The werewolf nudges a clear glass marked 'bishop' dubiously while black gloved hands set up the rest of the board.
"You do know how to play, yes?" the Mage asks in a tone that implies he should, if he's been paying any attention at all to his lessons so far.
"I'm sure I'm fine at it," he says a bit defensively.
"Good. Then you won't mind if I implement some consequences for losing, da?"
Half an hour later, most of the white pieces are gone from the board and the werewolf is struggling not to just give up despite his decanter of clear liquor being almost empty now. The Mage watches him coolly from the other side of the table; only two glasses are gone from his end, both practically given to the wolf in a gesture of condescending pity.
He has to swallow thickly when a hand reaches across the table to cup his chin, interrupting the wobbly course of his current ill-advised attempt to at least get a third piece to his name before he loses. His breath hitches when the man's thumb brushes over his bottom lip and catches the few drops of liquor left from his last losing shot, and he puts his piece down rather carelessly right after, too busy watching the Mage lick the alcohol from his thumb to care that he's about to lose his other knight.
"Pour another," the Mage commands, placing the instantly-claimed Knight into the werewolf's hand and watching him nearly overfill the glass with vodka as part of his penalty for losing a piece. A boot against the inside of his leg almost makes him drop it as he sets the bottle aside; alcohol patters against the board nonetheless a few moments later when it moves upward, pressing against his thigh and groin. The werewolf licks his lips and looks up at the magic user's impassive face.
"Well? Drink." The shot is downed as quickly as any of the others and placed aside. He has only a few pieces left now, huddled in a corner and doomed within a few turns to being taken as well.
"Am I allowwed to surrendr?" the wolf asks, voice made uneven and a little slurred by the amount of liquor he's ingested. He suppresses the urge to squirm against the boot still pressed into him.
"Move your queen two spaces up and two over." Ivan blinks blearily at him and looks down at the board doubtfully, but obeys, albeit with unsteady hands, surprised to find that he now has another of his master's pawns. The Mage calmly pours himself a glass of his own dark alcohol and sets the glass aside a moment later, empty.
"What did that teach you?"
He has to struggle for an answer, watching the man set up his next move as he thinks. "I... don' know, master," is the eventual, tentative reply, moving his queen to block the incoming piece without much consideration.
"Two shots for throwing away your queen," the other man orders, the pressure on his groin increasing a little. "You'll take another when I put you in check in a moment, and one more for checkmate."
Ivan's only answer is a muffled whimper and a hasty completion of the two requisite shots, followed in moments by the other two after a fruitless attempt to move his king away from the Mage's attacking pieces.
"Your lesson was not to act thoughtlessly. Apply that to everything. Now come here."
The wolf almost crawls to him, unsteady with alcohol and flushed arousal, and the Mage's hands pull him up. A bite to the lip followed by a possessive kiss makes him grunt into his mouth and press pliantly against him, panting through his nose. "Next time, you will pay attention to what I say to you."