Chapter Text
It turns out that there’s a few benefits of having a Cat Boy Morty as his ‘grandson’/sidekick that don’t just have to do with it being a hilarious little bit. Like the fact that whenever Morty goes on a moralistic tangent or ‘looks behind the curtain on a Rick thing’, he can just use the laser built into his corneas to make Morty drop it immediately. Or the fact that Morty keeps eating his throw up whenever Rick does it in the ship, probably as a weird show of loyalty and affection. Or that he isn’t as ashamed of himself as any of his previous Mortys. Helps avoid issues like that time when his first Morty spent a weekend at his mothers job using a reproductive machine designed for horses for his own pleasure, and through a complex butterfly effect made a giant incest baby because he refused to just admit it was his sperm. Something about this Morty’s cat instincts didn’t include that type of shame.
Of course, there were cons too. On their very first adventure, Rick tried to make it appropriately cat-themed by taking Morty to steal & smuggle cat-nip from a planet overloaded with it to a planet where it was like mega-heroin to the inhabitors. Morty of course got high while handling it and freaked out before practically running on the walls for two hours. Another con being that he has claws but instead of using them to Rick’s or his advantage, he decides to be an absolute imbecile with them. Within the first week there were claw marks on every item in the ship and the bedding in Morty’s room was torn to less than sheds (not exactly his fault, Rick locked him in his room during the whole cat-nip fiasco).
Luckily something that was not a con was his family’s reaction to their son/brother suddenly appearing with cat ears. Rick just excused it as ‘Morty had a little mishap with my gene-splicer, and I’m not changing him back because he seems happy with the change’. Of course they weren't there when Morty #3 died, so they had no choice but to believe it. Summer even started being remarkably more affectionate with her brother just because he was cuter, bless her heart.
Little did he know, they were both going to run into a major con 5 weeks in.
It was somewhat late, though the house wasn’t asleep yet, but everybody in their family had gone off to their separate rooms by now. Rick was working in the garage when Morty disobeyed the very spoken rule of ‘don’t bother me while I'm working’. He opened the door and Rick noticed, immediately knew it was Morty by his presence. He didn’t acknowledge it, favoring to keep soldering random bits of metal together until Morty either said the problem or left him alone. Something distant in the back of his mind noted how something suddenly smelt weird.
Morty stood in the doorway, pale, sweaty, shaking — tail twitching like it had its own opinions. He was experiencing hot flashes, he felt lazy and insecure. Not to mention the insufferable ache screaming to be filled. “Rick, I think I’m dying…” the teen said, knowing it was an exaggeration. But he probably picked up an alien disease or something, and he may actually be 5 minutes from dying at the same time it was warranted in his mind.
Rick turned to Morty with an unimpressed face, unscrewing his flask and making a point of his swig. “Jeez. And I guarantee you’re overreacting.” The old man said flatly, tucking his flask back into the inner pocket of his lab coat. “What’s wrong?” He asked, even though he didn’t really care. It would just be inconvenient to lose another Morty especially with how recently he got the replacement.
Morty walked over to his old man as he turned, facepalming because of the insane callings coming from the front of his mind. He didn’t even know what the callings were telling him to do; just that they were fucking up his ability to think. “I-it’s too hot. My tummy hurts.” Replied the cat boy, who would normally be a bit embarrassed to use such childish wording, but he was too overwhelmed to care.
Rick looked over his grandson a couple times. The kid looked to be in an absolutely horrible state. Pits drenched all the way through, face red, eyes glossy with what he assumed was a cold. He sighed loudly, making sure Morty knew how little patience he had for this shit today. “You do look sick. Come on, lift up your shirt.” He ordered while taking a suspicious sniff of the air around him. Did his vole dopamine spill?
Morty didn’t question it and couldn’t if he wanted to. Something deep inside him clawing up his spine made him need to listen. He lifted up his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor without question. Rick eyed him suspiciously before deciding to disregard it as long as the boy listened. He placed a big hand on Morty’s waist, pulling the apprentice closer to where he sat. He took two fingers and lightly pressed them under Morty’s rib cage. “Tell me if any of this hurts.”
Morty’s ears pinned back to his head. It did hurt no matter where Rick put his fingers, but something about his grandfather’s hands being so big and warm and all over his skin… it made him — ACK! As Rick pressed into his lower abdomen he let out a pained yowl, his tail flicking back and forth. The man held his fingers there, not moving them but making sure he got the positioning right. “Here?” Morty could only nod in reply, feeling hot tears spring to his eyes.
Rick thought of what pain in the lower abdomen would mean for a human — of course he knew Morty was not fully a human, but the only parts of him supposed to be a cat were on his head and ass. So, he assumed it was something with his gastrointestinal or urinary tract.
“Well, you’re obviously fevered.” He said as his right index finger retracted into his hand and out popped a thermometer. “Open.” He ordered dominantly but without anger. Morty’s mouth immediately fell open, revealing the hot and especially slick interior. Rick sniffed for the weird scent again as he stuck the thermometer under Morty’s tongue. The teen’s mouth continued to stay open even as Rick had the probe in the correct position because he was dumb with heat. The scientist made a noise close to a growl of frustration while closing the kid’s jaw with his left hand. And then Morty suddenly felt tingly in his crotch.
Rick’s knuckle blinked 99.8. A high temperature, but not exactly ‘fevered’ yet. His finger turned back into flesh. “Alright, get on the work bench, whiskers. P—BELCH–appy’s gotta look at your genitals.” Rick said casually, patting the side of Morty’s waist to encourage him to hop up. Morty, who usually has the agility of a cat, fumbles to get up onto the cold linoleum of the workbench. For some reason Rick’s reassuring pats made his arms weak.
Morty slides onto the ice cold surface of Rick’s work bench, the heat quickly being sucked from his body into the hard plane. The older man made quick work of pulling down the boy’s pants and underwear, not even bothering to undo his fly first. The immediately shocking thing is that an erect penis springs out. Tiny, oddly prickly, with no pubic hair sounding it but what appears to be cat hair was. Not that Rick was paying attention to any of those qualities.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you, you little perv? I thought you were dying.” The man asks sternly, but he wasn’t exactly angry at the teen. Mostly confused as fuck… and still, the odd scent lingers on the front of his mind. Morty covered his face out of embarrassment. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He hadn’t even been able to tell that he himself was hard. Rick swallowed the thick air as he looked closer for any obvious medical issues. There was no swelling or redness… at least in the way that he’d expected. When he looked lower he didn’t find anything of major concern either. Except for the fact that Morty’s ass was drenched in sweat. A strange, thick sweat that spread all over his workbench. It made Morty slide around with how slick the material was.
He took a test tube from his lab coat pocket and ran the vile through the vicious substance in between the teen’s cheeks. This received an extremely loud purr, louder than he’d ever heard from any cat ever. He held up the test tube after lidding it. “Garage, analyze this sample.” He said before thin robotic arms clawed out of the ceiling and took it into the walls of his garage with a subtle whirring of machinery. “Analysis will be done in… 5 minutes.” Said the wife-ish sounding AI of his garage.
Rick wracked his brain for anything that this sickness could be. Mostly based on the odd sweat and whatever puberty hormones were making Morty’s cat-dick erect, he assumed it was glandular. He pulled up Morty’s clothes so that he wasn’t forced to make eye contact with his grandson’s horribly erect penis anymore and Morty felt his little heart sink. Something in the back of his mind knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t properly equipped to deal with it. All he knew is that he felt so horribly empty and he needed to fix that itch. And somehow that Rick could help.
Rick’s right index finger yet again revealed a gadget, his first knuckle retracting to reveal a pinpoint flashlight. “Follow the light.” He instructed Morty while slowly dancing his finger in Morty’s vision. Something about it was hypnotizing to Morty. His eyes were abnormally dilated but reacting with the typical speed and that made Rick huff. His finger yet again returned to flesh.
The man pulled the boy by his hips until he stood on shaky legs again, something about the placement of his hands made the other male’s cat instincts go wild. He turned Morty eastward towards the giant shelves of his garage. “Walk in a straight line, tap the shelves, and come back to me.” Rick ordered, his voice growing tight. He wishes he could just figure out what that scent was and why it smelled so good. Like sawdust over salt water taffy.
Even as I say Morty had no choice other than to obey, he wouldn’t have wanted to disobey if he had said choice. He is, after all, a Morty. On legs with the strength and dexterity of a thirty-minute old foal he stumbles to the shelves, tapping the left supporting bar before coming back to his grandfather. His tail sways behind his legs, following the opposite side of the side he’s about to faceplant to. Rick’s eyes for some inexplicable reason keep trailing to solely Morty’s wobbling. Morty stands in front of him, asking with his eyes and anything but words, ‘did I walk across the room and back just right for you?’ Great, that didn’t tell him anything except that Morty is a dumb shit with 0 balance. A loud ding from above him promises something actually great — answers, data to study. “Analysis complete.” Wrings out the flat, almost written voice of his garage. A holographic screen & keyboard flicker to life in front of his hands and he immediately starts reading.
“ SAMPLE ANALYSIS : MORTY FLUIDS “ Rick scoffs at the automatically generated name, because it’s so stupidly funny and accurate.
Warning: Pheromonal resonance incompatible with local timeline
Subject: Morty Smith C-555
Genomic classification: data unavailable to this dimension
He frowned. “What the hell is a 'pheromonal resonance'? That’s not even real science — that’s fanfic pseudogenetics.” He muttered to himself while scrolling again. No clear answers. Just a bunch of bio-nonsense and one line in bold: CYCLE INITIATED. Stage one – imprinting. What is this? Were the writers just blatantly pandering to the sticky teen side of the fandom now? Was production budget sinking?
Rick was the smartest man in the world and yet all he could decipher about Morty’s problem was it being caused by Morty not originating from this dimension. Which he had already assumed. He looked over to his grandson to find his tail lashing like an angry jungle cat. He read his expression, ‘you are the very core of my universe. I will do anything to impress you’. He felt his heart lurch in a way it had never for a Morty in the past as the teen felt his pants soak more. And the genius felt his gut twist. Not with hunger. Not with guilt. With recognition.
“Fuck me…” He muttered while taking out his flask. “You’re from an omegaverse.” Morty looked up at him with eyes wide like saucers clearly indicating two things. Fascination and confusion. He did not have the brain power to explain Morty’s own fanfic-y biology to a barely-literate cat boy version of his grandson right now. "Go to your god damned room, we’ll fix this tomorrow. Tonight, I need a drink.”