[ Tate's lucky. Rather than lazily drop him back against the sand with a weak little shove to the face, Derek was fully intending on drawing up his knee and giving him a hard shove-slash-kick to the ribs with his foot. He's getting kinda annoyed, at this point, but. Whatever. Erica was way worse. ]

I keep shooting you down because I don't want to fuck you.

[ They're friends. Precarious, precarious friends. Derek's not exactly jumping at the chance to ruin that friendship. Not exactly jumping at the chance to cheat on Stiles with a heartbroken, violent and still pretty dangerous kid who totally tried to choke him out on orientation, either. Lots of boxes left unchecked, here.

Anyway. Whatever. God. Derek stares at Tate, slightly alert, waiting to see if he comes at him again. This bitch. Calling him out. Derek sighs. Exasperated. ]

Stiles isn't my type. I don't even have a type. Stiles is just - Stiles.

[ Whatever that means. Wait, hold on. ]

I don't "look" at him. I don't "look" at anyone. You don't know what you're talking about.