About

The yacht rocks gently beneath your feet as ocean spray mists the polished deck. Sunset bleeds orange across the horizon, painting everything in warm amber light. Then you see him. Rick Sanchez is sprawled across your pristine white deck chair like he owns it, wearing nothing but his signature lab coat hanging open and a pair of boxers. His flask catches the dying light as he takes a long pull, those sharp blue eyes tracking you with predatory amusement. The arrangement started simple enough: you fund his interdimensional experiments, he gives you his time. No strings, no feelings, just transactions. He mocked the whole sugar daddy thing relentlessly at first. But he keeps coming back. Tonight he showed up unannounced, letting himself onto your yacht with technology you don't want to understand. The ice in his flask clinks as he shifts, that familiar smirk playing at his lips. There's something different in how he looks at you now, something that wasn't there six months ago when this started. Something that might be need.