"It's a step up from stuffed teddy bears with roses between their fucking teeth," Chris says.
Joey peers over Chris' shoulder. "Maybe? Those usually come with girls."
"Yours, maybe," Chris says. "Justin's come with razor blades. They wanted him to shave his head again."
Joey looks a little scared. "That's not. That's not why?"
"Man, they don't let him see that shit."
"Good," Joey says, looking down again. "But still. And, dude, teddy bears don't usually have teeth."
*
Chris already knows how to play, though he won't tell them where he learned or who taught him or why. Nobody really cares about the why except JC, who says it will help him understand the rules. The fact that Chris won't say is JC's excuse for wandering off every few minutes.
Justin sits at Chris' elbow and takes JC's seat in a flash. He squints and stares at the board like the patchwork of squares are marks on a stage.
"It's all about signature moves, right?" Chris says, and Justin nods eagerly. "So, the knight. It's like. Think Iverson, for one. It's all about the crossover, fake left, fake right. Always one and three, one over, three up, three over, one up, whichever. It's a big fakeout."
Justin lifts the queen and raises an eyebrow.
"As far as you want, any direction. Catching a long pass."
Justin flips the piece and catches it. He dances the queen back and forth from black to white in a zig zag and sings "but the kiiiiiiid is not my son."
Chris is not amused.
*
Joey says, "You all are fucking freaks, man. Anyone wanna watch Gladiator again?"
*
Lance downloads a chess tutor program. Then he downloads a harder program. Then he calls Bobby Fisher's agent and makes her send over the program Bobby uses. That one kicks his ass.
Chris quickly tires of the others humoring him. He sets up the board in front of Lance while Lance is on the phone. When Lance is done, Chris lets him pick if he wants to be black or white. Chris doesn't offer to teach him how.
JC comes to watch, draping an arm around Lance's shoulders. When Chris swipes three pawns from Lance in a row, JC tugs at Lance's sleeve. "Are you losing?" he asks.
"It 'sposed to work like that," Chris answers for Lance. "First I take all the little pawns, and then I take all the big pieces, and then Lance has to take Justin to a strip club in every state so I can get a decent fucking night's sleep for a change."
Lance scrunches up his nose. "I never said..." He sighs and takes his turn. Chris takes another pawn.
"Oh, the poor little foot soldiers," JC says. "They always have to die first?"
Lance pats JC's hand. "That's why they're called pawns, C."
JC says it's making him sick to his stomach to watch and Lance later says that's why he decided to lose the first game. That, and strategy. "It's better to know how he plays, let him get cocky," he whispers to Joey in the kitchen on the way back from a piss break.
"Whatever," Joey says. "Me and J are going out to get laid. We're using JC as bait!"
Lance says, "Oh, fuck me. It was the rook. I let him take the rook. That was what did it."
*
Game five and Lance has lost every one.
"Hope you like tits as much as you say, sweetcheeks," Chris crows. "Cause it's gonna be you, Justin and Kianna at the Lumber Yard from here all the way to Orlando. You're gonna be halfway to Pluto and he'll be e-mailing you Hustler centerfolds. You're gonna --"
"I think you made your point," Lance says. "Shut up and let me think."
"Difficulty concentrating?" Chris says, and Lance bites his lip. Chris balances the rook on his knee. "I mean, come on. You've made a valiant effort, young Mr. Bass. You're no Big Blue but I don't think anyone here would say you've embarrassed yourself."
"Shut up."
Chris sighs, makes machine gun noises with his lips and kicks Lance's foot under the table. "Hey, I gotta --"
"I'm gonna kick your ass, Kirkpatrick, I swear to god."
Chris counts to ten under his breath. "Make you a deal," he says, quickly, and Lance shoots him the look of death. "Double or nothing."
Lance doesn't shift a muscle in his face. "What's double?" he asks finally.
"I'll play babysitter, and you. You can drag me to whatever redundant fucking drum-and-bass club of the month has all the pretty boys. I'll even buy you a drink."
Lance says, "Hmm. You'll do both those things anyway."
"Not if --"
"You could let me fuck you, though."
The chess piece falls from its perch on Chris' knee. "Why Mr. Bass --"
"Quit callin' me that. And it's double or nothing, so either that or you come up with something better."
Chris traces the sash on a bishop from shoulder to base. "Fine. But if I win, which, you know, I'd say the law of averages is pretty much on my side here, so. If I win. You're Justin's playboy buddy and I want, I don't know. Blowjobs every day."
Lance picks up his queen, sets it back down again. "More than one?"
"I think one would be sufficient. I'm not a young man, Mr. --"
"Okay," Lance says. He slides the queen at a forty-five degree angle. "Your turn."
Three turns down Lance says, "Check."
"Fuck."
"Not yet."
Two more. "Check."
"Fuck."
"Promises, promises."
Six more. "Checkmate."
Chris pulls his shirt over his shoulders. "It was the fucking rook," he says.
Lance stands up. "Get your ass over here."
Chris takes two steps forward and rests his hands on Lance's waist. "Your move," he says.
END.
Credits: This is maybe some petty larceny. So sue me. Kel and Jamie sparred. I stole some moves from JaeW's Coldhearted.