By: FireBloodandTruth
Morty's hands shook as he peeled off his shirt, the cold air of the temple biting at his bare skin. He was hyper-aware of every slight tremble in his limbs, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. Each movement felt painfully slow, his body stiff with embarrassment and anxiety. His fingers fumbled at the hem of his pants as he glanced over at Rick, who was already nonchalantly tossing his lab coat to the floor without a second thought.
Why does he never care? Morty thought, his stomach churning as he let his pants drop, standing awkwardly in the dim light, the glowing runes on the floor casting faint shadows across his pale, exposed skin. The coldness of the temple only made the weight of the situation worse, as if the very air around him was conspiring to remind him of how uncomfortable—how wrong—this all felt.
"Alright, Morty," Rick said, grabbing one of the brushes and dipping it into the shimmering oil. "Hold still. Let's make this quick."
Morty's heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest. His hands moved to cover himself instinctively, his legs shifting in nervous agitation, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted a hint of copper. The cool stone beneath his feet was a sharp contrast to the warm oil Rick began to paint across his chest, and Morty flinched involuntarily at the touch.
The brush glided over his skin, tracing unfamiliar shapes, and with every stroke, Morty's muscles tensed. The oil was warm—too warm—like it was sinking into his pores, lighting his nerves on fire. The sensation wasn't painful, but it was strange, as if his skin was being marked by something far more significant than just oil and ritualistic symbols.
Morty's breath hitched in his throat. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of the feelings coursing through him. This wasn't just about the embarrassment of standing there half-naked in front of his grandpa—it was the vulnerability of it, the exposure. Every time the brush moved, every time Rick's hand moved closer or further from his body, Morty's anxiety skyrocketed. His limbs felt heavy, awkward, like they didn't quite belong to him anymore. His skin prickled, not just from the oil but from the oppressive weight of the whole situation.
"I—uh—Rick, this is really weird," Morty muttered under his breath, his voice shaky and tight, his eyes focused on anything but Rick. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. This isn't normal, his mind screamed, but he had no choice but to stand there, frozen, as Rick worked.
"Yeah, well, alien oil tends to do that," Rick said dryly, his concentration focused on the task. "Now quit squirming. We don't wanna mess this up and end up stuck here forever."
Rick was methodical, painting each line with precision, though Morty couldn't tell if it was genuine care or if Rick just wanted to be done with it. The brush moved across his chest, his ribs, his stomach—each stroke making Morty feel like his insides were twisting, his body recoiling from the intimate closeness.
When Rick finally stepped back, Morty let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.
When Rick finished, he tossed the brush aside and gestured for Morty to pick one up. "Your turn. And no slacking off. I want this done right."
Morty hesitated, his fingers clutching the handle of the brush as if it weighed a ton. His palms were clammy, and for a moment, he didn't move, his feet rooted to the spot. His whole body felt like it was betraying him. How was he supposed to do this? The thought of stepping closer to Rick—of painting his skin—made Morty's stomach lurch with discomfort.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to move, though his steps were slow and uncertain. Each inch felt like a battle, his mind screaming at him to stop, to turn back, but his legs kept moving, mechanical and rigid. He dipped the brush into the shimmering oil, the liquid clinging to the bristles, glowing faintly in the dim light.
Just do it quickly, he told himself, his breathing shallow and uneven. His hand hovered over Rick's chest, trembling visibly, the brush twitching as if his body was rejecting the action altogether.
With a sharp intake of breath, Morty pressed the brush to Rick's skin. The warmth of the oil immediately spread through the brush, tingling up Morty's arm. The sensation was strange, alien, and Morty's skin crawled with the weight of it. He tried to paint as quickly as possible, his movements hurried and awkward, his hands shaky and unsteady.
Rick, ever impatient, tapped his foot as Morty worked. "Come on, Morty, we don't have all day. You can get weird about this later. Right now, just finish the damn ritual."
Every stroke felt wrong, like he was invading some boundary he shouldn't cross, and yet, the temple demanded it. His fingers twitched with every flick of the brush, his breath shallow as he traced the alien symbols across Rick's skin. The oil shimmered and glowed as it spread, marking Rick with the same strange light that covered Morty.
He tried not to think about it, tried not to focus on how close he was standing to Rick or how much he wanted this whole ordeal to be over. His mind buzzed with discomfort, his heart racing faster with every second that passed. The air in the room felt heavier, suffocating him with the weight of everything that had already happened, everything that still had to happen.
When he finally finished, Morty let the brush drop to the floor with a soft clatter, his hand trembling, his breath shallow. He couldn't bring himself to look up at Rick, couldn't bear to see whatever expression might be on his face. Instead, he stared at the ground, feeling the heat still radiating off his skin, the oil making him feel sticky and exposed.
He just wanted this to be over.
The priest stepped forward, his eyes flicking between them with cold, analytical precision. "The bond has been marked," he intoned, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. The air around them shifted, the energy of the temple responding, and Morty couldn't help but shudder as the tension finally began to ease—just a little.
With a sudden, thunderous rumble, the back wall of the chamber began to slide open, revealing the entrance to the vault. The air shifted, and Morty felt a strange sense of relief wash over him, though the awkwardness of what had just happened still lingered in his gut.
Rick, as always, was unfazed. He pulled his shirt back on, grinning as the vault finally revealed itself. "There we go. That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Morty, still pale and shaky, glanced at Rick and muttered, "Yeah, Rick. Real… real smooth."
Rick clapped him on the back, already heading toward the vault. "Come on, Morty. Time to see what kind of cosmic loot we just unlocked."
As they stepped forward into the vault, the runes dimmed behind them, and the strange alien energy of the temple seemed to settle. The bond had been made.
As Morty and Rick stepped into the vault, the atmosphere shifted again, though this time the oppressive weight felt more purposeful, more directed. The space was enormous, filled with towering alien artifacts and strange glowing symbols etched into the stone walls, but something about it still felt unfinished—like they hadn't quite earned the right to be there yet.
Morty's nerves were still buzzing from what they had just done, the lingering discomfort of the oil on his skin making him feel more exposed than ever. He shifted uneasily, glancing at Rick, who seemed completely focused on the alien tech scattered around the room, his hands already moving to examine a large, crystalline structure near the center.
"Alright, Morty," Rick said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "We're almost there. This is the prize—the motherload of ancient tech these morons have been sitting on for centuries. All we've gotta do is…"
He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as a low hum began to rise from the center of the room. Morty's stomach sank as he realized they weren't done. Not yet.
The priest, who had followed them into the vault, stood behind them, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. "The bond is not complete," he intoned, his voice carrying an eerie finality. "You have marked one another, but the bond must be sealed physically to unlock the full power of the vault."
Morty froze, dread creeping into his gut. "S-seal it? What does that mean?" He didn't like the sound of this at all.
Rick rolled his eyes, tossing a loose piece of crystal over his shoulder. "Of course, there's always more. What do we have to do this time? More paint? Maybe a handshake? What's the deal, alien priest guy?"
The priest's expression didn't waver. He stepped forward, gesturing to a pair of stone slabs that had risen from the floor. Atop each slab was a faintly glowing circle of light, pulsating softly like a heartbeat. "The final step of the ritual requires full physical alignment," he said calmly. "Only when your bond is sealed with full bodily contact will the vault reveal its secrets."
Morty's eyes widened, his pulse quickening in panic. "W-wait, what? Full physical contact? You mean, like… we have to—"
Rick groaned, cutting Morty off. "Don't freak out, Morty. It's just another stupid ritual. These aliens are all about symbolism and crap like that." He shot a glance at the priest. "So, what, we lay down on these slabs and… hug it out?"
The priest didn't blink. "You must lie together, aligned, until the energy of the bond is fully transferred between you."
Morty's face flushed with embarrassment. "Rick… I don't like this."
Rick rubbed his temple, clearly annoyed. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly love it either, Morty, but you wanna get out of here, right? You want this stupid vault to stop throwing us curveballs? Then we do what we gotta do. It's not like this is the weirdest thing we've ever done."
Rick, lying beside him, shifted slightly, his arm brushing against Morty's. Morty flinched at the contact, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Every fiber of his being was tense, screaming for him to move, to pull away, to get some distance from this strange, suffocating closeness. But something held him there—the energy of the temple, thick and heavy, pressing down on him like a weight, making it impossible to move.
The priest stood over them, watching intently, his expression unreadable. "It is not working," he said, his voice low and resonant, reverberating through the chamber. "The bond remains incomplete. You must… seal it fully."
Morty's heart pounded in his chest, each beat thundering in his ears. "W-what do you mean? W-we did everything! We did the oil, the symbols, everything! Why—why isn't it enough?"
The priest's cold, unblinking gaze turned to Morty. "The physical bond must be sealed. You must demonstrate your complete trust in one another."
Morty swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Complete trust? What does that—"
The priest interrupted, his voice echoing with finality. "You must lay on top of him. Only then will the bond be fully realized."
Morty's stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rolling over him. "W-what?! No way, I—I can't—Rick, I—I can't do this!"
Rick, lying beside him, groaned, his voice thick with annoyance. "Jesus Christ, Morty, just do it already. We're wasting time here." He barely glanced at Morty, his eyes half-lidded as though this whole thing was just another annoying errand. "You wanna get outta here or not?"
Morty's skin crawled at the thought of being even closer to Rick than he already was. The idea of lying on top of his grandpa—feeling the warmth of Rick's body against his own—made his heart race with panic.
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Morty blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in Rick's tone. It wasn't often that Rick spoke to him like that, with something almost resembling… patience. Maybe even understanding. He swallowed hard and nodded, trying to steady his breathing, trying to relax.
"Okay," Morty whispered, his voice shaky. "I'll try."
He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, letting himself sink fully into the moment. He let go of the tension in his muscles, the fear that had been clawing at his chest. Slowly, he allowed himself to relax against Rick, feeling the warmth of his grandfather's body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. He felt Rick's stiffness nudging against his own.
The moan that escaped his lips was involuntary now.
"There," the priest said, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "The bond is complete. The path is open."