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Morty is fuming, glaring up past the cuffed wrists of the surly defendant, keeping defiant eye contact as the older man fucks his throat. There are tears in Morty’s eyes, but this isn’t the first dick he’s sucked and he refuses to give Sanchez the satisfaction of choking him.
He wasn’t exaggerating all that much, what he said about the donkey dick.
Rick Sanchez smirks down at Morty, hands pulling hard at the top of Morty’s hair, fucking slow and deep down Morty’s throat, pulling back every now and then to let Morty take a few desperate breaths before diving back in.
Morty’s harder than he’s been in years, and he’s mad about it. He can’t remember the last time anyone argued with him in court like that, stood up and told him off, completely unintimidated. He can’t remember the last time he lost his cool so spectacularly. He’d struggled to hide the boner beneath his robes, and it’s entirely, ridiculously unprofessional what’s happening here.
Rick’s talking, still, like he isn’t capable of just shutting the fuck up for two damn minutes – dumb shit, nonsense; “God, you take it so fucking well,” he says, and, “Had a lotta practice, baby?” His fingers tighten, his hips stuttering a little before steadying out again. “You a- a little slut under all those robes, babe? Like getting your throat- getting your- fuuuck- like getting your throat fucked, Y-Y-Your Honour?”
Morty’s dick lurches up unexpectedly at the title and he moans loud at the sharp spike of arousal, grabs at the chain of Rick’s handcuffs, and Rick’s ass, and swallows as best he can around Ricks cock. For fucks sake, he’s the judge, here – this is his court, and he’s in charge, and he’s going to make this shit come so hard he forgets his fucking name.
Rick’s panting above him, mouth slack and wet, hands loose and eyes wide, and when Morty pulls back to breathe and to tease Rick lets out a noise that makes Morty’s dick throb.
“Am I your best bitch, Sanchez?” Morty asks, voice dripping with faux innocence even with the rough gravelly tone from the abuse his throat is taking.
“Ohhhh jesus fuck yeah baby y-yeah, you’re fu-fucking perfect-“
“I know I a-am, Sanchez,” Morty cuts in, stern. “And I’m not your baby.” He grips Rick’s cock firm at the base, pulls hard at Rick’s cuffs. “You’ll a-address m-me properly, Sanchez. Do you understand?”
“Fuck you,” Rick spits, grinning, and Morty bites hard at Rick’s hip in retaliation. Rick groans loud, his cock jerking in Morty’s grip.
“You like that, Mr. Sanchez? W-want that again? Tell me what I- what I want to hear.”
Rick stands panting and frowning, frustrated. Morty can feel Rick’s heartbeat pulsing fast in his twitching dick, can feel Rick struggling with his pride and his lust. Morty twists at the chain of Rick’s handcuffs hard enough to bruise dark and sore and Rick’s lust finally wins.
“I-i-i-if it pleases the court, Your Honour, I’d- I-I-I’d like to- like to draw attention to how fucking hard my dick is, Y-Your Honour, sir, suck my big fucking dick Your Honour.” Morty can see the defiance in Rick’s face, hear the irritation in Rick’s voice, and he makes sure his smile is as smug and satisfied as possible.
Morty licks at Rick’s head, laps at it until Rick huffs impatiently. “W-will you hurry the fuck u-“
“You’ve- you’ve not been invited to speak, Mr. Sanchez,” Morty interrupts, putting as much authority into his voice as he can. Rick swallows hard, glares, grips tight at Morty’s curls, but he shuts up, so Morty goes back to licking up Rick’s thick cock as reward.
“You were- you were pretty fixated on my mouth in court, there, Mr. Sanchez,” Morty breathes out hot, tonguing soft into the slit of Rick’s cockhead.
“Yeah, yes, Your Honour,” Rick answers, breathy, groaning, half-heartedly pulling against Morty’s grip on his handcuffs. “Got a fat, pretty mouth, Your Honour, just- j-just needs a dick or a- or a fucking fist, Your Honour.”
Morty can’t take the tease any longer, needs to feel filled up some way or another and there’s no lube in his office so Rick fucking down his throat, filling his belly with come, will just have to do. He guides Rick’s cock into his mouth, encourages Rick’s hips with his hand on Rick’s ass, and Rick wastes no time pushing back in, sighing in relief.
“Jesus, you’d be such a good fucking lay, would be such a perfect little bitch for me, Your Honour,” Rick spits, vicious, his cock pushing deeper down Morty’s quivering throat, finally making Morty gag and choke. Morty’s head is spinning from the lack of oxygen, his heart hammering, his dick throbbing like he’s the one getting blown. He could come from this, he thinks, fucking disgusted, at himself and Rick.
Rick’s voice is sandpaper rough. It’s like wet silk on Morty’s dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, wanna fucking choke you, little boy, wanna stuff you up til you can’t fucking breathe, yeah, god, wanna f-uhhhhcking keep you, boy, take you with me and fuck you in front of all the inmates, UGH, you’d, y-y-you’d put on such- ah! –su-huh-such a good fucking show, little boy, jesus fuuuuuuuck-“
Morty can’t stop himself, has to push his fingers in between Rick’s ass cheeks, filling Rick’s hole, amazed by how easy Rick’s body blooms open for him. Rick swears, loud and blissed-out, and Morty chokes hard as Rick pushes in as far as he can, dick jerking inside Morty’s tight throat.
Morty’s coming, mind short circuiting, eyes rolling back in his head, two fingers pushing dry and deep inside Rick, and he can barely hear his own muffled keening around Rick’s cock, his throat stuffed full. His own asshole is pulsating like it’s begging for something, anything to stretch it open, as he soaks his underwear and the inside of his robes.
Rick doesn’t shut up for long, starts babbling again as he pulls his softening dick from Morty’s throat. Morty can’t hear him properly through the rushing blood in his ears, through his loud wheezing breaths.
Rick slumps down to sit heavily on the thick carpet in front of where Morty is slouched and hunched over his still-twitching dick.
“Am I- a-am I still being held in contempt, Your Honour, sir?” Rick asks, harshly sarcastic, and Morty forces himself to stand with as much dignity as he can scrape together. He walks leisurely to sit behind his desk, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his fingers.
“Pick yourself up off of my carpet, Sanchez, y-you’re making a damn- a damned mess.”
“You cheeky little-“
Morty talks over him; “I’ll see you at your next court date, Mr. Sanchez.” He looks pointedly at Rick, keeping up fierce eye contact as Rick rises to his feet, scowling. “I think you- you’ll find me in a more… ahem- receiving mood.”
Rick’s eyebrows climb up, shocked for a second, before a lewd grin stretches across his face. He steps closer, presses his palms against the smooth surface of Morty’s desk.
“W-whu-whaddya know. Looking forward to going to court for once.” Rick eyes Morty, appreciation clear in his eyes, and Morty feels strangely proud under the attention, and ashamed of himself for it. “Gonna eat you out when we next meet, little boy.”
Morty shifts in his seat, smirks, buzzing full of anticipation.
“You do that, Mr. Sanchez. N-now get outta my office.”