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l'activité physique

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If there’s one thing that Benny knows for sure, it’s that she has a thing for his hair. 

The fact of the matter is, Benny Watts is a vain person. He knows his hair is an attractive feature; takes pride in styling it just so every morning; is pleased when sections fall into his face and he can curve his fingers through the stray locks, tucking them back into place. He likes the way that people admire his hairstyle; the fact that it makes him just as distinct as the hat he wears or the knife on his hip or the titles he holds. 

But, almost pathetically, the thing he likes the most is the way she likes his hair. The way she runs her fingers through his blonde fringe when she bends over him, kisses him fiercely; the way she tugs on his roots with both hands; the way she establishes without a single word that it’s her time, her turn to take what she wants by yanking his head back, looking down at him with such open want that his stomach drops. 

Beth stands above him in her pretty black dress, pretty red hair dipping out at the ends: this is the woman who holds Benny in the palm of her tiny hand; the woman who has captured hearts and minds tonight and always with her skill and talent and finesse and the arch of her smile and Benny is helpless, so full of love that it spills out of his pores, spills vibrating particles in the very air they breathe. This is his queen, his prize, his Beth - he will always give himself to her. Every time, every way she asks. 

Beth shifts her weight from her left to right sides - she’s not nervous, she’s excited, he knows - one hand still combing through his hair with reverence and mastery, the other pushing lightly onto his chest, pushing him onto the bed until his back hits the comforter and she stands between his spread legs, smiles light and dark together. Just for him. 

His heart aches. 

She reaches up under the hem of her dress, wiggling out of the lovely silk-and-lace garment she wears underneath, has apparently been wearing all of tonight at the exhibition, tossing it aside carelessly as she crawls on top of his naked body. Beth walks her knees up the bed until Benny’s face is enveloped in the dark tent of her dress, and his role in this moment becomes abundantly clear. He presses his mouth up into the wetness he finds between her legs, exhilarated by her sharp intake of breath. 

It’s hard to explain exactly why he enjoys this so much. A lot of Benny’s peers feel that it’s degrading to put their mouths on their girlfriends and wives and casual hookups.

 Benny disagrees. What could possibly be sexier than pleasuring Beth Harmon like this? 

She squirms on top of him - restlessly rocking her sex onto his tongue, her fingers finding their way into his hair to twist and pull lightly, the way she knows he likes. Yeah, Benny likes this: he likes the way she moans above him, desperately erotic, and tells him how good he is, how good he makes her feel. 

“So good to me, Benny,” she says, and he can feel his face heating against her thighs, thrilled with the praise. “So good, aren’t you?”

It’s so rare for Beth to openly compliment anyone, anything; her endorsement means everything to him and she knows it. She absolutely knows what it means to him when she speaks this way, so she turns the intensity up to a ten just to see what will happen. “Can you make me come, do you think?” 

Benny feels his heart in his mouth. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her - 

Beth shrieks, muted, driven to the edge by his tongue, his mouth, his fingers pressing bruises into the flesh on her ass, and it’s only when she slumps back onto his legs that his mouth breaks contact with her pussy and Benny considers his task complete. She breathes heavily, winded by the force of her orgasm, but Benny wastes no time scrambling to his knees, leaning over to dot kisses into the exposed skin of her collarbones, holding her with tender, loose hands, the way he knows she likes. “Beth,” he says, wanting her attention, wanting more, more, more - 

She presses the tip of her tongue onto her cupid’s bow, looking him dead in the eye as she nods slowly; she spreads her legs and pulls up her dress to reveal her cunt, shining and wet with arousal and spit and she’s so beautiful, she’s a solar eclipse: he can’t look away but his eyes are burning. She nods again, her fist circling Benny’s erection tightly to pull him, pelvis-first, closer, and when the head of his cock grazes her wet sex he hisses, so tightly wound, wound around her little finger. 

“Look at you,” she coos, “so desperate, aren’t you, Benny?” Her fingers stroke him and he groans, ready to be inside her, ready to take back control and give it to her good but he knows that tonight, he yields to her. His queen, his Beth, his champion; this is for her and about her and not about him, not today. 

He nods, desperate. “Yes, Beth, please.”

“Do you want to be inside me, Benny?” Her grip tightens and he has trouble breathing. 

“Yes, yes -” 

“Fuck me.”

It’s the crack of a whip; the downturn from sickly sweet to bitterly rich and he does exactly what she asks, slides into her all at once and god, it’s heaven. Benny wastes no time, fucks her like she asked, and all the while she continues to murmur sweet nothings and filthy obscenities in equal measure where she holds his mouth between her lips. 

“Beth, fuck,” is all he can manage, and it’s beautiful, beautiful, the way she smiles at him, so obviously happy with the fact that he’ll give her whatever she wants. There’s a fire deep in the pit of his belly that’s ever-present when she’s around, and he can feel it crackling and smoldering now, burning hotter and hotter with every moment. 

She’s just that special. That Beth. That… Benny’s. 

“I wish, ah, you were fucking me always,” she says, her eyes glassy. “I wish you were always here, inside me.”

Christ, Beth,” he says through gritted teeth, watching her smile lazily from underneath him, from where the force of his thrusts sends her a few centimeters up the bed every time. 

“Should I stay here?” she asks, dreamily, blissfully. “Stay in your bed? Your little doll for you to fuck whenever you want?”

The image is obscene and she’s so wet and hot and tight and Benny can’t stand it; he can’t hold in the space of her body how much he wants her and needs her and loves her. She wiggles, pleased with herself, and the movement does funny things to Benny’s already-oversensitive cock. He buries his face in her shoulder, not ready to finish and be done with this moment, not ready to stop fucking the most talented chess player currently alive. 

“Would you like that, Benny?” She is relentless. 

“Shut up,” he groans, his pace increasing. “You’re gonna make me come too soon.”

Of course, it’s already a foregone conclusion when and where and how Benny is coming and it’s all at her mercy, they both know that. 

Beth, predictably, does not let him off the hook; is so far under his skin that it almost isn’t fair. She swivels her hair so that she’s pouted her cherry lips directly into his ear, and into it she whispers: “Do you want me to be your little cum doll, Benny?”

Ironically, it’s the very phrase that has Beth becoming just that, when Benny comes harder inside her than he swears he has in his entire life. He breathes in her smell; breathes out relief and satisfaction and contentment, so happy here with this woman in his arms that he has trouble believing that it’s his life, his cock she’s wrapped around.

She makes a demurring sound, all false disappointment, and is no doubt going to keep up the charade of condescension when Benny kisses her, taking back the control by letting her know just who she belongs to: who caught her, and means to keep her.

It’s a really good kiss, honestly.

“I like your hair,” Beth murmurs, fingertips tracing the short hairs around the edges of his scalp.

“I love you,” he answers, and she smiles. Beautiful, serene, shining like the sun, this is his Beth; this is the Beth that he shares with no one but the sheets.

“Love you,” she says softly, right into his open, waiting mouth.