"And He delighted Himself in The One True Morty, in body, mind, and soul."
- Mortinthians 6:9
...
"Whiskey. Straight." Rick leaned heavily over the bar's counter to be heard over the bustle of the lounge. "Make it a double," he added, as he pulled his Elite membership card from the breast pocket of his coveralls.
"We got Scotch, Xaqar, Irish—"
"You got any Tennessee?" At the bartender's curt nod, Rick continued, "I'll have one of those." When he offered his card to make the purchase, however, the bartender only shook his head.
"No charge, sir," he said, sliding the drink to Rick.
Rick raised his tumbler in a show of thanks before throwing back half of its contents. He swirled the remaining amber liquor in its glass as he looked over his shoulder to survey the lounge's patrons, already feeling the liquid courage soothe his nerves.
Sharply dressed Ricks congregated at the small tables and booths, bursts of their boisterous laughter backdropped by the rich piano chords that flowed from the speakers. Only a handful of the room's attendees were actually participating in the ongoing auction, the rest—clearly Elite, by the way they flaunted their black cards—blatantly ignoring the auctioneer's trumpeting onstage. In between genial toasts, they stole quick glances at their neighbors, sizing them up like opponents in the ring.
There was no question what was on their minds: the after-hours Morty Auction.
It'd already been a week since Rick first stepped foot in Façade, seven days that he'd waited and watched and whiled away his time in preparation for tonight, for his chance to see Mouse again. Now that he was finally here, his eagerness was only outmatched by his wariness of the auction itself. It was the one thing that stood between him and Mouse, and the buildup of anticipation set his teeth on edge. After dumping more than half of his cash reserves into the last auction, Rick didn't know if he could handle another pissing contest with a rival high roller looking to stake a claim.
He couldn't risk losing. Fuck waiting another week.
It'll all come down to this, Rick thought, tapping the black card absentmindedly against his bottom lip.
Insane how a simple piece of plastic could dictate so much of his personal freedom. It simultaneously granted him free rein to indulge in the Citadel's high-class amenities, while it also, in no uncertain terms, bound him to the Council's whims.
Over the course of the past week, he'd enjoyed many of the perks offered by his faux Elite status—rich accommodations, discounted or sometimes free services—but it also meant having to endure an insufferable amount of scrutiny by the Council's toadies. Like overly attentive waiters, they checked in on Rick with annoying frequency, delivering lavish gift baskets of Serpa Capellan delicacies—always with a baggie of black-market Glazoxx tucked away at the bottom—tickets for front row seats to the Morty Games, and even the occasional Morty prostitute.
Without exception, he left every "gift" untouched outside his suite door.
Rick knew that the officials' visits weren't so much about making him feel valued as an Elite, as they were simply an excuse to keep tabs on him. Their daily reports of his funds were always accompanied by invitations to the public Morty Auctions, though he had no interest in spending a single credit there—a fact that irked them to no end—and Rick never failed to miss the way they tailed him at a distance wherever he went. While not the best P.I.s, they were damned persistent. Aside from the first day he'd managed to sneak down to sub-level 6 to see Chi, Rick hadn't been given a minute to himself. He was constantly under surveillance, both in and out of his personal suite.
More often than not, the chain that tethered the card around his neck felt more like a shackle.
"Where's a Rick gotta go to get some privacy?" Rick grumbled into his glass before taking another swig.
"Ah kin think of a few places, pardner," a husky voice drawled low and sultry in his ear, as a hand made itself at home on the small of Rick's back. Rick startled, choking on his drink and spraying it all over the unsuspecting bartender. Whipping around, he fisted the stranger's shirt in one hand while digging the edge of the Elite card—the only weapon available—into his neck.
"Look here, pal. Who do you think—" He stopped short, blinking quickly. "You again?"
It was the cowboy Rick from before. The same red hat, the same spurred boots, even the same hefty belt buckle which glowed hot red beneath Façade's crimson lights. Rick glared up at him as he wiped the back of his hand across his wet chin. "W-what the fuAAUGHck do you want?"
"Whoa, whoa there. Why so ornery?" the Rick asked, raising his hands. He gently plucked Rick's fingers from his chest where they were curled into his bolo tie and added with a chuckle, "Seems e'ry time we's meet, yer smartin' tah trade fists with me."
"Yeah, well, when you sneak up on someone, y-you tend to get that kind of reaction," Rick snapped, finally relinquishing the pressure on the cowboy's jugular and turning away angrily.
"Now, hold up there, pardner." He looped an arm smoothly around Rick, corralling him back to the counter before he could escape. Rick tensed as he felt the thick cords of muscle hidden beneath his button-down. "Ah jus' came tah make a propah introduction." He tapped his card on the bar top to get the bartender's attention. "Rick's the name"—yeah, no shit—"and ol' C-165's the claim."
With a decidedly exasperated sigh, Rick eyed the open seats along the bar. He ground out his next words, "Look, Rick Rogers. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate what you did for me last time, but I'm not here to—I'm not interested in making friends, so do us both a favor and get lost."
C-165 raised his brow, a lopsided grin quirking his lips. "Well, if'n that don't beat all! 'Rick Rogers'? Ne'er took you fer the ribbin' sort!" He laughed loudly before turning to the bartender. "Sorry 'bout that, bahkeep. But soons you git yerself tidied up, ya minds fetchin' 'im another, lessee—" he delicately sniffed Rick's cheek, making him flinch again. "Ten'see? Bett'r yet, make that two."
The bartender shot Rick a dirty look but filled the order without complaint. This time, he accepted the black card that C-165 handed to him.
"Don't we—I thought Elite drink for free," Rick mumbled, taking the proffered drink with some hesitation.
C-165 smiled, not looking at Rick as he retrieved his card after it had been swiped. "Summus pay. Summus don't. Summus—" He let the sentence hang unfinished and merely lifted his own glass to clink it against Rick's in a toast.
Rick furrowed his brow, unsure of what to make of the statement. He eyed him cautiously as he took a swig of the whiskey, wondering for the briefest moment if he'd possibly been slipped a roofie.
As though picking up on his suspicion, C-165 guffawed. "Aw, ya ain't got no reason tah worry 'bout me, pardner. Friend or no friend, ahm on yer side." He leaned his back on the bar and gestured with his chin to the stage where Auctioneer Rick was just wrapping up another low-balled bid on a Shadow Morty. "Ya aimin' tah play?"
Rick gave a shrug. "Maybe. What's it to you?"
C-165 grinned into his drink. "Figur'd ya weren't ready tah call it quits after last time. What with—" he paused, frowning. "Well, ah'll be tha first tah say, if that ain't the most aggravatin' thing that kin happen to a Rick."
When Rick just eyed him askance, C-165 elaborated.
"Aw, hell. The Council, good as their intentions may be, still tweren't very gentleman-like tah cut yous outta yer time with The One. 'Specially after you'd won it, fair's fair."
Rick nearly spit up his drink again. "W-wait. How—how did you know about that?"
"Hoo-wie!" C-165 slapped Rick hard on the back. "You playin' possum with me? E'rybody's wisen'd up to it, pardner. News travels fast'r'n green grass through a goose with the Elite. After that-there show you put on fer us last time, you kin bet yer last schmeckle you's got the attention o' e'ry Elite in here. And it ain't jus' on account o' yer britches, plain as they's may be." He nodded to Rick's chest, implying the worn pair of coveralls he'd finally retrieved from laundry. "Yep. There's sum damn fine fellers rootin' fer ya tonight. But ya best be 'spectin' sum others are still mighty sore."
"Is—is that right?" Rick replied, trying to come off as unconcerned even as a sliver of unease needled at him.
"Either way, sumthin tells me tonight's gonna be yer night."
With a good-natured wink and bump of their glasses, C-165 pushed off from the bar and was swallowed up by the crowd. The minute he was gone, Rick's shoulders drooped. His muscles had been wound tight during the short exchange, and Rick realized with a wry grin that he often felt as skittish within the Citadel as he had in prison. Had he just traded one set of bars for another?
Before he could dwell on the sobering metaphor any longer, a resounding double-clap yanked Rick's attention to the stage where Auctioneer Rick was announcing the end of the public auction.
So it begins.
There was a clamor of griping throughout the room, and Rick watched warily as a pack of Guard Ricks began sniffing out the non-Elite patrons and herding them out the door. For once, Rick was thankful for his membership card, as he clutched it to his chest like a shield and glared over the rim of his glass at the forced exodus. When a Guard prowled too close for his liking, he bristled, instinctively running through a list of possible combat scenarios. But the Guard passed over him with hardly a glance to eject a common-Rick at the end of the bar instead.
Once Façade was left in the hands of the Elite, the atmosphere prickled with tension, and Rick shivered involuntarily when the lights dimmed and a smothering hush overtook the lounge. Auctioneer Rick stood center stage, a single spotlight illuminating him and one raised hand poised as though to soothe or strike his congregation. His movements were mesmerizing, and he looked so in control that Rick was momentarily awestruck by the eccentric MC. He had missed the beginning of the auction last time, and he quickly found himself spellbound as Auctioneer Rick launched into his elegant introduction from behind the podium.
Rick considered himself familiar enough with the stately veneer that surrounded the Elite, but now hearing those same deferential praises directed at him made it another matter entirely. The finesse of Auctioneer Rick's words was enthralling in a way that was both strangely comforting and insidiously addictive, and Rick felt himself lulled deeper and deeper into the world that he'd only paraded around in as a visitor.
A Rick could get used to this, he mused, dismissing the whisper of guilt behind that thought.
His reverie was cut short, however, when two sets of hands suddenly gripped him brusquely about the arms.
"What the—" he started to shout but was quickly silenced by a palm over his mouth. Someone swooped in to pluck the drink from his hand as he was summarily dragged away from the bar. He tried to dig his heels into the carpeting, but the unseen abductors only hoisted him higher, indifferent to his struggles. He all but froze when twin voices rasped into his ears in stereo.
"Best you mind yourself, Xsss-Rick."
"B-b-best you m-m-mind yourself."
Rick jerked his head to either side to find a pair of identical Elite Ricks dutifully marching him forward. Even though all Ricks were intrinsically similar, he was still stunned by this duo's uncanny likeness, from their trimmed hair—parted to opposite sides and glistening with scented pomade—to their matching light-gray sharkskin suits, to their diamond-studded belts. But that was where the similarities ended. One's face was twisted into a bitter scowl; the other's, pinched tight with worry that seemed permanently etched into his brow.
"After the fiasssco you pulled last time, our dear brother insssisted..." the one on his left hissed into his ear.
"...that y-you g-g-get a front row seat," the other finished.
Abruptly, they deposited him at a table by the stage, gliding into their own seats to cage him in. In spite of their wiry frames, the twins were surprisingly sturdy as they dug their fingers into Rick's shoulders like hooks, anchoring him to the spot.
"Yessss. You won't want to miss this, Xsss-Rick."
The table sat just outside the stage's ring of light, hiding it in shadow while still giving them an unhindered view of the events onstage. Auctioneer Rick was in the middle of outlining the contractual terms of the auction at this point, and though Rick found the legalese itself telling, he had the distinct feeling this wasn't what the twins wanted him to see. Even when the hand was removed from his mouth, Rick kept his tone low.
"Look, whatever game you creeps are playing at—"
"No g-g-game here, X-Rick. Y-your first mistake w-was trumping dear brother's b-b-bid. And now you have to p-p-pay the price." The more timid of the twins' hands were shaking where they gripped Rick.
Holy shit. If it isn't Mr. Double-Chin's stooges. He'd barely paid them any mind back when he was locked in the bidding war with ψ-531, but now C-165's warning filtered through his mind.
Ya best be 'spectin' sum others are still mighty sore.
"All right, Jekyll and Hyde," Rick snorted softly. "Lemme guess. You two are gonna bid by proxy and win back that fat aAUGHss's honor?"
ψ-532 leaned in close, his chuckle coming out more like a growl next to Rick's earlobe, "Oh, pleassssse. Why should we have to bother winning..."
"...w-w-when our dear brother already had his t-t-time with The One?"
A hairline crack ran through Rick's composure. "W-w-what are you—what are you talking about? In case you morons forgot, the winning bid was—"
"But did you really think they'd waste a session on some ssskeevy X-Rick?" ψ-532 pinched the back of Rick's neck, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "It wasn't even an hour before they dragged your sorry carcass from the winner's ssssuite." He smirked as a look of doubt swept Rick's face. "Wrote you off as little more than a clerical error, if memory sssserves."
"You're full of shit," Rick snapped back. "The Council, they—I-I talked with them myself. We got the whole thing sorted out."
"But d-d-did you ever think of w-what became of The One?"
Rick stiffened, oblivious to the fiendish grin the twins shared behind him.
ψ-530 continued, his unctuous voice seeping into Rick like a winter freeze through splintered stone, forcing open his fears inch by inch. "Stupid X-Rick. S-s-s-stupid, stupid X-Rick. The C-Council likes to keep their f-favorites happy. Of course th-they granted B-Brother a full session that night."
"Why else do you think our brother'ssss not here? He's off-station negotiating with the Gromflomites over his latest invention as we sssspeak," ψ-532 whispered. "Seems he got quite a few worthwhile Epiphaniessss."
Before Rick could devise a comeback, Auctioneer Rick's voice boomed from the stage, his dry dictation replaced by a sudden zeal. "And now, gentle-Rick, The One you've all been waiting for!" He thrust a hand dramatically toward the rear of the stage, commandeering the patrons' attention. Every Rick in the room sucked in a communal breath as the curtain lifted and The One stepped wearily out into the spotlight.
The twins released their hold on him, and Rick rose shakily to his feet, drawn toward Mouse like a star falling victim to a black hole's gravitational pull.
Mouse looked even smaller than Rick remembered. His eyes were unfocused and listless, and he was wheezing as though his lungs were too weak to draw in a proper breath. He was escorted to the front of the stage by a Guard Rick and Eun-Rick with red heels and large gold hoop earrings. Rick recognized her immediately as the frazzled Mama Eun-Rick who had accosted him in the hallway shortly after his arrest. The two each had a hand on Mouse's shoulders, and Rick realized with a stab of dread that they were the only things holding Mouse upright.
Around Rick, other Elite began pushing their way to the front, murmuring their wonder at the extraordinary reaction provoked by Mouse's presence. Rick couldn't tell if it was an encroaching Epiphany or the relief of seeing Mouse again that made his eyes water.
The ψ twins also stood to follow Rick, circling him in a serpentine weave as they goaded him on.
"That's it, Xsss-Rick."
"There's y-your precious little M-M-Morty."
Onstage, Auctioneer Rick was beckoning Mama Eun-Rick to his side. He made a show of taking her hand and bowing low to kiss it, but she only rolled her eyes testily before yanking it back and crossing her arms. At Auctioneer Rick's signal, the Guard Rick moved behind Mouse, pinning one of the boy's limp arms behind his back.
"Jusssst imagine what our brother must've done..."
"...t-t-to get those Epiphanies."
Suddenly, the Guard Rick wrenched Mouse's arm up brutally. Mouse's entire body spasmed and he cried out loudly, but his voice was drowned out by the swell of gratified sighs that spread throughout the assembly.
Positioned so close to the stage, Rick and his captors were hit full-force by the Epiphany, and Rick gritted his teeth as his brain was inundated with ideas that had previously eluded him. Dream-recording devices, quadruplethink, selective nerve gas, audible autocorrect. Formulas that'd once been cast in darkness were now bathed in light like a curtain had been pulled to the side. He was stunned at how his mind felt so sharp, so clean. Shining.
"Another one."
Rick barely heard Auctioneer Rick's order, but he felt its effect when the Guard Rick hoisted Mouse's small form up even higher by his wrung arm, threatening to break it.
For a moment, Rick could only stare into the middle distance, dazed by the strength of the second wave. Still circling him, the twins were unfazed by the jolt to their own intelligence, the Epiphany causing only a minute tremor over their frames before they shrugged it off. They were far more taken by Rick's compromised state instead.
"That's right. Feelssss good, doesn't it?"
"Imagine w-what more you could have. C-claim him as your prize. M-m-make him serve you."
The Epiphany, while intense, faded quickly like a fire gobbling up a too-small supply of kindling, and Rick nearly moaned, overtaken by the urge to prolong it. He'd bumbled his way, inexperienced and clumsy, through the first Epiphany that had hit him during the Guards' raid, but tonight his mind felt wholly attuned to the effect, ready to latch on and devour it. And now that he'd had a taste, he was hungry for more.
If this was what Epiphanies could be like, it was no wonder the Elite paid hand over fist for them. And imagine if they were invoked by his own hand...
"Again," Auctioneer Rick said, ignoring the lusty exhalations that sang from the audience. The Guard Rick did a double take, hesitating as though they were breaking some established routine. Then he seemed to find himself again and raised his gloved hand to strike Mouse, when Rick yelled from his spot on the floor.
"That's enough!" Rick's fists trembled at his sides, betraying his boiling rage.
Not accustomed to dealing with interruptions during his demonstration, Auctioneer Rick glanced quickly at Mama Eun-Rick before addressing the Elite. "Gentle-Rick." He spread his arms wide, drawing their attention away from Rick's untimely outburst and guiding them back under his siren's call. "Gentle-Rick, it seems that one of us is a bit too eager to get started. Guess someone never heard of 'good things come to those who wait,' hm?" His forced laugh garnered a few strained chuckles about the room, but did little to assuage their foul moods for having been shaken from their post-Epiphany afterglows.
Gripping the edges of the podium, Auctioneer Rick peered down his nose at Rick. "Very well, sir. Shall we start the bidding at one hundred thou—"
Rick stormed up to the stage and yanked his card free from its chain to hold it high overhead. "One million!" An incredulous gasp, rife with profanities, ripped through the crowd, but Rick remained unmoved, as his eyes stayed locked on Auctioneer Rick, daring him to challenge the bid. "I bid one million for The One," he said again, each word sharp enough to cut.
Elite Ricks gave visceral snarls, throwing their drinks to the floor and hurling insults at Rick's back as they booed. The bid sat well above what any one of them could afford, automatically cutting them from the auction before it had even properly begun. Those who had come looking for the thrill of the chase felt cheated, and they rallied against Auctioneer Rick, accusing him of running a scam.
With ophidian grace, the ψ twins slid up to either side of Rick, their taunts snaking into his ear beneath the blare of the contentious mob.
"S-spoken like a t-t-true Elite, X-Rick."
"You're practically one of usssss." It was the last thing Rick heard before they slinked away.
Auctioneer Rick looked plaintively at Mama Eun-Rick for some assistance, but she just shook her head. With a weary sigh, Auctioneer Rick checked the registered amount on his tablet and began the countdown, "One million going once..."
"One'n a half million." The jangle of spurs sounded behind Rick as C-165 sauntered up beside him. Rick looked at him aghast, but C-165 only returned a gleeful smile, tapping his chin with his card.
"T-two million!" Rick shouted, determined not to be beaten. He looked hurriedly between C-165 and Mouse whose limp form was now being cradled in the Guard's arms. Not tonight. Not tonight! Screw-all what happens in the next auction, just please not tonight!
C-165 gave a long, low whistle. Hooking his thumbs over his belt, he kicked bashfully at the floor with the heel of his boot. The Elite, now torn between their deep-seated respect for C-165 and their dismay at the state of the auction, stilled in anticipation of what the cowboy's next move would be.
Finally, after throwing an amused smirk at Mama Eun-Rick's murderous glare, C-165 shrugged and waved his hands. "Aw, hell. Who'm ah kiddin'? This's too rich fer mah blood."
The gavel cracked down on the podium before anyone could even react. Auctioneer Rick barreled through the countdown at record speed as a roar of indignation erupted from the audience. "Two million going once, twice, sold to Rick of Dimension X-280! That concludes tonight's auction, gentle-Rick. Thank you and goodnight!" Spinning his finger in the sign for "wrap it up," the Guard Ricks swiftly advanced on the tumultuous riot, forming a human wall between Rick and the Elite who looked only too eager to tear him to shreds.
Sidling up to Rick, C-165 gave him a congenial pat on the shoulder. "Told ya it was yer lucky night, pardner," he said, before tipping his hat once more and disappearing into the fray.
Alone in the eye of the storm, Rick kept his gaze on the stage where Mouse had been just moments earlier. In the span of time it took for Auctioneer Rick to close out the auction, Mouse was promptly carried backstage again, leaving Rick to contend with his shot nerves.
What had gotten into him? He hadn't intended to blow through the remainder of his funds like that. He was supposed to follow the plan: feel out his competitors, dole out his bids wisely, and save his trump card for the last minute. Instead, he'd laid the plan to waste in his Gadarene rush. Now there was no doubt in his mind that another victory would be next to impossible.
Beneath it all, however, a glimmer of hope leapt for Rick's attention. He had won. For the second time running, he had won the Morty Auction and had the rest of the night to spend uninterrupted with Mouse. The thought alone wrapped around Rick like a protective ward, and his heart pounded at the feeling of invincibility that coursed through him.
He felt like a man with nothing to lose.
"You've got a lot of nerve to show your mug around here again, X-Rick." θ-669's taunt broke through his solace. Looking over his shoulder, Rick saw the pompous Elite, along with his familiar lackey, heading his way. They'd managed to slip through the Guards' line of defense, and the way they were approaching Rick made it clear their intentions were anything but wholesome.
Rick gave a heavy sigh, not turning to face him. "Walk away now, θ."
θ-669 stumbled slightly at the mention of his dimension but recovered quickly. "S-so someone's told you about me. Should've taken it as a warning." He smirked.
"I mean it," Rick said, his voice emotionless. "You'll walk away now, if you know what's good for you."
The Elite scoffed, "Is that a threat?" He paused to stay his partner, λ, who was already cracking his knuckles, eager to deliver a beating. Crossing his arms, he continued, "Those are some pretty tough words coming from a pathetic X-Rick. The Morty Auction must've gone to your head if you think you can talk to me that way. Well, I've got news for you. I'm one of the Council's favorites. And they don't take kindly to criminals messing with their favorites."
Rick turned his head to look at the Elite from the corner of his eye.
"That's right. You're just a criminal. A lying, cheating criminal." θ-669 continued, brandishing his hand through the air. "How else could you have gotten your hands on that amount of credits? It's the onlyreal explanation. And once I tell the Council about it, they'll cancel your winning bid." θ-669 grinned wider when Rick finally faced him. "And guess what'll happen then. The One will be up for bid again, and who knows? Maybe I'll be generous with myown funds. Really give him a ride—"
His rant was abruptly smashed to pieces when Rick's fist connected with his face. Skin split, teeth shattered, and θ-669 was knocked to the ground in an unseemly heap.
λ watched in shock, unable or just unwilling to step forward as Rick stooped down and yanked θ-669 up by his lapels. Crouched over his waist, Rick pulled his fist back and began punching him again and again and again.
"You seriously. Think the Council. Gives a shit. About you?" Rick spat between punches. Each blow earned him a satisfying smack of bloody flesh and fractured bone as he bashed in θ-669's zygomatic arch and pummeled his eye beyond recognition.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so free, all the pent-up frustration of having to play by everyone else's rules finally released like an animal set loose from its chains. Any respect he thought he'd held, however fleeting, for the Elite was chipped away with every blow, until he was seeing them for what they really were: Self-seeking Ricks hiding behind their dimension-given privilege.
Blood was gushing in a torrent from θ-669's crushed nose, staining his suit red, and the Elite gargled pathetically as he tried to fend off Rick's attacks with uncoordinated flails of his hands.
"λ! λ!" he howled, bloodied spittle flying. "Don't just stand there! Help me, goddammit!" His voice cracked.
Rick shot λ a threatening look, but it was apparent the grunt had already given up all thoughts of possibly intervening. Ganging up on a common-Rick down on his luck was one thing, but he wasn't prepared to deal with one who actually fought back. He'd gotten too complacent in his cushioned status as an Elite, and now he was sorely out of his comfort zone.
"No use cryin' for help, θ," Rick said, patting him on the cheek and making him flinch. "This is between you and me." He took a moment to stand and crack his back from hunching over for so long. θ-669 immediately rolled onto his stomach and began shimmying away, desperate to put some space between himself and his attacker. Blood dripped down his jaw to leave a trail of red breadcrumbs.
"Not so fast, buddy," Rick tsked, circling around to θ-669's side and giving him a swift kick in the ribs. θ-669 wretched as his diaphragm constricted and he clawed futilely at the ground.
"Why..." he sniveled. "Why are you doing this? Y-you're fucking crazy!"
"What's the matter? I thought you liked me feisty."
A glint of sour realization flickered over θ-669's battered face. "N-no. You can't be—"
Rick planted a foot squarely on his back before he could finish, pinning him down with a grunt. As θ-669 wheezed, Rick skirted his hands along his jacket, quickly finding his membership card tucked away in his breast pocket. He waved it in his face before stepping back.
"Hey!" θ-669 twisted around to watch Rick, his one good eye locked onto the card in his hand. "D-don't you fucking touch that! That's mine!"
"What, this?" Rick snapped the thin plastic in half and flung the shards in θ-669's face. "Oops."
An angry flush traveled up the Elite's throat and cheeks. "You! You're—you're nothing but a—!"
Rick only smirked down at him, his eyes steely.
"That's right. I'm a fucking abomination."
...
Mouse's mind was spinning, a kaleidoscope of fractured images and distorted sounds assailing his senses as he lay in the in-between, not quite dreaming and yet far from fully awake. His body felt cocooned in a haze, half-registering the world as though through a mesh gauze.
His last solid memory was of Mama Eun-Rick coming to his room and ordering him to take twice his regular dosage. He'd resisted but eventually choked down the bitter pills. After that, there was only the feeling of being lifted, carried, and then finally, mercifully laid down. Something—something horrible had happened between then and now, but he couldn't grasp exactly what it was. All he could remember were blinding lights and an animal trying to viciously tear off his arm.
He groaned unconsciously at the faint memory and nuzzled deeper into the pillow, the satin cool against his overheated skin. Satin, sweet smells, warmth. He was in the winner's suite, that much he could decipher, and the recognition sent a shiver of terror down his spine.
Now disembodied voices drifted in and out of his periphery.
"Why is he like this?"
"Master, I assure you the effects are only temporary. The One was uncharacteristically agitated tonight. This is guaranteed to make him more cooperative for your session." Even in his heavily sedated state, he could recognize Mama Eun-Rick's affected tone.
"So you drugged him?"
Whoever she was with sounded angry. There were more words, then the slam of a door, the noises blurring into a rabble that scraped Mouse like broken glass. But in the next minute, the room fell quiet and he felt the bed dip as someone sat down beside him.
He's here to hurt me, Mouse thought weakly. His body tensed and he tried, tried so hard to rouse himself to get away, but he only managed to let out a whimper.
A hand was placed on Mouse's forehead and someone tsked, "How much did they freaking give him?" Then, gentler, "Don't worry, Mouse. You'll be okay. I'm here."
Rick.
He forced his eyes open just enough to see Rick watching him closely. His face was hazy around the edges in the dim light, but Mouse could see the small smile curved on his lips and his brow creased with worry. He must've said something because Rick chuckled and said, "Told you I would."
Rick disappeared from sight, but before Mouse could protest, he was back and his lips were pressed to Mouse's.
They were cool and wet, and Mouse found himself parting his lips without thinking, eager to drink Rick in. Rick's tongue slipped inside, and Mouse moaned as a stream of liquid dribbled into his waiting mouth. It tasted surprisingly tart, if not a little citrusy, and he scrunched his face at the flavor.
"Swallow."
Mouse drank down the strange-tasting liquid, feeling a peculiar chill spread through his chest as it worked its way down to his stomach. There, it sent a radiating burst along his nerves which extended to the very tips of his fingers. He blinked rapidly, feeling much more awake than he had even a moment ago, and immediately attempted to sit upright. He'd only made it a few inches before dropping his head back again, dizzy.
Rick laughed softly above him. "Not so fast, killer. Give it a minute. They stuffed you full of that sedative shit. The antidote's going to take some time."
"H-how did you— But where—" He put a shaky hand to his head, feeling the cloud of sleepiness clear with every passing moment.
"I know you've got a lotta questions, Mouse." Rick turned back from whatever he had been doing out of sight and framed Mouse with his hands where he lay. "But don't worry—"
Before he could get another word out, Mouse threw himself into Rick's chest, grabbing onto the front of his coveralls like he were a lifeline. Mouse. He'd been so afraid he'd never hear anyone call him by that name again.
"Y-you're...you're really my Rick, r-r-right?" he said, his voice wrung. The Guards were fierce when it came to punishing those who crossed the Council, and after Rick had been arrested that night, part of Mouse was certain that he'd lost him forever. Now to have him here again...
Rick's breath caught in his throat before he lightly placed his hand on Mouse's back. It instantly spread a wave of warmth through him. "Yeah, Mouse. It's me." Rick petted down the length of Mouse's spine and gave a little laugh. "Accept no substitutes."
With a half-laugh, half-sob, Mouse just gripped tighter, his cheek to Rick's chest. He could hear Rick's heart thumping steadily beneath his ear, the muffled beat tapping out Rick's very life in a secret code. At the sound, the emotion that bubbled up in his heart then was so foreign, it took Mouse a moment to put into words exactly what it was. He reached deep, untangled the feeling from the knot in his core, and shook off the dust after years of disuse.
"I-I missed you, Rick," he managed.
"Yeah... Me too, Mouse," Rick said, hesitancy licking the edges of his words, and Mouse wondered if Rick had gone a long time without saying them either. His heart thumped in rhythm to Rick's, strong and alert, and the quiet memories of their last time together began to trickle through his mind.
Now he really did protest aloud when Rick put his hands on Mouse's shoulders and abruptly pushed himself away to stand. He turned and began restlessly pacing the length of the room, rambling almost nonstop. "Y-you know, chemistry's a beautiful thing, especially when you've got plenty of stuff to work with," he said, gesturing to the console sitting on the opposite wall and its stock of spirits and liquors on the bottom shelf. "Extract the right compounds, mix in a drop of aged Alpha II bourbon, and you've got yourself a—a pretty effective adenosine blocker."
For a few minutes, Mouse allowed himself to simply watch Rick flit about the room as he continued to speak in a harried rush. The way Rick couldn't keep still broadcasted to Mouse that he was actually nervous, and that fact, while surprising, was enormously reassuring. Unlike his usual visitors who came with a singular purpose in mind, Rick seemed out of his element, and Mouse felt instantly at ease, a glow of endearment warming his heart.
"Rick." Mouse's soft voice pulled Rick from his meandering dissertation on soporifics and hydroxyls. He froze mid-explanation and cast a rueful glance at Mouse, as though shy to seek his approval. Mouse nodded, and when Rick sat down on the bed again, he started, "Rick, why—" He was treading unfamiliar ground, but the need to know outweighed his trepidation. "Why did you come back?"
Mouse's question hung in the air as Rick stared pointedly away, his lips working in tight pouts. After a few false starts, he turned to face Mouse fully and answered, "For you, Mouse. I came back for you."
Hope came alive in Mouse's chest, but he knew better than to believe it. "Is it because y-you want—" He curled in on himself, unable to finish his sentence. Of course that's what he wants. It's what all Ricks come for.
"No! This isn't about wanting those—some dumb Epiphanies! Not those." Rick shook his head, worrying his bottom lip. "Mouse, I said you. You're what I came back for." He raised his hand hesitantly before eventually placing it on Mouse's arm. "I'm sorry I ever left you, Mouse. I wish there was something I could've done, but the Council, they're fucking cra— W-whoa, Mouse, what's wrong?"
Fat tears had welled up in Mouse's eyes, blurring Rick's face like a sodden watercolor, before tumbling down his cheeks. His voice wavered as he shook his head, "H-h-how can you say that, after—after everything that happened? If it w-w-weren't for me—"
"Ssh, Mouse. Mouse, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."
He can't mean it. He can't. After what happened with the Guards... They almost killed him! So why would he still come back? It doesn't make sense. I'm nobody. Nothing. Just the Council's stupid pet, just like Mama says. All I'm good for is Epiphanies.
"Mouse!" Rick gripped Mouse's arm tighter. "You're so much more than that!" He waved his hand as though gesturing to an unseen mass. "You didn't even know me, and you protected me. Hell, you think just anyone can face down the Captain of the Guard like that?"
Mouse let out a weak laugh at the memory.
"Mouse, you're more—more than you know. You're going to do great things, Mouse. Really great things. But not while you're stuck in this place. That's why I came back for you. I want to take you away from here."
"Away?" Mouse blinked. What was "away"? For the longest time, there had always been the Citadel, and within it only a few familiar rooms: the winner's suite, his own room, the auction, and the Dark Room. Some of his clients mentioned the planets they'd been to, but the names were often impossible for him to pronounce, let alone imagine. He furrowed his brow, the idea of leaving the only place he knew suddenly a frightening proposition.
Rick grabbed Mouse's hands where they lay limp in his lap. "I know what you're thinking. The universe is a big and scary place, I won't lie about that. But, Mouse, it can also be amazing. Shit, the worlds I could take you to! D-did you know there's a planet where it snows ice cream? I'm not kidding! Well, okay. It's technically some plant-casein hybrid, but tell that to your taste buds. You can just walk outside and stick out your tongue. And there's every flavor you can imagine!"
Ice cream? A glimpse of a memory blossomed within Mouse's mind, and right then he could taste the creamy, cool treat as it melted down his hand and onto the sidewalk. He could remember the tinkling of a song, someone wiping his cheeks down before bopping him playfully on the nose. The flashback was more a collection of disjointed images than anything as it played through his mind, painted in swirling pastels like—
"Like Neapolitan?"
"Y-yeah! That's right!" Rick ruffled Mouse's hair. "Glad to know you're not just the chocolate-or-bust type."
"Well, it's...it's been a long time, I don't really remember." Mouse gave a playful grin. "M-maybe I'm actually the strawberry type."
"Why, you little rascal," Rick snickered, looping his arm around Mouse and giving him a noogie. "I think it's about time someone gave you an update. There's a hell of a lotta flavors to try out there."
Mouse squealed, twisting in Rick's grip before finally getting himself free. He sat there, huffing and red-cheeked from the play-fighting, and as he looked at Rick, he could suddenly picture them enjoying ice cream together on a distant planet, standing beneath an alien sky, tongues sticking out, Rick by his side. They would have their fill, and then there would be other stars to see, so many countless others. He could imagine traveling to all of them...together.
Rick was smiling back at him. "That's right, Mouse. It can be like that. There's so much more for you to see. I can show you everything! You don't—" Rick faltered, his voice becoming a whisper as he gave Mouse's hands a squeeze. "You don't have to stay here and put up with this anymore. No one deserves to go through something so fucked up, Mouse, especially not you. You're too good for this kind of life."
Rick's words sparked a thought in Mouse that he'd left dormant since the prior week. Somehow he'd always known that Rick would take him away from here. It'd only been a vague notion before, but now, with Rick's words behind it, Mouse felt his future swiftly taking shape in front of him. It was a future he wanted without question, a future made even better at the thought that Rick would be a part of it.
Mouse lowered his eyes to Rick's hands, and suddenly a wave of worry doused the fire of bliss from just moments earlier. He sat up straighter, alarmed.
"R-Rick! What happened to your hands?" he cried, holding one up to look at the bloodied and torn knuckles. His fingers smoothed tenderly over the battered flesh, and he couldn't stop the rush of concerned sounds that tumbled from him. His hands! Who did this to his hands? he kept thinking. These were the hands that had shown him so much kindness, every caress leaving him feeling safe and loved. These were the hands that made him shiver with something triumphant rather than with fear.
"It's—it's nothing. Just a—had a run-in with—"
Mouse didn't wait to hear the rest of what Rick had to say as he brought Rick's hand to his lips and laid a gentle kiss on the middle knuckle. His masters had demanded this gesture of him before, but this time he did it of his own free will, and into that one small kiss, Mouse poured all of his heart.
He looked up at Rick, taking in the blush that now colored Rick's usually ashy cheeks. Mouse could recognize the look of captivation on a Rick instantly—he'd seen it countless times already—but for the first time ever it was targeted at him and only him, not the Epiphanies or the sadistic appeal of pain. Heart pounding in his ears, something within him demanded that he move, that he answer Rick's call.
Slowly, carefully he ran one hand up Rick's arm, reaching for his face. He leaned forward, his head tilted, eyes sliding closed.
"Wait!"
Mouse snapped his eyes open when Rick grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him out of reach. "Mouse, I-I don't want you to feel like—" He flicked his gaze away. "Don't think you have to do this. I didn't come here expecting something. I'm—I'm not likethem." He sighed, sounding defeated. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
Want?
Was that what this feeling was? Want? Mouse had never been given permission to actually say, much less do, what he wanted under the charge of the Council and Mama Eun-Rick. He now felt acutely at a loss for words. Ricks always took what they wanted while Mouse always gave. It was the natural order of things.
But what did hewant?
Mouse turned his brown eyes up to look into Rick's magnificent blue where the answer had been all along.
"I want—" He cupped Rick's face with both hands and pulled him close, his mouth trembling just beneath Rick's as he paused to taste his breath. It still smelled of the citrusy drink from before. "I want—" A hot tear worked itself free as he clenched his eyes shut, voice shaking.
"I want...you."
The words worked like a key fitting beneath the tumblers of a lock, easing open the deadbolt on his heart. For so long, everything in his life had been denied him. Now, at last, he held something solid in his hands, something he could take simply because he wanted it.
Once given voice, the words demanded they be spoken again. "I want you. I want you," he repeated, his voice gaining strength. He'd never been so sure about anything in his life, and the resolution sat sturdy in his belly like a platform from which he was poised to take flight.
There was no greater feeling than this.
This time, Mouse was met with no resistance, and his lips tingled when he pressed them against Rick's, the electricity of the touch drawing him in for more. Rick stayed compliant beneath his hesitant kiss, and Mouse realized with a flood of awe that Rick was letting him set the pace, waiting to respond to whatever Mouse wanted. His cheeks burned as he fell slowly backward, pulling Rick down with him until he was cradled atop the soft pillow again. Long arms bracketed his head as Rick propped himself on his elbows, and Mouse let his arms loop themselves loosely behind Rick's neck, a gentle reminder for him to stay.
As he paused to taste the kiss, Mouse startled when Rick mirrored the motion, his tongue brushing hesitantly along Mouse's lips, supplicating him for entry. The hazy memory of Rick's thick tongue in his mouth came into sharp focus, and a tingle pulsed in his groin as Mouse gasped and flicked his tongue across Rick's, coaxing him in. Rick reciprocated generously, and in seconds, Mouse was curling his toes and panting through the new mist of prurient desire that fogged his mind.
Mouthing at the corner of Mouse's lips before breaking the kiss, Rick pulled back. His breath came heavy, and he rested his brow on Mouse's forehead, gazing at him with lust-laden eyes.
"What do you—what do you want now, Mouse?"
Mouse didn't think it could happen, but his cheeks began to burn even hotter. Just a week ago, he would've thought it impossible for a Rick to talk to him like this, but now in the course of a few minutes, he'd been asked to state what he wanted not once but twice. Mouse immediately thought of the last time they'd been together, how Rick had put his hands so sweetly on him, how he'd stirred up that strange, itching feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Whatever that was, he wanted that.
Before he'd even opened his mouth to answer, however, Rick cocked his head, a smile slowly spreading itself over his lips. "Of course," he rumbled. He leaned down to whisper in Mouse's ear, "I'll do whatever you want, but first let me hear—I want to hear you say it."
"I-I-I..." The combination of embarrassment and overpowering arousal made Mouse stumble over his tongue. "I want you to—to touch me."
"Where?" Rick purred.
Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere!
With a frustrated sound, Mouse quickly scooted back toward the headboard until he was seated upright. He took Rick's hand and held it against his throbbing prick.
"H-here," he breathed.
"God, Mouse..." Rick's eyes were dark with desire, and he pulled Mouse in for another kiss as he slipped his hand beneath Mouse's robe and wrapped his fingers around his leaking cock.
Mouse's cry was immediately swallowed by Rick's mouth as the pleasure spiked through him. Just like before, Mouse felt an all-encompassing fire unfurl in his core, its tendrils coiling around his heart and snaking down his limbs. Rick stroked him sensually, his tongue diving into his mouth, and Mouse felt wetness trickle down the inside of his thigh as his arousal heightened.
When he clutched at Rick's clothed shoulders in a stranglehold, he whined, now desperate to touch Rick as closely as he was touching him. He wanted—needed to feel Rick's skin, needed to see him in his entirety.
"R-Rick," he panted, fingers lost in Rick's hair as Rick kissed a trail down the side of his neck. "Rick, please..."
"I know. I know, Mouse," Rick murmured just above his racing pulse. He seemed to struggle with his own desire to continue, but eventually he withdrew his hands from between Mouse's thighs and began pulling down the zipper of his coveralls.
"N-no! Wait! Wait." Mouse scrambled forward onto his knees. "I just—" How was he supposed to say that he wanted to undress Rick himself?
As though reading his mind, Rick smiled and nodded. "You're sure?" he said, kissing Mouse's eyelids softly. When Mouse just hummed in the affirmative, he lay his full length out on the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head while the other curled into Mouse's hair to caress the nape of his neck.
Mouse swallowed, and his fingers were shaking as he reached up to grasp the zipper at Rick's collar. It wasn't that he hadn't seen his fair share of undressed Ricks, but their nakedness had always been forced on him, not something that he could set the pacing or degree of. Even this small measure of control was thrilling, and Mouse's heartbeat pulsated in his head, making him dizzy and restless. As he slid the zipper down, revealing Rick's skin inch by inch, Mouse's breath hitched in his throat.
Rick's chest was littered with scars.
Driven by curiosity, Mouse pushed aside the fabric to run his hand down the plane of Rick's torso. Small and light, jagged and deep, he traced the crisscross of disfigured skin with the tips of his fingers as if he were following stars in a constellation. As he grew bolder, Mouse stripped the coveralls from Rick's shoulders to probe inquisitively at the raised knot on one shoulder blade and curious ring of black dots around one forearm before helping Rick shimmy his arms free from the sleeves. The expanse of damaged flesh captivated Mouse; it was as though he were seeing a Rick for the first time. The Elite Ricks who visited him had no such scars, their unmarred skin an indication of the comfortable lives they led. To Mouse, Ricks sat at the top of the food chain, unchallenged and indestructible. Or so he'd thought. With each scar, each welt, it slowly dawned on Mouse that Ricks could also, in fact, be at someone else's mercy.
But if Ricks were the apex predators, then who preyed on the predators?
Mouse flicked his eyes up to take in the sight of Rick lying barechested, his breath coming fast despite his relaxed pose. His erection strained obviously within the bottom half of the coveralls, although he made no move to free it.
When Mouse tried to meet his eyes, however, he was surprised that Rick had turned away, his mouth set in a grim line almost as if he were...ashamed? Rick gave a dry laugh. "Not much to look at, huh? Hope you weren't expecting s-something easier on the eyes."
Instead of replying, Mouse raised himself to his knees and began to unravel the white cloth that swaddled him. This caught Rick's attention, and Mouse saw him swallow a lump in his throat as he followed his movements closely. When Mouse had loosened the cloth from around his shoulders and waist, he dropped it, letting it pool beneath him. He tried to keep his voice steady even as his heart beat wildly within his chest.
"S-see, Rick? I'm the same as you."
Staying perfectly still, he let Rick see him for the wreck he was. He let him take in the mangled line work that decorated his ribs, the darkened splotches of skin that would never regain their original color. Even his cock, which still bobbed stiffly at attention, pulled to the left where a gnarled knot of scar tissue warped its base. Mouse blushed openly but didn't hide, even as his hands twitched with the impulse to cover himself up.
"You're so goddamn beautiful." Rick's voice came out gravelly.
Mouse snapped his attention back to him, stunned to see Rick drinking him in with barefaced adoration. The look of worship in his eyes was like nothing Mouse had seen before. It was awash in genuine wonder, and Mouse felt his heart clench at the thought that he could possibly be the object of such awe. Never breaking eye contact, Rick closed the space between them and pulled Mouse into a tight embrace. It was warm and dizzying and exciting in a way that had nothing to do with fear and absolutely everything to do with ecstasy. Their hearts were hammering in tandem, and as Rick claimed his mouth again, Mouse hurried to tug the coveralls down and finally off him, the very notion of having anything between them suddenly repulsive.
Mine. You're mine.
Rick's freed cock burned hot like a branding iron where it smacked Mouse's thigh before eventually settling between his ass cheeks. Mouse shivered at the intimate contact and gasped into Rick's mouth. While Rick worked him with one hand, he gently rocked his hips, sliding his cock back and forth across Mouse's puckered hole. Yes... Keep doing that. Mouse moaned as the sweet friction loosed another wash of arousal from him. He barely noticed Rick move his fingers to stroke behind Mouse's balls before he suddenly froze.
"Mouse?" Rick asked gently.
Mouse hummed, not wanting to extricate himself from the intoxicating sensations that swept through him. The dual stimuli of staggering pleasure were turning his cognizance to mush.
"What's this?"
Mouse peeked open his eyes to see Rick holding up two fingers in front of his face. They glistened with slick, and Mouse blushed, nuzzling Rick's neck as he giggled.
"C'mon, Rick. It's...you know," he said shyly. The silly schoolyard rhyme his classmates used to chant played unbidden through his head:
Little Fred wets the bed when he tinkles with his weiner.
Little Fred wets the bed when he tickles his own keister.
He scrunched his brows together. Unless...Ricks don't get like that? He tried to think back to whether he'd ever seen a Rick get wet in behind too, but he couldn't recall. Maybe they just never showed. Maybe he'd missed it. Maybe Rick thought it was gross. "Is there—is there something wrong with it?"
Rick's chest began to tremble, and when Mouse looked up, concerned, he realized that Rick was trying to hold in a laugh. He balked, his blush spreading up to his ears.
"Hey! What's so funny?" Now he's laughing at me?
"No! No, no, no. I'm not—" Rick let out a chuckle before biting the inside of his cheek. "It's fine. Everything's fine." He swiftly scooped Mouse up in a bear hug, making Mouse gasp as the air was squeezed from his lungs.
What's gotten into him?
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you. It's just," Rick gave him a quick peck on the lips, "you really are beautiful." He kissed him again. "Amazing." Another kiss. "Incredible." And another.
Mouse squirmed out of the embrace and shoved Rick's face away. "Stop it, Rick. Y-you're acting all—all crazy." He tried to sound upset, but he couldn't fight the smile that ghosted along his lips. Amazing? Incredible? No one had ever called him that before. He was more accustomed to words like "nitwit" or "whore," and the unexpected bout of praise had him glowing with pride.
Then Rick was kissing his palms, his wrists, his arms, as he slowly drew Mouse down again to lie flush with his chest. Mouse came willingly, sinking into the embrace as if he were finding home, and in that moment, Mouse knew that he would follow Rick anywhere. The reverberations thrummed through Mouse's rib cage as Rick spoke, his voice low and rough with want. "So," he said, his fingers circling Mouse's hole while he resumed stroking his cock. "Do you ever 'tickle your own keister' in bed, Mouse?"
A moan escaped Mouse as he bucked again in Rick's grasp. Need and excitement were locked in combat at the forefront of his attention, while the more lucid side of his brain slowly processed the question. "W-what? Wait, how did you—"
"Do you do it while you think of me?"
No, he never touched himself like this. It was something he'd learned to curb years ago; Mama Eun-Rick's teachings had seen to that. But that didn't mean he wasn't free to think of Rick when he was alone at night.
"I...I'm not supposed to—ah!"
Rick had dipped a finger in up to the second knuckle and was now pumping it in and out in time with the hand on his shaft. Mouse shuddered against Rick's hard chest, able to do little more than keen and wriggle his ass, unsure of whether he should move forward into Rick's hand or back onto his finger.
It was the best kind of predicament to be in.
"But you do think of me. You think of me in your bed?"
Of course, every night for the past week, he'd fantasized about Rick coming to his room in the night. He imagined Rick sweeping in, tall and unafraid, bathed in a comforting light. He imagined Rick's voice coming low through the darkness, his gentle words solacing him, his strong hands caressing him. But like a good little boy, Mouse had lain with his hands fixed at his sides as the wetness soaked through the sheets. How many times had he cried there alone in his dark room, quiet save for his frustrated whimpers and the constant churning and whistling of the machines just on the other side of the wall?
"That's it, Mouse. Tell me where you sleep at night," Rick crooned, running his thumb over Mouse's moist slit.
Mouse shook his head vehemently, squeezing his eyes shut, the assault on his nerves warring with the thoughts that surfaced at Rick's urging. Ricks were never to know where his actual room was. The Guards, they never let anyone near. Besides, he couldn't tell Rick how it was always too cold there, how he'd be left alone for days between the auctions. He couldn't tell him how he'd count down each chime of the elevator bell with dread. 3...2...1...
"Mouse—"
"I can't! I can't! They won't let me!" he wailed. A roiling ball of heat was growing rapidly in Mouse's stomach as an inexplicable tremble washed up his arms and legs to gather at his groin. He felt as if he were running to the edge of something that was already rushing toward him too fast, too fast!
"Cum for me, baby."
The rasp of Rick's voice in his ear was what pushed him over the precipice. His mouth fell open, though he drew no breath, as his body was seized by a pleasure like nothing he'd ever known.
It surged forth from his core, throwing his muscles into spasms and shaking free any remnant of autonomy he had until he was reduced to a quivering, crying mess. Tears leaked from his eyes and a hot liquid splattered onto his stomach as he thrust frantically into Rick's hand. It felt like something were being ripped free from inside him.
Moan after choked moan dribbled from his lips with every wave of the orgasm, and when there was finally nothing left to give voice to and the spasms dissipated into spotty tremors, Mouse descended into the blissful void.
