane.
“You- heh- you know what I w-want, Rick?” Morty asks, as mocking and doubtful
as he can with the way his voice is trembling.
Rick’s hand grips harder at Morty’s hair for a second before skipping clumsily
down Morty’s almost-naked body to grab at the back of Morty’s thigh. Morty lets
his legs fall wider, lets himself feel the sting of Rick’s finger’s inside of
him, the bite of fingertips at the inside of his thigh, pressing into already
sore flesh.
Morty doesn’t know what the noise he makes means, whether it’s displeasure or
complaint or a plea for harder, for more.
Rick jabs at Morty’s prostate, makes Morty cry, makes Morty’s whole body flinch
and tighten, and the way Rick groans at the grip around his fingers sends a hot
thrill straight to Morty’s dick.
“I know exactly what- ugh, fuck- exactly what you want, baby boy, oh god, yeah,
take. It. You. Little. Slut,” Rick groans, pushing his fingers in hard with
every word, Morty’s body getting tighter with every thrust, his voice creeping
up into a thin wail.
“You want me to take what I want, Morty, don’t you; want me tuhhh want you.” He
yanks Morty’s leg up higher, pulls Morty’s boxers down to just under the curve
of his ass cheeks, whispers hot right into Morty’s ear, “Want to play hard to
get, you little tease?”
A sick cold rush knocks the wind out of Morty and he gets so tense so sudden
that it hurts, sharp spike of pain right through his middle.
“Don’t call me that,” he says in a wheeze. Rick rips his fingers from inside
Morty and is flipping him over in a rush, fumbling, impaired from drugs and
booze and greedy lust. “Rick-!”
Morty’s voice is smothered when Rick pushes him face down into the pillow.
“I’ll call you what I w-want, you little bitch,” Rick says, plastering himself
to Morty’s back and letting go of the back of Morty’s head to grip too tight at
the inside of both of Morty’s thighs, spreading him open, pushing in too fast.
Morty turns his scrunched-up face to the side so he can breathe through it
easier, and just when he’s starting to think it might be too much, he feels a
calm settle over him, dulling the world.
Morty’s whole body goes slack, and he hears Rick choke out a groan behind him,
hears him talking.
“You take it so damn good, baby, fit so perfect around me, such a good boy.”
Morty hates the way Rick’s voice is smudged and muddled with intoxication. He
feels disconnected, not pushing back into Rick or trying to get away, just
accepting the way Rick’s breaking Morty’s body open like he owns it.
It’s an easy glide, then, a steady slide down into a mindless buzz: full,
empty, full. Getting lost in the way it feels like Rick’s pushing and pulling
at his insides, reaching in and stamping his name on all of Morty’s hidden
parts.
Leaving Morty messy and lived-in.
End Notes
     so, remember i said a while back
     that i had written something terrible?
     well. [LOUD NERVOUS LAUGHTER]
     i was gonna hold off on this a little bit longer but
     having thought about it, i think it's now or never!
     i'll never get past this if i don't post it now.
     it's been fucking haunting me.
     so. you're welcome!! <3
     (god, what have i created here.
     i'm sorry you guys.
     when rick called morty a tease,
     i physically gasped
     and nearly took it back
     but the sweet, sweet angst
     it called to me)
     edit: you guys!!! 97moreyearsmorty drew this chapter over on their
     tumblr and i am over the moon with how beautiful and harrowing it is!
     ao3 doesn't seem to want me to link it so - https://trash-
     freak.tumblr.com/post/162353215684/98moreyearsmorty-97moreyearsmorty-
     it-took-me
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