It certainly didn't take a genius to figure out the secret behind Morty's personality anymore. The brunet had never changed as much as everybody thought. He'd merely mastered in the art of deception, convincing everybody that he was something other than his true character. He'd even fooled himself for a while, but Morty was Morty, the one true maniac. There was nothing in the world that could change that.

       "How many times is this now?" Meetings had become a somewhat boring task for the brunet anymore. There was never anything exciting during the allotted amounts of time, nobody willing to screw with the two anymore. They were a superpower, one that the world was very aware of. 
        The woman seated politely across from the two gave a frustrated huff, turning to face Rick and direct her response towards the asker. "Twice," she grumbled. "It's the second time I've asked, though I've given reasonable explanation. Blu Ihnk is not as easy to come across as you would think."
       "Cora," Rick practically cooed, pulling his glass towards himself with an undisturbed bored expression. "Cora, Cora, Cora. You should know at this point in our partnership that I know what's easy and what's difficult. Blu Ihnk is one of the most popular substances out there, something I know. It's not hard to come by something as popular as that in this world. Not with all the money grubbers out there, willing to steal from their dead grandmother if it would get them a few bucks. Your explanations, or rather excuses, are not efficient enough. I'm not convinced in the slightest." The ice in his glass knocked together as he raised it to his lips, taking a longer sip before setting the smaller glass back in its place on the end table placed strategically between the two chairs upon which he and Morty sat. "Try again," Rick mumbled, setting his hands on his stomach and leaning back in his chair.
       Cora scowled heavily, now directing her attention to Morty. "I heard you were a reasonable man. You gotta understand, it's not easy." The brunet shook his head, shrugging momentarily. "I don't think you heard correctly, then. From what I heard, from a more reliable source," the brunet motioned towards Rick, "it's easier to come across a new drug on the streets than it is a rainbow after a rain storm." 
       "It's not that fucking easy!" Cora protested now. "But it is," Rick interjected, giving a pointed stare that read danger. "It's the most simplistic thing. Ask around, find somebody, and give them the cash. Maybe your issue is money management, not locating what I want."
       Now, Morty was used to seeing Rick on the opposite end of a gun, seconds away from death as the individual wielding the weapon was raging and ready to eliminate him. He was not, however, used to being in the man's place. Watching Cora pull a gun on him and angrily aim it directly towards his head was the newest sensation he'd received recently. 
        "I'm sick of being insulted every damn time I'm in this room," she growled, standing abruptly. "Certainly not the smartest," Morty grumbled, staring expectantly at the woman. At least he knew Gary was more than capable of taking care of AJ, Al was more than capable of helping out, and Rick could probably get over this eventually. He was more composed than most would be, waiting for either death or a settling of the air around the gathering.
        "Shut it!" Cora hissed, forcing the brunet from his chair and holding the gun very rudely against his head. The brunet watched anger cloud over Rick's features, his eyes turning a very dangerous shade of dark blue as he regarded the woman with an icy glare. "Always - always - insulting me, my skills, my work. Always! I'm equally as good as the next dumbass that works for, or with, either of you! Just as good! Better, even! But you always have to fuck around, always have to push judgement upon me. I'm done with it all. You're gonna listen up now, and then you're gonna watch your boy-toy disappear before you go meet satan, you bastard."
       "Are you religious?" Morty questioned, placing his hands in his pockets while he awaited his answer. "What's it to you?" Cora grumbled, her hold never failing. "I used to work as a pastor. I thought I recognized you, Ms Cora Alve."
       "The hell are you talking about?" The woman seemed confused, though it was apparent that she was a very efficient hitman if ever there was one. Her end goal remained the same, her stance never fluctuating. 
       "Pastor John Schelan, Lutheran, from Miami. You, Ms Cora Alve, were guilty of domestic abuse, asking for constant forgiveness every week, crying because you couldn't keep your anger in check. You beat your child near to death before she was taken into full custody by your husband, though the pair later died in a wreck. I might not be the same man, but I certainly do keep his memories very well." There it was, the shift in her resolve. "My dear, you have the time to beg for your forgiveness from they, themselves. It was a pleasure seeing you again." 
       A crack broke the near silent air before any more words could be exchanged, the heavy weight of the gun easily removed from the side of Morty's head while he watched the other man grab his radio, gun still in hand. "Gary, need ya again," he grumbled, situating his weapon back into his waistband. 
       "The hell was she talking about, 'before you go to meet satan'?" Rick grumbled, grabbing his glass and refilling it. "I made satan my bitch. Now he calls me the devil," he added snarkily, setting a bottle of scotch back beneath the counter while Gary wandered into the room. 
       "This looks fun," the bouncer quipped, sighing heavily before he went about cleaning it all up. Morty never did find out what happened with everybody that died back there, but he did feel better not knowing at all, in his own opinion. "Pulled a gun on me," Morty grumbled, settling onto the couch while he checked his phone. It was never anything new, always the same apps with notifications, texts over meeting times, unknown numbers of those introducing themselves and looking for 'employment' in the field of tracking down what was desired and delivering. Always boring, always almost useless, never fun or simple. 
       The bouncer gave no immediate response as he disposed of the once-lovely lady, returning after a short while down the back entrance. "You're always so reserved and peaceful after moments like that," Gary commented as he wandered across the room. 
       "I don't have much to dwell on anymore," was Morty's somewhat confusing response. "Fair enough," Gary called as he wandered back down the hall. 

       Morty had remained on the couch for a few minutes, always needing time to settle down after meetings before he returned to the task of bartending. He loved his job to no end, he simply needed time to settle back into a calmer state, one where he was no longer 'raring to go' after something 'dangerous' happened.
       But, in those few short minutes, while Rick drank and he sat on his phone, Morty pondered a few things with the utmost curiosity. One thought stuck out more than the rest; why did he never thank Rick after stressful moments like that? Why did he never show his appreciation to the man, thank him for being the one to take control of a bad situation? It was a peculiar thought to him, something that'd never occurred to him before. Huh...
       After a moment of somewhat deep contemplation, Morty rose from his position on the couch and put his phone back in his pocket. "Going back?" Rick questioned, setting his drink back on the end table. Morty shrugged, approaching the man until he stood directly in front of him. "I dunno," he vocalized after a moment. "Whaddya mean you 'don't know'?" Rick questioned, glancing curiously upwards at the brunet. Morty shrugged again, rounding the man's chair. He removed his left hand from his pocket, trailing it along Rick's shoulder as he rounded the seat, eventually taking his right from his pocket as well. 
       "I just don't know," he mumbled, leaning over the chair. His right hand slipped past the gracious opening that never disappeared from the top of the man's dress shirts, his style never altered. Morty never minded, though. It always fit the man. Anything else would appear odd, too different on him. His flashy style was perfect for his form, for his zany hair style, his personality, but, most importantly, his life style. 
       Morty would forever love the natural heat that emanated from the man. It wasn't an emotional, meta-physical sensation. He was literally always warm to the touch, never cold or off-putting. It was perhaps the most welcoming part about the man, though Morty was the only person that purposefully drew closer to partake in enjoying the feeling. For all he knew, he could very well be the only one that actually took notice to the fact. 
       While absolutely relishing in the warm, soft sensation, feeling the man's heartbeat beneath his open palm before it was moving again, the brunet deftly pressed his lips to the man's jawline, sewing short kisses into the small area he could reach at the angle he remained. 
       "What are you doing?" Rick questioned, amusement notable in his tone. Morty found a smile dancing in the vibrant hue of his eyes the second his own met the man's, bringing a soft smile to his own features while his hand stilled over the man's heart once again. "I don't know," he iterated once more, pressing another fleeting kiss just below Rick's jawline. His left hand slipped from its spot on Rick's shoulder, trailing over his front. He paused, his fingers just barely pressed to his groin, in a moment of consideration. They still had yet to do anything again. Anything they would remember, anyway, and Morty wanted to be certain he was ready to open himself up to that life again.
       Carefully, as though he were afraid Rick might stop and berate the younger, the brunet laid his hand upon the man's crotch. His fingers curled deftly around the man, tentatively growing once more somewhat accustomed to it all over again. It had been years since he'd done anything remotely near to this (anything he would remember) and he would be a liar, should he deny any anxiety about the situation.
       Morty nearly laughed, more at the man's pressing his legs further apart than the near-depravity of the situation. He almost felt every bit of the virgin he had been when he'd first met the man, still unsure of everything. The more he thought of it, the more he realized that Rick was really the only man he'd ever done anything with. He'd never thought of it before, and it was a rather peculiar realization to the brunet. He'd never been with another man, never tried to move on another time. But that could be due to one of two things. Either he was too modest to open up to anybody else about his semi-lack of experience, or he was simply addicted to everything the man was capable of giving him. Sure, he knew he didn't have to be with Rick. He had the opportunity to give up, to leave the unfaithful liar behind and move on to better people, like Jessica. But he would never take that opportunity; would never truly want it.
       "C-Can I?" the brunet questioned, the slight nerves bringing his stutter back momentarily. His left hand briefly gripped the man with slight pressure before he let go again, once more curling his fingers around the older while his right hand continued relishing in the warmth from his bare chest beneath the pads of his fingers, in the feel of his heartbeat. 
       The man nodded, seemingly entranced beneath the brunet's deft touches. Morty, nerves almost overwhelming him, nearly overpowering his want to do this, reminded himself that he was as okay as ever. His right hand withdrew from the man's shirt and joined his left, working at the belt buckle that displayed power with the golden shine. Though slightly put-off by the light marks already littering the man's neck, Morty ducked his head down and found what he knew was the man's favorite spot to be kissed and nipped at. To his amusement, it was one of the most bare spots on his neck, telling him that somebody didn't know what they were doing when they messed around with the man. Just below his jawline, right before his chin and almost level with his prominent adam's apple, Morty pressed his mouth to the mans neck, drawing his blood to the surface and working at the near-damnable dress pants that always gave him hell when he tried to undo them. Rick twitched lightly beneath the younger's touch and Morty grinned almost cheekily when he withdrew, satisfied with the knowledge that his mark was darker than any of them and right in Rick's favorite spot. 
       Morty finally managed to best the pants from hell, releasing the button's hold and disturbing the near silence with the sound of the metal zipper creating a new opening. The brunet rounded the chair, pulling Rick into an almost hasty kiss, eagerly lifting the front of his shirt and slipping his hand past the confining boxers. Rick hummed into the kiss, emitting a low growl a second after as Morty tried to find any hidden skill. His fingers danced slowly, with as much precision as he could manage, along his length. Truth be told, he'd all but forgotten how big the man was. He'd never know the exact measurements, but big was nearly an understatement. 
      Carefully, Morty backed away from the man, pulling the few layers lower with a bit of help. He was settled shortly, the man's pants and boxers roughly halfway down his thighs while the brunet perched prettily in front of him. 
       "Still my favorite view," Rick breathed, his half-lidded electric blue orbs trained on the brunet shifting forward slightly, almost eagerly placing a near-hesitant kiss to his crown. The man exhaled sharply, drawing the air back in just as quickly when the brunet drew him past soft lips. His tongue outlined the slit, tracing further outward until the muscle was flattened against the underside of the intruding member. 

       Rick grabbed a fistful of the curly brunet mop as Morty took him halfway, running his fingers through the locks before his grip tightened. "You don't hhh--" he breathed, feeling Morty struggle to pull any further in. It was thicker than a sword, after all, and he hadn't done any circus acts or had fun in a while....
       The brunet never was one to back down from a challenge, suppressing a few soft gags to the best of his ability as Rick fought the urge to shift his hips up and make the brunet take him completely. God, he'd waited for what seemed to be forever, just to have this back again. Nobody knew how to work him like this. Nobody knew his favorite place to be nipped at, knew how to praise his cock. Morty was almost silent, save for a few soft groans he'd let slip. Whenever Rick would chance a glance down, he would find the brunet's eyes constantly shut, his brows tilted inwards and slightly up, and an expression that led him to believe that even Morty loved this just as much.
       Rick's breath came at a slightly faster pace as he worked at keeping it quiet. He never did like exceedingly loud panting from either party during a blowjob. At any other time, he would always make an exception. But now, it would make it seem too sloppy for his liking. He liked to keep things neat, not a garbled mess.
       Morty, even after all this time, still had at least a slight inkling as to what Rick still liked. He drew the man's entirety past his lips, swallowing around him as best he could in the moment, and Rick stuttered his hips up slightly against the suddenly restricting heat. "Yea," he panted, tugging harder at the brunet's locks.

        More than anything, Morty was slightly afraid to make a mess of his work pants right now. He didn't want to have to walk out there with a stain, and he didn't want to take the rest of the evening off right now, but the man - whether he was aware or not - was near to sending him over the edge, just by tugging his hair and emitting sounds of appreciation. The grip tightened further as he bobbed his head faster, using Rick's thighs to balance himself and trying to be as good a daddy's boy as he possibly could.

       As Morty continued, Rick found it harder and harder to suppress any louder sounds of appreciation. The brunet moved so fluidly, so delicately, it wa--

        shit

      Rick's hips stuttered slightly upwards as it grew impossible, a loud 'Y-Ye-- God, pl- yea' breaking the near-silence between them. Even Morty seemed surprised, his actions paused momentarily before he carried on, puling back far enough to point his tongue and tease the man's slit. 

       Morty pulled off, his hand continuing to work around the slick cock so demandingly presented before him as he listened to Rick praise him almost breathlessly. "D-" he tried, finding the word died in his throat for a second before he tried again. 
       "Da-Daddy," he spoke almost too softly. If it hadn't been for the possessive growl Rick released, he would have thought the man didn't hear. "Fuck-- y-- what is-s it, baby?" he panted, his head still thrown back on the chair. Morty watched his dominant adam's apple bob as he swallowed heavily, rotating his wrist as his hand still pumped around him. 
       The request seemed almost taboo as Morty rethought his previous possible action, wetting his lips and taking a shaky breath as he looked anywhere but at the man. 
        "C-Can y-" the brunet tried again, failing. It was probably the one thing they hadn't done years prior, and to ask now still left him feeling a nervous fear. The request was odd to him, and Rick was nearly done anyway. Perhaps he could jus-
       "What is it, baby?" Rick questioned softly, trying to both cater to Morty's needs and not lose focus on Morty's actions. "You can s-say it," he breathed.
       Morty took another heavy breath in, his hand slowing slightly and drawing Rick's attention now. "Another time?" he offered, glancing up halfheartedly. 
       "If you wanna do it now," Rick replied carefully, "tell me. Anything for you." 
       Morty found odd honesty in the hazy blue that met his gaze, feeling sheepish still as the idea danced in his head. He was shy in the moment, something he'd not been in a while. 

       Rick was trying not to be openly frustrated with the brunet right now, but he was so damn close a second ago, and now he was being a shy prude about something. The man was hoping he would hurry up already because he hadn't been left like this for very long, eager to finish and wondering if he was going to have to on his own. 
      When the brunet had yet to answer, instead shaking his head and proceeding to pick up where he had left off, Rick gripped his curly locks again, stilling the brunet's head before he could even reach halfway down his cock. "Just relax," he offered breathily, finding the brunet to be pretty much fine with - if not already aware of - what he was about to do, even though they'd never done this before.
       Rick worked his hips carefully, keeping the brunet still and working further past his lips, brighter and swollen, different from their usual state. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, but Rick watched lazily as they drifted towards the brunet's jeans, clenching into fists on his own thighs as Rick throat-fucked the daddy's boy. 
       His slow thrusts were already disorganized from the very beginning, Rick already ready to burst. He made his way as far as he could go, shoving his entirety past the abused lips, before he came, fisting the brunet's locks consistently as though he had nothing more to keep him there. 

       When Rick finally withdrew, Morty was fighting every warning going off, urging himself to resist the urge to ruin his dress pants and to not embarrass himself by asking if he could 'solve the issue'. He carefully wiped the drool from his chin and lower lip, seeing Rick clean himself up with another club towel and piece his outfit back together while Morty remained on the floor, afraid that any motion would set him off. 
       "Baby?" Rick questioned slowly, Morty finding him staring down curiously, if not slightly afraid. "If I-" he began, though Morty stopped him, shaking his head slowly. His entire body seemed to tremble from the effort he was putting into trying to calm down, and it was obvious that Rick took notice. The man gave a quick chuckle, possibly trying not to shame the brunet, before he crouched down before him. Morty felt liquid heat course through his cheeks as the man undid his pants with far more ease than Morty'd had when doing the other's. 
       "You coulda. . . y'know," Rick offered quietly, already wrapping skilled fingers around the brunet. Morty drew in a sharp breath, not wanting to embarrass himself by letting go after a few pulls, but knowing he had to because he thought he was literally going to explode. He was leaking precum like a faucet almost, trembling throughout his entire being. A glance around his surroundings and Morty took in a few things - the head of his cock almost an angry color and Rick looking almost worried - before the man leaned forward, mumbling 'be a good boy' against his lips. Morty was personally disturbed at the fact that Rick could kiss him after he came inside the brunet's mouth, but he couldn't care any further as he let go, gripping one of Rick's shoulders as though for life while his other hand became entangled in his zany blue locks. 
        Morty tossed his head back, calling for 'Rick' and 'Daddy' in a mess of sentences, losing his native tongue for a few phrases while his back arched so high he thought it would break. Morty could have sworn he saw sparks in his vision, everything fading slightly, before he recognized Rick's voice offering calming phrases. He sank down to the floor, blinking quickly and drawing air almost too rapidly as he worked at calming himself down again.

       "Next time," Rick whispered as he helped clean the brunet up, "just tell daddy what you need."