The barracks room was empty at that time of night. Just the two of you.

Aaron assembled the board with the same precision with which he carries a weapon.

“You know you’re going to lose, right?” You said, crossing your arms.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Trust is the last garment of arrogance. Literally, in this case.”

“Literally?” You laughed.

“New rule. With each piece captured... a layer of clothing.”

“You’re making this up now!”

“And are you afraid to play?” He provoked, already with that damn half smile.

The match has begun. You caught his pawn.

“Shirt, Warner. Strip.”

He obeyed without looking away from his eyes, each button opening slowly. The defined abdomen, the light skin, the tense muscles.

“Are you happy with that?” He asked, hoarse voice.

More moves. More pieces captured.

Your blouse, his gloves, your shoes, his belt.

The air got heavy.

Between one laugh and another, the looks lasted longer than they should.

Until he moved the last piece. Checkmate.

“Looks like you lost.”

You bit your lip.

“And what’s the penalty?”

He approached the side of the table, his fingers dragging lightly through the wood.

“You owe me... a kiss. But not just any one. One of surrender.”

You got up slowly.

“And if I say I’m still armed?”

He smiled.

“Then shoot.”

You pulled him by the collar and... bang.