
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4775321.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Anal_Fingering, Established_Relationship, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot, Fluff_and_Smut, Underage_Sex, grandparent/child_incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-11 Words: 1857
****** Untitled, in which Rick eats ass ******
by yiffymorty
Summary
     ASSSSSS........tastes good
Notes
     I have nothing to say for myself. Please let me be in your fandom.
See the end of the work for more notes
It’s been a few months since they’d broken the ice. After even more months of
tension and denial, it was Morty who made the first move, cornering Rick in the
garage after one particularly frantic adventure that left them both buzzing
with adrenaline. Morty’s kiss was electric, and it had officially marked the
end of pretending their relationship was strictly platonic.
They take it slow, something Rick has never bothered to do before, but Morty is
different. For all the shit Rick gives the kid, Morty is his priority when it
comes to intimacy, and despite the many times Rick’s antics had put him in
danger, Morty trusts the old man.
When Rick finally gives into Morty’s pleas to take things further, Morty
blushes so hard there might as well be steam coming off him.
Currently, Morty is in his grandpa’s bed, naked except for one sock and his t-
shirt bunched up around his armpits. Rick kneels by the side of the bed in his
sweat-stained wifebeater and a pair of ratty old briefs, a sight which Morty
finds maddeningly arousing.
“C-c’mon, Morty, scoot your butt to the—right up to the edge of the bed.
I—urrp!—can’t eat you out if I can’t reach.”
“Jeez, Rick! Y-you don’t have to s-say things like—to be s-so f-forward,”
stammers Morty.
Rick snorts. “Jesus christ, Morty, this isn’t some floofy young adult fiction
novel. I-I’m about to lick your—to shove my tongue up your asshole, M-Morty.”
He helps pull Morty to the edge of the bed and bends his legs up over him. “I’m
gonna need to you h-hold ‘em up, Morty. S-so I can get my tongue
really—reeeally far up in there.”
Morty throws an elbow over his face and groans, but keeps his knees pressed to
his stomach. He’s reminded briefly of the mega-seeds incident. “I kn-know
you’re doing this on purpose, Rick.”
Rick snorts again, this time with a smirk. “Obvio—euuurp!—Obviously. It’s
called dirty talk, Morty. Now, sh-shut up.” He sits back on his heels and grabs
Morty’s ass, massaging and spreading Morty’s cheeks wide with his thumbs. Rick
hovers for a moment as if waiting to hear the hitch in Morty’s breath when he
feels Rick’s hot exhale—aaand there it is.
Rick wets his lips and spits on Morty’s asshole. He licks his way up Morty’s
crack with the flat of his tongue, making the kid yelp and squirm in surprise.
Rick holds him in place, continuing his wet trail up Morty’s taint and ending
with just the slightest tease of his balls. Rick looks up after that,
scrutinizing what he can see of Morty’s face, and underneath a blush that looks
more like a third-degree burn, the kid is grinning weakly. Nice.
Rick spreads Morty’s cheeks even wider and teases the hole with the tip of his
tongue. “Relax,” he orders when he feels the kid’s sphincter clamp down, and
tries again when Morty un-tenses. He works his tongue from side to side, gently
opening the kid up. He plunges his tongue in deeper, and repeats until his lips
are flush against Morty’s asshole.
Meanwhile, Morty grips the sheets and bites his lip—when he agreed to this, he
didn’t think it would be so....good? So sensual? The very idea that Rick wants
to do this with him at all is intoxicating. Rick gets into a rhythm of tongue-
fucking him while Morty shakes and swallows moans; the kid’s not sure how much
longer he can tolerate this before he opens his dumb mouth and begs for more.
Rick finally pauses to admire the musky taste and drink in the image of Morty’s
red, puckered asshole, dripping with Rick’s own saliva. “Morty,” he nearly
whispers, rising on shaky knees and bracing himself on the bed so he can pull
aside the kid’s arm and look him in the eye. “I wish you could—could see
yourself, M-Morty. You h-h-have a great ass, Morty. Y-y-your asshole is a work
of ar-urrrp!—of art, Morty. It must run in the family, am I right?”
Before Morty can answer (or bitch, or whatever), Rick kisses him with an open
mouth and a tongue that takes Morty by surprise when it slips so easily past
his lips and teeth. He tastes himself and briefly wonders about sanitation, but
then he’s sucking on Rick’s tongue and holding the man’s head in place while
Morty thoroughly ravages his mouth. Rick doesn’t mind this little intermission;
Morty is a great kisser and Rick has always loved to admire his own work.
He can’t waste too much time before Morty closes up and the spit dries, so Rick
disappears back to where he was kneeling before, eye to eye with Morty’s
asshole. “You ready for my fingers, huh?”
“Y-yeah,” breathes Morty, heart fluttering with anticipation. This will be the
closest he’s gotten to fucking Rick, and so far the experience has been
wonderful. Morty listens to the sound of a bottle uncapping and the wet squelch
of lube being spread between fingers.
“This is gonna really—it’s gonna be cold, Morty. D-don’t say I d-didn’t warn
you.”
“Nngh, just do it!” insists Morty from above.
Rick slides one lube-slick finger into Morty’s asshole, and the kid immediately
clamps down on him again. “Hey,” scolds Rick, “Loosen up or your old man is
gonna lose a finger. Just—j-just relax. It’ll make this easier for the both of
us.”
Morty tries, he really does. But every time Rick moves his finger and Morty’s
muscles spasm, his reflexes can’t help clamping down. “I-I don’t know if—if I
can, Rick!”
“Anuses are like Chinese finger traps, M-Morty. You just gotta not be stupid if
you want to f-figure it out. Just—you just gotta push. Push out like—like
you’re taking a dump.”
“Oh my god, th-that is s-so not something, you—what the fuck? Wh-what if I—”
“I’m not being a smartass here, Morty. Push out like you’re taking a shit and
my fingers will slide riiiight in, nice and e—euuurgh—easy. You aren’t gonna
shit yourself. That’s what the enema was for, genius.”
“Jesus, Rick, f-f-fine...” Morty does feel better remembering the enema, even
though the process itself was weird and uncomfortable.
Rick lubes up his fingers once more—good thing lube isn’t a rare commodity in
any dimension. He smears some around the pucker and tries his finger again.
This time, Morty does relax and pushes out, leaving a smooth path for Rick’s
index finger to slide in all the way up to the second digit.
“Good boy,” growls Rick, earnestly proud of the kid for listening to
directions, and also because Morty looks fucking hot from this angle and
because Rick’s inhibitions about showing affections are dulled from arousal.
“Does this feel o—EUURGH—kay?”
Morty illustrates by arching his back and grunting. “Keep going.”
So Rick does, beginning to add a second finger. Morty jerks back and whines.
Rick pauses, looking up with concern, but Morty nods his head. “I s-s-said, k-
keep going, Rick.”
He feels Morty gently pushing out again—he really is a good boy—so Rick slides
the second finger in just as easily as the first. He begins to work the kid
open, his fingers barely moving at first but eventually spread Morty open
wider.
Meanwhile, he eyes Morty’s flaccid cock. Smirking, Rick decides that it is
time.
“You alright, Morty? I’m—I’m gonna show you where your prostate is.”
“O-okay, Rick. But, um, y-you don’t have to keep asking, alright? I w-want
this, so...”
“Shut up, Morty.”
Any complaints Morty might have about Rick’s uncharacteristic nagging are left
for dead when Rick grazes Morty’s prostate and the kid’s mind goes blank.
Rick crooks his fingers downward, massaging the spongy tissue and listening to
the cacophony of noises Morty has to offer. With fingers still in place, he
rises and leans over Morty, not minding the uncomfortable position his wrist is
in while he kisses the boy, rough and deep and passionate. Morty returns the
kiss with equal fervor, grabbing Rick’s hair with one hand and gripping the
Rick’s free wrist to hold him there. When Rick looks down, he sees that Morty’s
cock has hardened.
“You like that?” pants Rick in between kisses, “Y-you like my fingers—when I
put my fingers in you?” He dips his head to mouth at Morty’s sweat-soaked neck.
“I’m gonna make you—gonna make you cum, Morty, w-without even touching your
cock.”
Morty’s eyes widen in disbelief. Rick is certain he’s about to ask something
stupid, so he jams his fingers into Morty’s prostate and the kid’s questions
turn into throaty moans.
“Fuck,” hisses Rick, “K-keep it down! Christ, Morty, if you want to wake the
entire—the whole goddamn house, be my fu—UUUU—cking guest, but don’t drag me
into this, y-you little shit.”
Morty whimpers at that, feeling his dick stiffen. Being scolded by Rick was
obviously never something Morty was fond of, not to mention getting turned on
by it. Yet, here they are.
“I’m gonna....gonna make you cum so hard, M-Morty,” Rick is panting, mumbling
into the kid’s neck, into his ear, against his lips. “You’re never gonna jack
off again, Morty. You’re g-gonna always have something to—gonna have to shove
something up your ass to get off.” Rick feels Morty contract around his
fingers, his inner walls spasming as the kid breathes faster. Rick grins.
“That’s it, fuck yeeeah, fuckin’ cum for me, Morty. I’m gonna ruin you, Morty,
I’m gonna make you—”
“Ahh, Rick!” Morty interjects, gripping the man’s shoulders tightly, “I-I’m c-
close, R-Rick, I’m so close, I’m gonna—I-I-I’m—I’m cumming, Rick!”
Rick hums contentedly into Morty’s hair, just savoring the moment and the smell
of sex and sweat permeating the room. Rick keeps fingering him while semen
sprays both their chests, milking Morty’s prostate for all it’s worth.
“S-stop, Rick,” whines Morty, weakly, “I c-c-can’t take anymore. F-fuck!”
“Alright, alright babe,” says Rick, suddenly self-conscious of the last word to
slip out on accident. If Morty hears or cares, he doesn’t say anything. Rick
slowly pulls his fingers out and wipes them on his sweaty undershirt, which he
then pulls off over his head and uses to clean them both up, taking care to pat
Morty’s sore ass dry.
Rick maneuvers Morty so that he’s lying the right way on the bed, tosses the
soiled shirt aside and flops down besides his still-panting grandson. “Th-that
was....fuck. That f-f-fucking—it was really fucking good.”
“Just good?” says Rick, mock-defensively while grinning stupidly, proudly.
“F-fine. It was incredible,” Morty corrects, rolling his eyes but turning
towards Rick to nuzzle the coarse hair on his chest. “You’re really fucking
hot, you know that, right?”
“No shit,” Rick mumbles into Morty’s hair, strangely content to just lie here.
Morty looks up at him, eyelids heavy. “So, uh....w-what about you? D-do you
want m-me to...”
“Ehh? Oh—euuugh—whatever. You can sleep or—urrrp!—you can suck me off. It’s up
to you. I’m okay if you—I’m f-fine with either.”
End Notes
     psssst I'm yiffymorty on tumblr too, come request stuff maybe?
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