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“I didn’t know you played chess,” Five says when they get back to the boiler room. It’s late, they've just had a family reunion supper at the Academy, and though it’s a cool September night, Five feels rather warm.
“I didn’t know you cared,” Diego responds. He sits on a stool and takes off his boots.
“Luther says you’re a decent player,” Five says, not bothering to take off his shoes.
“You never usually listen to Luther. Or anyone for that matter,” Diego answers. “Why start tonight?”
“Do you even own a chess set?” Five asks, warping to the kitchenette and grabbing their shared mug. He pours himself some water, expecting Diego’s answer to be some variation of no.
“You say that like you have a complete inventory of my possessions.”
Not a no, then.
“I do,” Five says. He’s gone through everything there is to go through. Everything. “Su casa mi casa.”
Diego takes off his vest and drapes it over the railing before coming down the steps to join Five. He grabs Five by the nape and kisses his temple. It’s an odd gesture, like there’s something Five isn’t seeing.
“What.” Five bristles.
And, without preamble, Diego whips the tablecloth off of his poor excuse for a dining table. Five’s mason jar and leftover toast barely stick the landing, but what Five had assumed was a rickety old table turns out to be an antique gaming table with a chessboard inset into its surface.
Five tries not to be impressed. He takes a step forward and examines the table gingerly. There are drawers slotted to both sides of the table. Five assumes they contain the chess pieces.
“I’ve never seen you play,” he remarks.
Diego shrugs and starts shedding his turtleneck. “Is that a question?”
Five rolls his eyes. “Why are you playing conversation dodgeball? No, it’s not a question, yes, it’s a prompt.”
Diego smiles. He flings his turtleneck away and picks up the toast at the table, which has gone a little moldy from sitting out for the last week or two. “You need to clean your shit up, Five,” he says, dismissing him completely.
“I want a game,” Five says, setting his hand on the board, unswayed by the change of topic or Diego’s mother hen act or the fact that Diego is now topless.
Diego eyes Five steadily for a moment before glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s late,” he says.
It’s only eleven. “What am I, thirteen again?” Five counters.
Diego eyes him for a brief moment. “We’ll play tomorrow,” he promises, catching Five by the forearm and pulling him into a lazy and indulgent kiss, his hands smoothing down Five’s back. “I have other plans for tonight.”
For a moment, Five begrudgingly lets Diego work his kisses down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt, walking Five backwards to the bed area of the boiler room. But an idea hits him as his head hits the pillow. He pushes Diego off gently, a hand on his chest. “Hm, how about - no sex tonight?”
Diego deadpans for a second before scowling. “What?”
Five smiles and then turns onto his side, pulling a sheet up from the floor. “In fact, no sex until we play chess.”
“But—”
“Eat shit, Diego,” Five says. “Two can play at this game. Good fucking night.”
Five is good at chess. It’s a given. If he's able to calculate time travel mechanics, then chess, in comparison, is child’s play.
Except the last time he’d ever played another human, he was 13. And the last real person he’d ever played was Luther, whose rating back then was ballpark 1200, which is the equivalent of ‘laudable for a beginner’ and sad for anything beyond that level. And even back then, playing Luther was like playing a wall.
As a result, it means that Five doesn’t really know his own rating, and finds it difficult to estimate it. In the apocalypse, he’d read a lot, played against himself, the way Bobby Fischer and many other grandmasters did, solved tactical puzzles from books he scavenged from the rubble to pass time.
Forty-five years of time.
Five wakes to the smell of eggs sizzling in a pan. It makes him feel buoyant, and when he sits up and finds Diego cooking breakfast in an apron across the room, he can’t help feeling a little guilty about withholding sex the previous night.
Five slides out of the covers and immediately blinks to the sink where he starts washing up.
Diego turns around at the sound of water running. “Morning, babe,” he says, casual.
Five runs his fingers through his hair, warps behind Diego, and then tiptoes a bit to rest his chin on Diego’s shoulder, looking at the omelette. It smells good. Diego has told him before that it’s just the butter, but still.
He knows it'll taste as good as it smells.
“You’ve only had the apocalypse to compare with,” Diego says, reading Five’s mind perfectly. “Mom does them infinitely better."
“Stop selling yourself short,” Five says.
“I’m not—”
“You are, and I hate it,” Five asserts.
Diego nudges Five off his back and then turns off the burner. “Fine. Get a plate and serve yourself. I’m gonna have to leave, early assignment today.” He takes off his apron and hangs it up, picking up his vest on the way to the door.
Five glances at the clock and frowns. It’s barely seven. There's usually enough time for at least one blowjob. He blinks between Diego and the door. “Hey,” he says, a hand on Diego’s chest. “How about—”
“No sex ‘til we play chess, remember,” Diego cuts him short. He leans forward and pecks Five on the cheek. “Will be back a bit later than usual. Be good, pet, and remember to clean your shit up.”
“You’re leaving early and coming back late?” Five repeats.
“You’ve got the gist of it, well done,” Diego sing-songs.
“Fuck you,” Five hisses as the door closes behind Diego.
Five doesn’t care about winning at chess. No one's life is at risk, and there's no apocalypse waiting to happen if he loses, so.
It’s the prospect of playing chess with someone he knows and cares about that interests him. He is particularly curious about Diego’s play style and has been mulling over it the entire morning, and most of the afternoon. Is Diego a positional player? Adaptive and versatile? Or is he an attacker? Is he a Kasparov or a Leonid Yudasin? Does he calculate his attack sequence, see the game a dozen moves into the future the way Five does?
Five rolls onto his side. He’s lounging on the couch, the afternoon sun waning overhead. The chessboard table sits quietly at the periphery of his vision, and he’s intent on ignoring it.
But he feels restless. He's drunk too many cups of coffee already, and he’s unable to focus enough to read something to take his mind off of chess, or Diego, or sex.
The hands of the clock can’t possibly go any slower.
Five ponders teleporting to the Academy and maybe asking Luther about Diego, but he knows Luther would pick up on his restlessness and interpret it as being afraid to lose to Diego, which is miles from reality. Fact is, Five is only on tenterhooks because he denied sex, then got denied sex, and now he cannot disassociate sex from chess, and is losing patience over this whole ordeal.
Shit, Five thinks.
What a big fat miscalculation.
Diego gets home a hundred and eighty-three minutes later than usual. It could have been worse, but Five’s pissed. The Chinese takeout he picked up for them two hours ago has already gone stone cold.
“How was work,” Five asks, suppressing the urge to teleport Diego into the seat across the chessboard and kiss the daylights out of him.
Diego flares his nostrils and then drapes his jacket over the railing. “It was bad. Don’t ask.”
There’s a hint of impatience in his voice that Five picks up right away. He perks up, and sure enough, Diego seems to be emanating the same kind of nervous energy as Five.
But just to make sure.
“Stale coffee,” Five starts, “uncooperative detainee, cretinous juvenile delinquent. Escaped mega prison felon, our dear old Klaus, what kind of bad?” Maybe his voice betrays him too, if not the heavy-handedness, because instead of snapping back, Diego just stares at Five like he could eat him alive.
“We need to play chess, bad,” Diego grits through his teeth.
Five smirks, feeling victorious. He leans back into his seat, picks out two chess pieces and balls them in his fists. “Good call. Black or white, ‘pet’?”
Diego plays e4 and then starts tapping the side of the table. “How long since you last played?”
Five deadpans. “Now you’re interested?”
He plays c6. Caro-Kann. Diego follows up almost immediately with d4, and Five with d5.
Diego studies the board, his gaze low, a small frown across his forehead. He’s biting down on his lower lip. Five swallows dryly. He’s never seen Diego this focused before.
That’s untrue, he has, but Diego tiptoeing around on missions was always more comical than titillating.
This Diego is another story.
Diego gets his queenside knight out on the field to cover his pawn. Five takes the pawn, and Diego promptly takes Five’s. Five plays knight f6 to attack Diego’s pawn. Diego plays bishop d3 to defend his otherwise hanging knight, which leaves Diego’s centre pawn hanging, allowing Five to pin his bishop and offer a gambit.
Not that it's a safe move. Five scowls and tries to recalculate, but Diego leans forward and starts calculating too. And it’s so hot seeing him do so that Five blanks completely.
“Have you ever played against The Handler?” Diego asks. He pushes his knight forward.
“No,” Five answers, taking Diego’s knight with his g pawn rather than the e pawn so as to open his rook file, expecting to jump into Rozman French defence.
“So, the last time you played someone was Luther?” Diego asks. He advances his queen.
For a moment, Five frowns. He’s not entirely sure what Diego’s move means. “If you think the last time I played chess was more than 50 years ago, you’re wrong. But I am curious. Do you play Luther often? He teach you?”
“I don’t play Luther at all,” Diego says. “And no, he didn’t.”
Five only remembers Reginald teaching him and Luther how to play chess. “Who taught you?”
“Does it matter?” Diego answers. He licks his lips. “Ever played speed chess?”
Five’s finger hovers above his bishop. He studies Diego. “Never. But speed's not an issue for me—”
“Perfect,” says Diego. “Let’s speed this up, then. I need to get my hands on you. You’ve Pavlov’d the shit out of chess for me, and you need to pay for it.”
Five’s mouth goes dry.
“It’s your turn, Five,” Diego says, and when Five leans back to consider his options, Diego adds, completely unsolicited, “god, for once, stop thinking, Five. Use your gut. Bring out your big guns, give me all you’ve got. Fuck. Me. Up. Or you want me to fuck you up? Fuck you up real good, hm? How’s that sound?”
Five’s right eye twitches slightly.
He slams his bishop across the board to g4, pinning Diego’s knight to his queen, realizing belatedly that perhaps Diego had wanted to get his queen away from being trapped.
Diego doesn’t take a second to think. He moves his second bishop out and then taps the side of the board again. The ball is already back in Five's court.
The tapping is irritating. If this is Diego trying to ruffle Five, it’s working. Not that Five isn’t already psyched out by Diego’s clear competency in chess, because he is. Diego’s proving to be a rather difficult opponent. It’s not just the opening that makes Five think so, it’s how fast Diego seems to be responding as well, like it doesn’t take him any time to calculate at all.
And it’s fucking exhilarating. It's almost everything Five's ever wanted.
In fact, Five is almost fully aroused. His face is hot, his pants are tight, he can barely breathe. It’s taking all his willpower not to look up at Diego because he fears it’ll show, fears it’ll only exponentiate. He could forget the game, jump Diego immediately, but he doesn’t want to be the one to give in.
“Don’t play the board, Five,” Diego says, voice dark and hoarse. “Play the man.”
Five doesn’t fucking look up. He’s at the edge of his seat. He tells himself Diego’s fucking insane and tries to keep calm, breathing through his nose. He reads and rereads the board, takes his time, shuts Diego the fuck out.
So far, it looks like Diego could castle queenside. In fact, his king is completely open to castle either way. The rank is neatly cleared and well guarded by his wall of pawns. If Diego’s really good at this, he’d avoid Five’s Rozman French development and go queenside for certain.
Five decides to check Diego’s king with his queen, preventing him from castling at all. He slams his piece into place and then looks up at Diego, glaring as assertively as he can.
“Better,” Diego comments, condescending, like he’s Five’s instructor, or something, and it’s infuriating. Diego then pulls back his dark-square bishop, and it throws Five for a loop. He hadn’t considered that move at all, and it forces him to recalculate.
“Come on, Five. Play me. Give it to me, I want it,” Diego goads.
“Will you shut the fuck up,” Five says, frowning so hard it practically hurts.
Diego scoffs. “Then play harder,” he replies, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded in a stupid seductive way that Five is definitely not weak for.
Five pulls his queen back.
“Pussy,” Diego says.
“Your chess talk is just as uninspiring as your dirty talk,” Five says.
“You love it.” Diego kicks his bishop out and threatens a pawn.
Five smiles. “Weak move.” Though it’s not necessarily a mistake.
Five’s still got an advantage. He moves a pawn, trying to expand into the centre of the board, which has been left empty for too long.
“Come on, let's finish this, get down to real business,” Diego replies. He moves his queen forward, taking a piece and attacking a pawn on the far right that’s left unguarded.
Jesus Christ. It’s another move Five hadn't foreseen.
He doesn’t say anything, refuses to respond to Diego's taunts, only moves his king to cover the pawn.
Diego attacks Five’s bishop. “You're cute when you hold back.”
Five looks up and sends death glares as he attacks Diego’s bishop in retaliation. If Diego moves the bishop, Five can fork the other bishop and his queen, and Diego would be down at least one bishop.
Five despises being called cute. It drives him up a wall when Diego calls him that, so usually Diego doesn’t. And if he does, it means Diego is trying to provoke him.
“Finally some heat,” Diego says.
Diego moves his pawn and threatens Five’s pawn structure right down the middle, as well as his knight. How the fuck does he figure good moves out while babbling nonsense?
Diego’s speed pushes Five to move faster. Five calculates six moves ahead, pushing his knight forward, taking Diego’s rook, exchanging pawns, pinning his queen and the other rook—
“That’s it, baby, you’ve got it,” Diego groans as he pushes a pawn forward, and fuck, Five didn’t see that one coming, again. He leans back, scans and rescans the board.
Diego’s move is fucking brilliant. He’s attacking the pawn protecting Five’s knight from being gobbled by his queen, which disables several pins and would destroy his defence, resulting in the loss of material on Five’s side. Good material. Fuck.
God damn it.
Five holds his head in his hands. He wants to fling himself at Diego, hiss into his ear how he finds it hot that Diego can sequence this kind of shit in his mind. He wants to bruise him up with kisses, tear his shirt open and claw his way down Diego’s chest, stomach, get his hands on— shit, who’s turn is it?
He can barely think straight anymore. He licks his lips and just takes Diego’s remaining knight. Diego follows up without comment, which is uncharacteristic, but whatever, Five imagines that Diego’s brain is suffering the same short-circuit he’s going through now. They exchange queens, Diego with the advantage, they flirt with their remaining rooks, then Diego attacks with his pawn. Five sets a trap for Diego’s bishop but Diego doesn’t fall for it. He then rips Five’s fortress apart, leaving Five’s pieces hanging, his king exposed. Predictably, Diego checks his King; Five moves it away, then they dance around each other all over again. Five keeps getting surprised by Diego’s fucking sharp pawn moves and then out of nowhere—
Diego blunders.
Five holds his breath.
He can see the end. He can see the mate, only about four or five moves away. He can use his King, pawn and rook. It’s a little tricky, but it’s there. He’s about to say something, but when he looks up and sees that Diego sees it too, it’s like his words can’t make it past his throat.
Because Diego’s smirking, leaning back into his chair, legs spread. Diego knows the game is over, but he doesn’t care that he’s lost.
And he’s inviting Five into his lap.
Neither of them have an ounce of patience left to get more than half-naked. Diego’s shirt is torn open. There’s a button or two somewhere on the floor. Five’s pants and briefs are out of the way, his shirt unbuttoned and halfway down his arms, cool air on his collarbone.
They’re kissing like the next apocalypse is due in ten minutes and the only way to stop it is to make out like wild animals. It’s messy and desperate, their breaths mingled, their eyes closed, their hair dishevelled. Five is straddling Diego’s lap, and Diego is holding him firmly by the waist, hands fitting like they belong.
It’s chaotic. Diego’s three-day stubble is scraping against Five’s chin, and their noses keep bumping, their teeth catching. Five can feel every point where their bodies connect, the long of their torso, the tips of his fingers gliding down Diego’s scalp to his neck, shoulder, biceps, to Diego’s hands moving up Five’s thighs, groping, kneading, taking what’s rightfully his.
Five breaks from the kiss and pulls away, catching his breath. He then quickly works on Diego’s belt and zipper, hands trembling while Diego reaches back and starts groping Five's ass.
"Skip the foreplay?" Five asks as he grabs Diego's cock out of the confines of his black pants. He's rock hard, leaking, and possibly even larger than usual.
Diego's eyes are at half mast. "Yeah. Need to be in you, now." He's rolling his hips up a little, pushing himself into Five’s hands.
Five kisses him, just a light touch of the lips, before he fishes a tube of lube out of Diego's pocket and gets on with stretching himself with two fingers, the sting barely registering at the back of his mind.
"You liked that I beat you," Five says, offhand, as he applies more lube. “Look at you, you’re so big for me.”
Diego starts to breathe harder. "Gonna fuck you up real good, sweetheart, it’s a promise," he growls.
Five is in so much of a hurry that the lube overspills, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even try to salvage it. He jerks Diego’s cock, slickens it up, coating it thick.
"Your bishops were a menace," Five says conversely.
"You should see me fianchetto sometime," Diego replies.
"You calculate fast."
"I’m sure your mind gets there faster, babe."
“Just take the compliment,” Five snaps, because for once in Diego's life, he should.
Diego's jaw goes tight. Five can see it, the way he's fighting the compliment. He's doing much better than before nowadays, but sometimes it takes time, and Five understands that. Five reaches out and brushes his fingers against Diego's cheek. Then, without warning, he gets up and starts lowering himself down to take Diego's cock. When the head eases past, they both groan. Five breaks their gaze and throws his head back and keeps going, slow, stretching, simmering the burn. He takes and takes and takes and holy fuck, Diego is huge.
Diego buries his face into Five's chest and breathes steadily. And then, he finally lets go, slamming the rest up into Five without mercy, making Five cuss through his teeth.
"Sorry," Diego says. He's gone still, watching Five weather the pain.
"You're not fucking sorry," Five says, scoffing venomously.
"Hard to be," Diego says. “You’re so fucking tight.” He pulls out and slams himself back in, full fucking throttle.
Five digs his fingertips into Diego's shoulder and bites his lower lip as pleasure shoots up his spine. Then Diego does it again, and before long Five's given up on keeping it in. He starts gasping and moaning in earnest when Diego settles into a rapid pace, fucking him open with every upward thrust, Five meeting him halfway down. He's not hitting Five's prostate bullseye though because of their position, and for a few thrusts Five has to adjust the angle just to get it close enough. He reaches back and braces himself against the table as Diego drills into him.
An idea then hits him. Five pushes himself forward and wraps his arms around Diego's neck. He lets a couple of thrusts pass before leaning down to Diego’s ear and whispering, "hey, um, want to fuck me on the table?"
Diego pins him down on top of the chessboard, and it knocks the breath out of Five, making him laugh. The chess pieces are scattered all over the floor, and the entropy of it really gets Five going. He likes messing with Diego when it comes to cleanliness and order; he knows Diego likes it too. They counterbalance in that respect because while Diego has been brought up under Grace’s impeccable eye, Five has been brought up by the chaos of post-apocalyptic wastelands. They complement each other so perfectly that the differences therein become their compatibility.
Diego rubs his cock over Five's, and, god, the difference in size there also drives Five insane. Diego's cock is heavy and large and so fucking hard.
"Hurry the fuck up," Five hisses, writhing up against him. “No teasing, or I will bite your head off.”
Diego obliges and quickly lines himself to Five’s ass. He then slides in smoothly, and at this angle, his cock hits Five's prostate spot-on, and Five shudders, gripping and clawing at Diego's shoulders. Diego doesn't give him any time to adjust. He just starts pulling out and slamming back in relentlessly, filling Five so fully that he feels fucking whole and complete and properly loved for once in his god forsaken life, and Diego just keeps hitting Five's prostate over and over, the table wobbling and squeaking beneath them, his thighs and calves and toes tense, hooked up and over Diego's shoulders.
Five squeezes his eyes shut. He's already at the precipice of coming, but he wants more, so he holds on for as long as he can, chasing the pleasure only halfway. It's only a little after that he realizes he's shed a tear trying to do so.
Five feels Diego lean down and kiss him gently, nose him along the jaw, his soft breath on his neck, and it's such a contrast from the rough fucking he’s been getting that Five sort of does a double-take.
"You can take it, sweetheart," Diego hushes against his skin. “Know you can.”
Five opens his eyes and looks at him. Diego's completely flushed. He seems to be holding his breath, which he does sometimes when he doesn't want to come too soon. Fucking cheater.
Five props himself up on his elbows and kisses Diego clumsily. "Yeah, I fucking can." He moans from a particularly slow slide of Diego's cock against his prostate. "So fuck me like you, ah, mean it," Five hisses.
Diego doesn't have to be told twice. He grabs Five's cock and jerks it once before circling the base with his calloused hand. "Gonna milk you twice, babe. You like the sound of that?"
Five whines, squeezes his legs together around Diego. Holy fuck, yes, he would like that. He would like that very fucking much, and he wants Diego to give it to him yesterday, let him come just from hitting his sweet spot, milk it out of him, undo him completely.
Diego starts fucking him in earnest, skin slapping, and it doesn't take much longer before Five finally goes over the edge. He comes all over his stomach, hears the spurts hit skin and clothes in four or five streams. He's groaning, cussing, squeezing his eyes tight as the sensation washes up his body over and over, barely ebbing. His legs have gone weak and he's shaking with every convulsion.
Diego pauses his thrusts as Five goes through it, thankfully, and Five knows it's not easy to hold back at this stage, so he clings and rubs at the base of Diego’s neck, murmuring praises, sweet nothings. It’s uncharacteristic of him, he blames it on the orgasm, but Diego doesn’t comment on it, ravishes them all without question.
Five's breath has only just started to even out when Diego asks him, "ready, babe?"
Five scoffs, he’s barely there, but he wants to wipe the fucking grin off of Diego's face, so he nods.
Diego grabs both sides of the table firmly and then starts rolling his hips again. The first push is slow, tentative, but once he’s fully buried, Diego pulls out and slams back in with so much force Five cries out and almost loses his hold on Diego’s shoulders.
This round, Diego is much rougher, faster, and his thrusts more erratic. The pleasure rushes through Five like electricity, and he lets go, releases the tension in his shoulders, lets his voice out, leaves it all to Diego.
Five can tell that Diego is going to come soon. The franticness and the wildness in his eyes are clouding over with raw desire. Five is almost losing it himself, but he can see Diego’s need as clear as daylight, and he wants to do something about it.
“D-Diego,” Five begs, pulling Diego down, letting his muscled bulk press him flush against the table. God, he doesn’t usually do this shit, but he’s not coming a second time without Diego coming at least once, so he's taking out the big guns. “You’re so good, D-Diego. So fucking— ah, big. Want you. Want you to…i-inside, please,” Five swallows hard, has to concentrate as Diego slams into him again like there’s no fucking tomorrow. “Kn-Knock… me… up… Daddy, please,” Five manages, finally.
It does the trick. Diego pulls back and looks at Five intensely for a split second, his scarred eyebrow lifted, before switching to an adoring look that makes Five feel warm in his chest, and he kisses Five, steals his breath, ravages his mouth, moans his name over and over against his lips, and then finally, finally, Diego comes.
Five squeezes through the sensation. His insides fill up. Diego is groaning against his neck like a feral animal as he shoots his load, and fuck, it's like it's fucking endless, and Five just takes and takes.
He follows soon enough, feeling it deep within his gut. Every muscle from neck to toe tenses, and then he's gasping for breath, lets go. When he comes to, he realizes that though he's come less than the first time, he still manages to make a mess.
He looks up at Diego unapologetically but finds Diego staring back, affectionate.
Five doesn’t have the energy to warp them to the bed, so Diego carries him over, flinging him over his shoulder, much to Five’s dismay. He drops him onto the quilt and then proceeds to undress himself.
“Can’t believe you said all that shit,” Diego says when he climbs in and spoons Five.
Five shrugs. “It worked.”
“You never say that kind of shit.”
“It. Worked.”
“Sex isn’t chess.”
“Parts of it are, and you loved it.”
Diego laughs. “Fine, you win.” He presses his lips against Five’s nape, whole body languid.
They stay quiet for a moment, their breathings slowing.
“Grace taught you,” Five murmurs. “Didn’t she?”
Diego doesn’t respond right away. He pulls Five tighter against him. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I forced you to play me,” Five says.
“I had fun.”
“Understatement, but still I’m sorry.”
“I’m not too happy about all the come you laminated into my table, you can apologize for that,” Diego says.
Five scoffs. “You’re proud of it.”
“That Alabaster chess table cost me three grand! It’s Italian.”
Five turns his head a little, smiling. “Let’s fuck on the table again.”
Diego sighs. “We dine on that table—”
“My bad. Sorry for christening your dining table. It will happen again.”
Diego laughs. Five feels Diego turn to lie on his back. Five props himself up on his shoulders and wriggles so he can slot into Diego’s side.
“You’re the strongest chess player I’ve ever played,” Five says.
“I’m the only—”
“Take the compliment.”
Diego leans his head against Five’s.
“Was Grace a speed chess player?” Five asks.
“Her rating’s 2500,” Diego says. “She’s a beast at blitz. We used to go to Washington Square and hustle together. It’s how I made enough cash to afford that table. It’s how she afforded her wall of art too. You know when she tells me to visualize it in my mind when I stutter? Turns out I’m good at visualizing chess too.”
Five looks up, frowning. Of course Reginald would program Grace to be a chess genius. And if Diego and her were used to hustling in the park, that would account for Diego’s play style as well, and all the nonsense he was spouting to distract Five. But given those elements, it also means that Five should not have won against Diego.
“Wait, if she— and you’re— how long exactly have you been hustling? Have you ever played in a tournament?” Five starts connecting dots in his head. He sits up and starts glaring at Diego. Hard.
Diego doesn’t seem ruffled. “Stopped hustling since our apocalypse shit, but probably did fifteen, twenty years? I don’t know, can’t remember when exactly I started. I played in the US Open when I was seventeen. Came in third, though there were two co-champions that year, so I guess that makes me fourth. Didn’t tell Dad. Or Luther, or anyone, for that matter. Mom was— Mom was enough for me. And you weren’t—”
Five places his hand over Diego’s. “I would have been there. You know I would have.”
“I know, babe.”
“What’s Luther’s rating?”
“1700 on a good day.”
“And your rating—”
“A little below Mom’s.”
“What do you think of my performance?”
“You’re no pushover.”
“Why do you insist on acting like an imbecile anyway?”
Diego scoffs, incredulous. “Is that a compliment?”
“Diego,” Five says, as evenly as he can. “Did you throw the game?”
Diego hadn’t made a single mistake before his endgame blunder. Given his background with Grace, the tournament, years of hustling, and a nebulous rating that could range from 2400 to 2500, it shouldn’t be possible for Five to beat him that easily.
“Any longer and I’d have ruined my good pants,” Diego says.
Five laughs. He looks at the ceiling and then back down at Diego. “I want a rematch.”
Diego pulls Five down onto him. “Not today, pet, I still need to recover.”
“Just a chess rematch,” Five clarifies.
“As if you would take mind-blowing sex off the table.”
“You’re absolutely correct, but I can afford it.”
“I swear to god—”
Five kisses Diego on the lips. “Alright, fine, how about tomorrow? Hm?”
Diego smiles against his mouth, pulls him down to deepen the kiss.
“Yeah, tomorrow sounds good,” he says.