Morty woke the next morning late in the afternoon. He had slept deeply and completely, never waking up anxiously from sounds as he often did. He felt refreshed, but the world had a distant, not-quite-real feel to it, like he was watching someone else living his life from far away. He lay in bed for a long while, savouring the floating empty feeling, such an improvement from the usual soul-crushing anxiety. As he moved to get up, he felt a soreness right in his bottom and he made a small pained noise. That made him notice how scratchy and raw his voice sounded, and he coughed a little in an attempt to clear it.

His hand went to gingerly touch around his butt, exploring the soreness of it, pressing delicately with the tips of his fingers. Images of the night before flashed at him unbidden, mostly involving the look on Rick's face, but he dispelled them by focusing on the surreal feeing, hand clutching his forehead as he wobbled a little. Morty felt unusually weak, almost dizzy, and resolved to go downstairs to find something to eat. What if Rick is downstairs? his mind asked with sudden fear. He gave his head a rough shake, trying to dislodge the thought, admonishing himself for being such a pussy about the whole thing. Rick lived here, Morty was bound to run into him sometime.

He grabbed some cereal from the kitchen and wandered into the living room with it, feeling his heart pulsing in his throat, to where Rick and Summer sat on the couch watching an episode of Ball Fondlers. Morty watched from behind the couch for awhile, smiling a little. Rick was sipping a beer, not looking at him at all, even when he came around to stand to the side where he could glance over. Morty kept his gaze on the tv as much as possible, not wanting to be caught staring at Rick. He chuckled awkwardly in response to something on the show, his voice still scratchy, and tried to make a joke about it, shooting Rick an anxious smile. Rick's eyes flicked lazily over to Morty for a second, but he didn't speak, and after a moment's stare, turned his attention back to the tv, looking bored as he took a long sip of beer.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Summer asked loudly from her place on the couch, not looking up from her phone. Morty felt embarassing shame flood over him quite suddenly, and fidgeted for a moment before slinking off, depositing the half eaten cereal in the sink and hurrying back to his room. Rick and Summer didn't even look at him as he left, and Morty wiped angrily at the sting of tears in his eyes. Why did Rick always have to be such an asshole? Even as he thought it, more embarassment rushed in. He sounded like a little girl. He rushed upstairs and closed his bedroom door with a click before turning and flopping down on the bed. His head was spinning as the memory of the previous night came to him in the silence of his room, and he felt his cock stiffen beneath him. You're fucking disgusting, his mind informed him quietly.

Morty couldn't really believe what had happened. He had woken up with Rick's cold hands on his cock, the older man's long lanky body pressed tightly against him, holding him firmly in place. The memory of it gave Morty a thrill, but also made him nauseous. How long had Rick thought of Morty that way? Did all Ricks do this to their Mortys? Part of him wanted to be outraged by the sickness of it, but another part silently pointed out his rapidly hardening boner, reacting to the memory, and he felt the shame again. He couldn't tell anyone- he really didn't want Rick to get into trouble- and he was too embarrassed by his own reaction anyway. Something deep inside him felt that if he told someone, they'd know that he hadn't really hated it. Why hadn't he yelled or fought, unless he had, on some level, liked it? He gave a few half hearted thrusts, humping the bed, feeling disgusting and frustrated and desperate all at once. Morty stood and stripped quietly, laying back down on the bed, sliding his palm down the length of his shaft, grasping his balls, and hissed in frustration. What kind of person was Rick for doing what he'd done to Morty, and what kind of person was Morty for liking it?

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes again, the room was dark. He'd woken up with a jolt of panic, but looking around the silent, pitch black room, he couldn't figure out what had woken him. As he settled into the silence, he felt a silent scream building in his stomach, trying to crawl it's way out his throat. He was always alone. The house was like a dead thing, somehow he lived with four other people, but he truly believed living alone would have been better. Would have felt better. Rick was just going to do his usual thing and pretend like nothing had ever happened. Morty dug his fists into his head, twisting, welcoming the unpleasant pain as a way to detract from the all-encompassing desperation and loneliness that had filled his entire being for as long as he could remember. That desperation floated like bile in the back of his throat until he rose, a heavy blanket of surreality settling over everything like snow. The world became a dream, and he watched himself walk downstairs, turning down the hall towards Rick's garage. Light filtered out dimly through the bottom of the door.

Morty watched himself open the garage door and step inside. Rick was at his usual spot, the workbench, back arched over like some big cat. He was soldering some delicate piece of electronics, held underneath a magnifying apparatus. He didn't look up from his work, little wisps of smoke coiling around the lens and trailing away through Rick's wispy hair. Beneath the burning soldering smell, the room hung heavy with the scent of whisky and stale sweat. Morty flashed on the memory of burying himself into Rick's pillow, trying to wrap the old man's scent around himself like a security blanket.

"Hey, Rick." He heard himself say, still observing the whole scene from far above. Rick remained silent, but Morty noticed a slight tremor running through his grandpa's arms, arms that were always perfectly steady whenever he was working on something. The flat, hollow sound of his own voice surprised Morty as he listened to himself say, "So we're just pretending nothing happened?" The words floated like a giant, dead thing in the still air, and Rick went rigid, ceasing his work. Very slowly, very carefully, he placed the iron back into it's dock, still facing away from Morty.

It felt like an eternity had passed between them before Rick's voice came, low and rough, "Y-Yeah. That's what we're doing." Morty felt his hands clench into fists. He walked through life like some pathetic ghost, too unremarkable in every way to be much noticed by anyone. Going on adventures with Rick had been the first thing in his whole life that made him feel as if he actually mattered, as if he had anything to contribute to the world. Not only that, it made him feel special. Even with all the other Ricks and Mortys, no one else on his Earth got to be his Rick's sidekick. Then, last night, Rick had reached inside Morty, so unexpectedly, and touched on something Morty hadn't even known existed, something he still didn't come close to understanding. Whatever it was had brought him to life, had brushed away the fear and depression like they were nothing, in ways the medicine never had. In ways he had never thought possible. He couldn't go back to how things were. He especially couldn't handle Rick ignoring him, becoming invisible to the one person in Morty's life who might hold the key to his sanity, and enjoyment of life.

"I-I could... T-Tell Mom... About wh-what happened." he stuttered out, settling back into his body with the familiar throbbing anxiety all around. His throat felt tight with the implication, a bluff, as he had no desire to truly get Rick in trouble over this, but he needed some sort of leverage to even get Rick to look at him. Tears welled threateningly in the corners of his eyes as he watched Rick shake, spidery hands compulsively grasping and releasing the edge of the table. With sudden ferocity, Rick rounded on the boy, bloodshot eyes glaring down at him with barely concealed rage.

"Yeah?" he growled coldly, "Is that what you could do?" His jaw was working back and forth, clenching violently as he stared down at Morty, "And, how do you think that's going to go for you Morty? D-d-d'you really think Beth is just gunna kick me out, after everything she's already put up with? Let me tell you something Morty- your mom's almost at the end of her rope. Y-You wanna go tell her, be my guest. But don't- don't think you can come crying to Grandpa when mommy chugs a box of wine and slits her wrists in the bathtub." Rick's eyes flashed malevolently down at Morty, chest heaving with the force of his anger, as tears overflowed and slid down the boy's pale cheeks.

Rick rolled his eyes when Morty said nothing, body tense and unmoving as he tried to control the tears. A little hiccup escaped out of his clenched lips, and he scowled at the audible display of weakness. Rick shifted his weight, face settling back into its usual mask of boredom, and he glanced at Morty out of the corner of his eye. "Y'know what Morty, why don't you tell me why you really came down here tonight? 'Cause I really fucking doubt it was just to inform me you'd be telling Beth what happened." In a few short strides, Rick had closed the distance between them, reaching a hand out to shove Morty roughly on the shoulder. "Huh?" he goaded, Morty still rigid, fists clenched trembling at his sides, gaze fixed pointedly on the floor. "HUH?" Rick growled, and suddenly Morty was up against the wall, Rick's right arm pressed horizontally against his slender throat, his other hand pinning Morty's right wrist roughly, high against the wall. Morty let out a strangled gasp, Rick's pale forearm grinding painfully into the soft flesh of his throat. He panicked and struggled, turning his face to the side and shutting his eyes tightly so he wouldn't have to look at Rick. Morty felt his face flush, red and hot, but not entirely because of the lack of oxygen.

Rick leaned in close, loosening the pressure on his throat just a little. Morty could feel the crackling energy burning the cheek that faced towards Rick, as if he were a barely contained inferno. The stale whisky smell wafted around him and infiltrated his nose even though he was quite certain he'd stopped breathing. Rick let out a low chuckle as he surveyed the boy's terror and weakness, and without warning he opened his mouth wide and licked a long wet line up Morty's face, from neck, to cheek, to ear. He breathed another amused sound into Morty's ear as the boy began to tremble in earnest, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin, and bit down savagely on his earlobe, producing a small pained gasp from the boy's throat.

Rick moved back abruptly, removing the arm pinning Morty's throat and using his grasp on Morty's slender wrist to effortlessly overbalance the boy, tossing him to the hard concrete floor. Morty landed roughly, feeling light headed as he tried to sit back up. Rick loomed over him, hands unbuckling his belt, glaring malevolently down at him as if from a great height. Morty felt a hot tickle and reached a hand up to his ear, fingers coming away bloody. The ear throbbed painfully, it would surely be a noticeable mark with Morty's short brown hair. The dull slither of leather on cloth made Morty look up sharply as Rick slid his belt out from his pant loops. "Y-You want to threaten me, Morty?" he asked quietly, eyebrow raised questioningly as he held the belt in both hands. There was only the barest of moments for Morty's brain to try and think of a response that would save him, when Rick looped the belt back through it's clasp and slipped it over Morty's head, cinching it tight around the pale, soft flesh. He gave a vicious pull, producing a pressure unlike Morty had ever experienced before. The cold metal clasp dug painfully into his throat as his air supply was suddenly and totally cut off, terror spiking, blackness eating at the corners of his vision with a terrifying speed. He tried to choke out a cry, to beg Rick to stop, anything, but nothing came out, nothing could make it past that terrible choking pressure on his throat. Rick stared down at him with naked rage and hunger, muttering out angry little taunts Morty scarcely could hear. His lungs burned, and just as it became unbearable, he floated away into unconciousness.

When he woke, it was with great difficulty and confusion. He came back into his body slowly, from far away, and noticed things one at a time. His cheek was cold. He was upside down, compared to before when he'd been looking up at Rick. His face was down, pressed into the icy concrete, and his pants were down around his knees. His ass was up in the air, and the world was vibrating strangely, rhythmically, over and over. Feeling rushed back into his body like someone turning up the volume on a tv, and he felt a piercing pain as Rick rutted uncaringly into his already sore ass. He was making low noises in time with each thrust, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Morty's cheeks, thick cock pounding into Morty's tender hole mercilessly. "Riiiiiick...!" It was half scream and half moan, his ass felt like it was on fire, but Morty knew Rick wouldn't care, that nothing could make it stop. Hot tears flowed and dripped messily down his nose to darken the concrete beneath.

"Y-You think I give a shit if you tell someone, Morty?" Rick asked breathlessly between thrusts, "I. Dont. Give. A. Fuck!" He punctuated each word with an especially hard thrust, and Morty yelped at the height of each, beginning to cry in earnest. He sobbed, loud shaking wails that echoed around the bare garage, while Rick continued to slam into him. "Y-You think anyone's gunna come?" He asked, grabbing onto the length of belt, still wrapped tightly around Morty's neck, lifting the boy up in a painful contortion. "Go on, call for help." When Morty just sobbed more, insensible, Rick let out a snarl and smashed the boy's head down into the concrete, leaving behind a little spatter of blood as Morty's head swam with light and color and the world threatened to go black again. "Scream!" Rick hissed into his ear.

"HEEEELLLLLP!" Morty choked out a rough cry, the word trailing off into more hiccuping sobs, then nothing, as silence settled back into the world, broken only by the wet slapping of Rick's cock into his ass, apparently unmoved by his request. Rick let him stew in that silence for a few minutes as he fucked the boy, fingernails digging roughly where he held Morty's hips, until he drew a hand back to slap the boy's rump, causing him to yelp in surprise. He thrust his full length into the boy, pausing there, filling him completely. He pulled tightly on the belt again, until Morty lifted and strained to get away from the awful pressure, lifting up until he was bowed backwards against Rick's arching body.

"No-one is fucking coming Morty. No-one is going to stop this from happening." He pushed the boy forward with a rough hand, maintaining the pull of the belt, and the pressure clamped down with an air of terrible finality. Morty kicked and struggled vainly, an animal in a trap, no more logical thought coming from his brain beyond getting away from that pain. He bucked, but his inherently feeble protests became swiftly weaker. Just before he slipped again into oblivion, Rick let go of the belt entirely. Morty fell forward with a lurching disorientation, hands coming up instinctively to prevent his face from meeting the ground a second time. Blood ran with tears and dripped down into the little pool beneath his face. Rick was grasping frantically onto Morty's hips now, pace suddenly doubling, nearly lifting Morty's bottom half off the ground as he pistoned into the boy, pace speeding and speeding until it tripped over itself, losing rhythm, and then Rick was moaning, head thrown back as he pumped his load into Morty's ass. The hot liquid stung and soothed simultaneously, the dryness suddenly alleviated, but nothing could be done for the damage already caused. Cum bubbled up around Rick's still buried cock, flowing around him and down Morty's balls, trailing a line of thick liquid down his half-hard cock. More dripped sloppily onto the floor as Rick removed himself with a groan, pooling on the ground in a pinkish-white puddle.

Morty collapsed trembling on the ground, still in shock, unable to lift himself as Rick zipped up his pants. Rick's movements were slow and non-threatening as he moved towards Morty, slipping the belt over his head and tossing it away to one side. He wasn't even crying anymore as Rick lifted him up into a sitting position, silently drawing him in for a hug. Morty felt the embrace rattle his barely maintained composure, like a spider sensing vibration along a strand of silk. He bit his lip, pain helping to focus him, while Rick petted his hair and rubbed his back in a way he supposed was meant to be comforting. The tears wavered just below the surface at these tender touches, threatening to break over, when Rick asked quietly, "What did you learn?" and Morty felt himself break again, face crumpling into a blubbering mess, tears flowing freely as he shook.

"N-N-Not to th-th-threaten you R-Rick." He choked out through raking sobs, voice drawn and thin as he wept. "I-I'm s-s-s-soree-ee-eee...!" he wailed, and Rick hugged him tighter, encircling Morty with his own body, sitting with knees on either side of the boy as Morty snuggled deeply into Rick's chest. Rick stroked the boy's hair as he wept, crooning soft little "I know, I knows", and "Shhh, it's okays". Rick held him until he had quieted completely, standing up slowly and taking Morty's hand to lift him up along with him. Morty teetered a bit, pants around his ankles. Rick grasped the boy on the side of the head, other hand wiping roughly at the forehead scrape that was bleeding prolifically for how small it was. "Good boy." he whispered, looking into Morty's face, bloody, tear-streaked. His throat was a mass of bruises, already darkly purple, and an annoying sliver of worry disturbed Rick's utter satisfaction as he wondered how Beth and Jerry would react to the wounds.

"Stay." He commanded, walking over to the metal shelf and producing a small syringe from a paper filing box. He strode back over to where Morty stood, shivering and leaking all down his legs, jabbing the silvery needle into Morty's bare ass. The boy hardly jumped at all from it, obviously still in shock, as Rick quickly depressed the plunger and removed the needle. "For healing." He explained roughly, bending down to pull up Morty's pants for him. The boy took over with trembling hands, not daring to look at Rick, who was already moving back to his workbench. He settled down in his swivel seat, picking up the soldering iron in deft and unwavering fingers. "Y-You can go now. Take a shower, clean that blood off you." he informed Morty unemotionally, who shuffled like a zombie to the garage door, shutting it quietly behind him.