
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4883503.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez_(Rick_and_Morty), Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Grandparents_&_Grandchildren, Masturbation, Mutual_Masturbation,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-27 Words: 2976
****** Show Me Baby (I Want You To) ******
by Riachinko
Summary
     Rick walks in on Morty jerkin' it, and Morty wants to get even. PWP.
Notes
     I think this is the longest thing I've ever written and it's about
     two dudes jerkin' it, I'm sorry. I hope that's your thing. I hope you
     enjoy this. If not, just listen to the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself,"
     it's like the same thing (つω⊂* )
When he gets home from school, the first thing Morty does is head upstairs.
He’s got an entire day’s worth of pent up frustration to release, and he
escapes into the bathroom to wash his face and get down to it. It’s routine -
quick and dirty just like every other time - Morty takes himself into his hand,
jerks himself up and down a few times to pull himself free from his jeans and
boxers, just enough to be comfortable.
He's fully hard and his arm hurts already, working up a steady pace, holding on
to the countertop to keep himself anchored.
He thinks about Jessica, which isn't abnormal.
He thinks about Rick, which is.
The emptiness of the bathroom makes his deep breaths echo a little too loudly,
but running the water has become too obvious a tell. If Summer can hear, she'll
bang on the wall and tell him to cut it out. Tell him that he's gross.
But she wouldn’t be wrong.
It happens organically; the moment that his grandfather pops into his head, the
second that there’s no denying it, he thinks extra hard, wracks his brain to
imagine that maybe it's not just Rick, maybe Rick's fucking Jessica, and that's
still messed up but it's not too different from any of the porn he's seen.
He doesn't stop his hand, even when his brain gives up and instead of Jessica
giving head, it's Rick on his knees.
"Mortyyyyy!" Rick crows from downstairs.
The entire family's home, but Morty shudders, takes pleasure in the fact that
Rick wants him, doesn’t mind feeling used - not always. He gasps and Rick's
name crawls its way through gritted teeth in a whisper, and he prays that Rick
calls his name again - just a few more times should do it.
He jerks his hips up into his hand, fist pumping faster, harder, and god, if it
could be Rick's mouth down there...
"Morty, we got a run to make," Rick slurs, drunk, and Morty can hear him coming
heavy-footed up the stairs.
Morty’s harsh pants crack under pressure, and he lets out a brief cry that is
too loud, but he doesn’t stop, he’s so close...
The door opens.
Because of course Rick has no concept of boundaries, and Morty never had the
foresight to lock the door, and his head snaps to the left, sees the wide-eyed
look of shock on Rick's face, and he chirps, "Rick!" as he comes; stumbles
backwards and falls into the wall, slumping against it to the floor as Rick's
tight-lipped mouth begins to turn into a grinning, drooling one and he shuts
the bathroom door once more.
He hears Rick fall against the hallway closet, cackling.
"Gross, Morty!" he laughs, halfway down the stairs now. "G-get a new shirt on
and get your a♮uurp♮ass down here!"
Morty settles on the cold tile floor, eyes wide, tracing the pattern of cum on
his shirt and hopes that yellow doesn't stain as easily as black, before the
tears cloud his eyes too much for him to see.
 
That night, Morty can't sleep. It's quarter to twelve and he doesn't have very
many people in his contact list, so he texts Jessica, "hey are you awake?" but
he doesn't get a reply.
His throat hurts from holding back sobs all night; his eyes are tired and burn.
He’s been crying off and on ever since he went to bed; it hurts to believe that
he's this messed up, doesn’t know what he’s done wrong when all he wants to be
is a normal teenage boy.
He didn’t ask for Rick to be here.
He hates to admit to himself that even though he'd been shocked to see Rick
barge through the door this afternoon, when he'd yelped Rick's name in alarm,
he secretly wished he'd been whimpering it instead, gasping it breathlessly
against the bathroom mirror while Rick pounded into him from behind.
Heat flares under Morty’s skin. He moves his hand over his crotch, doesn't
breach the elastic of his boxers - can't bare to. He doesn’t think he’ll ever
want to jerk off again; has already tucked his boner up under his waistband
twice that evening and carried on.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and sucks in deep, shuddered breaths; wishes
he could just teleport to a less embarrassing dimension. One where he had no
Rick, his family was normal...maybe one where he was knee-deep in--
Rick?
He can hear the clinking of bottles and the muffled sound of a door closing;
Rick shuffling around downstairs.
Though his brain screams at him to stop, Morty’s already sitting up in bed,
feet already planted on the floor. He can’t help himself from wanting to be a
fuck-up, from making that familiar trip down to Rick’s room. At least he knows
where to find him.
 
Morty stops at his door, vibrating with every movement; finally gets the nerve
to twist the doorknob - softly, quietly - and slips into the hallway, shutting
the door behind him. Brushes his hands over his arms to stop the chill and
makes his way down the stairs, tiptoes past the living room, almost home-free.
He sucks in a breath as he moves - Beth sits alone in the dark, bathed in blue
television light; it bounces off of her wine glass when she lifts it to her
mouth, illuminates the bottle of merlot she has sitting on the side table. She
doesn’t notice him stalking by, but Morty wonders if she’d care even if she
did.
He finds himself at Rick's door more easily than he’d expected, is thankful he
didn’t have to explain himself through lies to his mother; to Summer. The cool
night air urges him onward - he knows how warm and stuffy Rick’s room gets -
hopes he can find comfort there. He takes two deep breaths in an attempt to
calm his nerves before holding out a shaky hand that nearly connects with the
doorknob…
He panics. He doesn’t know what he’s doing down here, but Rick always tells him
to grow a backbone, so when he gets up the nerve, he doesn't knock; doesn't
want Beth to hear.
The lights are off when he enters, save for a small, dim amber reading light
perched on a box by Rick's head. It casts an obscene shadow across the wall,
lights the room enough to see Rick laying back on his cot with his dick in one
hand and a bottle in the other, chugging back what scotch he can before he
notices his intruder.
“Wh-wh-what the hell, Morty!?” he spits, and Morty's mouth goes dry.
"You-- you ever heard of knocking, Morty?" A dumb look passes over his face as
he scoffs, “I guess we’re e♮uurp♮ven.”
Rick shifts and the cot creaks angrily underneath him, pierces the silence in
the room and blends with the thuds of Morty’s heart pounding in his ears.
He watches Rick buck his hips upwards just enough to pull up his briefs,
entranced by the bobbing of his cock against his stomach before he snaps the
elastic over his gut with a disappointing finality. His belt buckle clinks as
he moves with his pants still pooling with the bed sheets around his ankles.
“Now get outta here, dummy!”
Morty looks down the hall, paranoid eyes darting from Rick to the doorway and
back again, “Q-quiet, Rick, mom’ll hear,” he trembles.
He shuts the door behind him, slouches against it. No turning back now.
“Goddammit, Morty, I was kind of in the m♮uurp♮iddle of something..”
Rick takes another quick swig from the bottle and sets it behind him. He sits
up, no longer resting on his elbows, looks Morty up and down, and he blushes as
his grandfather's eyes skim the modest bulge in his boxers.
“Y-yeah, b-- well, don’t, don’t stop,” Morty says, barely above a whisper,
shaking. “You owe me. I wanna see.”
It sobers both of them, Morty holding his breath with heightened senses, fight
or flight about to kick in any time now; sweaty and awkward and beginning to
tear up involuntarily. Though the bottle of Johnnie Walker is visibly near
empty, Rick looks deadly serious and the drunken flush in Rick's cheeks has
paled.
Rick gawks, is hard to read because for as close to him as Morty is, he still
doesn’t trust the man to fully disclose his emotions. He’s especially
unpredictable when he’s drunk. He hopes Rick’s not at his tipping point.
“A-are you kidding me, Morty? That’s-- that's sick,” he chokes out, and Morty
can hear the uncertainty in his voice, can see the small beads of sweat running
down the side of his face, shining in the light .
Rick must notice it too, because his next words are more biting than the last,
like a switch going off inside of him, and he looks downright devilish.
“You got a thing for wrinkly old man cock now?” he sneers.
“N-no,” Morty whines in reply, “I-- I don’t know…”
Rick’s tongue sweeps over his top row of teeth. He rubs his hand teasingly over
the twitching tent he’s got in his lap, looks Morty dead in the eyes. “So you
think I owe you, huh, Morty? Suit your-- suit yourself, I always knew you were
a little creepo.”
He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it. It gives Morty an odd kind
of courage and he watches on, red-faced and damp with sweat, as Rick’s fingers
dance over the vague form of his erection beneath his briefs. He grabs himself
over the fabric, slowly jerking up and down, lets out a lewd sigh when he lets
his thumb rub circles over the darkened wet spot he’s left on the cotton.
“Look but don’t touch, eh, Morty? Just like th-- like the porn you’re always
getting off to. No harm, no foul.”
Morty nods, slack-jawed and breathing fast. He’s way out of his league here,
can hardly believe that this is real; knew this room was always stuffy but this
suffocating warmth is completely new and it lulls him.
Rick’s fingers catch in the elastic of his briefs and he pushes them back down
his hips. Not covered by his hand, Morty can see just how big Rick is - his
cock springing free and wavering back and forth against his stomach once more.
Morty’s eyes glaze over, his dick twitches, his head buzzes. He shoves a hand
into his boxers and watches, hypnotized, as Rick mimics him, wrapping long,
lithe fingers around his length, pumping to full hardness.
Faint, fleshy sounds hum through the room as Rick picks up the pace, guileful
eyes locked always on Morty. Stroking faster up and down, teasing flicks to the
head of his cock; his chest heaving to keep his breathing under control--
When Rick grunts, tinged wanton with lust, Morty begins to shuffle forward.
“Nuh-uh, Morty, stay there o-or I’ll stop,” Rick warns, slackening his wrist.
And Morty whines, “G-geez, Rick,” slowing his fist to match his grandfather’s
tormenting rhythm, embarrassed to be so affected.
A purple gelatinous tube lays wrapped in Rick’s twill comforter, and it
attracts Morty’s attention, doesn’t know how he missed it before, and just what
the hell is it?
“H-hey, Rick,” Morty says, reluctantly lifting his hand away from his groin,
“What’s that, that thing there o-on, on your bed?”
Rick laughs under his breath. “You haven’t been watching the right kind of
porn, Morty. That’s-- it’s a dildo, Morty.”
But it doesn't look quite like anything Morty's ever seen; similar maybe, but
this thing has spores, some kind of alienistic growth that he can just barely
see wiggling in the dim lamplight. Rick holds it up, examines it bemusedly with
heavy-lidded eyes and puts it in his mouth, Morty's legs feeling weaker the
longer he watches.
Rick's hand stops moving on his cock as he focuses on working the thing in and
out of his mouth, saliva gushing from between his lips, dripping down the shaft
of the dildo. Morty whimpers, embraces the fact that he's going to hell, can't
stop touching himself, raising fingers to his mouth to mirror Rick.
As he draws the dildo from his lips, Rick grins, drooling, egging Morty on,
"Are you watching, Morty?"
He knows he is.
He holds the dildo down, alien spores moving, stretching and reaching out to
connect with Rick's ass; slides in easily, he pushes it into himself deep.
"Ah, fuck," he sighs out, eyebrows pinching in pained bliss. "From Teranium-52,
a, a planet not far from here, Morty, they-y, they really know how to
do♮uurp♮oo it."
Rick's face goes red, and it makes Morty's heart race faster, he's not used to
seeing the man like this; shouldn't get used to it. Rick's hand is back on his
cock, stroking fast, hand a blur, and again, Morty can't stop his feet from
moving.
"Morty," Rick scolds when he notices the distance between them lessening, but
Morty doesn't stop and neither does Rick, just rolls his eyes and bares his
gritted teeth and grunts.
And Morty comes closer, panting, kneels on the bed between Rick’s open legs.
They can't look at each other now, Rick has stopped playing that game, and
Morty's thankful for it, staring at Rick's hand instead. Wanting to touch so,
so badly.
But he can't - doesn’t - just bunches his boxers down his hips instead. Rick’s
already seen him naked before, no point in being shy now. Not when he’s biting
his lip, making such lewd faces; not when he purrs, “Yeahhh, Morty, you wanna
see me cum, huh?”
They’re both delirious; light-headed from panting, dizzy from the lack of
oxygen in the room.
Rick comes first, hand furiously working himself to completion, and he huffs,
groans beautifully; groans Morty’s name as white coats his hand.
Morty’s in a frenzy, it’s sensory overload: the sight of Rick still hard, cum
and sweat everywhere; the pink in his cheeks that even the amber lighting can’t
hide, and the smell of sex that Morty wants to be covered in. He whimpers as he
fists his cock harder, screws his eyes shut tight to concentrate.
“You gonna cum Morty?” Rick growls, low, “Come on, Morty, cum for grandpa,
Morty.”
Morty’s so close, any second now--
“G-god! Rick!”
He bites down on his knuckle to keep from howling, can’t help that he’s making
these ridiculous animalistic gurgles - doubts Rick cares about that right now,
anyway - and squeezes his dick harder, thirsting for release.
“Atta boy,” Rick praises, cool, raspy voice sugarcoated with desire. Morty sees
him ball his fists up in the blankets around him; he’s flaccid but he sounds
more desperate now than when he was hard, brows knitted together, dark eyes
peering at him through his lashes. He huffs, sneers, “You look good, Morty. You
wanna cum on grandpa? Hm?”
God, what? Morty gasps, puts his arm out to hold on to Rick, but he’s just out
of reach--
“C-c-cum on me, Morty,” Rick rasps, and Morty loses it; throws himself forward
to grab onto Rick’s leg, digs his nails into him as he rides out his orgam,
spilling onto Rick’s stomach in thin white streams, mixing with what was left
over from Rick’s orgasm just moments before.
His cheeks burn, his eyes are still closed; doesn’t really want to open them at
all, is enjoying the starbursts of light behind his eyelids.
Rick takes hold of Morty’s shoulder, guides him down to the bed, and they lay
together in silence for a moment, regulating their breathing and feeling the
air cool against their sweat-soaked bodies. Morty pulls up his boxers, makes a
face at the cold stickiness on his gut and wedges his back against Rick’s.
Which is a bad mistake - he can feel the cum on Rick’s stomach squishing
between them.
He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s beaten to the punch.
“You should get some sleep, Morty,” Rick says. “Since I had to go deliver the
thing alone today, I wasn’t able to take, take care of-- well, we gotta go
back, Morty. I need you to drive.”
Finally Morty opens his eyes, looks up at Rick, looks around the room, admires
the absurdity of the situation. Rick shifts around a little bit behind him and
produces his flask, sipping deeply from it and tossing it to the ground when
it’s empty. He looks exhausted.
“R-Rick, I--”
“Tut tut, Morty,” Rick coos.
He wiggles around a little bit more behind Morty, and a second later he’s
blasting a portal on the floor, leans over Morty and places a soft kiss to his
temple before leaning back and kicking Morty off of the cot, into the the faint
hum of glowing green portal hole.
The last thing Morty sees as he gets swallowed up, is his grandfather’s glassy
eyes staring blankly at him, with a kind of helpless look that Morty would kiss
off his face if he could. Instead, he finds himself falling through his bedroom
ceiling, bouncing on to his bed and subsequently falling gracelessly off of it,
on to the carpet.
He removes his boxers, cleans himself with a Kleenex the best he can before
crawling into bed. The blue alert light on his phone is blinking aggressively
at him from his pillow.
Jessica’s texted back, “hey morty what’s up? i was just thinking about u ;)”
It was sent just seven minutes ago, but for the first time, Morty doesn’t give
a shit. He reads it, over and over, tries to care but can’t find the will to,
not when his legs are still trembling and his arms are still aching and his
heart is still beating so fast because of Rick.
He doesn’t answer.
He falls asleep writing a text to Rick he’ll never send.
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