Chapter Text
Rick was drunk. Really, he wasn't ever truly sober, not anymore. But right now, he was absolutely shitfaced. Spinning head, eager tongue, loose bowels, the works.
At least it was for a good reason.
Rick fell onto his bed, face buried in his pillow. He tried not to breath, the burn in his lungs building, matching the burn in his throat from all the bile, effectively making it impossible to think about anything , let alone Mo-
He lifted his head and groaned. This wasn't working. This never worked. Maybe he just needed more alcohol. Yeah, worth a shot. He rolled off of the bed with the grace of a toddler and stuck his arm in the space between the bed and floor, feeling around for that Argonian ale knock-off he found.
Rick's search was fruitless. He must have drank it all already, damnit. He needed to go out and get more, but in order to do that-
Fuck. No. Being around Morty was exactly what he was trying to avoid, for fucks sake. His idiot grandson who he never should have taken out for ice cream today. With the way he lapped at that cone- well, if Rick didn't know any better, he'd say he was being seduced. But he did know better, because he was Rick and he knew fucking everything, like the fact that Morty was a little bastard who somehow didn't know that you're not supposed to moan like that just because the ice cream tastes amazing. It probably wasn't even about the ice cream, he was probably thinking about licking on Jessica or something, in his annoying hormone-addled constantly-horny teenage way.
Rick stood up. He needed that ale. He shot a portal- first to the garage, to grab the memory gun, just in case. And then, onto Morty's bed, causing him to drop into the ship's passenger seat with a startled yelp. Usually, he liked to go manhandle Morty awake and into an adventure himself, but he couldn't stand touching his grandson right now. So, portal it is.
“W-what the hell, Rick?” Morty complained, staring with bleary eyes at the driver’s seat that Rick was struggling to get into.
“D-d-don’t question it, Morty, need you- your- need some more ale, Morty. Argonian ale, do you know how pricey that is? Worth waaaay more than your beauty rest, Morty, you don’t- you don’t need any anyway.” Rick successfully got into the seat and took off, letting memory muscle help him pilot like he always boasted he could. Yeah, the ship might be able to detect the alcohol levels in his blood and adjust the automatic steering accordingly, but no one needed to know that. “Y-you got that, Morty?”
“Whatever, Rick.” Morty muttered, slumping down into his seat. “I’ll just sleep in the car.”
“This isn’t a- a car, Morty, this is a spaceship beyond the technology level that a-anyone else could create, you’re just too much of an idiot to appreciate that-” Rick cut himself off and frowned. Morty’s eyes were closed, head resting against the window. That little shit must already be asleep.
Rick’s eyes traveled down. Morty was still allergic to pajama pants apparently- wearing those briefs and that stupid yellow shirt he’s so fond of. And his legs- fuck, there were goosebumps. Serves him right, he should have grabbed a blanket. Honestly, what did he think was going to happen when he heard the sound of a portal? Rick knows he has Morty’s ears trained to that shit at this point. If he didn’t want to come prepared, then he can deal with it.
Rick drove in silence, looking out at space instead of the half-dressed teen sleeping next to him. That only lasted for about thirty seconds. Rick turned his head again to glance at him, making note of how his head was tilted back, showcasing his neck. Soft, vulnerable, inviting neck. Rick could kill him. Rick was a god. He could do anything. He’s toppled armies- fuck, Morty’s toppled armies with him, and right now he’s asleep next to an unstable drunk Rick.
Fuck Morty and his naive, dumb trust.
Rick couldn’t look away from his neck. He wanted to bite into the soft flesh, right above the collarbone, and leave teeth marks that he knew everyone would see. Proof of ownership, right there. He’s heard of a Morty who willingly let his Rick brand him, and Rick has to bite his own tongue, because he knows that’s what he wants. Morty, begging to be marked all over, writhing around underneath Rick, those damn ice cream moans spilling out from him.
Rick hit his head on the steering wheel. “Fuck.” He took a deep breath and shrugged off his lab coat, slinging it over Morty in one quick move, making sure to cover up all of him. Morty was so damn small that it was easy.
“Fuck you, Morty,” Rick muttered. “With your stupid mouth and your stupid tongue and your- your- fuck. Can’t eat ice cream like a normal grandson, nooo, you have to go and be a-a-a slut about it, huh Morty? W-what, you-you think some random alien is gonna hear you and wanna take you home with them, and that’ll make Jessica jealous or some shit? Not going to happen. I can kill them ten different ways within four seconds, Morty. Tr-try to go up against those odds, you little shit. Spoiler alert- you can’t.”
He looked over again only to notice- fuck, that lab coat was really still right now.
Rick ripped it off, and came face to face with a wide-eyed Morty. The eye contact held for a beat, two beats, three-
“Rick, I-”
“Oh no you don’t,” Rick interrupts, and reaches for the memory gun. Thank fucking- well, him- that he grabbed it earlier.
Morty saw it and brought his hands up in what Rick registered as a pleading gesture, but it was too late. He fell back into the chair again, asleep. Rick gritted his teeth and put his lab coat back on. No more ale tonight- they were going home, and Rick was going to pass out for the next thirteen hours. Good fucking riddance. What was Morty doing to him?