Title: I'm So Enamoured When I'm Hammered And You're There
Author: Daisy
Fandom: Rick And Morty
Setting: Morty's Bedroom, Rick's Garage
Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Characters: Rick Sanchez, Morty Smith, Jerry Smith
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 1249
Type of Work: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Sloppy Drunk!Rick, Alcoholism/Alcohol Use, Closeted!Morty, Slight Sexual Coercion, C137cest, Grandfather/Grandson Incest, Incest
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Rick had a hard time keeping it to himself with his already low inhibitions hitting record lows.
AN: So, this was meant to be for a request fill originally, but then it really got away from where I wanted to take that particular fic. Requests are still open on my Tumblr (popgoesthewiener), for anyone who would like to request a RickMorty fic from me! Search up the Writing Prompts tag and ask me something!
Anyway, so, yes. This fic might get a companion piece, if anyone would be interested in it. Just let me know!
I'm So Enamoured When I'm Hammered And You're There ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"M-M-M-OURGH-Tyyyy~" Rick almost managed to make his words sound a little more melodic, but in the end, Morty still heard little more than a burp in the middle of his name. The man stood in the doorway to his grandson's bedroom, one arm bent against the door jamb and most of his body leaning against it. His smile was lopsided in a way that suggested half of his face might be numb, and there was one eye he just couldn't seem to pry open.
Sitting up in bed, Morty winced slightly. The light from the hallway seeped in around the darkened figure of his grandfather, shifting as the elder man pulled his bottle of whatever to his lips and took another long pull. For his own sake, the teen was lucky that he couldn't see the bob of his Adam's Apple, because he knew his self control would crack from that alone.
"Moooooooorty~" He tried again, the burp coming at the tail end of this one, as he stumbled forward, crashing into the soft mattress he never would have allowed himself to have. Of course, half of what he was lying on was his boneless, alcohol drenched grandson, who tried to scramble up the bed once the shock had drained away.
"Wh-what do you want, Rick?" He was doing his best to keep his voice down, but it was so shrill with the other's body on top of his like this that he didn't quite think his father would stay asleep.
"I need… I need m-m-my M-M-Mmmmm…" Pausing to nestle his nose in at the dip of the teen's collarbone, Rick sighed softly, contentedly, before a loud snore left him, and Morty gave his own, exasperated sigh. What in nine dimensions was he supposed to do with this?
Apparently, he was going to struggle to get them both laid out in his bed in a somewhat comfortable position and try to get the rest of his night's worth of sleep.
Rick didn't seem to have a single desire to stay still; however, if Morty thought he was a wild sleeper, he'd never once considered that Rick in an alcohol coma could possibly move half this much. By the end of it, he had a leg thrown around Morty's hips, the teen crushed to his chest, and his other leg stretched out just as far as it could go. What a sight it must have been to wake up to.
But Morty didn't get the chance. When he woke up, noticeably four hours after his alarm was supposed to go off, there was hardly any evidence that it all hadn't just been a weird dream. The only thing that confirmed it was the stink of booze still on his pajama top and skin. Figuring Rick had called him in, as he was won't to do, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and started for the shower, to take care of the odd smell.
When he finally hit the ground floor, there was a loud curse from the garage. He poked his head in, his arms still through the holes of his shirt, but he hadn't pulled it over his head yet.
"Rick?"
"O-oh, uh, h-h-hey, Morty." Rick spoke easily enough, though he sounded distracted. "Can- Can you hand me that bottle and a wrench, Mo-Morty?"
Taking one look at the bottle, the brunet shook his head.
"I'll g-get you the wrench, Rick." He said, softly, and winced when Rick swiveled around and gave him a hard stare.
"And the bottle, Mo-Morty." While the suggestion was meant to sound gentle, it came off hostile and Morty edged closer to the wrench. Maybe, if he accidentally knocked it over, Rick would stay a little more sober today. The second his fingers touched it and pushed softly at the green glass, Rick's eyes went wide, but his warning died on his lips as it tipped and fell off the shelf, and despite him lurching forward, it crashed against the pavement. With it's destruction, Rick's self control was quick to follow.
He almost looked feral as he turned on Morty, who was nervously backing towards the door, grabbing him by the arms hard enough to bruise and crashing their lips together. There was no finesse, no care to the movement, the scent of stale alcohol and the taste of it mingling on Morty's tongue as he was pressed back into the shelves. Most of him, he was pretty sure, was not enjoying it, but there was some sick part of him that felt that this was possibly the best thing ever.
Rick had to lean down just enough to hunch his shoulders, one hand clutching the shelf just above Morty's head and the other digging into his hip. It seemed he'd finally decided (or figured out) that Morty was in no position to try and pull away, so his hands were freed for better things. For example, his hands were freed for making the brunet gasp like that again; swiping his thumb over his grandson's hip bone, he pulled back from the kiss just enough to relish in the way Morty wiggled and whined like that. Damn, but Morty was more beautiful than he'd ever expected, panting and dazed, a string of saliva connecting them together, his skin flushed and eyes unfocused. Not to mention the hands fisted in the front of his lab coat…
"Hey, Rick, can you-" Jerry started, opening the door without knocking and coming in to find Rick in his chair, hunched over with his back to the idiot's intrusion. Morty was standing near the whiteboard, his back also to Jerry, studying some of the almost incomprehensible scribbles leftover from Rick's drunken ramblings the night before.
"Can I wh-Urp-What, Jerry?" Rick barely turned to look over his shoulder, and it seemed that his cold reception had gotten to him, because the brunet was backpedaling out of the room.
"N-nothing, I'll just… I'll just ask Summer."
"Get a job, Jerry!" Rick called after him, swiveling his chair around to get a good look at his mousy grandson, only to curse under his breath when Morty bolted. Trust an idiot like Jerry to ruin a perfectly good thing by existing. Maybe they should have left him at the Jerryboree. Another swig of the whiskey from his flask and Rick was slinking down in his seat, spreading his legs and absently palming his pitiful excuse for a boner. He was way too drunk to properly bone Morty, anyway. The boy deserved his best, and that most certainly wasn't three sheets to the wind, so drunk he was walking crooked.
While he would have preferred it, he made no promises to himself that he'd be able to give Morty his first time totally sober, he did manage to agree to a (much) lower alcohol to blood ratio. The only thing he'd have to wrestle with was the devil in the details; how to come onto Morty while still being mostly sober. The teen hadn't really been entirely against the idea. In Rick's wavering opinion, he was just upset because they'd almost been caught by the worst possible person that could have caught them.
He'd have to make sure Jerry was out of the house next time, and if he had the chance to plan it out, he might have just the Rick in mind to get him out for a few hours.
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