haha, it’s been awhile— but @theresonlyzuul I have the birdrick fic you requested all that while back! sorry for the month-long delay, life got VERYY hectic. more notes will be at the end of the req! this is birdrick angst btw. (sorry, I can’t help it lol.)
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Birdperson learns that Rick is at his happiest when he's too drunk to remember much.
He learns this in week three of knowing this hurricane of a man. (He'd learned he was a hurricane of a man the first. When the simple act of getting high with enough people he considered personable enough led to the creation of their band. A natural disaster can label another, he muses.) When he's drunk, the man loops between people in the clubs, interjects himself into every conversation he is allowed. He leans into others when he almost falls, and even in week three, Birdperson knows that's an action he tends to stray from.
It's in the midst of the flashing purple lights of a dim alien club when Rick gifts this knowledge to him, whether he knows it or not.
"Y'know," Rick says, stretching his arm over Birdperson's shoulders, "I — I think I'm getting a little attached to you!" He doesn't react when Rick turns to look at him, nearly close enough for their noses to brush. It's all very teasing — from the smirk on his face to the way Rick's hand roughly pats down Birdperson's shoulder.
It’s all a little condescending.
"Nuh — Not too attached," He assures, like it's a pertinent information BP is entitled to, "I just think you're . . . neat." It's a lame sentiment that would make Birdperson laugh if he cared enough, but Rick's eyes widen with a certain manic determination suddenly. The purple light heightens it in a way BP is not enough of a poet to explain.
Abruptly, he reaches for Birdperson's closest wing, and Birdperson has to make a significant effort to not wave him off. "Like this? It's neat. You're a freakin' little bird-wing-man. Fucking cool. Fucking rad." He babbles, grip tight enough to make the 'little bird-wing-man' wince. "Fucking neat." Rick's eyes grow strangely glazed when he looks back up from BP's wings, strangely subdued in his next few words.
"I just think it's neat," Rick says, voice wobbly, "I just think. . . you're — "
"— Neat." Birdperson finishes evenly, roughly ripping Rick's arm off his wing. His patience had finally thinned into something razor sharp, that much was clear from the bewildered look Rick was sending him.
"I understand you are not in your right mind as of current, but you do not grab people like that." He admonishes as Rick rubs defensively at his arm, stopping only to instead massage his wrist. "Especially not my kind."
Rick's brows furrow at that. "Especially not your kind?"
"It's a private area. It's essentially the equivalent of me touching your balls."
"Holy shit," Rick blurts, "Fuck, I'm so sorry, man."
"It's alright, you weren't aware of the implications."
"Still, I — " Rick comically straightens with eyes as wide as dinner plates, looking more sober than Birdperson has ever seen him, "I just fucking fondled you in the middle of an overcrowded club."
". . . Yes, you did." He admits, after a deliberating silence.
"Tell you what," Rick says, swaying, "Any other shots you want? On me." He points to himself. "Seriously, order the expensive shit if you want. Go nuts. Make me suck your nuts — fucking whatever." He shrugs right as Birdperson's eyebrows narrow, almost imperceptibly.
"For your sake, I really hope that you were telling the truth when you said you didn't know what you were doing."
"What?" Rick sputters. "Of — Of fucking course! Jesus Christ! I'd never touch you like that on purpose if you didn't fucking want it. Jesus!"
The purple lights play on Rick's face, curving into every crack and narrow of his skin. Birdperson considers Rick's words, and then his own carefully, as he watches how the other man's long hair turns lavender in the light. Idly, he wonders if Rick has ever braided it, if he plays with it while in the midst of creating his newest inventions. He wonders how privileged one must be to know such things.
"I don't wish for you to ever touch me like that." He says, finally. "Why do you insist on bringing things of that nature up?"
"I know that!" Rick suddenly yelps, like a wounded animal. "Goddamn, I know that! And I don't! None of the shit I've brought up or done has been intentionally sexual." He hesitates. "Be — Besides the sucking nuts thing. That was a joke, though. But the touching thing — I didn't even mean that in a strictly sexual way either. I won't ever touch you if you don't want it."
Rick stares into the crowd as Birdperson studies him.
". . . Thank you." He says, and Rick flinches hard.
"Yeah, well — don't," Rick waves him off as he turns back to the crowd. "That's the bare minimum, Pers. Lemme know whenever you wanna cash in those shots."
BP watches as Rick starts to walk away, reaching into his vest, fiddling. He pulls a flask out, tilts his head back, and takes a long swig. Some who happen to witness it cheer loudly in support. Birdperson stays quiet. The purple light flickers like a flame, continuously lighting Rick lavender.
Somehow, inside him, deep in his bones, he knows Rick has drained his flask empty in record time. There's no doubt to that thought, and that is what makes Birdperson take a swig of his own glass.
It's the next day when the knowledge is set in stone to him. When Rick blinks owlishly up at him whenever he implies the conversation of last night. When he remembers how he quite literally had to carry Rick home by the time the night was over because he was too drunk. When Rick shrugs and says he doesn't remember, that he must have blacked out.
Rick Sanchez, the type of hurricane that sends towns into heaps, is happiest when he doesn't remember the things he destroys. When he forgets the hazard he can be.
When he forgets Birdperson stands in the middle of it all, watching, waiting for a conclusion that will never come.
Wings drawn to his back, he watches for the starts of a lull in wind pressure. A decrease in temperament. Someone needs to witness Rick — regardless of if his fate is bound to an unpleasant end or not. He won’t fly out of this one, he will merely wait until Rick is done.
And if his work is never done, it's never done, but Birdperson is starting to be.
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the exploration of Rick and BP’s relationship in its earliest stages is just very fascinating to me. that is all. and I think the ‘unrequited love’ aspect of birdrick has a bit more layers than anticipated. like, divulging into BP’s thought-process and feelings towards Rick is a whole different and interesting ballpark compared to the jarring complexity and somehow also simplicity of Ricks own towards BP. but I don’t want to go off too much into a rant! so anyways! still got one more req left to go!!! which I promise won’t take another month to get to lol. i also hope I got Birdperson’s tone of voice right, since it’s my first time writing him. and young Rick too tbh. all I know atp is that their dynamic when they were younger was 100% funnier than most people think. Birdperson is just so straightforward, and Rick is just so patently…..not. i had so much fun with this fic’s location and dialogue! thank you for requesting this!!!!!
