Archive of Our Own ^beta

He’s jerked off once already tonight, or tried to, and the whole of him feels drawn tight like a single muscle, he’d go down to the garage but Rick is asleep downstairs on his cot, passed out face down, Morty had put him to bed hours ago, he checks his phone, two hours ago, Rick with his arm slung around Morty’s shoulder pressing into him, drunk, stumbling drunk, muttering into Morty’s ear about nothing he could understand, and Rick had, he had, Morty adjusts himself in bed and tabs open his phone, Pornhub is still open from a few minutes ago, still open on FREEUSE TEEN GETS CREAMPIED, paused on the girl twisting in the sheets, her eyes shut tightly, and the hand on her thigh, wrinkled and leathery, and Morty cups his hand over himself, over his underwear, his oldest pair of underwear, his favorite, soft and stretchy, he’s had it since he was a kid, he’s had it since before Rick,

and it’s the only pair Rick hasn’t had to replace due to being ripped, or pissed in, or lost, or disintegrated, or consumed, or stretched out on the occasion Rick has felt the need to drag him around by the waistband like an uncooperative handbag, hard to forget Rick giving him the worst wedgie of his life, one of many, the head of his dick poking cotton gone soft and threadbare over the years, this is the pair Rick packs for him when they’re away overnight, he knows Morty likes to have clean underwear, and his toothbrush, also, Rick packs these things for him sometimes, in his lab coat somewhere, and Rick just sleeps as he is, not brushing or showering or even taking off his shoes, he’d sleep just like that if Morty let him, doesn’t he feel disgusting, doesn’t he ever feel like scrubbing his skin off in the shower, 

a few weeks ago Rick had packed this pair of underwear for him, the two of them in a shitty motel, bugs in the lampshade, thin terrible sheets like tablecloth, cold water, Morty shivering, freezing patches on the pillowcase from his wet hair, Rick had snarled at him for his chattering teeth, so fucking dramatic Jesus Christ, Rick in his wifebeater and boxers, curled over him in the dark, looking like every nightmare Morty’s ever had, and he’d been, some ache low in Morty’s stomach, he’d been so warm against Morty’s skin, burning, the way Rick’s,

gotten better at making, or producing, or generating underwear for him, his replacement pairs for Morty used to be starchy but now they’re almost as soft as this one, they even come with the waistband faded and the letters peeling, they fit better, Morty doesn’t know how to thank him for it, how would he even, does Rick take measurements, when Morty’s asleep does he, don’t think about it, remembering Rick sneering at him in the ship, do you christen every new pair Morty or you know what nevermind you little perv I don’t even want to know, remembering the blood heavy and hot in his head thinking yes I do, I think you know I do, I, I, 

Pornhub, he’s got 11 tabs of Pornhub open including FREEUSE TEEN GETS CREAMPIED, the girl is hot, she’s got red hair, she looks like Jessica, she looks like the kind of girls Morty wants, he likes her soft tits, they look soft anyways, he likes her, he wants to want her, he’s got the volume up as high as he dares, he pulls the covers over himself and immediately his hot breath starts fogging up his phone screen, it feels like a jungle on Kluxion-4 or Xython-8 or another thousand places, their names rattling around like rocks in his brain, impressing no one, his hand slides into his favorite underwear, he starts at the beginning,

the babysitter, the alleged dad, Morty saw him in the thumbnail of the video, he had looked tired and weathered and mean, he looks too old to be a dad, he looks like a, now he’s got her down on the couch, there’s no preamble, no porn-plot, he just holds her down like he owns her, he rips her shirt off like it’s paper, she’s not wearing a bra, she doesn’t fight it, her breasts like pats of butter sitting patiently, ready to be touched, he’s got her legs spread open and she’s wearing panties with lace, they look soft, he’s touching her through them and telling her how wet she is, she’s telling him no no no please no but she’s not doing anything to stop him, why isn’t she, anyways the man isn’t listening, Morty has to wipe the screen of his phone with his thumb from the condensation of his breath, it’s so hot under the blankets, she’s crying out, Morty skipped this part earlier but now the man in the video is pulling his cock out, the babysitter, the girl, squirms underneath him, I knew you wanted it you fucking slut, he lines himself up at her mouth, the precome from earlier is tacky on Morty’s dick so he brings his hand up and licks, it tastes like sweat, the girl has her eyes closed and her tongue out like she wants it, and of course he shoves it in, no regard for her, she gags but she takes it, she does, Morty slips a finger into his mouth, she’s good at this, takes it easily, what Rick would call a real fucking professional cocksucker, but then Morty likes the amateur videos better, the ones where the girl struggles to fit it all in, where she chokes, gags, he can imagine, he can almost feel

his own throat heaving, too far, bad habit, the cold rim of the toilet, tile against his knees, good thing there’s nothing left to throw up, when he puts two fingers back in his mouth he can feel how warm and soft he is on the inside, the soft flesh of his cheek, the stretch of thin cords of muscle against his finger, is it possible that he could feel that good around someone’s, he’s tried on his own, sprained his back, and Rick had known, somehow, had laughed at him all week, he hasn’t tried since, and the dad pries the girl off his cock, holds her head down easy, pulls her panties to the side, his cock is wet with her spit, Morty’s hand is saliva-slick, it feels good, it’s hard to breathe, Morty lifts the blankets a little with his free hand to let in some air and his phone flops over onto its screen, fine,

he’s suddenly aware, in the dark, of the smell of the blanket he’s under, a blanket appropriated from the backseat of the ship, it’s fall, it’s cold, this was the only blanket not acid-eaten or torn or covered in some kind of slime, he doesn’t want to know, it’s the blanket they use when they have to sleep in the car, huddled in the backseat pressed into, the blanket, which came with the ship, he wonders where Rick got it from, and it smells heady, like cigarette smoke, like machine oil, like, like, like, Morty rolls onto his belly, props himself up on his knees, face crushed into the mattress, touching himself, and Morty thinks about Rick lying there on his cot, no blankets at all, sleeping in his own skin, Morty should have at least taken his coat off, Rick sitting there sagging and pathetic, a sheen of vomit-drool down the side of his mouth, puke stained into his sweater, little chunks of breakfast, scrambled eggs, Morty’s own stomach churning at the sight, he should have taken Rick’s coat off, he should have taken Rick’s sweater off, it’s starting to hurt the way he’s gripping himself so he eases off, if Rick wants to sleep in a puddle of his own puke and piss what does Morty care, it’s what he deserves,

and, deserves, doesn’t Morty deserve to take Rick’s sweater off, if he wants to, isn’t it his right, and he’s just, he’d just be helping Rick, really who could fault him for taking off Rick’s sweater, heavy and sour with vomit, only a real fucking sicko would look at him taking his grandpa’s, taking Rick’s sweater off and think that Morty was doing something bad, or something wrong, and why shouldn’t he, because Rick has done worse, hasn’t he, Rick does so many awful things to him every day, Rick will leave him shuddering on the cold concrete of the garage floor, Rick will cut through his shirt like he’s an object, he’ll cut through his shirt or rip it off, he’ll, he’ll pull Morty close to him under the covers on a freezing planet in a freezing motel and hold him until he stops shivering, why was he so warm, radiating heat like the car’s engine, burning with something Morty will never understand, that night in the motel Morty curled into his chest Rick had smelled like sweat, he had smelled like a man, and Morty had,

dizzily Morty opens his phone again and it takes a while before the camera recognizes his face to unlock it, it’s hot under the blankets it’s so hot, he can’t trust himself to jerk off to his own fantasies, no, better to jerk off to porn, better, normal, normal, normal men all over the country jerk off to this, there’s the redhead with her mouth open in a silent cry as the man drives into her, his hands are so tight around her thighs it’s white where his fingers are digging into her soft flesh, Morty can imagine, he can imagine blue-purple-yellow blooming on the inside of her legs like a secret, he can imagine her touching them when she examines herself in the bathroom mirror, left unhealed, why bother, nobody else will see them, the girl has her eyes drawn shut like she can’t bear what’s happening to her, the man is fucking her like that’s what she was made for,

and millions of men around the world are jerking off to videos just like this, they’re imagining themselves touching the girl just like this, hurting the girl just like this, can he imagine, Jessica, could he hurt her, her underneath him twisted up in the blankets, would she like it, no, no, she’s, no, but then he’s thinking about his knees digging into the unforgiving canvas of a military cot, would he like it, he feels sick inside, crack his skull open right now, see all the disgusting thoughts wriggling in his brain, and sometimes Morty feels far away from his own body when he touches himself, it feels like someone else he’s touching, the head of his dick is so oversensitive when he thumbs over the slit he breathes out shuddering, he just wants to cum so he can go to sleep, 

the girl in the video looks like she likes it, and the man is so big, how would it feel to have something like that inside, rearranging his guts, her guts, don’t think about it, she flinches every time the man slams into her but she arches into it, it must feel good but it’s hard to imagine something so big feeling good inside anyone, feeling right, feeling like it belongs there, Rick, god, he’s seen Rick, he’s seen Rick, how many times has he seen Rick stuff himself into something, someone, writhing with what Morty thought, when he was a kid, watching uncontrollably through the slits of his fingers, was pain,

the man has his big hands around the girl’s neck now, her eyes go wide, her mouth opens and no sound comes out, and it seems impossible that anyone could be that good at acting, that what Morty sees in her eyes could be real, and he doesn’t slow down his pace, fist hot and tight around his dick, sensation doubles, he knows what it feels like to have hands rough and calloused around his neck and he knows what it feels like to hold someone down and he knows to squeeze from the sides it’s faster that way and if you squeeze from the front like that you’re gonna puncture the trachea just saying you ever cave someone’s throat in it’s not pretty let me tell you that Morty and Rick’s downstairs passed out on his cot and his cybernetics don’t work that well when he’s drunk,

but the man eases off, breathes out slow, his hands slide stupidly down to her shoulders to hold her, almost paternal, paternal, why did he, people get choked in porn all the time, people get choked in real life all the time, and they live, most of the time, they live and not only do they live through it they think about it at night when they’re just trying to sleep, and she looks up wide-eyed and, for some reason, scared, it’s not like it didn’t start with him shoving her down and ripping her clothes off, she’s a FREEUSE TEEN, not even a teen anyways probably twenty-five or something, and this is what she signed up for, and besides it’s not like the, the “dad” would have choked her until she passed out, lying there unconscious and vulnerable, god, god, god, and he tries to chase down what he was starting to feel before the “dad” pussied out, that hurt too big for his body, imagining himself on top of, don’t, don’t, on top of her, on top of the girl, who he should want, the girl, who looks like Jessica, who he should want, and he does want, he does, and he wants them in a good way, a normal way, he wants them in the normal way that normal men want girls, sitting on top of her hands around her delicate neck, could he, no, of course he couldn’t, he’s such a fucking pussy, him and the “dad”, who is fucking the girl now like he never had her neck in his hands at all, Jesus Christ, Rick would have

he takes a deep shuddering breath into his sheets, his nose is running now, he’s disgusting, and his dick hurts, and he can’t even bring himself to pay attention to the video now, the girl is crying or something, it doesn’t matter, who cares, who fucking cares, it’s all the same, the same as all the other videos he’s tried to watch in the past couple of hours, he’s seen it all before, it might as well be Youtube autoplaying on his phone, and it’s not enough, it hasn’t been enough for a while now, and he’s been looking up things that make him feel like a bad person, and sometimes after he comes he feels like going down to the garage and taking one of the thin red plastic hoses for funneling oxygen into the ship and 

Morty if you ever gotta you know take the coward’s way out hey I’m just saying shit happens if I’m gone they’re gonna try to get my secrets out of you and don’t look at me like that just don’t fucking hang yourself there’s a thousand ways for you to fuck that up you know what happens Morty when you hang yourself you piss and shit your pants and and and I know that’s nothing new for you but just letting you know before you try any of that autoerotic asphyxiation shit you’ve been watching hey you’ve got your entire internet history just lying around what am I supposed to do not look at it and all that other emo shit you’ve been looking up too I mean look  I just don’t wanna walk in on you with your dick hanging out get it hanging out okay Jesus I guess we’re not doing jokes anymore and besides hanging yourself I mean come on Morty might as well write some poetry about it and stick your head into an oven at that point and we all know how good your poems are so you have access to my armory as long as you don’t try to you know pull any funny shit at least you can go out like a man,

Rick’s index and middle finger up against the roof of his own mouth, chk-chk boom, his other hand draped carelessly over the steering wheel, clutching a bottle of something dark that smelled like Summer’s nail polish remover, and Morty, trapped unprepared under his seatbelt, he’s seen it, the way mice die in glue traps, his heart against his ribs, Rick knows, he knows, he knows, of course he knows, and yet he had seen, when Rick took his fingers out to smile easy at Morty, he had seen the thin shivering strand of saliva connecting Rick’s fingers to his lips, and

he had slid Rick off his shoulder onto the cot, Rick had stared at him, stared up at him, and Rick said his name, and, unable to hold his own weight up, had slumped onto his side and retched, thick globs of cloudy saliva dripping out of his mouth, oh god, his chest heaving with effort, at the exposed metal beams along the sides of his cot Morty saw his gray hands clench like clawing out of the grave, why did he say Morty’s name, he had gone limp after vomiting himself out, just lying there defenseless, just waiting for someone to, and Morty swaying on his feet feeling drunk, remembering Rick’s hot breath, he had stared at the papers tacked to the wall connected by scarlet strings in secret ways, schematics, blueprints, conspiracies, grocery lists, guns, Meeseeks, the ship, Abrodolph Lincoler, and, underneath a diagram of what’s either another laser sword or a scary-looking dildo or, knowing Rick, both, underneath that, just the corner of a paper peeking out, his name, Morty, letters like injured worms, Rick’s blackout-drunk handwriting, indesipherable to anyone except Morty, the tack pinning him to the wall sagging under the weight of the strings wound around it, he had lifted the papers covering it to see the rest and it was all blacked out with angry marker,

he had stood there, he had stood there, he could have walked away he could have shut his eyes against it but he stood there and watched through his fingers as Rick had don’t think about it and it’s not as if Morty didn’t know what Rick was doing, he was thirteen, type P in his laptop and see what pops up, Mom had even gotten him a book about it, actually an old book of Summer’s with advice also on how to choose a proper-fitting bra, an American Girl book, which he had jerked off to for a week, but he had watched, knowing, watched Rick push the alien down, watched Rick undo his belt the clatter of it still now ringing in his ears, he had felt his jeans grow tight, the American Girl book didn’t have a chapter on this, and it felt like peeing himself in class and hot liquid pooling in the dimple in the plastic chair and everyone turning to look at him, it felt like his pants pulled down in one smooth movement, it felt like falling headlong down the stairs,

hang himself, what a stupid idea, dangling there in the garage Rick would just cut him down like a carcass in a butcher shop, piss and shit and all, spread him out on the table, he shivers, holds himself tighter, and Rick would fix him, swap his blood-starved brain for a new one, fresh eyeballs in his sockets, he’d wake up on the couch with Ball Fondlers playing on the TV, he’d watch it with new eyes and a new brain, sitting one couch cushion away from, Rick would fix him,

the girl is lying there still, looking at the “dad” sexdoll-perfect, her expression something beyond resignation, her skin shiny with sweat like a thing just unwrapped, can he imagine it, does he recognize the look on her face, does he like it, the “dad” fucks her, hard, but her expression doesn’t change and neither does his, it’s like two walls against each other, it’s

just sex, Morty, people have sex all the time, it doesn’t mean anything, keep being a little spaz about it and you’re never gonna get your dick wet, Rick don’t think about it balls deep into another alien and all the blood boiling in Morty’s body, he had looked at where Rick had her split open don’t think about it, he had said You’re hurting her, why had he said that, it’s just sex, people in porn have sex and it doesn’t mean anything, Morty’s grown up, he’s had sex that didn’t mean anything, he’s a man, people in porn hurt each other and it doesn’t mean anything, the fact that he knows the way Rick holds his cock and pumps himself before he, before he, that doesn’t mean anything, 

and the FREEUSE TEEN does actually GET CREAMPIED, the “dad” slams his huge cock into her and stays there, and she’s so much smaller than him she couldn’t stop him if she wanted to, if she even wanted to, he pins her down and keeps her there even after cum starts leaking out of her, 

he’s knife’s-edge close now, he just wants to come he just wants to come he just wants, it doesn’t matter it doesn’t fucking matter if he wants to go downstairs and stare into the retinal scanner in Rick’s doorknob and unlatch the deadbolts and disable the defense system and yank the door open and tear Rick’s coat off and his sweater off and hold him down and yank his head back by his hair and feel him jolt awake and feel the noise Rick will make into his hand and feel the small-animal breaths from Rick’s nose against his fingers what is he going to do to me it’s Rick’s fault and it hurts and he needs to cum and something is wrong with him and he can still feel from hours ago Rick’s hand low on his back it had felt good and he had liked it shoving his underwear down to his knees now and hearing seams rip it doesn’t matter pressing a finger into himself tight tight tight pressed up against Rick’s chest in the motel he had imagined it he had liked it watching Rick he had liked it standing over Rick in the dark he had liked it and and and he had tugged at his zip with shaking hands and pulled himself out and held himself just like Rick and he had looked down at Rick’s unconscious body feeling big feeling like a man and he had

He cries out into his blankets when he comes, it hurts, tears through him, distantly he can feel himself seize around his finger, his legs shake and fail him, he lies there, breathing, all the atoms in his body feel like they’ve come loose, there’s not enough oxygen in here, just his own wet breath, he takes his finger out of himself but the shame doesn’t hit him until he raises his hips a little, moves to pull his underwear up for when Rick inevitably drags him out of bed later, and realizes the waistband is torn, split from the rest of the cloth, hanging on by a thread, and what claws up Morty’s throat isn’t a sob but a laugh, wet and hysterical, something is broken inside him and Rick’s probably seen it from the start, but it doesn’t matter, let him pull the blankets off, let him drag you into the light, let him see, 

but for now Rick is sleeping downstairs, Morty can feel him in the house, he can always feel him, some raw nerve connecting him to Rick ever since that night, that first night, the night Morty first killed someone with his bare hands, had felt her go airless and limp underneath him, and Rick had held him, drunk then, too, indulgent, burning around him, Morty had cried, afraid of himself, and Rick had held him, just you and me Morty just you and me in here, in Rick’s room, in the house, in the world, and Morty had felt for the first time his own weight on the earth, and he feels it now, too, still afraid, but for now Rick is sleeping downstairs, and Morty can almost see him now, the slight rise and fall of his chest, the pulse faint in his neck but still there, alive: a man.