Author: BipolarMolar
Summary: Somehow, a chess game between Brendan and Walker becomes a mixture of truth or dare and spin the bottle. Sexy times ensue! This was set during the time when Brendan allowed Walker to stay the night.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the franchise Hollyoaks. Therefore I don't make any money from this.
Reviews make me happy and aid the writing process. No flames! This hasn't been beta'd, all mistakes are my own.
Brendan paused outside Walker's room. He'd barely been there an hour and yet this was what it was: Walker's Room. Brendan scowled, wondering when he'd become so… accustomed to the man. He stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. The door was wide open anyway, and he doubted Walker would mind.
He discovered Walker sat at the table, playing chess seemingly by himself. A bottle of cheap wine stood proudly next to a captured bishop. A glass, sticky with alcohol and smeared with his lip prints rested near the upper-left corner of the board.
"Who's winning?" Brendan murmured, glancing over Walker's shoulder to scan the chessboard. A slight tilt of Walker's head told him the man had heard him, although he didn't reply immediately. When he answered, he sounded like he was smiling. "Me."
Brendan felt a grin tug at his lips, as he slid into the seat opposite Walker. "First time you've ever won."
"Well then," Walker smirked, "You'd better put me in my place then, yeah?" His hands moved, sliding the pieces back into their original places. "Let's play."
Brendan hesitated, and then sat down, opposite his opponent. "You mind sharing some of that alcohol or what?" He drawled, switching the board so that he was playing white. He always played white. He heard the clink on wood as Walker placed a glass at his side. Waiting for the accompanying slosh as Walker poured for him; he leant back in his chair and stretched lazily. "White goes first."
"Wait," Walker's command surprised him. Brendan brought his head up to meet the man's eyes, shining and slightly dazed. A quick look over the man told him that Walker had drunk more than he thought. There was a fine sheen of sweat coating his brow and although his hair hung heavily in his eyes, he made no effort to brush it away. Brendan's grip on his glass tightened. Walker looked wanton. He never thought he'd be using such a sentimental, archaic word to describe a criminal, a man for that matter, but there was no other adjective applicable. He took a sip, grimacing at the sickly sweet taste before shrugging and downing it in one go. Already, he felt warmer, more content.
"What is it? I thought you wanted to play…" He eagerly downed his next glass- it didn't taste as unpleasant this time- or perhaps now he was getting used to it. Walker's answering smile pleased him more than it should, he grinned back .He vaguely acknowledged that this wine, cheap and probably more parts perfume and carpet cleaner than grapes and good taste, was strong. He reached for the bottle.
"I do. But why don't we make it interesting?"
The air pulsed in reply, the conversation taking a sudden tailspin of a twist. Brendan blinked sleepily, his mouth dry. The room seemed warmer, the corners blurred, the room thick with the smell of wine and their aftershave, mingling in the air. "A wager?" He asked.
"No. A game." Walker's smirk seemed dangerous; he leant forward, surveying the untouched chessboard. Brendan moved closer, transfixed.
"What did you have in mind?" He said, and then waited for Walker's smile.
"Rules, Walker?"
"Rules,yeah. Let's make a game of it, for fun. So…every time one of your, um, pawns is captured, you have to remove an article of clothing."
Through the happy haze of alcohol, Brendan grinned. "And if one of your pawns is taken, you take off a piece of clothing."
"Yes. Ok, um… I suppose we'd better put a truth and dare in there. So…if a rook or knight is taken, you have to answer a truth…"
"And if a bishop or a queen is taken, the person has to do a dare." Brendan chimed in. The two men looked at each other and nodded.
Brendan paused, his glass halfway up to his lips." What if it's checkmate? Or stalemate?"
Walker shrugged, seriously considering it. "That would be too much, I think. We've got enough to be getting on with."
Brendan lazily regarded his opponent across the board. White goes first. He slid a pawn forward two squares (a pawn can take two squares on their first move) and waited expectantly. Walker put forward a pawn without any real thought. The game went on.
The first man to have a pawn captured was Walker. There was a hanging tension in the air as both men remembered what Walker had to do. Brendan leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. He wasn't particularly worried; he had never lost to Walker before. Besides, he was wearing more layers than the Englishman. Walker glanced down at his sad, captured pawn, before leaning down. He disappeared from view for a moment, and Brendan frowned, leaning down to look under the table. Walker emerged, holding a trainer.
"Right," he said, looking oddly pleased with himself. "You next."
He didn't admit (he didn't even allow himself to voice it in his mind) but for this game, this specific game, Brendan Brady focused more on capturing the pawns of his opponent than applying any strategy to win the game. He didn't brood on it because that would force him to acknowledge one thing: He was more eager to see Walker take his clothes off than win the game. And Brendan Brady always won.
There was a threat lingering in the air as each man played, anticipating the other's move. A third into the game Walker had lost both socks and shoes. Remembering each act, each moment of surrender made a heat, not unpleasant just powerful, flood across Brendan's skin.
The first pawn Walker lost cost him his shoe. This had irritated Brendan, he'd attacked the board with new vigour, wanting to see Walker remove more, humiliate himself. He'd discarded a shoe himself as Walker cost him a pawn, toeing it off hurriedly without another thought. His jacket and cross necklace held the advantage; it was unlikely he would have to strip before Simon Walker.
When Walker had removed his second shoe, a smirk had crept across his face, as he reached for his glass. Brendan had made sure to keep Walker's gaze as the other man tilted the glass to his lips. Watching his Adam's apple bob as he drank deeply, the sloppy drunkenness causing his beverage to stain his shirt, making it cling, damp and sticky to his skin. Brendan shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the heat pooling in his groin.
They seemed to be rushing the game. Or rather, playing a new one: Make Your Opponent Strip. And Brendan was winning. Although Simon Walker's moves had caused Brendan to lose both shoes and his crisp suit jacket, as the minutes crawled by, Walker had taken off both trainers and socks before him. Which meant, as Brendan plucked Walker's pawn off the board, replacing it with his knight, Walker hesitated, automatically glancing down at his baggy T-shirt, hanging on his lanky frame. They had played in silence mainly, but Brendan spoke up, exactly sure of what to say. "What are you waiting for, Simon? It's just clothes."
Walker looked at that moment like he would very much like to hit Brendan…but he complied. Awkwardly pulling his arms out of the sleeves, he lifted the hideous garment up. A pale sliver of his midriff was exposed and Brendan cleared his throat, shifting slightly. As the Englishman discarded his garment with a would-be-nonchalant toss, he threw Brendan a challenging look, daring him to speak.
Brendan said nothing, appreciatively eyeing the expanse of smooth, pale skin. Walker was slim but wiry, an athletic build. The narrow shoulders and delicate collarbones pushing against the skin was distinctly appealing, making him look younger, more approachable. Brendan let his eyes travel down to the man's chest, the pink of his nipples, the barely visible beginning of a six-pack. He frowned at the way his ribs protruded slightly; the man needed to eat more. Something deep in Brendan's chest, something (feral and fanged) hummed in approval at the light coating of dark hair on the man's smooth chest, that darkened in a trail down to his waistband. This man, this capable but contradictory man, stripping for him. Offering himself to him. It was a heady thought.
"Wait until I make you take your trousers off" he thought, inwardly smirking. He wondered what Walker was waiting for, then realised it was his turn. He randomly pushed a figure forward, realising his mistake as his partner crowed "You left your knight open for me! That's a truth…"
Brendan tensed, leaning across the board, his face inches from Walker's and his necklace brushing against a knight. "You're right, Simon, that's a truth," he said slowly, his voice steely. "but ask yourself this, do you really, really want to know the truth about me?" he leant back with a toothy grin, knowing that even if he'd just lost a piece, he wasn't losing. True to his prediction, Walker looked undoubtedly unnerved, dropping his gaze to the board and asking the question "Do you love anyone?" Brendan knew he'd scared him. Just for a second, Walker had seen a glimpse of the real Brendan Brady and he hadn't like what he'd seen.
Brendan thought of Cheryl. His mind instantly offered up a memory of Ste, his lips pressed against his Brendan's jaw clenched. Think of Cheryl.
"Yes." He snapped, discreetly scanning the board for the locations of Walker's three remaining pawns. I will see you strip. As he took a pawn, he smiled to himself. Walker would now surely have to remove his jeans- then Brendan would only have to get the penultimate pawn so that the man would be forced to remove his underwear. He tensed in anticipation, his mind's eye already envisioning the other man unbuttoning his jeans, slipping them down past those lean hips. If he outright refused or tried to stop playing, Brendan swore he'd punch him.
Brendan frowned, straightening up. He could have sworn he'd seen Simon blush. Walker coughed, his face flushed, and fumbled with the zip, yanking it down and slipping out of the trousers and taking his seat at the table quicker than Brendan would have thought possible. Brendan blinked. Walker hadn't been wearing any underwear.
"Go commando, do you, Son?" he sneered, in a mock-English accent. Walker's expression was murderous as he jabbed a Queen forward so angrily the monarch squeaked against the board. Brendan was still laughing as Walker snatched a white piece off the board, replacing it with the Queen. He stopped laughing. In Walker's pale hand was Brendan's Queen. What was a Queen for, in this game? He recalled a snippet of their conversation-
"Yes. Ok, um… I suppose we'd better put a truth and dare in there. So…if a rook or knight is taken, you have to answer a truth…"
"And if a bishop or a queen is taken, the person has to do a dare."
A Dare. Ah.
"I don't think it's fair you've got me taking my clothes off for you, while you're still covered," Walker said cordially, the deliberately sweet tone of his voice doing nothing to hide the glee in his eyes. "And I know you're going to win this before you strip, so…"he took a sip of his drink and Brendan scowled at the pause. "Your dare is to take it off. All off."
"Your clothes." Walker added as an afterthought, as if expecting Brendan to bend the rules in his favour. Which he would normally do, of course.
There was a split-second where Brendan judged the situation, before rising and beginning to unbutton his shirt from the bottom in swift, methodical movements. It was only when he caught Walker's gaze, steady and smouldering, fixed on where his chest hair began that Brendan's lip curled, and he began to move slower. Unfastening the grey shirt in a leisurely, unhurried way, he smiled as Walker fidgeted with his glass. Walker wanted him naked just as much as he had wanted him. He parted the sides of his shirt, just catching the quick intake of breath from his attentive audience as his chest was revealed. He glanced down at the tanned muscular flesh, inked with tattoos on the arms and left pectoral. He smiled, narrowing his eyes, letting the material fall uselessly to the floor. His belt followed next, pulling the leather through the loops, all the while feeling Walker's heavy gaze on him. He tugged at the zip, the sound almost humorously loud in the waiting silence. He felt as if his senses were heightened; everything was brighter, louder, and sharper. The creak of his zipper, the sight of Walker's wide-eyed gaze and panting lips, the swish as his slacks slid down his thighs, pooling around his ankles. He kicked the soft fabric from his ankles. He tugged at the waistband of his boxer shorts, pulling the black pants down and stepping out of them. The one misgiving he harboured was the fact that ever since Walker had stripped for him, he'd been fighting an erection. By now he was half-hard and uncomfortably aware of how Walker couldn't help but notice. Throughout this, the whole game, they'd been kidding themselves that the game, this challenge was a fight for power, a means of attaining leverage. But now here, fighting wood with an unclothed and aroused man opposite him, it was a little harder to lie. They both wanted this. They were at the point of no return. He sat back down.
Keep playing the game.
"My go next, I think." He said dryly, smirking at the incredulous look on Walker's pale face. He effortlessly swiped a piece off the board, moving his own to take the square. Walker, still dazed from the impromptu striptease, didn't notice at first, but when he saw Brendan's move, he swallowed.
"A bishop?" Walker quavered, for the first time looking uncertain. Brendan sat back down, the back of the chair cold against his bare back. He twirled the white rook, his favourite piece, in a circle on its square. He met Walker's anxious eyes and his gaze hardened.
"A bishop means a dare, remember, Walker? So I dare you to touch yourself." He purred.
Simon stared, his mouth moving soundlessly. He would never have agreed to this if he hadn't drunk as much wine as he had earlier- Brendan knew that. Brendan watched hungrily as Walker leaned back in his chair, planting a pale, bare foot on either side of the table. Walker sought out his gaze, his face half-aroused, half-confused. Brendan propped himself up on his elbows, resting his chin on his interlinked fingers. An expression of utter concentration. Walker stuffed a couple of fingers in his mouth, sucking on them furiously. Brendan swallowed, watching the digits get devoured by the pink lips, slipping in and out of his mouth. Walker sucked on his fingers, drawing them, wet with his saliva, from his gasping lips.
Brendan relaxed his position, drifting a hand down to his cock, curling his fingers around the throbbing member until he groaned from pure need. He let spit pool in his mouth, bringing his hand to his mouth and scooping up the saliva to apply to his waiting member. He ran his hand along his length, the slick dampness coating him completely, all the while watching Walker.
Simon licked his palm urgently, his tongue running along the flesh, slipping between the fingers and caressing the knuckles. Brendan gave his cock a vicious tug, eyes glued to the man dampening his hand. When both hands were wet, Walker spread his legs further, angling his knees up somewhere near his ears.
Walker gripped his cock in a shaking hand, tentatively running his hands along it, Brendan's burning gaze making him falter. He gingerly probed at his rear with his index finger, before slowly pushing it in. Walker gasped, attempting to adjust to the foreign feeling of something intruding him, inside him. He drew in a shaky breath, pausing in his actions. The struggle of reaching down to thrust his fingers between his legs was difficult; he was starting to feel an ache in his arm. He crooked his finger, just testing the tightness. Then withdrew it, only to add another digit- his index finger. He thought he'd feel embarrassed, just touching himself in front of another man, but truthfully, the sensation of the movement inside him was too distracting for him to worry about his dignity. It was easier to stretch the tight muscle with two fingers- he spread them in a scissor motion, wincing at the bur n as his he separated his fingers. When he deemed himself ready, he slipped a third finger in and began pushing at himself in earnest, bucking his hips to take his fingers up to the knuckles. It felt...nice but not enough to make him come, until his fingers brushed against his prostate gland, making him gasp and jerk where he lay. Now aware of what angle would give him the most pleasure, he ground his hips down, trying to match it with the insistent rhythm of other hand on his penis. He was so concentrated on this, this filthy finger-fuck as he touched himself, Brendan sat forgotten.
Brendan moaned, an eager voyeur, watching the other man desperately ride his own digits, his lips parted in an "O". Seeing that pretty mouth quiver, Brendan imagined himself forcing his cock between the lips, pulling on Walker's hair as he fucked his mouth. The thought dragged another moan from his lips, he was sure he was going to come before Walk-
"Yes," Walker didn't shout or cry as he came, as Brendan had imagined, his gasp was so urgent it sounded pained. Watching Walker buck, his come shooting from him in sticky ropes brought Brendan to the edge, coming with a frenzied cry of "WALK-ER!" he spent, adrenaline running through his veins as he violently ejaculated. That dizzying rush as the thudding of his heart, matched the panting of his breath, pulse hammering and endorphins released, was amazing. He hadn't fucked that pretty mouth, but hey, there was always next time. As his bleary gaze sharpened, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He'd closed his eyes as he'd come; the feeling being too much. So he was surprised to note that both he and Walker had come…on the chessboard. The pieces were almost invisible, buried under congealing off-white fluid, whereas the White rook was completely submerged. Just as that thought entered his mind, he saw Walker hand, still shiny from cum, reach down and pluck the rook up, bringing it to his mouth. Brendan watched speechless as Walker dipped his tongue into the inverted roof of the little castle, the wet pink muscle lapping at the cum. Brendan looked on, speechless until the rook was properly clean. Walker seemed to suddenly become aware of where he was, who he was with, as if waking from a trance. He replaced the rook and leant down to put on his trousers. As he rose again, adequately dressed, Brendan looked down. He could feel Walker's gaze resting on his face but he didn't acknowledge him. It was only when Walker moved one of his pieces and stood up to leave that Brendan looked up.
"Checkmate," Walker murmured before slipping out of the room. Brendan saw his own king on the board, defenseless and surrounded and allowed himself a smile. For the first time in his life, he was happy that he hadn't won.