Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

The kiss didn't come suddenly. It wasn't frantic. It wasn't clumsy.

It was inevitable.

Beth let herself close that final inch not like a woman taken, but like a woman surrendering to the truth her body had known for minutes now:

It had already begun.

Their mouths met softly, like a confession whispered in church reverent, but full of shame. Full of hunger pretending to be hesitation.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt clinging, grounding, as if she could still slow this descent by holding onto something. But there was nothing left to grip that would keep her from falling. Not morals. Not motherhood. Not even memory.

Because Morty was not her son.

Not here.

Not tonight.

Not anymore.

And she knew it now.

Not because of how he kissed her but because of how she kissed him back.

It wasn't the kiss of confusion.

It was confirmation.

An answer to every unspoken dare he'd placed between them since the moment he stepped into her kitchen with that voice, that gaze, that unbearable calm.

He let her lead at first let her trace his lips, open his mouth, pull just enough to feel his breath stutter. Not because he was losing control but because he wanted her to feel like she had any.

Then he took over.

One hand rose to cradle her jaw. Not forceful. Not even possessive.

Just steady. Like he was keeping her face still so he could see her properly.

Like she was his favorite piece in a gallery full of lesser work.

Like he wanted to remember every flicker of doubt on her face as it died.

And it did die.

Right there in that kiss.

The doubt, the guilt, the whispered what the hell am I doing?

It all dissolved the second she moaned into his mouth quietly, involuntarily a raw sound dragged from a place no husband had ever reached.

That was the moment Viktor kissed her back with teeth. Not a bite but a press. Enough to make her gasp. Enough to make her want more.

Her body twisted instinctively, pressing into him, and he didn't yield.

Didn't stumble. Didn't falter. He was rooted. Anchored.

Unmoving, except where he wanted to move.

Except where he needed her to feel it.

> "You've thought about this," he said against her lips, voice low and thick.

> "Shut up," she hissed, but her nails dug into his shoulders and her hips tilted forward like she was begging for him to say more.

> "You wondered how it would feel if someone younger…"

"Stronger…"

"Smarter than Jerry…"

"…wanted you for exactly what you are."

> "I said shut up," she repeated, but it broke on her tongue like glass weak, half-breathed, and full of arousal.

He kissed her again, this time slanting her head to deepen it, swallowing every gasp she made like a man starved. His other hand slipped behind her thigh and lifted not far, just enough for her to feel the shift, the way his body fit between hers.

And she let him.

God help her she let him.

When his hand slid under her shirt, she didn't stop him.

When his palm grazed the curve of her ribs, she arched into it.

When he paused at the edge of her bra, she reached up and unclasped it herself.

And he smiled.

Not cruelly.

Not victoriously.

Like a man watching his prophecy unfold slow, sacred, inevitable.

> "Beth…" he whispered, tasting her name.

"You're not broken. You're just bored."

That broke her.

Not into pieces but wide open.

Because it was true.

She wasn't a woman ruined by life.

She was a woman untouched by it.

And he this version of Morty, this impossible Morty

was the first person who saw it.

So when he lifted her onto the counter, never breaking the kiss, she didn't resist. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in, mouth messy, hair wild, lips parted in a way that left no question about what she wanted now.

No words. No rules. No pretending.

Just heat.

Just hands.

Just the sound of breathing that had turned ragged, desperate, sacred.

The fridge hummed behind them.

The kitchen lights stayed low.

The world the real one, with names and lines and family titles ceased to exist.

There was only this.

This taste. This sin. This moment.

And when he finally pulled back, both of them flushed and panting, her lipstick smudged, his knuckles trembling with restraint…

He leaned in and whispered against her mouth:

> "You're going to wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn't happen."

"But tonight…"

"Tonight, you're mine."

And Beth trembling, ruined, wanting

nodded.

Because she already was.

_____

This the best l can do and l am pretty sure l messed up by releasing this chapter but I've always been a wild person