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Rick sat, hunched over the bar, sipping tenderly at his drink. The stool was uncomfortable, wooden. Too short, no back support. But, tucked away into the corner, a good few inches of elevated floor from the dance pit, it was as close as he was willing to get to the action.
The club glowed with neon light fixtures - crowding the dark walls and decorative poles - loud with conversation and the low, pulsing beat of party music. Rick could feel the next song in his bones as he tugged rapidly at his shirt collar, the makeshift fan doing little against the air. It was warm, thick with the hundreds of moving bodies. All crowded up, dancing, shouting. He’d been sweating like a pig since he’d sat down, but refused to remove his lab coat. This place was filthy, and it kept him clean. Rick swirled his drink in his cup, watched the pink and purple lights gleam on its surface. Then, he knocked back the rest of the alcohol, shut his eyes tight at the burn it left behind.
He didn’t do night clubs, usually avoided them at all costs. All they did was make him feel sticky and gross, and unless he came with someone, he always left alone. Rick slammed the glass back down with a belch, nodded the bartender over for a refill. But tonight was special. Tonight, he’d come with someone. And he’d be damned if he left without them.
He saw a swish of yellow out of the corner of his eye, whipped around in his chair to investigate it.
Rick scanned the crowded dance floor, narrowed his eyes at every skinny, short haired brunette. Though, through the utter density of bare arms and legs, outfits that matched the lights, and couples that would be better off in one of the private suites, he eventually found his skinny, short haired brunette.
Because Morty was the only one wearing a yellow crop top and short shorts.
Tonight was special, special enough that Rick would willingly sit in a corner, drinking and keeping to himself. Tonight, his newly 21-year-old grandson had wanted to go to a nightclub, and with no friends willing to come along, Rick had only felt it right to accompany him.
And hopefully, after tonight, Morty would never want to go again.
They’d been here a good few hours. In that time, Rick had watched with longing eyes from the bar Morty drink himself red faced and giggly, stumbling around the club, getting caught up in the crowd of a dance floor. He’d watched him talk to guys - presumably flirting by how close they were dancing - who’d bought Morty drinks, chatted with him on the other end of the bar, far away from Rick. But it never went further than that. No heading upstairs together, or venturing out the front door. Hell, not even a bathroom rendezvous. Rick wasn’t sure what it was, but something stopped them every time.
There was never an external factor, no friends calling them from the dance floor, or being flirted up by another club-goer. None of that. After a dance or drink or two with Morty, they all seemed to lose interest on their own and… leave. Of course, it wasn’t that Rick wanted to know when and by whom his grandson got laid. He just wanted to know why he… didn’t. At first, Rick had thought perhaps all these guys had noticed Rick staring daggers at them from across the way. But if that was the case, they would’ve told Morty, and Morty would’ve told Rick to lay off. Then, though the thought of anyone finding his grandson ugly made him irrationally mad, it had certainly crossed Rick’s mind by the third rejection. But it hadn’t made sense; if Morty wasn’t their type, then why had they approached him?
Rick had run out of theories after that, simply watching and drinking as he did now. Looking at Morty. Morty in his buttermilk yellow halter crop top and jean short shorts that hugged his little ass and made his legs look a mile long. Morty, whose neck length hair fell in his eyes, and every time he brushed it back, Rick had to drink to forget. Forget how he used to do that for him when he was just starting to grow it out, and it would get in the way when Morty was sucking him off. To forget why, as Morty was chatting up a new man - who was looking at him like the last slice of pizza - jealousy seared in Rick’s chest, and made him dizzy, sweatier . He took another swig of his drink, licked away the burn on his lips. It was best to forget. They’d both agreed to forget. Another sip.
Because even at the ripe age of 77, Rick was still sitting here, drinking, jealous over someone flirting with his grandson.
And Morty had the rest of his life to hate night clubs.
Rick watched them for what felt like hours, heart pumping in time with the low, resounding bass of the music, not keen to admit he was mostly eying up Morty, and plotting a plan to murder the guy he was talking with. And by the time his drink was half empty, the two walked off, hidden from Rick’s view. Shit.
Rick stumbled to his feet, and followed them.
He stuck to the edges of the dance pit, fought through scantily clothed club-goers, steered clear of the couples, careful, especially, not to bump into anyone with a drink in their hand. It was difficult with a stumble in his step, and his vision murky, but eventually, Rick made it out alive. And the first thing he saw on the other side: Morty.
Rick could spot that yellow anywhere, the one hugging his chest, looped around his pretty neck. And he was giving Morty another full body scan before he could stop himself, before he could stop himself from drooling over his legs, or thinking about pulling his hair. Before he realized he hadn’t drank enough to forget.
They were on the outskirts, the edge of the pit, the elevated floor scattered with couches. The gateway to the upstairs or the exit. And Morty was talking to his new guy friend, who was towering over him, and had him backed up against a wall. Rick couldn’t hear what they were saying, not with the air composed entirely of loud music and conversation. But the look on Morty’s face, one of confusion, perhaps distress, made him want to hear, to step closer. Because he’d come here with Morty tonight.
And he’d be damned if he left without him.
Rick wandered closer, careful, keeping himself as steady as he could with his vision blurry, and the world growing muted around him. He stumbled once, held onto one of the decorative columns. He could hear it, faintly, bits and pieces of their conversation.
“C’mon,” the guy was saying, “let…let’s stop beating around the bush, alright?”
Morty’s response was so quiet, Rick couldn’t hear it, but it was accompanied by another look of drunken confusion.
“Pretty…pretty boys like you…” The guy went on, hints of a Boston accent in his voice. “I know…know you got p-places to be and all that.”
Morty’s look of confusion was bordering on fear. Rick let go of the column, stumbled a step closer.
“Just…just state your price, sweetheart,” the sleazeball said.
“H-Huh?” Morty stuttered out, shaking his head. “W-What…what price?”
Rick grumbled. Anyone thinking his grandson was ugly made him irrationally mad. But anyone thinking he was a whore?
This guy was lucky they were in public.
Rick rushed up to them before their little chat could progress any further, and yanked the guy away from Morty. Now that he was turned around, Rick could see he was younger, late 20s to early 30s. His eyes and mouth were wide open in shock, and from his clothes to his hair, he looked utterly greasy . Still young, young enough to make such a critical mistake.
But not young enough for Rick to spare him.
“Fuck off,” Rick yelled into his face. “He-He’s not a hooker!”
“A-And just who the fuck are you?” Sleazeball yelled back. Rick grabbed his arm, hard, more to steady himself than anything. But he was pleased at the flicker of fear in the man’s eyes.
“Th-The last f-face you'll see before you-” Belch. “W-Wake up in a- in a f-fucking hospital bed, that…that's who!” Rick yelled. “N-Now get your-” Belch. “B-Bum ass out of here!” To his dismay, Sleazeball twisted away with a breathy laugh.
“H-Hospital bed?” He slurred. “I ain- I ain't scared of you…old man!”
“I will c-cave your f-fucking face in!” Rick shouted back, fists clenched, heart pounding with rage and adrenaline. Who did this guy think he was? Thinking Morty was a prostitute, calling Rick old.
“R-Rick?” That’s when Morty stumbled over, grabbed onto Rick’s arm. He’d grown as tall as Rick’s shoulder, and still had to look up to talk to him. “What is...wh-what are you doing here?” Rick could only spare him a glance, no answer to his question, before Sleazeball’s biting laughter got his attention again.
“W-What are you, h-his…sugar- sugar daddy o-or something?” Sleazeball cackled. “Y-You two are f-freakier than I thought.” Rick gritted his teeth. This guy was lucky his “sugar baby” was watching.
“No.” Rick scowled. “'m his…grandpa.”
And Sleazeball laughed like it was the funniest shit in the world.
By now, they were attracting the attention of other club goers who’d elected to lounge on the couches. Rick could’ve fought this guy. Not well, but he could’ve fought him. Didn’t care if they got kicked out; he deserved it after being so stupid.
But luckily, Sleazeball backed down.
“Grandpa?” He chuckled, walking off. “Funniest shit I've heard all week!”
Rick watched him, heart falling back in time with the music. He didn’t realize he was panting until Morty tugged on his arm.
“R-Rick?” Morty asked.
And Rick made the mistake of looking down.
He’d seen those eyes so many times in two decades. Bright with joy, dull with exhaustion, wet with despair. And tonight, they were lidded, shiny under the pink and purple neon lights. Tonight, they were covered in eyeliner, accompanied by a pair of glossy, reddish pink lips. Tonight, they made Rick’s heart race.
“I didn’t…” Morty reached up to stroke the stubble on Rick’s jaw. Rick shivered. “D-Didn’t know y-you were still here…”
“O-Of course.” Rick nodded. “I never…never left.”
Morty all but leaned on Rick’s arm, used the older man to hold himself up. And Rick couldn’t deny he didn’t totally hate the warmth that came with it, Morty clinging to him, clutching his lab coat in his hands. He must be cold, Rick thought, with his short shorts and mile long legs, and arms Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen covered up. He must be ; Morty wouldn't be leaning against him, resting all his weight on Rick’s arm, if he could walk normally.
“‘m happy,” Morty began, tightening his grip. “H-Happy you’re…here. Just…stay with m-me, okay? D-Don’t leave.” Rick nodded, and smiled. Because Morty was too cute to say no, and he could feel his heart thrumming against his arm, faster than the music, expectant as he looked up with those glossy, lidded eyes and pretty, pink lips.
“Wasn’t…wasn’t p-planing on it,” Rick said, trying not to gulp as his own heart picked up a beat. “Was…I was planning on g-getting you s-some water, though.”
“Why?” Morty asked.
“S-Sober you u-up a lil, before we head out.”
And, still holding onto his arm, heart thumping against Rick, Morty followed him to the bar.
Back where he started, Rick sat next to Morty in the uncomfortable wooden stools and ordered two cups of water.
Morty told him about his night while he sat, hunched over, sipping slowly from the glass. Most everything, Rick already knew. Dancing, drinking, the sheer amount of guys who’d hit on him. But when Morty recounted it all in that little stutter of his, lips curling up when he smiled, Rick could listen for hours. Could watch him recount the story for hours.
Intoxicated Morty was a rare sight. He only drank on special occasions, and even then, especially around family, would never get this fucked up. Rick studied his loose, relaxed demeanor, wide smile, pink cheeks. His eyes.
There was something about them, especially tonight, that kept Rick staring. His grandson usually did that to him, made him stare. But Morty’s eyes, his glossy, lidded gaze, made it near impossible to stop. The way they glimmered under the neon lights stirred emotions inside Rick he couldn’t name, disoriented him. Brought back memories he’d tried to forget with the burn of alcohol.
And it wasn’t fair, Rick thought, that Morty got to look all cute and act all innocent. Be so… careless. While Rick had to drink to forget.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered, enviously, if Morty had already forgotten. The thought didn’t make Rick angry; he was supposed to forget. They both were. But…so soon, so… completely.
Rick threw his head back, finished his water with a belch.
Who was he kidding? It had been three years. Three years since they’d vowed to stop touching each other, and sleeping in the same bed, and acting like this could work. Three years since Rick had kissed Morty, or held his hair back for him, or seen what was under that buttermilk yellow. Three years, and the wound was still fresh. Though it shouldn’t be; there shouldn’t be a wound to begin with. If Rick had only kept his hands to himself…
Forget. Forget.
Why couldn’t he forget ?
Morty groaned in the barstool next to his, resting his head on the counter, clutching his bare stomach.
“Ugh…” Morty whined. “I-I’m s…starving…”
Rick sighed, tired. He’d forget later (or never, most likely).
For now, he had to take care of Morty.
“Well I uh…d-don’t got…much.” Rick fished through his pockets, and after a moment’s search, found a granola bar. “Y-You uh…want this?” He offered it to Morty. His grandson nodded, and accepted the little snack. Rick watched the way he tore it open and shoved almost the entire thing in his mouth.
“Hm,” Morty hummed as he ate, mouth full, chewing slow. “Th-Thank you for…I-I mean, thanks for sh-showing up w-when no one else…”
“O-Of course.” Rick nodded.
“I’ve b-been want…wanting to…” Morty stuck the last piece of granola bar in his mouth. “I-I mean I’ve…w-wanted to come here…for a-a while.”
Rick watched Morty finish eating, and when he did, Morty sighed, and fanned at himself.
“It’s so…s-so hot i-in here,” Morty said.
“T-Tell me about it,” Rick scoffed.
“I-I’m all h-hot an’ s-sweaty a-and sticky,” Morty whined. “I-I’m gonna…gonna need a-a shower.” He yawned. “A-After this.”
Rick nodded. Tried not to think of Morty in the shower.
Then Morty laughed. This giggly, breathless laughter.
Rick watched him, Morty’s smile, the way he clutched his stomach, the light glinting off his tongue ring, everything about him glowing. And, eventually, Rick joined in on the laughter too. Softer, unsure.
“What-” Rick chuckled. “W-What’s so…so f-funny, huh?” It took a moment longer for Morty to collect himself enough to speak, and even then, he had trouble with his words.
“S-Sorry that just-” Snort. “Just- I r-remember…” Morty grinned at Rick, licked his lips. “Remember w-when we used to…when…h-how we used to sh-shower t…together?”
Rick’s blood ran cold. He gripped his cup for dear life.
He’d thought…thought they were supposed to forget. Was this a part of it? The forgetting? Was being able to make jokes about it forgetting it? Rick supposed so. Not forgetting it, really. But getting over it. And with the way his throat had gone dry and he could barely speak right now, Rick figured he, at least, wasn’t over it yet.
“Yeah,” Rick said through forced laughter. “C-Crazy t-times, huh?”
Morty nodded, looked at Rick. And it made him unreasonably nervous when Morty did that, sat there and openly stared at his grandpa. Especially with the neon lights in his eyes, and on his lips, and all over the ends of his hair. Because here, tonight, Morty was illuminated, and intoxicated, and making jokes. And Rick hadn’t forgotten.
But at least Morty had gotten over it.
Morty licked his lips, leaned forward in his stool. He rested his elbows on his bare knees, and stared up at his grandpa.
“I…I k-kinda miss it,” Morty admitted. Rick’s eyes widened.
He’d thought it another joke at first, but Morty was biting his lip, and looking up at Rick like that. With the same eyes he’d give him when Rick used to hold his hair back for him.
“M-Morty…” Rick muttered. “Y-You we…y-you’re just…just joking, r-right?”
“D-Does it…” Morty reached out, grabbed Rick’s thigh. “L-Look like…I-I’m joking?”
Rick gulped.
Oh no.
Oh fuck.
Morty was dead serious.
He was serious, and Rick didn’t like the way his heart raced at his grandson’s touch, or the way he was looking at him, biting his lip. The heat that rose in his face - and…other places - was an expected reaction, of course, but not a welcome one.
Because what had happened to forgetting, and getting over it ?
Well, if they’d forgotten to forget, Rick supposed, that came back out to…remembering? But, no, they couldn’t remember. Not tonight, three years too late.
“M-Morty, we…I-I can’t…” Rick pushed his hand away, but Morty only saw the rejection as a challenge.
“C’mon…” Morty grabbed his thigh again. “Y-You know you…”
“D-Don’t touch me!”
Rick scooted back, and both he and Morty nearly went tumbling to the ground. Rick sat on the edge of his stool, holding his grandson by the shoulders. Morty panted, grinning wickedly. Their faces were close.
Rick gulped.
“D-Don’t you…” Morty chuckled, tightening his grip on Rick’s thigh. “Don’t you m-miss it…too?”
I do.
He did. He so did. The words clawed at the back of Rick’s throat, made his head spin and his heart race, nauseous at the possibility, the chance that they could do this again, be together again, go back to the way things were. That they could work. But Rick, dizzy and disoriented, knew better. He knew better than to chance it, after three years. Even though Morty’s confession had given him goosebumps, made him giddy with the thought that he’d missed this, missed them, Rick still knew better. He still knew Morty was attending college four states away, and had a whole new life without him where he drank and went to nightclubs, and Rick would be doing a great disservice by holding him back, tying him down. Because he missed it too.
Rick wanted to deny it, get off the topic, get out of here. But Morty was giving him those eyes again, and Rick couldn’t look away. Because there were memories in the shiny little things, and racing thoughts, and hushed emotions, and… God, Rick couldn’t look away. And Morty only grinned, waiting on his response. As though his eyes weren’t prying Rick apart, opening him up, exposing his bruised, withered soul.
“I-I do…” Rick couldn’t deny it, nor stop himself from such a thing. Morty smirked, brought himself closer. Rick bolted upright. “B-But c’mon, w…we agreed f-for, to-” Morty clutched Rick’s shoulders to steady himself.
“Then why…w-what’s stop…stopping us from…?” Morty slurred.
Rick sighed.
“Same…the same…same reason y-you asked for a b-break, kid,” he said.
Morty faltered, only a moment, looking as though he’d just been slapped. Rick knew he shouldn’t have said it, could’ve given him any other excuse. But it was the truth; Morty had told him as much back when he’d asked him for a break. That he was moving far away, and had so much life left to live. That he and Rick, whatever they were, couldn’t work long term, no matter how close they were.
And in the three years since, Rick hadn’t forgotten.
“Th-That stuff…” Morty shook his head. “Stuff…stuff doesn't m-matter to me, anymore,” he admitted. “C-C’mon, I want…” Morty brought a hand to Rick’s thigh. Rick gritted his teeth. “I-I want y-you again, Rick.” Morty looked up at him. Rick looked away. The words were sweet as honey, music to his ears, and every part of him wanted to accept, was ready, ready to call Morty his again, hold his hand on the way back home, because they were together. But, no, this wasn’t…
“M-Morty, no.” Rick placed a hand on his grandson’s. A warning. Not ready to have the warmth gone from his thigh, but knowing it shouldn’t be there.
Morty only looked at him then, squinting, tilting his head like a confused, drunk puppy.
“You’ve n-never…” Morty pushed his hand higher. “Never told me…told me no b-before…”
Morty was right; Rick hadn’t. Not when Morty had gotten a tongue piercing, or expressed wanting to attend college four states away, or had asked Rick for a “break.” Rick had always said yes, always agreed . And now, he was starting to regret it.
“I-I know.” And, oddly, Rick cracked a smile at the realization, how badly he’d spoiled Morty. Buying him stuff, touching him, not telling him no. “I probably…p-probably sh-should’ve, huh?” Morty smiled too, brought himself up by the hand on Rick’s shoulder, brought their faces close. Rick blushed.
“Y-Yeah, but…” When Morty spoke, Rick could feel it against his skin, his lips. Warmth that made his heart beat too fast, and his face hot. “We b-both know it’s…it’s t-too late f-for that.”
Morty kissed him.
Rick couldn’t pinpoint when the exact shift had happened, when his world went from blurry to dark as he eased his eyes shut, or when, exactly, he’d gone from gasping in shock to groaning in enjoyment. But it happened, fast.
A million thoughts raced through his drunken mind as Morty’s lips moved against his in a way that gave him shivers, disoriented him. They bumped into each other, got all tangled and twisted up, went flying every which way. Merged until they became one. Unrecognizable, unimportant. Rick had so many, too many to keep up with, too many to think about when Morty was kissing him, and grabbing his thigh.
They should stop , was the first, most prevalent. This was wrong; they were in public; they needed to leave , were close followers. But then there was thinking, knowing, that Rick never could resist the softness of those lips, or those dainty little hands, or that fluffy hair. That he shouldn’t try now. That he should give in. There was overwhelming warmth. Tingles, shiveres.
And Rick had already taken too long to pull away, was already running his hands over the familiar curves of Morty’s body. Was already giving in.
Weak.
And despite knowing it was wrong, that he should be ashamed of himself, they both should, it felt good. It felt so good.
Why stop now?
Rick kissed back.
The bartender told them to stop or leave. They chose the latter.
They didn’t get very far, not to the door like they were supposed to. Rick pushed a stumbling Morty up against a dark wall. And Morty pulled him in by the lapels of his lab coat, and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft, gentle like it had been at the bar. The kiss was rough, hungry. Rick was groaning from the way Morty grabbed at his hair, shoved his tongue into his mouth, and shivering at the smooth metal on the tip. He couldn’t resist grabbing at Morty’s thighs, drinking in his whimpers as he grabbed at soft skin, warm flesh, snuck a hand up his grandson's back.
Morty ran a hand up Rick’s chest. Rick smacked and grabbed his ass, brought him closer. Morty moaned.
And Rick could feel Morty’s words in the way he kissed him.
I…I k-kinda miss it.
Morty yanked Rick’s hair, and the latter groaned as Morty kissed him harder, grabbed at the back of his neck.
I-I want y-you again, Rick.
Morty pressed himself up against him, and Rick pressed right back, squeezing his ass through the rough denim of his shorts, reveling in Morty’s moans of encouragement.
It was a relief, kissing him again. Comforting. In three years, Rick had never forgotten the texture of Morty’s skin, his taste, the pitch of his moans. But it was still nice, Rick’s breath running hot, goosebumps all over his skin, hands curious, wandering, grabby. Just like the first time they’d done this, when Rick hadn’t yet known that he could be rejected, estranged, told no, and yet, he’d still never get enough of Morty.
That his heart, forever entangled, would never cease to beat at the sight of buttermilk yellow.
Rick pressed his knee into Morty’s crotch, and the latter responded hungrily, moaning into the kiss, grinding up against it. Rick grabbed his ass, forced him up further on his thigh. Morty whined, and Rick groaned, because he could feel Morty growing hard in his shorts, and his grandson’s utter, shameful desperation as he humped him drove Rick absolutely mad, and his every little moan only tightened Rick’s grip, and fueled his filthy thoughts and desires, inclined Rick to carry him out of there.
Morty was treating his thigh like something else, and as his cock twitched against his grandpa’s leg, drawing a moan from both their throats, Rick wished he would.
He pulled Morty closer.
Rick didn’t know what it was he liked so much about kissing Morty in public, hidden away in their little corner, nothing more than the booming music and occasional passerby to interfere. Perhaps it was because they could be anyone there, under the neon lights, making out against the wall. They didn’t have to be grandpa and grandson, three years broken up, united by an impromptu night club visit. As long as no one recognized them, they were free to do as they pleased, only themselves clued into the fucked up nature of the act. Perhaps that made it all the more thrilling, all the more enjoyable.
Morty pulled away, panting into Rick’s chest, still grinding against him. And Rick watched.
“I…oh fuh-” Morty moaned, burying his face in Rick’s chest. “Oh…”
If he said anything else, it was incomprehensible, or caught in the gasp Morty gave when Rick pushed him back against the wall, kissing at his neck, rubbing his knee between his legs.
Rick sucked at Morty’s sensitive skin. Three years, and he could still remember the spot that made him drool, and his eyes roll back. He worked the warm flesh with his lips, teeth, and tongue, grinning when Morty moaned.
“Rick…” Morty gasped, rolling his hips against his knee, head loling to the side. Rick greedily smacked and cupped his ass, bit at his skin hard enough to make him whimper. “O-Oh…oh f-fuck me…”
Rick kept on with his teasing, deepening the pressure of his knee, drinking in his grandson’s every little moan and whimper, tightening his grip when Morty arched his back against him. Morty trembled in his grasp, shaky hands in Rick’s hair as he lost himself in humping him, chasing his little high. And Rick lost himself in helping him get there.
“Y-You’re…” Rick grunted. “S-So damn c-cute when you’re desperate.”
“R-Rick,” Morty moaned. “P-Please I’m g…gonna…” He trailed off, groaning, arching his back. But Morty didn’t need to finish; Rick could feel him throbbing against his thigh, the desperate rutting of his hips, his trembling.
“Huh?” Rick laughed into his neck, smacking his ass again. “G-Gonna cum?” Morty only moaned, ground into Rick harder at the words. “Gonna…cum a-all up in y-your shorts, huh?” Smack. “J-Just from-”
“Oh…” Morty whined. “K-Keep…ugh d-do th-that again, b-bite me, c-call me a sl-slut…”
Rick cursed under his breath, brought his hand down on Morty’s ass. Another thing he'd nearly forgotten, in their three years apart, was how much of a freak his grandson was. Though, the reminder was welcome, and made Rick undeniably horny.
His touches were immediately rougher; Rick forced a moaning, whining Morty up against his thigh, left bite marks on his neck. He dug a hand under his crop top, and Morty shivered, arching his back when Rick found his nipples, hard as rocks. He took one roughly between his thumb and index finger, and Morty moaned, his entire body twitching against him.
“Y-You l-like that, huh?” Rick demanded with another smacking of Morty’s ass. “L-Like me…r-roughing you u-up like this?”
“Rick…” Morty whined.
“You’re s-so much o-of a slut f-for me…” Smack. “You’re already…already about…bout t-to cum.” He went back to Morty’s neck, deepened the pressure of his fingers under his top. Morty cursed, threw his head back. “We h-haven’t even m-made it out th-the club y-yet.” Smack.
“Mmm o-oh I’m…” Morty moaned, rocked his hips faster. “I-I’m s-sorry…”
“Th-This is e-embarrassing, Morty.” Smack, smack. “S-Such a-a little b-braindead slut th-that you’re g-gonna…m-make a mess in your sh-shorts just from h-humping my leg.”
Morty moaned, shaking in Rick’s grasp.
“P-Please, R-Rick…” Morty whimpered. “I-I’m a-almost…”
“And you’re n-not sorry,” Rick said, giving Morty a few more bites, a few more spankings. “I-I know you l-like this sh-shit, Morty. L-Like w-when Grandpa touches you, w-when I p-pull your hair a-and spank you…” Smack, smack, smack. Morty gasped. “A-And you’re j-just s-sitting here, t-taking it, enjoying it.”
Morty responded, but the words that fell from his mouth were incomprehensible in his slurred, drunken stutter, mixed with his moaning and whining. But Rick knew he was close by the way his thighs clenched, and his entire body twitched against him. Rick could see it in his eyes, unfocused, pink under the neon lights. Morty was losing control. And Rick was going to enjoy every damn second.
“Hey!” Rick yanked Morty’s hair. “L-Look a-at me!” Morty did, for only a moment, panting and gasping as he humped himself into deeply flushed cheeks and uncontrollable moans.
“R-Rick I…y-you’re…” Morty’s eyes rolled back, and he moaned, breathless, needy. “‘m g-gonna…c-” He choked on the word, arching his back, a deep groan spilling from his throat.
“D-Do it,” Rick said. “C-Cum in your shorts you…l-like a fucking d-desperate slut.”
Morty only moaned in response, and not a moment later, his entire body shook as he came on Rick’s leg, whining, humping his grandpa through his orgasm, cock pulsing against him. Rick grinned as he watched the display - stroking his poor grandson’s hair - the man cumming in his shorts as a group of club goers, too distracted to notice, walked by.
Morty moved his hips until he couldn’t anymore, until he was all jizzed out, exhausted, standing back, resting against the wall. Panting, trembling. Rick brushed his hair aside, and kissed him on the forehead.
“G-Good boy…” He teased. Morty, too drunk and tired to hold his own head up, made a low sound in his throat.
“Rick…” Morty grabbed at his grandpa, and Rick gulped when his little hand found his crotch. “C-C’mon, let’s…”
“Morty…?” Rick questioned.
Morty nodded at the nearby bathrooms. Rick got the hint faster than he’d like to admit.
It was empty when they walked in, the fluorescent lights dim and flickering. A complete shock coming from the main area, but welcome, nonetheless. With the music faded, Rick could hear his own thoughts better. They were still racing as he followed Morty on shaky legs to the big stall, right past the sinks and urinals. But now, one was louder than the rest: this night, this night of rekindling, and kissing Morty, and sweating under club lights had yet to end.
And Rick didn’t want it to.
They entered the stall together, and Rick closed and locked the door. He barely turned around before Morty pushed him up against the wall, and kissed him. Morty was having trouble reaching his lips, standing on his tippy toes, so Rick leaned down, tilted Morty’s head back by a fistful of his hair, and shoved his tongue into his mouth. Morty moaned, and grabbed Rick’s crotch. Rick kissed him harder.
Rick hadn’t fooled around in a public bathroom in years; it wasn’t his style. Too sketchy and unhygienic, something he would’ve done as a desperate, horny teenager. After all, he could afford to have sex in a bed now. Why not use it?
Though, stood back against the wall, kissing Morty, Rick felt like a desperate, horny teenager.
He no longer had the urge to carry him out of there; the thought, the desire for decency disappeared when Morty was feeling him up, and moaning into his mouth. Rick could think of nothing else when he was touching Morty, and Morty was touching him back, and they were making out in a bathroom. Could think of nothing else but the pure hunger that followed his grandson’s fingers, sparking fire where they left, nothing else but how soft Morty’s skin and hair were, how warm he was in his grasp. How bad Rick wanted him.
His vision was hazy when Morty pulled away, and he only looked down when his pants zipper was coming undone, and there were hands tugging at his waistband. He caught Morty on the floor, licking his lips, smirking at him. And Rick groaned just seeing him like that, his cock twitching against the confines of his underwear.
“M-Morty…” Rick trailed off as Morty pulled his waistband down just enough to free his hard cock.
“It’s…” Morty gently worked his grandpa in his hand. Light, teasing strokes. Up and down. “M…My t-turn, now.”
Rick’s response was swallowed up by a moan as Morty eased the tip into his mouth, quickly taking as much as he could before he gagged, and pulled back to the tip again, leaving a fine sheen of saliva behind. Rick gulped, took up a bunch of Morty’s hair in his fist as his grandson worked his cock in and out of his mouth, quicker than a starting pace should be, one hand on Rick’s hip, the other on his shaft.
There was certain information that couldn’t be bribed or beaten out of Rick, thoughts and feelings he kept locked in a bullet proof safe deep inside. One of these sacred, safekept secrets was that, in his three years without kissing Morty, he’d dreamt of this too many times to count. He’d dreamt of his grandson’s warm, tight mouth, and skilled hands, and perfect lips more often than what could be considered normal. An excessive amount. An excessive amount of times, Rick had woken from foggy dreams with wet, sticky pants, and a racing heart, and a desperate need to see, to feel Morty again.
But this? This was better than a dream.
Every bob of Morty’s head, his tongue lapping at the underside of Rick’s cock, was a shock of pleasure. Every flick of Morty’s skilled wrist, low moaning in his throat, left Rick groaning, gripping his hair tighter, trying to keep it together. Because Morty was going far too fast, and doing far too well, and this felt better than a dream.
“F-Fuck,” Rick moaned. “S-Such a…good l-little s-slut aren’t you?” Morty quickened his pace as though agreeing, peering up at Rick all innocently. Rick gulped, nearly lost it right then and there. “Such a…g-good little slut f-for Gr-Grandpa’s cock.”
Morty went crazy for the praise, tightening his grip, greedily taking more and more of Rick’s cock in his mouth until he was out of breath and choking, before he popped it back out, and did it again. Rick groaned, gently working his hips into Morty’s mouth, falling into the aggressive rhythm. The sound, the feel of Morty’s choking only made him harder, more needy for his grandson’s mouth. His warm, wet, tight mouth.
Morty pulled back to the tip again, digging the smooth back of his tongue ring into Rick’s peehole. He groaned, throbbing at the tease, drooling as Morty kept on, looking at him, smirking, massaging his balls and shaft, so big in his little hands. Rick nearly lost control at the sight alone, if not for the way Morty worked that little metal ball into his slit, and was rubbing and touching him like it was the last he’d ever feel of his grandpa and fuck, Morty was giving him that look.
Hungry. Primal.
“D-Damn, you…” Rick twitched in Morty’s hand, against his tongue, against the ring. He moaned. “L-Little fucking tease.” He tightened his grip on Morty’s hair, pushed his head down until he gagged on his cock. “Th-That’s right, t-take it,” Rick taunted, holding him there another moment, just long enough to see the tears welling in his eyes, easing up when Morty began bobbing his head again. “Yeah…” Rick sighed. “T-Take it down your…” He trailed off as Morty sped up, forcefully gagging on his grandpa’s cock. Rick’s eyes rolled back.
Morty was sucking him hard, taking Rick’s cock down his throat like he was getting paid, saliva flooding from his mouth, getting everywhere. And soon, both of Rick’s hands were in his hair, a mix of moans and filthy, degrading words falling from his mouth. He didn’t care about losing control too quick anymore; it was inevitable being drunk off his ass, Morty of all people sucking him off.
Rick was holding his head, thrusting desperately into his mouth, grunting as he facefucked his grandson. There was nothing gentle or polite about it, Morty choking roughly on his cock, Rick’s balls slapping his chin, the spit leaking out, falling to the floor. It was crude, and messy, and had Rick resting his head against the wall, and clutching Morty’s hair for dear life.
“O-Oh fuck…” Rick groaned, panting, thrusting, eyes fluttering. “Keep- y-you’re oh… Jesus Christ, Morty-” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was no use when Morty was deepthroating him, and gagging, and drooling, and his lips looked so good wrapped around- “Fuck…” Rick whined. “S-So m-messy…you look- look so good a-all messed u-up for Grandpa.”
Morty was a mess, mouth and throat full, saliva dripping down his chin, hair all bunched up in Rick’s hands, eyeliner runny with his sweat and tears. But the acknowledgement didn’t stop him; Morty only kept on, gagging harder, sucking faster, rougher. With each thrust, his nose was buried in Rick’s pubes, and he moaned, his entire throat vibrating with it, against Rick’s tip.
Glurk, glurk, glurk.
Rick moaned, eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open.
A familiar heat boiled between his legs, threatening to overflow with every bob of Morty’s head, every lapping of his tongue against Rick’s cock, every moan of his that turned his throat into a warm, wet, vibrating cock sleeve. Rick could hardly think as the heat swelled rapidly, threatening to rip from his depths in violent spurts. He groaned deeply, cock throbbing in Morty’s mouth, trying not to lose control. But it was no use when Morty moaned, and his throat vibrated, and Rick’s thrusts turned sloppy.
“M-Morty, I…” Rick trailed off, could hardly get the words out, moans spilling from his mouth, his torso twitching with each thrust. “Gonna…I-I’m g-gonna f…fucking cum-” The last word was a gasp, and Rick was gulping, and rutting his hips into Morty’s mouth, and tugging on his hair as his orgasm ballooned inside him, burning, electric, mouthwatering.
Then, Rick was moaning in ecstasy as he came down Morty’s throat, working his hips into it, tongue hanging from his mouth. He was seeing stars, body twitching all over, cock pulsing with spurt after spurt of his release, pleasure racking his woozy, tired body, draining him for all he was worth, and then some. Rick fucked Morty’s mouth until he couldn’t anymore, until he grew sensitive, and his thrusts were nothing more than light twitches of his hips, and Morty pulled back, and popped him out.
Rick ended up on the floor.
He didn’t know for how long he sat there, lightheaded, panting heavily, watching the overhead lights spin and go in and out of focus.
But he knew, eventually, that Morty was at his side. And, eventually, they looked at each other.
In that moment, peering into Morty’s wet, hickory eyes, he saw so many things. He saw memories, and unspoken words, and repressed feelings. He saw troubled thoughts, and a messy past. He saw his grandson.
He also saw a smudged, reddish pink smile, and heard words to go along with it.
“Y-You passed out f-for a minute…there,” Morty said. Rick smiled, rolled his eyes.
“You d-damn near sucked th-the soul o-out of my body,” Rick said. “I th-think it would b…be weird if I-I didn’t.”
Morty laughed. Rick chuckled.
They sat there a moment longer on the bathroom floor, the silence, save for the muted club music, refreshing after their eventful night. Rick reveled in it, took deep breaths.
Morty gripped his arm, and Rick turned to look at him. Morty kissed him, barely, catching the corner of his bottom lip. Rick smiled, lowered his head to kiss him properly. Morty sighed.
They pulled away, their noses inches apart.
“I-I m-missed you,” Morty admitted, his voice small. “Like…like a lot.”
Rick searched his face, Morty’s ruined eyeliner, and smudged lip gloss, and deeply flushed cheeks. He snuck a shaky hand into his hair, cradled Morty’s head.
“I…missed y-you, too,” Rick said.
They kissed again, and it was deep, and breathtaking, and warmed Rick to his very core, and he could taste himself, but he didn’t care. This was an “I missed you” kiss, and Rick missed Morty.
When they pulled away, Morty rested his head on Rick’s chest.
Rick sighed, placed an arm around his shoulders.
He stared up at the overhead lights, watching them spin, and go in and out of focus.