Archive of Our Own ^beta

The club was packed. Multi-colored strobe lights painted the space in a retro vibe that paired well with the lava lamps and kitschy psychedelic decorum. The varnished wood of the bar gleamed in the dim, while behind the bustling bartender, the colored bottles shifted between hues of yellow and green, blue and orange.

Rick had been chatting up the sexy bartender without success, when suddenly the music changed. He turned his attention back to the stage.

There stood Morty. He smiled at the audience and strutted over to the metal pole in the center of the stage. Wrapping his slender legs around it like a lover, he ran his tongue down its metal surface. It was easy to guess why his dance number was called The Lollipop.

He twirled slowly around the pole then arched his spine and flung his arms back, flaunting his belly piercing. The small blue stone—Rick’s signature color—twinkled beneath the stage lights. His long blond hair trailed along the floor as he let his head fall back, offering up his throat and chest, while he gyrated his hips against the pole suggestively. He lolled his tongue out of his mouth in an imitation of blissed-out ecstasy.

Rick felt his mouth go dry.

Morty then grabbed the pole with both hands, straightening up quickly in time with the music’s sudden increase in tempo. He spun around again, this time faster, and spread his thighs wide to put on a real show for the front row, his bikini-clad groin crushed against the pole.

As men held out wads of money eagerly to him, their eyes shining, Morty slunk off the pole to crawl across the stage toward his crowd of admirers. His golden mane gave him a wild, predatory look. Just as he reached the stage’s edge, he rolled onto his back like a submissive kitten, letting the men stuff their bills into the elastic of his pink bikini bottom. When one of them tried to cop a feel, Morty jerked up quickly and snapped his teeth a centimeter away from his nose. The patron stepped back, and Morty reared like a cat playing, before standing up elegantly on his high heels and rubbing his little ass against the pole, working it in a way that accentuated the arch of his back.

Rick's erection tented his jeans, and, without thinking, he unzipped his fly, his eyes never leaving Morty.

Morty was starting to touch himself—his thighs, his belly—and there was a whistle from the crowd when he threw his hair back, licking his lips. He closed his eyes and grabbed the pole from behind, lowering himself down to a squat, his mouth falling open to give an inaudible moan. The pole fit snuggly into the crack of his ass, emphasizing its taut mounds.

Rick was imagining his cock in its place instead, and it irked him to no end to know that every man in the room was probably imagining the same thing as well.

Morty pulled himself back up with his arms and curved his legs around the pole, his high heels clacking against the metal as he bent over to grab the bottom of it and lick the base greedily. He righted himself, landing gracefully on his feet, then turned to face the pole and mounted it, suspending himself solely by the strength of his arms to swing his legs around as the tempo swelled. He spun faster and faster, his long hair whipping about in a frenzy. His tanned skin sparkled beneath the recessed lighting, the sweat dripping from him exuding “sexy.”

With a false air of nonchalance, Rick grabbed the vodka he had ordered, downed it in one gulp, and planted a toothpick between his lips. Then he got up and walked to the private back rooms, knowing Morty was watching him closely. There was no need for Rick to inform anyone there about his taking a room before he disappeared behind a curtain of pearls, letting the boy finish his dance while his audience applauded him.

By the time the boy finally joined him, Rick had guzzled a bottle of champagne on his own. His erection had yet to flag, though.

"How was I?" Morty asked, brushing a blond strand of hair off his forehead.

“Absolutely fuckable,” replied Rick.

The teen pouted. “I'll take that to mean you enjoyed my dance?”

“I was too UUURP busy imagining pounding your ass.” Morty kicked him in the shin. “Ow!”

"I'm leaving!" Morty snapped, lifting aside the curtain.

Rick stopped him with a grip on his arm, his eyes wild behind his sunglasses. He kept them on even indoors to conceal the dark circles under his eyes and broken blood vessels, all dead giveaways of his addiction to an array of drugs. “Give me a second show. Here. Just you and UUUURP me.”

Morty shot him an accusatory glare, but relented nevertheless. And with that, Rick knew he had won.

The young man slipped a lollipop out of his pocket before laying the fur coat over the back of the chair Rick was seated in. He unwrapped the candy, stuck it in his mouth, and arranged his long hair behind his shoulders.

The bass vibrating from the club beyond the walls throbbed like the beat of a giant heart, and Rick quickly realized that Morty was swaying his hips from side to side in time with the music. Morty took the old man's hands and placed them on his hips to follow his movements. His golden skin was like pure satin under the callous fingers of the scholar.

Rick moved closer, scooting to the edge of his seat to let the boy make himself at home between his knees.

His soft, little hands settled on Rick’s shoulders, and he stroked the base of his neck. He retrieved his saliva-slicked lollipop and slipped it between Rick’s lips in place of his usual toothpick. Then with an alluring smile, he leaned down to stroke Rick's thighs before turning to rub his pert ass against him. Rick's fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of his pink bikini bottom. Normally, Morty should have chased them away, but that was only if he were with a regular customer.

Two reasons stopped him this particular time. The first was that he liked Rick wanting him and he wanted him to touch him. The second was that the club belonged to Rick, so he was allowed to break the rules with him.

"Baby, the things you make me want to do to you..." Rick snarled as he crunched the lollipop to pieces and grabbed the silky, plump flesh of Morty’s rump.

"Hngh, Rick!" Morty moaned, undulating his hips and distantly aware that his bikini bottom was sliding slowly down his thighs, exposing his round buttocks. He hadn’t thought Rick would be there tonight, or he would have prepared himself for it. If only I’d thought to lube myself up beforehand...

"You ever think about getting some ink done?" Rick asked abruptly. “Right about UUUURP here…” He gently massaged Morty’s right cheek.

"What kind of ink?" Morty replied, blushing and taken by surprise.

"The kind that lasts forever, like a scar," Rick grunted between his teeth, his voice dropping an octave. “The kind that would show you’re miAUGHne.”

Morty held in a moan of pleasure. He turned to embrace Rick, lifting his sunglasses to look him in the eyes. “You want me to get a tattoo of your name?”

“An initial will do," retorted the old man, dryly.

Morty sat down on his lover’s thighs, slipping a hand under the collar of his shirt. “I would...if you asked nicely.”

"You can just say if you don’t want UUUURP it," Rick replied sourly. He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, and Morty took the opportunity to crush his own lips to his in a passionate kiss. Rick enveloped him in his arms. "We'll talk about it later," the old man rasped. “Right now I want to—to fuck you so bad, Morty.”

"I can’t," Morty pouted. “I’m not even ready. You...you should have told me you were coming!” Rick growled in frustration, but Morty ran his fingers through his hair with a small smirk. “Sorry.”

"You don’t look sorry," grumbled his grandfather, laying his head on his shoulder.

One of Morty's hands rested on his erection just peeking out from his open fly. "I’m sure I can do something about that," Morty said reassuringly. He knelt, savoring the look on Rick’s face as he tracked his every move with obvious hunger. For Morty, it felt just as sublime as it did when he was dancing with everyone's attention on him. He felt treasured, desired.

He pulled Rick's sex out and gently kissed the head of it. His lover's penis was hot and wet as he kissed it, throbbing with life and ready to burst. Morty gingerly probed the slit with his tongue, teasing the glans while he slowly fondled the testicles still warm from their time in Rick’s underwear. Finally, he took it in his mouth, enveloping the head with his lips and sucking gently, saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Rick wiped it away with his thumb and rested his head against the back of the chair—and Morty’s coat. He buried his nose in the fur and breathed in Morty's lingering scent as he began sucking.

No one was as gifted as his Morty when it came to giving head. He wrapped his silky little tongue around Rick's girth, pumping gently with one hand while he quietly kneaded his balls with the other. There was something strangely satisfying to know that no Rick had ever been given such favors by his own Morty. He was the first and the only one to have a Morty quite like this. His Morty was one of a kind, unlike any other. While other Ricks could always swap out a Morty they had lost, Rick knew that his was irreplaceable.

Rick had to take good care of him.

"Moeuuurghty!" he growled, his face contorting as his pleasure peaked.

Rick came in his mouth, and Morty swallowed obediently, eyes closed, almost angelic. When Morty stood up and wiped his lips against one of his turquoise tank top straps, Rick hugged his waist and pressed his face against his belly.

"Baby," he whispered, panting.

"Yeah, Rick?" the boy breathed, flushed pink.

“Go get me something—URP—something to drink. I'm fuckin’ thirsty.”

Wounded and offended, the teenager immediately drew back. “Get your own ass to the bar, then. I-I-I’m not your damn w-w-waiter!” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, picking up his belongings on the way and leaving only the sound of clinking pearls in his wake.

The old man rested his head back to face the ceiling, lost in thought. He closed his eyes and swept a hand across his forehead. He really did need a drink, but that wasn’t why he'd been so rude to Morty. The real reason stemmed from the fact that he was becoming more and more frightened of the feelings that were growing inside him as thick and persistent as weeds. He felt stupid for even feeling them, but they seemed impervious to his attempts to squash them.

This kid would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. No matter how tempting, he couldn’t give in to his tender caresses. He was afraid he wouldn’t survive it. He had never been any good at keeping people with him for long. He didn’t want to drive Morty away. And, yet, the more attached he became, the more difficult it would be when it was inevitably time to say goodbye.

He realized that he didn’t want to leave. He was happy here in this city, on this planet, with his family. However, he knew that the day would come when he would ruin everything. That’s always how it went.

With a trembling hand, he withdrew his flask from his jacket and guzzled its contents. He was far too sober to think about all this.