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Rick was never good at resisting his temptations.

And with the sliver of his good morals walking around outside of a slime tank—Toxic Rick knew it was going to come to this eventually. 

His whole existence was a black hole—a destructive void eating up everything around him. Right now, the only thing left was Morty. Sweet, pathetic little Morty. Morty, the only thing in the shitstain of a universe that flickered a little light into the endless pitch chasm of Rick’s loneliness. 

Right now, Rick was going half fucking mad—his narcissism and possessiveness clashed with his attachment to the kid. He lashed out, screamed, cursed, insulted the kid until he burst into sloppy tears—but he never raised a hand against him, and he always threw the kid a bone after. 

‘Cause even when Rick lashed out, fuck, he didn’t want to hurt his Morty. He didn’t want to hurt the kid. He got mad, sure; got stuck in his own ego, of course; but more than anything, when Rick looked at the frail, shivering body of his Toxic grandson, he needed Morty. Rick was fighting against the desperate ache in his goopy chest that begged him to get on his fucking knees and hold Morty to him, to rock him and pet him and run his lips over the shell of his ear to whisper sweetness to him. 

There wasn’t any disgust. No, his shame for his thoughts was left with his “healthy” self. 

No, the only thing keeping Rick from falling apart at Morty’s feet was his own pride. 

But, shit, when Morty looked up at him and said he wanted to die, Rick saw himself mirrored in those big, green, doe eyes. He saw himself standing imposing and intimidating and manic—

Rick was a black hole. He knew he was. And he knew if he had Morty, the two of them would implode, beautifully. He’d drag Morty down, down, down to his level, grip Morty by the soul and selfishly keep him caged. 

Rick needed Morty, and he knew he would make Morty need him back just as much, even if it destroyed the kid. 

Even if Rick didn’t want to destroy him. 

He knew he’d snap eventually. 

He didn’t even remember what he’d done—what accomplishment he was so proud of—when he burst into a flailing, swearing amalgamation of feral mania. He screamed his own praises, kicking over Morty’s slime pots and gripping the kid by his shirt collar, flinging spittle onto his scared little face. 

“I OWN YOU!” Rick screamed, “I OWN YOU BECAUSE—‘CAUSE NO ONE, NuuurghO ONE CAN STOP ME.”

Morty just whimpered. He tried to close his eyes, tried to look away, but Rick gripped at his chin and forced him back. 

“Y-you, you should be honored , M-Morty. Y-you’re nothing, fucking—nothing, without me. I am your GOD. I am your EVERYTHING.” 

Rick finally dropped to his knees, nose to nose with Morty.

“Look at me. Look at me, Morty,” he muttered, “I am your everything. Y-you, you’re mine.”

And then, Morty’s soft lips parted, and with a look of terror and wonder, he gasped out—

“Yours.” 

And Rick snapped. 

He groaned, long and rumbling in his chest like an animal, and pulled Morty into his arms. Morty’s thin little legs splayed over Rick’s thighs and Rick buried his face into Morty’s shoulder. The topmost layer of Morty’s slime skin stuck to Rick’s lips and he greedily lapped it up. 

“Morty, my Morty, y-you’re, you’re so—“ Rick’s hips bucked up and Morty whimpered. His little hands gripped Rick’s lapels, goo oozing between his fingers.

“Fuck, baby, s-so pretty...baby, Morty, all, all for me. All mine.” Rick left sloppy kisses up Morty’s neck until he reached Morty’s lips. He didn’t dare close his eyes, too eager to watch the way Morty’s fluttered closed. 

Morty was shaking, but he still submissively opened his mouth for Rick, his sweet little tongue shyly poking out to touch Rick’s lip. Rick’s chest felt like it was going to burst, his hands ran up Morty’s shirt, manipulating the goo until he could easily peel it off. 

He kissed his grandson like he was starving for it. And Morty, in all his inexperienced, pubescent wisdom, floundered to kiss back—trying just hardest to respond to Rick’s coaxing, trying to please Rick.

“S-such a, such a good, good boy. A, a, a good boy for, for Grandpa.” Rick sat back, his hands possessively gripping Morty’s bare shoulders as his gaze raked down Morty’s heaving little body. “Fuck, s-so beautiful.” 

“Really?” Morty whispered, “I-I-I’m...I’m g-grandpa’s good-good boy?” Morty’s eyes were pleading. Rick was his whole fucking world, and that thought made Rick’s cock throb. 

Rick knew his face was too open, too vulnerable, too soft as he ran his fingertips over Morty’s cheek, as Morty’s hands held his arm and he turned to nuzzle into Rick’s palm. Morty kissed at Rick’s wrist, his fingers, and Rick pushed his thumb against Morty’s plush lips and they opened obediently. Morty’s tongue was hot and soft as he sucked at Rick’s finger, eager to please. 

Rick hated having to take his hands off of Morty. So he replaced his thumb with his mouth and eased them both to the sticky floor, keeping their bodies as close as possible while he struggled to get their pants off. 

He was impatient, of course, and had barely managed to push his briefs over his cock before he was grinding against Morty’s body. He took their cocks in hand and Morty screamed Rick’s name, like a fucking prayer. It was gorgeous. Both he and Morty were dripping pre like faucets, and Rick smeared their combined fluids all over their cocks, squeezing their shafts in his palm. He groaned, slowly pushing his hips to drag his cock over Morty’s, feeling Morty hot against him, watching Morty’s eyes roll back in pleasure. 

“N-no one, no one can make you feel like this, Morty. O-only me. You-you hear that, Morty, only me,” Rick punctuated his words with a tight squeeze to their cocks that punched the air out of Morty’s lungs. 

Y-yours, only, only yours,” Morty wheezed, ”Riiick....”

Rick gathered up their precum in his hand and used it to slick up his fingers. He rubbed around Morty’s hole, watching his grandson squirm at the double stimulation, Rick’s other hand still holding their cock’s together. 

“C-c’mon, Morty, c’mon, bauurghby,” Rick mumbled, “Fuck Grandpa’s fist.” 

And Morty, obedient, sweet, fragile little Morty, started wildly bucking his hips into Rick’s hand. Rick grinned at the enthusiasm. 

“Woah, woah there, s-slow down,” Rick pushed his weight onto Morty’s hips, slowly pushing his index finger into Morty’s tight, hot little hole. “S-slow down....yeeah, yeah just like that...g-grind it slow for me, baby....yeah, you, you like that...little slut.” 

Morty’s answering cry was a warbling, high pitched thing. 

OooOooh, R-Rick...G-grandpa, Grandpa Riiiick....”  

“Fuck,” Rick hissed, pushing another finger beside the first. “Y-you like that, y-you like being Grandpa’s little, Grandpa’s good little slut?” 

Tears sprung to Morty’s eyes as he moaned out an affirmative, his hips twitching as he couldn’t decide if he wanted to buck up into Rick’s fist or grind down onto his fingers. 

“Y-you’re, you’re fucking gorgeous, Morty, fuuuuuck.” 

Morty took Rick’s fingers like a champ, opening up beautifully for him. Even on finger three, when his face screwed up in pain, it was immediately followed by a whine of pleasure, Morty grinding down harder. 

“Wh-what, what do you want, baby, t-tell me, beg, beg for Grandpa, Morty.” Rick expertly massaged Morty’s prostate; Morty’s eyes went glassy with tears and lust. “C’c’mon, beautiful...cariño...”

“You! Rick, Rick, Rick!” Morty chanted, “P-please own me, Rick! Please—I want, I want Grandpa’s cock!” 

Rick took his hands off of Morty and ate up then responding whine by leaning over for another kiss. He slid in easily, Morty letting him in so smooth and perfect. 

Morty’s body was so hot, so perfect. He got around Rick’s cock like a glove—like, like—

“F...fuuuuck, fuck, baby, y-you were, you were made for this,” Rick kissed at Morty’s chest, briefly lapping over his cute little nipples. “You were made for my cock.”

Rick thrusted into Morty slow and deep, feeling how the kid’s walls gripped him when he pulled out, desperate to keep him inside.  

Rick’s hands were fisted in Morty’s slimy curls as Morty started squirming. Rick thought Morty was close to cumming—but then Morty was sitting up, pushing Rick onto his back. 

With a long moan, Morty sat down on Rick’s cock, his eyes rolling back as he was filled to the brim. He tried to cover his face with his hands—but Rick grabbed at his wrists and yanked them down. 

In that moment, Rick knew he was God—because only a god could create something as sublime as this. This was it. Morty was perfection, the missing piece of Rick, the only thing in existence who could fit with him so seamlessly. 

Rick watched Morty bounce on his cock like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Rick couldn’t stand it—he sat up, wrapping his arms tightly around Morty, bundling him up in his lap again. He’d let go of one of Morty’s wrists, the other still clasped in his hand—and their fingers laced together. 

They rocked together in time, the slime on their bodies rubbing and mixing and meshing until they were indistinguishable, binding them together in a sticky, gunky mess. 

Rick had never felt so close to someone in his life. 

They kissed again, seeking each other out, frantic to be connected in every way they could. 

If they went on, maybe they wouldn’t be able to separate apart ever again. 

It was this thought that finally had Rick’s balls tightening. He came—messy, thick spurts of cum coating inside Morty’s walls and Morty wailed into Rick’s mouth. Morty’s nails dug into Rick’s back and he rode Rick’s cock until he’d milked every last drop, his own orgasm taking him by surprise as he writhed in Rick’s lap. 

Rick didn’t let him go. He laid them down again, face to face, and stared into Morty’s wide, adoring eyes. 

“My, my Morty...cariño...te quiero...” 

Rick whispered, knowing Morty wouldn’t understand—the only way Rick knew how.

“Mi corazón...te amo...”

They held each other close, Rick’s soft voice lulling them to sleep. 

-

But of course, the moment couldn’t last. 

Morty woke up cold and alone, surrounded by his broken slime pots. Rick was staunchly ignoring him, focusing solely on his equations. 

Morty started to cry, curling up on the dirty floor. 

“S-shut the fuck up!” Rick yelled, not even looking back. “God, you’re such a whiny piece of shit...”

Morty whimpered, burying his face in his hands. He could feel Rick’s cum seeping out of him. 

Rick didn’t look back. 

He felt a tug on his lab coat. He looked down at Morty with a vicious glare. Morty was on his knees at Rick’s feet, tears streaming down his face and snot bubbling over his lip. He was a mess. He looked disgusting. Rick kicked him back—more gently than he’d ever admit. 

And Morty rolled over to crawl right back. 

“R-R-Rick....p-please...I-I-I’m....I’m nothing , Rick. I’m, I’m nothing w-without you.” Morty pleaded, his hands clasped. “Please, puh-please give me purpose, Rick.” 

And Rick broke again. 

He was a weak man and he knew it. 

He fell to his knees again, for Morty. His voice went soft, again. 

It was going to be a cycle, he knew. He didn’t have the will to stop it. And they both knew they would always come back to it, again, again again.

-

When Rick was whole again, he’d gotten all of the memories from both his halves. 

He held Toxic Morty in his arms after taking his essence. He held him close. 

In thirty seven seconds he’d developed an anesthetic. 

“Y-you’re, you’re gonna be okay, M-Morty.” Rick pet Toxic Morty’s slimy curls. Morty curled up in his arms. 

“I...I’m going to die.” 

“No! No, y-you’re...you’re not, it’s, it’s okay—“

“N-no, Rick. I...I get it.” Toxic Morty wheezed weakly. He reached his little hand up to Rick’s face. “C-can you...can you tell me I’m...I’m worth it—b-before I go?” 

“G-god,” Rick’s throat tightened. He knew, logically, that he was getting his Morty back with the essence he’d taken. 

But, fuck. He couldn’t help it. 

“Y-you’re more than worth it, buddy,” Rick whispered. Toxic Morty’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Y...you gave me, you gave me purpose, Rick.” 

Rick swallowed thickly.

“I could say the same to you, Morty.” 

Toxic Morty melted into a puddle, slipping through Rick’s fingers. 

Rick took a long, long drink from his flask. 

-

A week later, and the Rickiest Rick had his Mortiest Morty back. Thankfully, just getting the essence of Toxic Morty didn’t transfer over the memories. 

 

 

Right?