Morty and Summer stuck on an island planet
The storm had come out of nowhere, a violent tantrum of energy and lightning that turned Rick’s spaceship into a planet bound heap of junk. During the space storm Morty had hit his head and now awoke to all the alarms and lights going off across the dashboard.
“Aw jeez!”
The sound of atmosphere flying past the windshield was loud and unsettling. He worked every once of strength in his arms while managing the sting of the gash on his forehead. Beside him, Summer was coughing while curled up against the passanger seat.
“Bro, are we gonna die?! I’m too young to die”
Her blond hair plastered to her cheeks, her pink tank top torn at the shoulder straps
Morty knew this wasn’t the end, they were going to survive! Shut up Summer! Let me think!”
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”
The planet was quickly approaching and Morty aimed the craft at a crescent island of white sand. The only land in sight.
Oh Morty!, said ship “I’m sorry! My power is very low but I’ll save you. “
The quickly approaching island looked to have dense green jungle. It appeared a place with no sign of habitation, no boats on the horizon.
“Aww Jeez!” Morty’s thoughts raced through his head. If they survived, then it was just going to be the two of them and potentially a few salvaged supplies. The slow realization that rescue might not come for a long, long time. Their lives was in Rick’s hands because no one else could ever find them.
Ship stayed true to her promise and the two of them survived. Summer suffered some minor bruising and Morty’s bumped head was the extent of his damage.
The first few days were a blur of survival—building a shelter from palm fronds, rationing the coconuts they could knock down, boiling rainwater in a hollowed-out shell.
Morty found himself watching Summer more than he meant to. She wasn’t her normal whiney teen. She became an older more mature woman, confident in a way that made him feel clumsy, and the way her wet and torn clothes clung to her curves sent a confusing heat through his chest. He found himself thinking of the time he was in Mr. Goldenfold’s dream. In which, a bikini clad summer tried to fuck him.
He tried to ignore his incestuous day dreams. Why was she the woman he happened to be stranded with? Why not April??
Morty would find that the island had a way of eroding boundaries.
On the fifth night, a cold front rolled in. The wind tore at their shelter, and the rain came down in sheets. They huddled together under the one dry blanket, shivering, their bodies pressed close for warmth. Summer’s breath was warm against his neck. Morty’s hand rested on her hip, innocent at first, then not.
“Morty,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I’m fucking freezing.”
He pulled her closer without thinking. Her leg slid between his. The contact was electric, a spark in the cold dark. She gasped softly, and he felt her hips shift, a tiny, involuntary grind against his thigh.
Neither of them said anything. But the air changed. The rain roared outside, and inside the lean-to, their breathing grew shallow. Morty’s hand moved up her side, feeling the curve of her ribs, the soft swell of her breast through the damp fabric. She didn’t push him away. Instead, she turned her face, her lips brushing his jaw.
Bro!! she said. It happened in a fever of shivers and he whispered apologies. Their clothes were wet and cold. Summer we need skin on skin heat if we are gonna survive! So they peeled them off, layer by layer, until skin met skin. Summer’s body was warm and yielding, her legs wrapping around his waist as he settled between them. He was trembling, not just from the cold. She felt his rock hard dick and guided him with a gentle hand, her eyes wide and fixated on her brother’s slim body in the dim light.
“Don’t think too much about it bro. Its just to stay warm,” she breathed, a lie they both wanted to believe.
He pushed his dick inside her warm moist tight pussy. Oh , Summer”. The world narrowed to the heat of her pussy as she pumped her body against his body. The slick friction and the way her nails dug into his back made him harder as every moment went by. Their sex was clumsy and desperate, the rhythm of two people clinging to something human in a place that felt utterly wild. She arched beneath him, “Oh shit bro! Fuck yeah!” Then a low moan escaped her throat. Morty buried his face into Summer’s neck, breathing her in—salt and rain and something sweet.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, the blanket pulled over their cooling skin. The storm had quieted to a gentle patter. Summer traced a finger down his chest, her expression unreadable.
“That was…Wow” she said.
“Accidental?” he offered, “sorry sis” his voice hoarse.
She laughed, a soft, surprised sound. “Yeah. Whatever!”
But the accident happened again the next night. He cane deep into her pussy and then the night after it happened again. Soon it wasn’t about the cold at all. It was about the way she looked at him across the fire, the way he found excuses to touch her shoulder, her waist, her thigh. They explored each other slowly, learning the maps of their bodies—the spot behind her ear that made her shiver, the way he groaned when she took him in her mouth, the rhythm that made her cry out into the canopy of stars when he licked her pussy and clit for hours on end.
They didn’t talk about rescue anymore. They talked about now. About the taste of salt on skin, about the way the sunset painted her golden, about the quiet hours when the only sound was the sea and their own ragged breathing.
One evening, after a long swim in the lagoon, they lay on the warm sand, dripping and breathless. Summer rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, and looked at him with a lazy smile.
“You know,” she said, “this is probably the worst possible way to fall in love.”
Morty grinned, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “Or Summer, maybe the best.”
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