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Summary
Scott drops into the seat hard enough that his teeth click together, Stiles’ body folding down on top of him.
“This is such a bad idea,” he says around a laugh when Stiles slaps at his knee until he scoots back across the seat to make room, shoulders bumping the bottom of the window.
There’s a smirk creeping along Stiles’ mouth. “Aw, Scotty,” he drawls, shaking his head. “You say that like it’s ever stopped us before.”