Chapter Text
Morty shifted nervously from foot to foot, tugging at the bottom of his freshly laundered yellow shirt with obvious anxiety as his eyes scanned the faces around him. Rick's portal gun sat heavily in the waistband of his jeans, weighed down with the guilt over having stolen it in the first place and though Morty was confident that his grandfather was passed out and drunk enough not to look for the gun for several hours, he couldn't help but to practically jump out of his skin at the first sign of blue hair or a white coat, devastatingly afraid that Rick was going to catch him and punish him for taking it.
Ironically though, it was those same features that he was looking for within the hotel lobby.
There were rumors, quiet whispers of a very specific Rick on the Phrixian moon casino that specialized in exactly what Morty was looking for.
For the right price.
From what Morty understood from the rumors, as well as the things he'd heard in the halls of the Citadel on the rare occasions when he adventured there with Rick, the version from Phrixia was born in a timeline where mutants existed. He had the ability to shift his appearance, a skin changer they called him, and was appropriately coined “the Chameleon”. Apparently he wasn't very popular among the other Ricks because of the way he'd chosen to use his abilities and when the brunet made the mistake of piping up and asking if it was like Mystique from the X-Men he'd gotten a bit more than a dirty look from his own Rick. Regardless, the teen assumed the answer was yes, hence his reason for searching the elusive version out.
Unbeknownst to him, the skinwalker had already spotted the boy, watching with amusement as the brunet searched the faces of all that passed him by, appearing more like a first time shoplifter in a candy store than a potential client. The older man smirked and calmly walked over to the boy, gently grasping his upper arm, features pulled down in a rare display of open concern that almost looked wrong on his face, "You alright, babe? Look like you're gonna have a stroke."
Morty jumped as the Rick touched him unexpectedly, his eyes going wide with fear before he relaxed at the realization that this was the exact person that he was looking for, "I-I'm alright. Just, y'know, nervous. Are you t-the Chameleon Rick?"
Rick's brow raised in pleasant, half-hearted surprise, his suspicions immediately confirmed that the boy was indeed a client and he let a ripple of change flow over his flesh, giving his skin an air of fluidity before once again going solid, "I am. Been a long time since I met a Morty looking for my services. What can I do for ya, babe?"
Morty shifted nervously, unable to meet the eyes of the man who looked so much like his grandfather, "W-what can I-I-I get for $85?" Morty pulled a wad of crumpled bills from his jeans, trembling from the adrenaline of what he was asking.
A tell-tale grin curved the blue haired man's lips into a predatory smirk before he leaned down, smoothly pocketing the bills, his breath tickling the shell of Morty's ear, "48 minutes of whatever the fuck you want."
Morty's heart was in his throat, hammering painfully against the slick walls of his esophagus, making it hard to breathe as he nodded in agreement, watching the sly smile curling the elder’s mouth widen with a sense of trepidation.
“Excellent. Follow me then.”
Without waiting for any sort of response, the Chameleon turned and walked away, leaving Morty to try and catch up with the older man’s quick stride.
It was nerve wracking, dancing so intimately along the line in the sand between what his morals deemed to be right and where his conscience urged him to shy away from. Desire was a strange thing though, and the more he thought about finally getting what he wanted, the less the brunet cared about the questionability of his actions. In a last ditch effort to defend his own decisions, Morty acknowledged that he was basing all his fears and concerns on a planetary mind set, a group of rules that really didn’t apply to him. Not anymore.
Running on autopilot and barely paying attention to his surroundings, Morty found himself very nearly startled when he looked up and realized that they were no longer surrounded by card tables, bars and the alien equivalent of slot machines.
Rather, the pair was making their way through a lavishly decorated hallway.
Like the rest of the casino, the interior of the hotel wing was just as beautifully decorated as the lobby. Expensive paintings adorned the walls between doors, and the rich crimson carpets stood out in startling contrast against the cream colored walls. It was lovely, by far the most expensive hotel that he’d ever been inside and Morty found himself growing slightly nervous as they continued on. Ever conscious of his surroundings and worried about breaking something, Morty walked a little faster, staying right behind the calm and collected Rick ahead of him only to very nearly bump into the older man when he stopped in front of a random door.
Blue eyes danced with amusement as the Rick glanced down at Morty’s flushed little face. He was so high strung, obviously nervous about what he was doing, most likely struggling with his morals or whatever sort of junk Morties struggled with, but the shape-shifter couldn’t help but to find it a bit endearing. Fluid with years of practice, the Chameleon slid his key into the door’s lock, listening to the tumblers fall into place with a distinct click before the off white surface swung inward, revealing his permanent home away from home.
The room wasn’t anything incredibly luxurious in terms of what the universe had to offer, but it definitely wasn’t shabby. The walls were encoded with hologram visualization technology, giving two of the biggest walls the appearance of being underwater. Schools of fish from various worlds he’d been to in the past swam calmly past the faux glass, weaving between brightly colored clumps of coral before scattering in the face of a spotted predator. The remainder of the room was made of wood paneled walls and hardwood floors, dark and sleek, standing out in a visually striking contrast to the black and white color scheme of the furniture. A food replicator sat on the farthest wall, nestled in an alcove that kept it from being in the way. However, the biggest and most attention drawing piece in the room was the huge king sized bed seated on the left side of the room.
The comforter was grey, setting it apart from the other pieces of furniture but the top layer was pulled back, exposing the silky black sheets beneath. A mountain of fluffy white pillows sat stacked up against the headboard. And a single cream colored throw blanket laid at the foot of the monstrous bed.
It was home, if Rick ever really had a place to call as such and he was used to the visualization but as he glanced back over his shoulder at Morty, he could see the wonder on the teen’s face. No doubt the boy had never seen a basic hotel room as grand or luxurious as this in his travels across the multiverse, and the shape-shifter suppressed a smug grin, “Make yourself at home.”
Still wide eyed, the brunet stepped past the threshold, allowing Rick to shut the door behind him. It was gorgeous, sleek and comfortable despite the obvious poshness, and Morty was surprised that his measly $85 had gotten him in the door, let alone almost an hour with the man before him.
Still tense and not expecting it, Morty nearly jumped out of his skin when Rick clapped a hand down on his shoulder, only to blush when he heard the elder laugh, “Jeez, Morty. Chill out. I’m not going to bite you.”
A predatory look flashed over the blue haired man’s features before he grinned once again, “Unless you want me too, of course.”
Rick’s smirk only grew when Morty’s cheeks darkened a few shades, “Oh, umm, w-well, y’know, whatever you want, Rick.”
Sensing an opening, the older man approached the awkward youth, eyeing him up without shame or hesitation, “No, I don’t think so, Morty. That’s not how this works.” Rick circled the young man, casually brushing up against him, gliding his fingers along the cotton on Morty’s shoulders, “It’s all about you.
Rick finally stopped in front of the overwhelmed teen, invading the brunet’s personal space just the slightest bit as he leaned forward to whisper, “What do you want me to do, babe? Who can I be for you?”
Pulling back just enough to catch sight of Morty’s wide green eyes, the shape-shifter smirked, “Let me guess.”
With a whisper of a thought and the briefest ripple, the older man’s atoms started to rearrange themselves, shifting and sliding over each other and changing their very composition until, rather than being faced with one of the many infinite versions of his grandfather, Morty was face to face with the scantily dressed version of his high school crush. Her breasts were full and lush, covered by the thinnest layer of black lace. Two strips of material connected to the redhead’s bra just below her sternum, lining her exposed stomach, interlaced with a corset design of blue ribbon, connecting the bottom to the triangle of her matching black lace panties with an over flourished bow. The bra piece was held up by straps wrapping around her neck, bringing out the sharpness of her collarbones, the creamy paleness of her skin and the soft looking waves of her gorgeous red hair.
“How’s this, Morty?” The Jessica imitation trailed her fingers up Morty’s arm and brunet’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull.
Even after four years of sharing a math class and awkwardly flirting with her over the years, Morty couldn’t tell the difference between the redhead in front of him and the real thing. She seemed just like the real Jessica, looked and sounded like something straight out of his wet dreams. Gorgeous and soft, feminine, sexy in all the ways he used to daydream about and once upon a time, she would have been absolutely everything that the younger man was looking for. Not long ago, Morty would have jumped at this chance, would have taken her over and over again until every single one of his 48 minutes were up, but that isn’t what he wanted.
Not anymore.
He longed for something forbidden, something dangerous. In the place of soft feminine curves and submission, Morty longed for sharp angles and a lean body toned with years of fighting tooth and nail against the entire universe. He longed for long spidery fingers callused by years of tinkering running over his body, caressing him, commanding him. He longed for the harshly spoken words of his mentor and the acceptance he could never seem to find.
Morty longed for the touch of his grandfather.
The teen tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt, trying, and failing, to find a way to word his request, “Actually I was wondering if maybe y-y-you could, y’know, be Rick.” the boy swallowed, looking down at the carpet and anywhere other than the shapeshifter’s face. “A specific Rick.”
Because of Morty’s shy nature and the aversion of his gaze, the dark haired boy completely missed the flabbergasted look on Rick’s assumed face. There was shock there, complete and utter astonishment at the request, and the Chameleon couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been surprised in such a way.
A Morty seeking out his services was rare in and of itself. Very few times in Rick’s long career had he come across versions of his grandson looking for his services. It just didn’t happen all that often, and when it did, their requests were almost always predictable. Nearly every single Morty he’d ever serviced had asked for Jessica, bar the previously odd one of the group that had requested a Summer look-a-like, but that was about as far as it went. Morties were supposed to be simple, but this one, this one was different.
Sliding into his former skin, Rick looked down at the anxious teen with a raised brow, “Which Rick are we talking about here?”
Morty glanced back up at the older man, his cheeks coloring when he realized that the elder had, once again, taken the shape of the blue haired scientist, “C-137.”
Both brows rose in astonished amazement, his blue eyes widening. Today, it seemed was a day of surprises and Rick couldn’t have been more thrilled if he’d come across the One True Morty seeking out his skills, “You belong to the rogue?”
Reddened cheeks darkened a few shades but Morty nodded.
Rick whistled, crossing his arms across his chest with a smirk, “Damn kid. I’ve heard that guy is a real asshole.”
Temporarily forgetting the nervousness threatening to swallow him whole, the brunet snorted, “Y-yeah. You’ve got no idea.” Sobering a bit, Morty looked up into the amused eyes of his companion, “So can ya, y’know, do it?”
The older man snickered, “Can I become another version of myself? Jeez, Morty. What kind of business do you think I’m running here?”
Rick slapped his palms together, rubbing them as though he were about to do some great feat of magic, “Time to make the Chimi-fuckin-changas. One emotionally unstable alcoholic scientist coming right up.”