Chapter Text
Benny Watts was an aggravating piece of work that embedded its way beneath your skin and stayed there. There was simply no way of getting rid of him. His entire embodiment stuck in your mind like glue. His voice, his smirk, his charm. His touch, his lips, his mouth. And yet, he set you on fire. Created a burning need that had never existed before him and that no one else had mastered. You always tried to ignore the way he made your heart race, no matter how much fun he found it to fluster you. You tried to ignore how important he made you feel, as his eyes always flickered to meet yours during a chess match. You tried to ignore the way you craved his touch, his skin, his warmth whenever he was around. The touch of his leather, the brush of his mustache, the cool tone of his ring on your knuckles.
But it was always about winning with Benny, wasn't it? He never told you things straight, he never confronted the aching tension that met, He never did more than tease, but he always played with the line. It was the game. The game to fluster, to flirt and to achieve.
But when things were a game, what was real and what was fake?
Your father was a chess champion. One of great renown. You, however, did not have the great mind for chess. You were extremely intelligent, of course, just not in the way your father wanted. While you got lost in literature, in stories of present and times of past, your father prayed over and over for you to see the chess board in your mind instead of ‘fairy tales.’ But you never did. English teachers praised your young mind, only a child, and how you analyzed text and saw the world. But he didn’t care. You were smart, extremely so. A prodigy in your right. Just not in the way it mattered.
Perhaps if you mother was still alive, he could've been redirected. But instead, ti was simply something you father harped on. Something your father wanted to fix, even if that wasn’t possible..
You were still pulled along to chess tournaments and you didn’t find it boring. In fact, you did enjoy chess. You just would never be as good as the people you watched your father play. And that included Benny Watts.
The first time you met Benny, he was a boy who had caught your attention immediately. You were staring at a chess board, alone in a hotel hall, when he plopped down in front of you. His golden hair is what caught your attention first, and his prideful smile was second. Benny Watts, with you none the wiser, challenged you to a game and beat you silly. You werne;t quite angry about it, more so angry about how you were still in awe of him as he asked you for another match. A mixture of entertainment and some sort of burning you couldn’t place.
All you knew at that time was that Benny Watts was an arrogant boy, rightfully so in some cases, and you kind of hated him and liked him for it. In a strange sort of way.
By the time the two of you were fifteen, you had met on several occasions. In fact, your father encouraged the friendship, most likely hoping the chess wonder would rub off on you. Carried off to tournaments, your father would watch, dismayed, as you also packed books of rich literature. Peter Pan, Charles Dickens. Orwell, Hans Christian Anderson, Bronte Sisters, Mark Twain, Brothers Grimm and Stevenston all went in your bag.
You did try to study, but by that age, you had already realized that you didn’t have the inherent talent and mind for chess that others had. Your understanding allowed you to beat many other people, yes, but no chess masters or exquisite wonders. The chess moves just didn’t sequence together for you, the games didn’t formalize, plus you had never beaten Benny. Not once. And then there was the other problem.
You didn’t see the board.
No matter how much you tried to visualize and memorize the roles in your mind, it never came. So by that point, you had simply turned your mind and intentions to what you were good at. Which was reading and analyzing. That’s what you did most between games at tournaments and how Benny usually found you.
You were in another Hotel lobby once again, cool jazz playing in the background. Waiters passed with fancy, sparkly drinks you weren’t old enough to drink while people talked chess and strategy. You lay in one of the large, comfy chairs. Your legs dangled over one edge as you pulled a shawl around your shoulders, hiding the parts of your body you still found uncomfortable in the formal dress you wore.
“What ya doing?” A voice suddenly dipped into your ear, brushing past the sensitive flesh with sizzling heat.
You jumped, your book nearly closing, until you finally gathered yourself and looked up. Benny had a victorious smile on his face, his hand clasped on the back of the chair as he leaned in.
“Benny.” You hissed.
“Hi ya Darling.”
You rolled your eyes, “Benny, I thought I told you to drop that nickname.”
“Aw, why? I think it suits you.” You rolled your eyes again, and were about to return your attention back to the book when Benny repeated himself, “what are you up to anyways?”
“Reading.” You replied nonchalantly.
“You’re always reading.” he muttered, “what could possibly be so interesting?”
You sighed, “actually-” But you were cut off, your breath hitching as Benny leaned down to look at the page you were on. His neck came into close view, his hair swishing past. Surprise made the breath in your lungs catch, unsure how to respond to the close proximity while Benny seemed unbothered. Simply reading. And yet, it felt like every atom of your being was tugged towards his presence.
At fifteen, Benny was a thin, slinky thing. His hair was still a floppy mess, but he didn’t have the grand mustache or the cool rings. And he barely had the sense of fashion he later carried. Yet, he still had dark eyes, that blonde flop of hair and a tugging smirk that seemed to be his default setting.
Sometimes, you hated him. His touch, his mouth, every single word that came out. His voice, silky smooth, his lips and…and just how badly you wanted to kiss them. His stupid, plush pink petals that moved slyly and intrigued you once and while. You were fifteen after all. A girl had feelings. And dreams. And sensations. And often those sensations brought your gaze to his lips, especially whenever he was focused and reading over your shoulder. Just. Like. This. It was similar to how he looked at a chess board, the way his eyes darkened in focus. He was bent down, hovering over you, his hand clasping the back of the chair while the other hung limply. If you tilted your head, you could place your head against his shoulder.
Sensing your gaze, his focus moved to you, zoning in on your own pupils. He watched you for a second, before registering that you had been staring. His lips tugged up, and he pulled back, hair dangling in his face.
“Let’s play chess then.”
You groaned, “noooo. I don’t feel like losing today, Benny. Can’t we do something else today?”
“Does your dad have you studying?”
“All the time, but no matter how much I read about it, it just doesn’t stick. However, the connection and themes between all of Dickens' books…”
Benny took pity on you, and gave a well meaning smile. “Okay, okay. How about this? We play one game of chess and then you can tell me all about that.”
You perked up, “really? You won’t get too bored?”
“Oh, I’ll be bored all right. But it’s only fair when you’re willing to play against me.”
Excitedly, you bump out of your spot, and Benny led you to a set up game, ready to be played.
You didn’t win. You never would. But he appreciated the effort and the comfort playing against you and teaching provided, as you enjoyed learning a bit more about the game and humoured him, at least to get to your own passions. You ignored the way his fingers brushed against yours as you both picked up pieces, ignored the way he stared at you when you decided on your next move, you ignored everything he played at, knowing he wanted a reaction. One he still got as your lips trembled and your fingers fidgeted under his embarrassing gaze. But this was your relationship. This was the game.
And you two played it well.
By twenty-one, you two knew each other like the back of your hands. Even though you were often bickering, Not in a cynical sense, but Benny appreciated the rise and you somehow always gave it to him covering up the warm tingles that spread throughout your body whenever he got too close. And he always got too close. He loved to do it. Loved to make you squirm. So you shot back with cynicism, with ignorance, with an attempt of a facade.
You were a little late to this game, the match already underway. But your father’s game had gone on longer than expected and overlapped, so what could you do? The chairs were full, because of course they were. It was Benny playing. However, you spotted some empty chairs in the center. With hushed apologies and whispered excuses, you scooted down the row and took a seat on the plastic black chairs. You settle in, ready to watch the match,
Benny was deep in concentration. He had that ridiculous cowboy hat on, and his new leather jacket shone. He’d sent you letters describing in detail his absolute enthusiasm when he found it. You didn’t quite understand that certain style, but you knew that once Benny took that jacket off, everything beneath it was pure fashion gold. How did things fit him so well? T-shirts were baggy in just the right places, hanging off his arms in attractive and elegant slopes. Skinny jeans hugged his waist and defined his legs, making him look even taller and even more appealing. It was a death sentence, looking at Benny Watts.
But some things were worse than death, and when he looked up at you, it was hell on Earth. Benny never looked up from the board at matches. Too focused and zoned in. He only ever looked at his opponent. Except when it came to you. Somehow, you were the only exception. The one thing mentioned in gossip columns alongside Benny’s name. It was like he had a sixth sense whenever you came into the room and knew exactly where you were.
Your heart lurched as his head turned to you, his eyes raising and meeting yours. His hardened eyes, focused on you in an expression you couldn’t express. They were dark with concentration. Focused. They burned through you, as if he was contemplating his next move through channeling you. You sent back a grimace, because he knew you hated when he brought attention to you and your friendship in public, but he couldn’t resist. Yet, this was one of the few times he never sent you a halfway smile followed by a drawling hello. Then his attention was back and the board and all was as it should be. You let out a sigh and continued to watch the game.
As expected, Benny won. You quickly exited the hall, determinedly avoiding his expectant gaze as you left and headed to the bar instead. Newly 21, you enjoyed being able to sit on the high stool bars, and order a fancy drink. Some sweet cocktail you could sip precariously through a straw as you people watched, analyzing them in the same way you did text. Or sometimes you enjoyed pressing your lips to a espresso martini slowly, trying to be as charming as Benny was. It really ground your gears how easily he floated into any situation, easily having the upper hand somehow just like he did in Chess.
That’s when you heard a loud chorus of giggling. You looked over your shoulder to find Benny surrounded in the hotel lounge, absolutely crowded. You rolled your eyes. How typical. Nowadays, he was always surrounded by girls. Nothing like when you were teens, where adults would praise him continually. Now those kept their distance with admirable respect as young players and frilly girls tried to speak with him. You turned away, twirling the straw in your drink, resting your face in a palm. You knew what was to happen next, but you didn’t need to watch.
Soon enough, you heard the disappointed shrill of girls as Benny left them behind, swaggering over to the bar. You felt his presence like pin needles as he slipped in from behind you onto the stool beside you.
“Benny” You greeted.
“Howdy.” He remarked with laughter, “I see you found your bubbles. Enjoying the sweet stuff, huh? You were always giddy about those tall things. I honestly don’t find the appeal.”
“I don’t want to hear that from anyone who drinks piss water.”
“Beer is not piss water.” Benny stated urgently.
“Might as well be with how it looks, tastes and smells.” You sassed, “doesn’t even look pretty. And then whiskey? Ha. I don’t think anything good should burn like that
“Hmmm,” Benny leaned in, his breath on your ear, “I can imagine a few things that burn nicely and go down well. In fact, some say lust feels quite pleasurable”
You shot him an astounded look, to which he only smirked. You huffed, sending him a glare,“God, you are the worst Benny Watts.”
“Only for you, darling.”
You went back to fuming over your drink, determined to ignore him even though it never worked. His hand sidled up next to yours, the press of metal cool against your pinky as his rings brushed you ever so softly. You didn’t move, ignoring the contact he slipped in. Instead, you took another sip of your drink nonchalantly. The spark between you two were palpable, but so was your fury, So you chose that instead. He just got under your skin so much, from his arrogance to his pride. It always radiated off of him. To make it worse, most of it wasn’t due to nothing. Your father reminded you greatly of that. Of what you could never be. Of what he wished you were.
While you were studying in literature, and getting praised for ingenuity, managing to surpass barriers men had held closed for women at universities and schools for years, your father still went on about chess. Still compared you to Benny, still hoped you could be like Benny. You were speeding through your degree for pete’s sake! A specialty, honours, a major and a minor and yet still! Still he only talked about this game.
“It’s my father’s last year, ya know.”
Benny went silent, his demeanor shifting as he quieted down, more solemn in his reply. “Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe now he can finally stop reminding me about chess and what failure I turned out to be.” You joked, a self condemning smile on your lips. Halfway between a grimace and cynical smile.
“You're not a failure.” Benny said sternly, “look at all the courses you're taking! Top of your class, perfect attendance, a specialty and a minor to boot. And some of the courses you're taking…phew, I could never do it.”
You glanced over at Benny. You sometimes wondered if it was the fact he was what your father always wanted that made you have such irritation with him. A distaste you couldn’t shake no matter how much you got a long. You were magnetized to him, yet turned away from him. And you wondered if that was it. If that was what bothered you. Your father, his dreams and Benny all wrapped up in one. But No. That wasn’t it. It could never be. You were too confident, too intelligent and certainly too self aware for it to be that.
No, what bothered you was what Benny Watts did to you. The irrevocable tingling sensation he enabled in your lower belly, heat swarming in your stomach and heading further downwards whenever he entered your sights. Whenever his bangs hung over his face. Whenever he rolled his sleeves up, or sagged into a man spread or, god forbid, wore that stupid leather jacket that hung off his shoulders and let him flick up the collar. His hair was always in transcendent waves that made you want to reach out and touch, like he was the sun, exactly as your father had said.
“You do know that, don’t ya darling?” He repeated, “that you're not a failure.” You watch him calmly for a moment. The way he spoke attracted you,you always enjoyed it. The way r’s and syllables rolled off his tongue, lax yet pointed. Calm yet controlled And they were quite nice specifically when he did have something kind to say instead of his lewd and teasing remarks.
You gave him a small smile, clinking your drink against his beer bottle. “Yes, I know. Thanks Benny”
He tipped his hat, “anytime.”
“That hat is still ridiculous.” You commented.
“It’s fashionable.” he shrugged, then thought about something. “You’ll still come around, right? After your father retires?”
You hummed, “probably. Even if I haven’t been a part of it, the chess community still feels like home somehow.”
He smiled brightly, smacking down a few crisp dollar bills on the bar counter. “Wonderful. Then I’ll see you next time.”
You went to raise your drink at him when he suddenly dipped in. The deep scent of cologne and aftershave filled your nostrils, pupils dilating.His mustache brushed your peach fuzz and he moved in as he pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek. Warm, soft lips a whisper across the high cheekbones of yours before he was moving away, ready to be smacked as he quickly made his exit.
“Later Darling!”
“Benny!” You screeched, hand on your cheek as you tried to recover from your shock. But he was already gone.
At twenty-three, You still attended matches, even if your father didn’t play. You had idea what brought you back there, or why(you refuse to admit the magnetic pull Benny had on you), but you were always at the meets. And somehow, you were always around Benny too.
What most likely did not help was that you were getting your Masters in New York, some place you happened to bump into the nosy chess god more than before. Always hunting you down just to rub the lobe of your ear between his fingers, like he’s trying to place something, and then laughing at your expression when you slap his hand away. Your face always gave you away,whether it was a nose scrunch or bewildered, widened eyes.
At this point, you were at Benny’s apartment often enough, his little hole in the wall closer to the bars than your apartment. How he found the address to your apartment to ring you in with a group of misfits, you didn’t know. But you did know that you liked going out, whether it was his friends or your friends, every once in a while after all that studying.
The breeze was cool during a certain night Benny walked you to his apartment. His arm cradled around your waist to help you keep balance on your clicking heeled shoes. For such a scrawny guy, his grip was tight and strong, managing to hold you upright even if you sloped. You felt your side press against him and nearly giggled(or did just a bit) whenever you had to stop for a moment.
You were not too far gone, but you had a few drinks and were still sobering up while Benny had sipped on only one beer that night.
You let out another giggle when you almost fell, and Benny's group tightened as he pulled you further back against his side. You raised your head, your own nose close to his, and didn’t notice the breath he took. The control he had to regain.
You gave him a crooked smile, one that only came out after a few drinks, “sorry Benny. I’ll get my feet under me in no time. Thanks for letting me crash again.”
“Hey, don’t worry about me. You’re the one who has to crash at, what did you call it again? A shabby excuse for a hole with an air mattress that will give you pin needles? Yes, that.”
You snorted, “I didn’t say I couldn’t crash there, Benny. Just said I couldn’t live there.”
He gave a fake pout, which was more of a stern expression than a childish one. The one he pulled out when he was fuming about something he couldn’t control. Like when he was beaten as a child. (Later, Beth Harmon would receive this stare after beating him and his friends during a simultaneous match). “Still wish you had taken me up on my offer. It’s really not so bad.”
“Have you seen your bathroom?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“For one you only have half a mirror. And two, the walls are literally yellow. No thank you, I can afford something else.” You drawled sarcastically, to which Benny chuckled. The conversation got your brain flowing, draining away the alcohol fatigue and pushing your legs to work. (yes, I am aware this isn’t how drinking actually works.)
You rest your head on his shoulder as you two walk, your hair flowing across his leather jacket. “Tell me about chess.” You said dreamily. Benny wasn’t surprised. You always wanted to talk about chess when you drank, it’s usually why he was invited. He didn’t know why you wanted to talk about it then. You avoided the subject most of the time when you were sober and barely played him anymore, but maybe it was less painful to think about when you were inebriated. Benny could still tell that you were interested in the game. That you had your own love and appreciation for the world, but the fact you couldn’t master it would always hurt because of how your father framed it, banishing the simple interest you had with the shame that you were not a master in that field. He grinded his teeth, but carried on.
“Well, I’m still the best, if that’s any help.”
“Obviously. Who could beat you?” You teased sweetly, your teeth glinting with a sliver of a smile.
He thought for a moment. “There is someone now. Someone new who’s entered the field.”
“Oh?”
“There’s a new girl. Beth Harmon. 15. She is rising rapidly and seems to be beating everyone in her path. I beat her this year, but things might change in the future.”
“Good. Someone needs to take you down a peg.” You said warmly, tapping his hat affectionately.
He gave you an exasperated look, “of course you would say that. You can’t wait for the day I’m overthrown.”
You shrugged, “I just want someone to challenge you, Benny. I can’t-not in chess. This will be good for you. I know it.”
Benny watched you silently. A serious expression crossed his face, that analytical streak back in his eyes. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? That you can’t match me in chess.”
It was not a comment that was meant to hurt you, and in truth, it didn’t. You both had established that truth before. You sighed, “It bothers me that I can’t give that to you. That’s all. I know that’s what you want. A challenge. Something that your genius mind craves. It's the same for me. The only difference is that there are scholars upon scholars and articles upon articles for my mind to feast, whereas your competition always seems to run out. And I can’t help you with that.”
“You’re sugary sweet darling,” He said softly, “It’s nice that you care so much.”
“Of course.” You replied, “we’re friends, aren’t we? Even if you are the worst.”
“Only for you.” he repeated once again, winking devilishly.
Eventually, the two of you made it to Benny’s little crap hole. You’d almost agreed to live with him when you first moved to New York, considering a roommate you knew, until you saw the state in which he lived. Nope. Never. It was good for a one night stay after a night on the town and that was it.
Some could say the situation was intimate. That it was strange the closeness and physical affection Benny and you shared, even now, as he detangled himself from your waist and started to undo his layers of outdoor clothing. You couldn’t quite deny them. You often wondered the same and knew the closeness is what made you blood boil. You breath hitch. And all the rest. You sank onto the floor, watching as Benny put away his hat and leather jacket. Watched as he ran a hand through his locks, and rolled up his long sleeve, revealing the biceps. Watched as he casually strutted around to grab the blowup mattress for you.
The problem with Benny was that he never communicated his feelings. He never directly said he wanted her, he didn’t even say he liked you. So you never knew if he was just playing a game, having fun, or making a move. And he seemed to take pleasure in this precipice of anticipation, which made you almost hate him more.
So yes, he would press a chaste kiss on your cheek, he would get too close with his hands, his rings being a telltale against searing flesh, and he would whisper in your ear, his breath cradling the goosebumps that spurted at the sensation. But what did that matter? He still left. He was still surrounded by other women. He still probably fucked other women, just as you had fucked other men. Sure, none of them did to you what Benny did. Made that outrageous feeling in your gut boil over, but you surmounted this to another irritation Benny caused. Another problem.
You knew you had an attraction to Benny. You simply hated it. Hated that you felt that pull towards him. That’s why you yanked and turned in the other direction, no matter how hard it was. This was a game to Benny. And you were never good at those. You would always lose. Always. At least that's what you kept telling yourself.
So why were you here?
Because you needed a place to sleep. That’s why. And because Benny was like a never ending drug. His presence warmed you to your cores and you were especially weak to it when you were tired or drunk. Damn him. And damn you for this tingling feeling.
“Do you have something I can sleep in?” You murmur sleepily, already sounding like your drifting off.
“Yeah, here.” Benny grabbed a large black shirt from his room and tossed it at you. “Wear this.”
“Thanks.” You yawned, “gonna use your room to change.”
“And leave me with all the work?” Benny joked, already stepping on the pump.
“Yep. Thanks Benny.”
You quickly stripped, bundling up your nice clothes and slipping on Benny’s T-shirt. His usual style of plain black. You can still imagine how this one fit him. How the sleeves frame his arms, how it highlights his waist, slightly tucked in, somehow making his figure more appealing. You pulled it on, too tired to curse the way the scent of his cologne sticks to it. You opened the door and wandered back into the living room, ready to snuggle into bed. You approached behind him, but when he turned around, you were chest to chest.
Benny looked down and his eyes widened. You swore they eyes right up and down your form, taking it all in. Suddenly, the air between you two was hot, and thick. His pupils scaled large, his lips twitching just slightly. His grip was suddenly on your arm, moving from your wrist all the way to your bicep, almost pulling you closer and then-
Benny…” You murmured more out of surprise than anything. Benny has always flirted with you, has always teased and played with you, but never like this. Never in a way that makes you seriously consider the option that he might kiss you. And not just something chaste or playful. No, something forceful and passionate that would consume your every waking being and leave you astonished and lavished inside. In a way, they made the burning you hated so intensely even stronger.
And then, suddenly, at your words, it was like he saw he was being pulled in too deep. And he pulled back.
“I’m going to bed” He said, his hand dropping away.
“Of course.” you murmured. The air changed back immediately. Nothing out of place. Just two friends again.
He walked past, heading to the bedroom. “Night.”
“Night.” You called back. You crawled under the blanket and pretended not to think about it.
It was a game. That’s all.