"Do you still like my hair?"

Benny had been nearly unable to take his eyes off Beth all night. At first he had tried to throw his focus into the games, he really had. He liked speed chess. He was good at speed chess. Fuck, he was incredible at speed chess. He loved that such a slow and methodical marathon of a game could become this adrenaline-fueled sprint. He loved the similarities and differences between it and regular chess. He loved to beat people. To really thrash them.

He loved to win.

It wasn't just about the money, wasn't even about the game itself. It was an assertion of skill, of superiority, of dominance. It was something you could take away from the board with you, like a trophy. He had liked collecting these trophies from Beth in Ohio, seeing her cool demeanor stripped away, one move, one game at a time. He hadn't played chess against a woman who was anywhere near his league since he was a kid. Something about their play had felt different. It had always felt different with Beth.

He had almost felt bad for her at first, losing face in front of the crowd in that hot student union. However the crowd had dropped away as he watched her sweat, a vignette forming around her as he thoroughly trounced her, again and again. Benny had an award-winning poker face (chess face?), but even he had had to concentrate not to let his emotions show as she stroked her neck, flustered by his attacks. If he hadn't read articles about her, hadn't seen photo shoots, he would have considered her brazen sexuality a tactic to give her an edge - not that it had helped - but it was clear to him that she was entirely unaware of this... distracting stress response. That made sense, since she was so rarely stressed by a game of chess.

The kicker really came when Beth had touched his hair in the bar after her resounding victory two days later. It was immediately obvious to Benny then it wasn't a tactic - hell she'd already destroyed him in the competition, no need to psyche him out now. Plus when he had given her a look, feigned confusion tempered by genuine surprise, she had grown shy. If that had been an act then she was wasting her talents on chess. Of course he had realised that she was redirecting the conversation away from her drinking, but the intimate gesture seemed to have surprised even her.

Benny was a flirt, he'd hold his hands up to that. The trophies he took from his games, both real and intangible, leant him an aloof kind of confidence that drew people in, and not just the chess nuts. He had quickly recognised a fellow verbal jouster in Beth, and their competitive conversation had felt easy and natural from early on. She also flirted back, which he enjoyed. She was attractive, which he had of course noticed immediately. He wasn't blind. But their friendly teasing had drawn him to her on a more subconscious level. She was his equal, loathe as he was to admit it. If he had noticed how dangerous this game between them felt, would he have still invited her to New York? Or had he already known, and let himself ignore his misgivings, charmed by her mixture of genius and innocence?

Now here they were in New York, living together, sharing food and conversation and extremely close quarters. The more they talked chess the more in awe of her he became, and the more they tested the limits of privacy afforded by his ramshackle rooms the more Benny experienced a uniquely pleasant sense of choking. The shape of her, distorted by his glass door, caught in his peripheral vision as she changed left him fighting every instinct telling him to turn towards her. Coming out of his bedroom in the morning to the pink blur of her behind the shower curtain was like the sensation of a first cigarette, sweet, heady smoke filling his throat, his lungs, his bloodstream. Even watching her drink coffee was by now a dangerous exercise for his imagination. Usually when Benny Watts played chess everything but the board fell away. No longer.

And then there was tonight. Beth had beat him countless times by now, but never at speed chess. Even as he first couched the simultaneous to Wexler and Levertov he had felt a dangerous thrill, wanting to see her move that way again, to watch the adrenaline rise in her. He felt a very real twinge of fear that she might beat him this time, one which he attempted to crush with bravado. But even as he tried to ignore the feeling, he couldn't help but feel strangely excited at the prospect.

And then, with each toppled king, with each hand held out for cold hard cash, each softly spoken "again" he felt his own adrenaline transform into something else. Benny had felt this pull, this draw towards her unintentional sensuality, many times since he had brought her home from Ohio. But her dominance over the boards, over the two poor saps, over him… It had intoxicated him even as it ignited an almost childish stubbornness, one he saw mirrored in her eyes when he finally decided enough was enough.

"Again."

"No."

He had seen her jaw set obstinately just before he forced himself to look away from her powerful gaze. And then her sudden transformation to coy pleasure when Cléo had begun a round of applause… Benny was absolutely mesmerised.

Of course he hadn't let it show; his own pride wouldn't let him lose face like that, not in front of his guests. But Cléo had sensed the change in atmosphere. She knew Benny well enough for that. After a few jokes and compliments she had gathered the boys and begun to bustle them towards the door. She had even had the gall to shoot Benny a look over her shoulder as she stepped into the stairwell. Benny had forced himself to ignore it, to close and lock the door calmly.

And then they were alone.

Don't look at Beth, something in him warned. He knew his resolve was cracking. His attempt to make himself untouchable by writing off sex, to let Beth know she didn't have the hold on him she so obviously did, had backfired into a tantalising forbidden lust. Benny was strong-willed to the point of bull-headedness, but Beth was something new. His skin itched, his throat was disobeying his attempts to swallow.

He could feel her where she leant on the railing by the door. He could have felt her anywhere in that apartment without looking, hell he could have sensed her anywhere in the whole city. Her presence pulled his gaze, unbidden.

"What?" She looked smug. He had never been so aroused by something so infuriating. He shook his head, looking away and came back down the stairs into the room.

"Nobody has done that to me in fifteen years." Benny chewed on his frustration. He tried to keep walking past her but her movement towards him stilled his momentum.

"Not even Borgov?"

"Not even Borgov." He looked at her again, seeing pleasure colour her face once more at the praise.

"And I'm sober as a judge, as Alma would say." She smiled, and Benny just stared at her, those eyes, the quirk of her smile. She had him now. She had truly dominated him on the chessboard, truly stolen his power. He was furious. Proud. Frustrated. Exhilarated. Weak.

After a moment he noticed her smile drop. She was gazing right back at him and he realised he had just been looking at her in silence. He felt light-headed and tried to attribute it to the drink, an obvious lie even to himself. He raised his eyebrows, a shaky attempt to dissipate the tension.

"I myself am not." He forced himself to walk away from her, into his room, trying desperately to put an end to this moment before he lost all control. "Night," he called out.

He ran his hand through his hair, memories of her doing the same rising uninvited in his mind's eye. "Night," she replied, indignance taking the mirth out of the half-hearted laugh in her voice.

Fuck.

He turned quickly and strode to the doorway..

"Wait, hey." He caught her arm as she walked past, bracing himself on the doorpost, pulling her back to him. She turned, looking down to where he was touching her, surprised. Benny didn't touch her much, didn't want to give the wrong impression, although to Beth or to himself, he could no longer say.

He felt his throat constrict once more as she raised her eyes to his. He was squeezing her arm softly, at a total loss for words. God, he really was weak for her. He just looked into those big, brown eyes, breath coming shallow through his parted lips.

"Yes?" She looked at him, uncertain, like she had no idea what he was thinking. How could someone with such raw sexuality be so naïve about the effect she had on others? How could someone who had just dominated him so thoroughly at his greatest strength not even understand her own power? How could he even begin to put into words what he was feeling?

"Do you still like my hair?"

It came out haltingly, shyly, his breath catching. She had reduced him to a stammering teenager. And then she had the audacity to look confused. Was she really going to make him spell it out? Resolve broken, high on her power, feeling the heat of her where their skin met, already achingly vulnerable as he looked up from under his eyelashes at her.

Nope. He wanted her but he wasn't going to lay it all out on the line. Battered as it was, Benny still had his pride. No more words. She would understand what he meant, even if he had to show her.

Benny moved slowly, softening his grip on her arm as he began to close the distance between them, giving Beth every opportunity to step away. She didn't move, but he saw her eyes flick to his mouth for a second. He could feel her breath, warm on his face, and realised she was breathing shakily too. He let his hand ghost up her arm, over her shoulder to cup her jaw, his fingers barely touching her neck, his thumb ghosting over her cheek. He was staring at her lips now, slightly parted, as he brought his other hand to her waist, gentle as though she were a wild animal he didn't want to startle.

Benny dipped his head, bringing their faces close, his lips hovering over hers, an unspoken question. He could feel her body arcing towards him, her chin lifted, their silhouettes forming parallel curves mere centimetres apart. For all their height difference, he felt like he was prostrating himself before her, offering himself up and begging her to accept.

For a long moment they stood like that, breathing into each others' mouths. It was somehow more intimate than any sexual encounter Benny could remember. He was utterly at Beth's mercy. Their lips grazed, just barely, so he couldn't even tell which of them had moved. He had expected this moment to go one of two ways: either she would kiss him and they would quickly tear each others' clothes off, or she would flat out reject him and walk away to her air mattress. He hadn't expected this subtle transition, from apart to close to closer. It was somehow both less and more ambiguous at once - she hadn't made an obvious move at all. Now their mouths were dancing over each other, skimming but never connecting. Benny felt completely intoxicated, as though inhaling her breath like this was getting him high.

When Beth's right hand came to rest, ever so softly, against his ribs, Benny felt like he'd been electrocuted. He felt the jolt go straight to his already straining jeans and a quiet gasp escape his lips. Her breath hitched in response and she allowed her touch a little more pressure, sliding her thumb over his flaming skin through his t-shirt. Benny tilted her head and let his lips graze down her jaw to her neck, feeling her arch into his touch.

From the most fast-paced, frenetic game of chess of his life to the slowest, most delicate moment of intimacy. The contrast felt insane and perfect and maddening and Benny thought his heart might beat out of his chest. The adrenaline of earlier had somehow morphed into this exquisite, excruciating moment, and Benny couldn't tell if he was more thrilled or terrified. He just knew that Beth was touching him and he was ghosting his mouth over her neck and she wasn't pushing him away.

Benny took a deep breath, savouring the scent of Beth's perfume, delicate and familiar but with a sultry depth to it he'd never noticed from further afield. He exhaled slowly, feeling her shiver as he brushed his mouth back to hers, cupping her face with both hands now. He wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her and crash their bodies together, to devour her mouth and neck and the soft swell of her breasts, to pick her up and throw her onto his bed and completely lose himself in her. But this was Beth Harmon. It was her move and he'd spend an eternity in this moment if she chose it.

Beth Harmon. Beth fucking Harmon.

Who on earth gave him the right to get this close to something so powerful, so beautiful, so beyond his comprehension? All the times she'd brushed past him in the kitchen, all the times their fingers would touch while resetting the chessboard and he'd force himself to keep his eyes down and his face impassive, all the times he'd let her change in his room, willing himself not to picture her undressing so close to his bed. All the dreams of her he'd awaken from, flushed and furious at himself and utterly electrified.

"Benny."

He shivered as she spoke his name against his mouth.

Benny didn't think he could speak so he drew back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were still closed, and she was gasping just a little. It was the most gorgeous sight. Then her eyes fluttered open, fixed on his mouth. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth slowly, and finally dragged her gaze to meet his. Her pupils were utterly blown, as Benny was sure his were as well, and her cheeks were flushed. She reached up and stroked a stray curl out of his eyes.

"I still like your hair."

I have watched that scene an obscene number of times. I don't wanna talk about it, ok? Smut coming soon.