Chapter Text
Morty hates these trains. Crowded in with far too many Ricks and other Mortys. It’s the fastest route to Citadel College by far, but he wishes there were any other way.
It’s the other commuters that make it terrible. Not the other Mortys like him, although they’re annoying too. But the Ricks who seem to have a knack for sidling up closer than needed and have no qualms taking something they want in the opportunity. There’s typically not much you can do to get away while the train is in motion and packed full. He tries to take pictures if he can, but it’s tough to even confront them as they’ll get off at the next stop and disappear. He’s smacked one or two of them on his way out though. They generally don’t show up in the same train car again after that.
Morty hates the pervs on the trains. He wishes he could wear anything else instead of the uniform for his school. There’s a pretty vicious and effective vigilante justice regime in the citadel for anyone who targets young Mortys, and most Ricks simply aren’t interested in Mortys at all, let alone anyone underage. But what that means is that the college uniform is like a flare to the ones who are into it. Sometimes the smaller or prettier Ricks still get hassled, but the uniform seems to be a beacon that he’s eighteen plus to every creeper out there. He doesn’t have this much of a problem when he’s dressed casually.
The uniform is boring too. Navy slacks and a yellow polo with a burgundy vest? It’s not exactly giving ‘sexy’ vibes.
There’s one Rick who keeps catching his eye however. He’s different somehow. Morty can always spot him when he’s in the same car because he sticks out from the rest of the crowd. His hair is just a touch too long for the typical corporate Rick cut, and it hangs just a slight bit wild, but it somehow works with the well-tailored suit. He seems to know it too. He looks like one of those Ricks who knows exactly what they can get away with. He’s the type of asshole who looks distinguished with the grey hair instead of old. Morty tries to pat down his own unruly hair.
He always seems to ride in the same train car now. Gets in at the same doors. And stands closer every week. Morty tries to keep his attention on his phone, but he can’t help looking up at him. And this Rick is usually looking back with an interested expression.
Morty expects him to be like all the others and push up in his space, all groping hands with the barest excuse of trying to catch his balance. But he just stands close. Morty can feel him breathing over his head. But it doesn’t feel creepy somehow.
Morty’s general approach to avoiding creepers is to stake out a claim in the corner as he gets on when the train is usually still pretty empty. That way he can watch everyone who comes on and limit who’s around him. The downside is that those who want to take advantage of someone can sometimes see a spot that’s hidden from view and hard to escape from. With this man though, Morty finds he likes the privacy. The two of them frequently end up separated from everyone else. No, it’s more than that. It’s the way he positions himself that somehow blocks off the outside world. With anyone else, Morty would feel trapped. But with this Rick, he mostly just feels protected.
Morty doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he’s taken to reading explicit romances on the train, and he knows the man can see over his shoulder. Morty knows he’s reading along.
He’s put a hand on Morty’s back before, that’s almost impossible to avoid on these trains. But it’s been brief, respectful. Now there’s a hand lingering. Morty doesn’t shrug it off.
The next day, the hand is on his hip. That was fast. Soon, he’s pressed up against Morty’s back, and this is more what he typically expects. There’ll be some pushing, some grunting, some heavy breathing, Morty’s dealt with it all.
This one though. He just stands still, a constant pressure that Morty can feel against his ass. It’s driving him nuts.
The next time, the hand hidden against the wall is on his ass instead, squeezing every so often. He’s pushed into Morty a few times now, usually with the benefit of the train’s rocking, but Morty knows the difference when it’s intentional. He’s started pushing back, which usually gets him a squeeze, wherever that wandering hand has rested that day. Morty likes the variety.
“I’m Morty.” He feels stupid. The Rick knows that of course. Morty’s tried to start a conversation on a few occasions, but he never gets anything back out of the guy except for a hum. Not small talk about the weather, not asking about the area, or talking about his studies. Morty can take a hint.
When it’s really crowded, Morty can rock back against him, and he always hears a sharp intake of breath when he does. He likes having the power to make this man hard behind him with little more than a lean. Have his hands twitch on his body.
He’s grabbed between Morty’s legs once or twice and squeezed, making Morty gasp quietly in return, his thumb stroking along his clothed ass crack. There was once when he even reached around in front of Morty’s pants and brushed against his dick. Morty would have been embarrassed that both of them could feel it jump to attention through the pants, but by this point, he feels it’s only fair.
There’s a benefit to this man’s interest as well. He hasn’t caught it happening, but he’s sure this guy is sending out ‘fuck off’ signals to the other Ricks who might be interested. The only other commuters he ever deals with now are those before this man gets on board. And they tend to leave him alone after they’ve met his Rick. It’s nice to be able to relax on the train.
And he’s had days where he didn’t want anyone to touch him, and his Rick also backed off when he shifted at his touch. Just stood there with his arm holding onto a pole, still keeping everyone else away. Morty had been ready for a fight. He’d almost been in the mood for one, to finally bring things to a head and get this guy to move on. But the surprising respect stopped him short. Now he trusts that Rick will back off if Morty’s not in the mood that day.
He's even seen a day when Rick was clearly too stressed to interact. He hopes that Rick appreciated Morty giving him space too.
Morty has always felt weird about being attracted to Ricks. As he got older, he became more and more aware of how much it was kind of an open secret at the citadel that some Mortys were into that. But most Ricks looked down on it with underage Mortys, and Ricks easily got kicked out or worse if they were caught. He’s never tried anything with a Rick, only other Mortys. Even though once most Mortys turned 18 it basically turned into open season for all the Ricks who wouldn’t touch a minor. Morty thinks that shows some level of restraint. Ricks frequently cause him to lose faith in humanity, it’s nice when they do something that is in someone else’s interest for once.
He can’t stop being attracted to Ricks, and man has he tried, because fuck, most of them just drive him up the wall with their obnoxious entitled selfish behaviour. There’s a reason he’s never actually fulfilled that fantasy.
It’s also the reason he’s still in school on the Citadel. His own universe had gone kaput, he’s not even really sure what happened. All he knows is that he doesn’t have a Rick, doesn’t have a family, and doesn’t even have a home outside of the Citadel.
And he likes living in the Citadel. The baseline level of comfort is insane, even if it leans a little dystopian at times. His apartment cleans itself, his meals cook themselves, and anything he can think of is available somewhere in the city.
So he’s going to make something of himself. He’s going to prove that he can get hired for a good job, that he can compete with all the other Mortys and even with the Ricks. He’s not going to get fucked over and left alone in the universe again.
With an infinite selection of Ricks, one of them has got to be decent. And Morty is going to be worthy.
It’s going to be spring soon, and his college has a uniform with shorts for the warm weather. That first week always brings out the worst in train behaviour. He wonders what this Rick will think. Last year, the spring uniform had been a nightmare for weeks; this time, he’s almost looking forward to it.
When the man steps on the train, Morty gets an appreciative eyebrow raise, which is so much more of a response than he usually sees from this Rick that Morty is shocked. Morty is waiting at his usual spot next to a wall, and the man walks that way. The train is still relatively uncrowded today, and Rick takes the opportunity to look Morty up and down as he nears. It’s still subtle, but Morty is watching.
Morty wonders if he’ll say anything, but Rick is silent in his appreciation. There’s another stop before it gets busy, and then there’s another full minute where Morty can tell he’s holding back. By now, he’ll usually put a hand on at least his back even if it’s not busy.
But there it is. Fingers brush along the hem of his shorts. They’re long, almost to his knees, and Rick’s lengthy arms don’t quite reach the skin, but they drag up the fabric revealing slightly more. Morty doesn’t tilt his head even an inch, but he shifts his eyes downward to the hand on his leg, watching him gently play with the material. Rick could grasp it tightly and touch his skin if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.
The next day, his Rick is somewhat bolder. He reaches lower and pulls his fingertips along the skin, bunching the material just an inch or so higher, so that he can rest his hand there, rubbing small circles along Morty’s thigh.
The two of them look up as a very loud Morty gets on the train. He’s not a regular, and he’s wearing some sort of messed up school uniform. It’s one Morty hasn’t seen before. He must be from an unusual universe. He’s about Morty’s age and seems still a little drunk. His white button up shirt is tied at the waist, and there’s a bright pink tank top showing underneath, cropped at the midriff revealing Morty’s navel above a pleated skirt. He has a face full of sloppy makeup and his hair is long enough to be tied in short messy pigtails.
“What are you looking at buddy?” He yells at Morty and then turns his attention to the Rick who has taken his hands off Morty by this point.
“You though, you can look if you want.” He leans to the side, pulling his skirt hem up, but doesn’t get a response besides a lightly raised eyebrow.
“You don’t like that? Eh, you’re a fuckin loser.” He moves on to harassing other commuters and then gets off at the next stop. They both watch his red thong peeking up from the back of his very short skirt as he flounces off.
Morty thinks the mood will be ruined, but he’s pulled back into his Rick’s chest even though it’s not quite busy enough for that, and a hand yanks his shorts higher than before on the private side.
When Morty gets home that night, he tests how high he can pull his shorts. But it starts to look ridiculous when it gets even close to his ass. That Morty though. His skirt pushed up so easily.
It feels like a dangerous idea.
He knows there was a protest a couple years ago at his college where all Mortys got the right to wear whatever gender uniform they pleased. But outside of a few very particular artsy individuals or jokes, he never sees any of the male Mortys in skirts. He thinks there would be no going back from that. Even if he stopped next year, everyone would remember. It’s a stupid idea for something this silly. He shouldn’t be this desperate over some asshole Rick on a train. Maybe he could change before he got to school? But someone could easily see him at that point. Plenty of College Mortys use the same train station.
He should get his hormones under control.
His Rick is fully appreciating the shorts for now. There’s more stroking, and even gentle touches along his arms. It makes Morty feel a warmth in his belly.
It’s easy enough to get a skirt. The female uniform Morty is not supposed to ask questions, but he tells her he lost a bet anyway. She just stares at him deadpan and takes his size, and one shows up at his house a week later. He immediately hides it under his bed and can’t look at it.
The trains are more crowded now that it’s spring, and there’s more tourists in town. It seems every day now they’re pushed so close together that they can’t help but shift against each other. Morty sometimes rests his weight fully into the man behind him, and more than once now, Morty’s slipped a hand between them. He can rub just slightly without his whole arm being obvious, and he’s sure he’s come close to getting Rick off at this point. Sometimes, Rick will suddenly push them apart, gently, but urgently, grabbing his hand to still it. Morty loves knowing that he can bring him that far.
Sometimes he'll reach in between Morty’s legs in return, or he’ll slip his hand to Morty’s front, hidden by the wall they’re pressed against, and Morty will try to keep his face steady as the pressure builds with each stroke. He’s had to step away once as well.
Rick never looks at him when he leaves the train, but Morty has taken to watching where he goes. This time, he catches a brief glance back at him. And a contemplative look.
Morty can’t help himself. He pulls the skirt out from under the bed to try it on. It’s so long! It’s longer than his shorts. He knows some girls pin up their waistbands or roll them up under their sweaters to wear them shorter, but this is insane! He rolls it a few times, so he can see the difference, but he’s not sure if he can commit that far. It’s too warm to wear a sweater now anyway. He puts it back under the bed again.
His commute is the best part of his day. If just feels like there’s someone who’s always there for him. Rick's been missing once or twice and so has Morty, but it seems that both of them try not to miss any more days than necessary. It’s just nice to have someone reliable and friendly. Morty’s not sure if friendly is really the right word for this, but it feels right. He feels kind. Morty wonders if that’s accurate.
He wonders what this Rick’s life is like. It’s not the first time he’s been curious. The man doesn’t wear a wedding ring, his suits are expensive, he has very fancy watches, and he’s had two brand new, top of the line phones since Morty’s been paying attention, but that’s about all he knows. He exits the train downtown, so he could do anything. Morty wonders if he has a girlfriend or a family. If he likes his job and his life, or if Morty is a brief escape in his day. Does he have a Morty already who gives him everything, and this is just a diversion on a boring commute?
Morty feels the hand in his pocket, which isn’t unusual at this point. He expects fingers to trace along the side of his dick, but then it’s gone. It was a little late in the train ride anyway; Rick’s stop is coming up next. This time, the corners of Rick’s mouth pull into the quickest of smiles at Morty before he exits the doors.
Morty is surprised, but not half as surprised as he is when he realises there’s something in his pocket.
It’s a fabric bag, so it doesn’t rustle, but there’s a stiff cardboard tag that he can feel. He waits until he gets to the bathroom at school before he pulls it out to look.
It’s a plain black bag with a drawstring. He opens it and pulls out a lacy red thong, and immediately shoves it back in the bag. He’s alone in the stall, no one can see him, but his heart is pounding. His class is going to start soon, he doesn’t have time for this. He puts it all back in his pocket and rushes to class.
At lunch he heads to the bathroom again. It’s still there. Still red and still unbelievable. He stretches the soft, thin material between his hands and it looks like it will fit. He’s been fiddling with it in his pocket all morning, thinking about it.
He won’t be able to try it on until he gets home, which seems an interminable wait now.
He pulls it out and positions it on his bed, just to look at it as he strips. He cuts off the tags and rubs the material between his fingers, imagining it against his most sensitive places. He pulls it up one leg and then the other watching it draw tight across his cock and balls. It’s women’s underwear, he’s sure of that. He’d barely fit in this when he’s soft, right now it’s ridiculous. He rubs over the bumps and ridges of the fabric, his cock leaking precum into the lace. He keeps rubbing and lets the head poke out from the top. He twists his hand inside, grasping his cock from the side close to his abdomen, keeping the panties on as much as possible.
He thinks about rubbing through too many layers of fabric, this gift, his own shorts, Rick’s pants and presumably underwear. He can predict what size that man’s cock would be, he’s felt it enough by now. He wonders what it would be like to grind into that fat cock with only this in between, or with nothing. He spills into his fist and the material is left sticky and dripping.
Thank god he lives alone and can wash and dry it himself before tomorrow.
The thin lace is dry by the morning and Morty’s had half a hard-on since he put it on. His dick is settled under the waistband of his shorts, but it’s better than sticking straight out. If he started calm and got excited on the train, he’d never be able to hide it without being obvious, but this way, he can keep it pulled up and somewhat still.
Rick looks at him questioningly as he boards the train, and Morty just smiles deviously as he comes closer. Morty’s been holding his satchel in front of him the whole trip. The man studies Morty as he approaches, his hand coming to rest immediately on Morty’s hip. Morty swivels slightly to face the wall and that hand accidentally brushes the tip of his cock, under his shirt, as it's poking out from the top of his belt. Both of their eyes widen before they still. Rick runs his fingers along that bump intentionally now but lightly, feeling the details. The lace is thin but the texture can just be felt beneath the cotton shirt. Morty can barely handle it, and from the look on Rick’s face, he’s equally far gone.
They both pause and look at each other, which is not something that usually happens. Usually Morty is facing away and even when he’s not, either Morty is staring at his phone, or Rick is gazing out the window; it attracts less attention if they’re not looking at one another. This time, Rick pulls his hands back to hold onto a railing and Morty is already turned sideways so it’s easy to meet his gaze. As the train jostles them, this time, they simply look at each other.
Morty’s cock is rock solid by the time he gets home to his apartment that night. He has barely thrown his bag to the ground before he opens his shorts and slips his hand under the lace and grabs his dick tightly. It feels so good after hours of this fleeting sensation. He pulls it out and tugs his hand back and forth rapidly. He was ready to come on the train that morning, and while he calmed down at school, it never really left his mind.
He has a feeling the other man felt the same. Although, perhaps he has an office where he can jerk off in peace in the day. He looks like he has a fancy office, maybe with a window, and a Morty secretary sitting outside, completely unaware of what’s happening inside? Morty wonders if he’s the type to take someone back to his office. Would he invite someone to join him for a meeting and bend them over his desk? Would he emerge, looking completely unruffled, ready for more meetings? Would he keep someone under a heavy oak desk, hidden from view as they sucked his dick?
It's another week of escalation before Morty decides he’s ready to do something stupid.
They’ve both been pushing farther each morning, pulling back only when they realise they’re going to get caught. And a new pair of panties has appeared in Morty’s pocket every day since.
He’s going to do it. He’s going to wear that fucking skirt. He doesn’t even care anymore if he makes a fool of himself. The semester is ending in a week, and he won’t have regular classes anymore so there’s no guarantee that he’ll ever be on the same train as this man again. By the time next semester starts in the fall, anything could have changed, he could have moved, the man could have gotten a new job, the train schedule could be different.
Morty wants to be remembered by this Rick. Wants to be something special and memorable, even if he never sees him again.
He tries the skirt again when he gets home. It’s waiting for him patiently under the bed, and he pulls it out tentatively. He’s still wearing the thong from this morning, and his dick is twitching. As he holds up the skirt in front of the mirror, he can see his hard on pushing out from inside his shorts, tenting the pleats in front of him.
Well, that’s not very subtle. He throws the skirt on the bed and takes off his shorts. His cockhead is red and leaking through the purple lace. He ignores it for now and pulls the skirt up over. He fastens it and tests the flip of the skirt. He turns around and pushes it up from behind, imagining a hand trailing along his inner thigh, pushing higher than it’s ever been able to before. With nothing in the way, he touches that thin lace strip between his legs. He shudders, something he can’t let himself do on the train. He does it again and drags his finger up and down the lace path. He pushes in where he knows he’ll find that give. The material pulls at his cock as he pokes his finger just past the rim, the delicate fabric stretched tight.
He doesn’t want to rip them. At least, not by himself. He releases it to play with the strip, back and forth. And then he pushes it aside and slips his finger past it. It’s not the first time he’s done this while thinking about the Rick on the train. It’s the first time it’s felt so visceral.
In the mirror, he can see that piece of lace twisted to the side as his hand gropes deeper. In front of him, his cock is still standing straight out, and he startles himself with a thought. He stops and pulls off the skirt, he can’t risk making a wet patch, he’ll have to dry clean this one, and he can’t wait that long. He finishes stripping, except for the thong. His cock is still shining with wetness at the tip and he moves his thumb over it again, pushing the patterns of the lace into the sensitive skin.
He grabs his vibrator and reaches down to pulls the material aside. His balls are held tight in the lace as he slides the lubed dildo past the tight fabric and into himself. He pretends its that cock he’s felt so much but never seen. He wonders if that Rick lets go when he’s in private, or if he’s just as controlled all the time. Morty would like to make him lose it. Watch him fall apart getting everything he’s fantasized about.
He lays down and turns up the vibrations. He can feel it stretching him out, his body tight around the large device. He strokes his dick faster, ready to come thinking about his Rick pushing up that skirt and finding nothing at all in the way. Thinking about him being so desperate that he fucks Morty right there on that train, fucks him like a whore in front of everyone. Morty comes hard, his cum shooting across his chest.
Morty catches his breath and then cleans up. He’s gotten enough gifts that he doesn’t need to wash them every night anymore, but he feels more functional when he keeps his things clean. He feels less like a degenerate when everything is washed and put away.
He wonders how his Rick does his laundry. Morty bets he doesn’t hand wash anything himself. Morty assumes everything in his place is kept clean and tidy with robots and he wonders if that Rick would be a slob if left on his own. Morty thinks he’d be particular either way. There’s a sense that he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.
Well, Morty knows what he wants too.