Chess, Not Checkers

No matter how much he struggled, all of his efforts were in vain under the strength and weight of a deadweight dire wolf. Sirius slurred out a comment about him being a comfy bed, and Artorias redoubled his efforts to make himself as uncomfortable as possible with more thrashing and squirming. It was a futile attempt, but Art's drunk mind still held the belief that he could come out on top, even when his flailing turned into something more akin to tapping his paws against whatever he could reach. The bear hug the Warlord wrapped him up in made Artorias give a soft "oof" as the air was squeezed from him, momentarily, then a sudden sharp laugh as giant paws found ticklish spots along his sides. Seer mumbled about Art being his and the young wolf gave one last attempt at freedom, using all the strength his drunk brain could pull from gelatinous muscles before collapsing into a heap beneath the Warlord with a heavy exhale. "Mmmmrph, 'kay, okay, 'myours, you win," he finally conceded between slurred, broken words, but the smile on his face showed nothing but joy and delight.

"Artorias"