[Stiles does not relax. With an uncharitable snort, he turns away from the tomes to lean against the bookcase, regarding Tyki Mikk dubiously. It isn’t that he necessarily believes the man is lying to him. Ultimately, though—does it matter? Whether Tyki is being honest or not, he can’t be trusted. No one can be in this hellhole. There are too many moving pieces at play. Sure, maybe the guy isn’t naturally inclined toward nonconsensual touching, but Stiles knows the resort employs nasty tricks on the unwary.

Unbidden, his gaze—right on cue—drops to the elegant flex of gloved fingers, casually holding the cigarette. Brown eyes follow the stick as it returns to lips for another draw. Stiles shifts his weight, arms coming up to fold across his chest in a defensive gesture he doesn’t notice. The dog tag jingles with the movement.]

Kinda weird, then. [He tears his eyes away, the tips of his ears tinged pink.] You’re given an option of any “pet” to choose from, but you picked me. Why even participate in the game at all if you’re gonna waste time on someone “unwilling?”

[There’s no small amount of hypocrisy in the accusation—after all, Stiles himself decided to participate in the activity despite his lack of interest. Yet the teen stares down Tyki defiantly from across the room, unrepentant.]

What’s your game?