*~* In which Benny makes it up to OC and meets an old friend *~*

U.S Championship - Part 2

NSFW Rating: 🔥🔥🔥

BENNY X OPHELIA (TQG OC)

Word Count: 4,938

Knock. Knock.

The door slowly opens and gently shuts with a quiet click. I wipe my eyes and sniff back the tears that had been dampening my cheeks. The bed dips on one end and one of the hotel lamps clicks on, bathing half the room in light. A flat-lined hat sits on the edge of the bed and an uneasy breath sighs in front of me.

"I got your supper," Benny slowly sits down and places a small container on the bed. "They didn't have any pancakes, but they had waffles so ... next best thing, right?"

I don't lift my head from my knees.

"I made sure to get chicken, too." Benny continues, chuckling a little. "They gave me the weirdest look for it, but I got it for you. They gave it to me, as well as a little syrup ... and I got a normal burger. They gave me extra fries because it took so long. You can steal some of mine. Like you always do, even though I tell you to stop it ... " A soft chuckle echoed around the room.

I bring my knees a little tighter to my chest and face away from him in a pathetic attempt to hide my tears. 

A puffed sigh escapes his chest and he crawls further into the bed. I stiffen when I feel Benny's body slowly begin to curl around me: his chest pressing tightly against my back and his arms wrapped around my chest, legs twisting with mine so we're locked together. 

"I'm sorry, Lia," Benny buries his face into my shoulder. "I shouldn't have mentioned our ... 'problem' and nagged you about it." I feel his warm breath sigh into my neck, "You deserve someone so much better than me."

I shake my head at the mere thought of it. "No," I tighten his hold around me, "I don't want anyone else."

Benny rests his chin on my shoulder, his whiskers tickling my neck. "Me neither. My only type is stubborn reporters."

I can't stop the snort that comes out of me. 

"I'm sorry I said that - at the bar." Benny continues mumbling into my hair, "I just wish that ... I could show you off like everyone else. Tell the press that you're my girlfriend, say you're my lucky charm, bring you on dates without looking over my shoulders."

It sounded nice, being able to walk the streets with Benny in the daytime. Not worrying about any hidden press or reporters ready to get our story of Benny's secret lover. "I wish we could go on a normal date, too," I say honestly. "But you know we can't. It's for your sake."

"Stop saying that." Benny holds me tighter, "I'll worry about my career and ratings. I want you to worry about your reporter job, not my career." His body nuzzles closer to mine, our socks rubbing together. "If you don't wanna tell anyone about us, I won't tell. It's what you want, and ... I gotta respect that. And you're right: if we tell people, it'll be worse for you than me."

I'm a bit shocked Benny is so straightforward with this. Normally, he's never good with words, always stutters over, or just straight out leaves the conversation when it gets too serious. But the way he's clutching me to his chest, his entire body wrapped around me like some protective shield against the world, it feels like at this moment he's trying to hold on to me in his life. In a desperate sort of grip that says 'I can't live without you'. 

I cling to his arms in return. "I can ... always get another reporter job for some other magazine. My manager there sucks, anyway." 

"No, don't quit your job. Being a reporter is what you wanted, isn't it?" Benny says, "You've always wanted to become a reporter and tell people's stories. Don't quit just for my sake. Besides," he buries his face into my neck and begins peppering ticklish kisses there. I squirm in his grip when the hairs of his mustache rub against my skin. "You're my favorite reporter. Your interviews are the best ... "

I smack his leg and he pretends to wince. Our laughter dies after our play fight of ticklish kisses and squirms. I find myself twisting hard enough to have my back pressed against the bed, leaving Benny to sit between my legs on top of me.

I reach up and trace my fingers around his face, sliding under his jawline and traveling into the valley of his dimples. For a man with a patchy chin and thin mustache, he doesn't look half bad for his age. Most people think he's thirty because of the facial hair, but it surprises me how indifferent it looks to me. Benny wouldn't be Benny without his mustache and cowboy hat, and I wouldn't be me without him. 

I didn't realize I was staring at his face until my eyes caught his in the hazy light of the hotel room. "Sorry," I blurt, sliding my hands off his face and to his black shirt.

"What?"

I don't feel embarrassed or shy to say what comes next, "I didn't mean to stare. Your face is just ... really pretty."

Something in Benny's eyes fades into something familiar. I would have scolded him for thinking of such a thing - especially during an intimate moment (and with the first tournament tomorrow). Reporters are scheduled to meet two hours before the first games, giving them enough time to sit, find their place, and get in a few interviews or pictures.

For some reason, I don't find myself getting worried about tomorrow. The look in Benny's eyes and the deep pulsating emotion inside us demands to be noticed.   

We meet in the middle and my body shivers at the feel of him against me, a perfectly warm puzzle piece. My fingers find their usual handle in his hair and I'm earned an eager moan in approval. His thin fingers trail down my body, going to my pants and popping open the tiny plastic button.

Benny pulls away, chest heaving and lips swollen and red. "Can I?"

I don't waste time and nod.

If I'm late - then I'm late.

Benny pulls down the zipper and yanks off my jeans, grunting when they get stuck on my ankles. I snort from the bed as he tugs them once, twice, and finally rips them off. He stands by the edge of the bed, quickly unbuckling his own jeans and tossing his knife to the table. I take my turn in grabbing his shirt, tugging it over his fluffy hair, and then smirking when I see his dimples.

"You're dimples are so cute."

"Shut up." The force of Benny's kiss sends me back to the bed, lounging like a ruler on his throne. 

The muscles no one believes Benny has ripple under his soft skin and I laugh as he flexes them playfully. My mind fogs back to his kisses, touches, labored breaths, and deep growls that vibrate off his chest and body. I claw my nails behind his shoulders, hooking my ankles around his hips and granting him the access we need. Our routine works smoothly like all the times before - soft knowing touches, faint whispers of comfort, moans of pleasure, and kisses of passion and lust. 

I can barely register where I am when Benny stops nipping and sucking on my throat to tear into the condom. I roll my neck back and watch him through half-open eyes as he rolls the condom onto himself, grunting in the process and fighting the sensitivity he must feel. When he's finished, he slides his body perfectly in alignment with mine and holds one hand with his, and the other to cover my mouth.

"Hotel walls are thin. Don't wanna wake the others, angel." He says when I give him a look for it. 

I'm tempted to lick his hand away but am grateful it's there when he seats himself inside. My moan is blocked by his hand, and by his permission, I let everything go: the anger of our problem, the fear of our relationship being revealed, the anxious terror of Benny losing his reputation. It all leaves my body and is replaced with the pleasure Benny gives me with each shallow grind of his hips. 

Damn pirate cowboy knows all my weaknesses.

I'm more grateful that his hand is covering my mouth as his pace quickens, the old used bed underneath us creaking slightly at the friction and the gasps and grunts leaving his lips. His hand leaves my mouth for a second to kiss me, swallowing my moans and whimpers like a fine brandy. I bury my face into his thin shoulder, clawing at his skin and trying - and failing - to keep my low moans and pants to myself.

I cling to his body, hugging him to me as I feel himself tighten. With shaky fingers, I flatten my palms on his back so they no longer leave lines, and stroke his hair instead. Benny's face is panting into the pillow beside me, his own muffled whines and curses being muttered into the fabric. I pet a strong hand into his hair and the other to rub his back, tilting his head to the side so I could kiss his cheek.

"It's okay," I whisper into his ear. "Let go."

My ankles tighten around his hips as our highs collide. Benny trembles above me, flinching at the own power of his orgasm. My own high takes me with his in a gentle caress of twitching limbs and whispers of love professions. 

"I love you."

Benny raises his head from the pillow. His brown eyes fluttering in the dim light and his body trembling from the aftershock. I pet through his hair a few times to calm him, gently twisting underneath him so he can roll onto his side, panting and limp from pleasure. My legs are still shaky when I head into the bathroom and dampen a cloth to clean him and take care of the condom. 

I hand him a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt, helping him lazily fit his arms through the holes and tuck him into bed. Benny looks up at me with an almost glossy glaze. "You're too good for me ... " he mutters, "I should be doing this to you."

I hum in agreement while brushing his bangs aside. "I'm fine, men need aftercare, too." I kiss his head and grab our hotel food from the nightstand, "Do you wanna eat something or just go to sleep?"

Benny groans as if seriously debating the idea of just going to sleep without food. "No, we gotta eat. I'm fucking starving."

He sits up under the covers and grabs his container and the bag of fried chicken to sit between us. With the TV still on, we begin watching an episode of Gilligan's Island. I make sure to sit close to Benny as he lays his head sleepily on my shoulder, slowly picking at the food and intertwining our ankles under the sheets.

A part of me regrets ruining such a perfect intimate moment, but I ask softly, "It's been a few days. Have you ... called the funeral home, yet?"

He chews on a certain fry longer than normal. Benny shakes his head.

"Okay." I don't bother pushing it anymore and hold his hand instead, hoping that my comfort gives him enough strength for tomorrow. 

* * * *

We wake up late the next morning and find ourselves having to rush through the shower to get downstairs sorted and ready to start the tournament. 

"Hey, isn't that shitty George Thomason gonna be playin' today?" Benny asks while fixing his coat. I nod while buttoning my shirt, making sure my skirt is fixed and my hair is neat and professional. He walks over to me and tips my chin up, giving me a loving kiss and smirking afterward, "I'll make sure to beat him so you don't have to interview him anymore." 

"You are the best boyfriend a reporter could have," I smirk into his second kiss and push him away. "Go. You'll be late."

Benny tips his hat and blows me a kiss before leaving the hotel room. 

We arrive downstairs at different times. I spot Benny sitting outside the ballroom talking to a few scholars when I head down. Our eyes catch for a moment and he winks as I walk by. I scoff under my breath and continue heading to the small hall where the tournament is to be held.

The ballroom is chic and clean with tall ceilings and elegant chandeliers and tall windows from floor to ceiling. Multiple tables are placed in neat lines in rows, each one with a perfectly aligned chessboard and clock ready for the counting. Other reporters from different magazines all over the country are mingling on the sidelines.  

I take my place on the side and sit down, pulling out my journal and crossing my legs, writing my surroundings and the players already sitting in their seats; praying to their respective Gods or practicing their plans. Sitting in the far back of the room was the up-coming "new" Beth Harmon, George Thomason. I regret wearing my heels to the tournament than simple flats, being my thighs and knees are still a bit shaky from last night. I try drinking my coffee and nibbling on the pastry I got at the hotel breakfast. Hopefully, the coffee will help wake me up and get me to focus. 

The players enter the room and take their seats, Benny being the most obvious with his wide-brimmed hat and leather trench coat. His eyes find mine in the crowd and he smiles faintly. I return his smile. 

He sits at one of the empty tables where he's supposed to be and aligns his pieces like he always does, facing them outwards and precisely in the middle of the little checkered squares. Benny looks at me from the floor, glancing quickly at the opposite side of the room. I follow his gaze and find the skinny young figure he was gesturing to Mr. Thomason entering the room dressed perfectly in a loose suit and takes his place across from his partner, not even acknowledging his outstretched hand.

Benny gives me a questioning look, as if to ask Is that him?

I nod bluntly.

I can almost hear his scoff from my seat as he fixes his pieces and smiles wickedly at his opponent.

The tournament begins and each game is set with its own timer and sheet of paper to note each move. Benny begins with his Sicilian, his favored starting position, and leads with his pawns, and finally checks the king with one of his bishops. The player knocks his king over within fifteen moves and leaves the ballroom: at first in a respectable manner, then muttering curse words and running shaky hands through sweaty hair.

This repeats for the next few hours, approaching each game with a calm seriousness and planting each complex piece into his place with a skinny pinkie raised. And with each finished game and sportsman handshake, Benny turns my way and gives me a smile. 

It amazes me that no matter how long I've known Benny, no matter how cocky or confident he may show himself to be, he's still a professional chess player and takes the game seriously. The second he sits in a tournament and the clock starts, he turns into a well-oiled machine and works almost flawlessly on the board. Sure, there are some moments Benny has to pause and absorb a particularly odd move his opponent had made; but in time, he always makes his comeback. 

"The trick with chess is all about plannin' ahead," He lectured me one night during one of our 'chess lessons', "The whole goal is to corner the King, but it's getting the other pieces off the board that makes it easier, but you have to do it with a plan. Every time you move a piece, you need to plan four steps ahead."

Benny wipes the floor with all players he plays against, each winning the games within fifteen moves or less. As I write my notes on each game, mostly paying attention to Benny (as I was assigned), I can't help but notice Mr. Thomason eyeing the particular cowboy a few tables ahead. When the matches are called for the day around noon, I find the skinny well-dressed man studying Benny's leftover game.

I head out of the ballroom with the other reporters and decide to pick up some lunch at the hotel's restaurant, hoping I could head upstairs and write up the first match before tomorrow's continuing tournament. On my way up the hotel room, I catch Benny's figure near the bar with his normal crowd of scholars and other chess masters, talking about his matches and his thought process. Our eyes connect and I make sure he sees me turn into the hotel lobby. 

It doesn't take Benny long to follow me up to our floor and smirk at me in the privacy of our hotel room. 

"Good job, today. I actually thought you - "

Benny cuts me off with a kiss, throwing his hat to the bed and cupping my waist against his hips. When he pulls away, he smirks and licks his lips. 

"I missed you, too."

"That was a thank you."

I frown and pull back, "For what?"

He begins slowly reeling me into his chest, his smirk softening to a lovestruck smile. He says into the space between us, "For giving me the luck I needed."

I almost want to scowl at him for his flirtatious demeanor, but his kisses distract me again and my mind fogs with Benny's name and touch. Like a game of chess, his fingers are precise and confident, trailing down my hips and gently spinning me in the direction of the bed.

"Benny - "

"Just give me ten minutes." He mutters in between kisses, "I saw you with the others, looking professional in that bun and blouse," his fingers reach for the said blouse and nearly rip open the shirt. "and damn sexy with it. I almost lost a game because of you."

"You seemed fine." I fight to keep my eyes open, but his lips can be as persistent as his fingers on a board and they flutter closed.

"That because I was trying to control my problem ... " Benny takes one of my hands and stealthily runs it down his body, landing on where his said 'problem' was. I bite my lip from saying something stupid and challenge his gaze. 

"Do you have to be downstairs for interviews?"

I shake my head.

"Good." Benny takes my blouse and rips it open, shoving the fabric to the floor and devouring my lips. I yelp at the surprise and giggle as he buries his face into my neck. My fingers find their place in his hair and I firmly tug, knowing full well it'll make him growl.

I haven't ordered my lunch yet, and I haven't drafted my article either ...

I can spare fifteen minutes. 

Both our fingers are in a frenzy, plucking at buttons and grabbing each other's bodies. Benny's kisses soften, taking my mouth in his and making sure when he pulls away they're left red and swollen. His trench coat falls to the floor, along with his blouse and belt - always leaving the gold chains on. His wide thin hands curve my bare waist, trailing up to find my bra and open the clasps with a skilled hand. 

"You took care of me last night," Benny lays me on the bed, letting my knees dangle over the edge. "Now let me take care of you."

I pull him up to kiss me, melting under his touch and crawling further back into the bed. Benny has other plans when a swift yank back to the edge does my heart flutter and shiver. His eyes glistened and dilate with something lust livid and determined.

"You're stayin' right here, angel," his voice purrs in my ear, nibbling the earlobe as he lays me flat on my back. In a subtle hand, he ushers me to wear his dark green button-down and clasps it just under my breast, leaving a dangerous amount of cleavage exposed.

His lean body crawls over mine, kissing the valley of my breasts and sucking hickeys on my stomach and thighs. My subconscious wants me to pull away, but he keeps my hips pinned to the edge, biting a specifically hard hickey on the side of my knee. I lean up on my elbows, watching his fluffy blonde hair slide further down, down, down between my legs; and trying hard not to giggle over the feeling of his whiskers. 

With one last look from Benny, thin fingers hook around my panties and slide them off. He pecks my thighs then kisses my lips. It's a pleasure that seems so direct and persistent than agonizing teasing or beating around the bush. My fingers shoot for the sheets and I fall back to the mattress, humming at the pleasant feeling burning in my hips. The smell of Benny consumes me from his shirt, the cheap cologne he buys at the drug store with a mix of his body wash. That with the pleasure of his tongue makes me whine in relief. 

"I should ... really write that draft, Benny,"

I worry if he couldn't hear me when he continues to go deeper and stronger. A wide strong hand reaches up from my thigh and flattens against my stomach. Benny bites and licks for a few minutes more before pulling away with glistening lips. "After I finish my lunch, angel."

I bite my lip and try to pull away from his tongue, having to fight against every inch of my being to grind deeper into his mouth. This was the first professional article I've gotten at my job, my manager put his faith and trust in me to cover the second-biggest chess tournament in the world. If I screw this up, I'll for sure either get suspended from interviews or be forced to edit op-eds and articles at my desk forever.

Benny has other plans for my career when he grabs my knees and quite literally yanks me back to his mouth, causing an unpleasant sheet burn on my back. Something on the lines of either a growl or a groan vibrates through my hips and I bite my lips from moaning. 

Goddamn, this bastard. 

"Benny - " I suck in a deep breath to control my groans and pants. I try to ignore the tip of his tongue swirling around my nerves and lean up on my elbows. "I really need to write this article. I can't - " My body shivers from a false burst and my hand automatically shoots to his blonde hair. "I can't blow this off."

Benny finally pulls away from my lower lips and looks up at me. His red swollen lips are puffy and glistening with juice, some even caught in his whiskers that he slowly licks away. A little voice inside me whispers to just let him finish and continue writing the article with numb legs in bed. The look of Benny Watts between my legs, lips, and whiskers shining and his mouth parted and chest bouncing. Something churns inside me that makes that bubble grow to the point of unbearable. 

"You really want me to stop, angel?" Benny's voice has turned hoarse and slightly husky, making my spine shiver. He slowly sits up from the floor and leans his wet lips dangerously close to mine; the ones on my face.

It doesn't take that long to write an article, does it? It's only ...  damn, what time is it again? 

I want to turn my head and see what it says on the clock, but I can't tear my eyes off Benny's hungry eyes and wet lips. I can't ignore the heartbeat throbbing in my groin and that bundle of warmth still buried inside. 

Fuck it.

I yank Benny down and kiss him, falling back onto the sheets and beaming when I earn a sigh of pleasure from him. I can taste my subtle sweetness on his tongue and I'm surprised by the taste. He hesitates on my lips, kissing me long enough to dip his tongue inside before dragging them back down between my breasts, stomach, hips, and finally back to my 'lips'. 

And this time I don't stop him.

I shut my eyes and let my legs spread, whimpering and panting at the pleasure his twitching swirling tongue brings me closer and closer to the edge. Benny is persistent and doesn't budge on his teasings or beating around the bush. He wants to make this a quick powerful orgasm so we could continue our day, but I know that he'll be wanting more by the end of the night. 

Benny leans forward on his knees and pins my inner thighs to the bed, changing positions and attacking my bundle of nerves at a deliciously better angle. It's enough of a change to make my knees buckle and legs twitch and spasm under his weight. I choke out his name as my high shakes my body and explodes like a firework - rising, rising, rising, then finally exploding in the wonder of color and sound.

When he finally pulls away from my shaking knees and trembling hips, he crawls between my legs and demands a kiss to taste myself - subtle and sweet. I cling to his chains and mold myself to his chest, melting deeper into the kiss and his warm soft body. 

Benny smiles at me when he pulls away and rushes to the bathroom, grabbing a few wipes and a small cup of water. He peppers kisses along my body as he cleans our mess, smiling at the wetness he feels. 

"Not a single drop wasted," Benny scoops my weak knees against his chests and positions me comfortably at the head of the bed, pulling the comforter over me. "Guess you'll just have to stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon."

"I'd hate to burst your bubble, cowboy," I tease, running my hands down his chest and smiling as he kisses it. "I'm not that shaken, I just need a minute. But if you could get me some real food that would be nice,"

"Lunch for my angel, coming right up." Benny kisses me again, smirking in the process, and grabs another shirt from his duffle. "I'll be right back, I expect to practice speed chess and get head scratches when I get back."

"Get me food and you shall receive."

Benny smirks and grabs his hat by the door, blowing me another kiss and slipping through.

* * * *

I'm let alone in the hotel room writing my article and letting a few old episodes of some old show play on the TV for the next hour, my hand cramping dramatically in the process. My stomach continues to growl and I ponder if Benny was caught up with chess masters or fans at the bar. It wasn't the first time it took him double the time to run a simple errand. It once took him over two hours to get groceries because he couldn't find a certain ingredient for a recipe I was making and because he was noticed on the streets by two college students.

He probably got distracted again. 

My legs and consciousness have recovered from Benny's 'lunch' and I find myself being able to change out of Benny's warm shirt and into a pair of trousers and a clean blouse. I can just go check and see if he got distracted or simply forgot to put the order in. 

When I get downstairs to the bar, Benny is leaning against the corner of the bar, surprisingly alone and nursing a cream soda while making small talk with the bartender. That's a first. I slowly make my way to the bar, taking the long route of pretending to simply wander to it. But a bold-looking woman with red hair and fashionable clothes beats me to it.

She looks the same age as me; possibly in her early twenties, high in fashion and elegant with her long bob-cut of red hair. People turn when they see her and reporters eating alone at tables quickly whip out their notepads.

The woman makes a B-Line to Benny and says in a soft purring tone, "Why hello, Benny."

*~* Oh my god *panics in asexual* 💜🖤🤍 DAMN that was hard to write. I was thinking you all deserved a bit of Benny Smut after the angst from the last part. Sorry for making it so long 😅😅, I sometimes zone out and write a whole short story instead of a chapter. (not sorry). *~*