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"You're not wearing that, are you?" Stiles asked, leaning out Roscoe's door.

"What's wrong with what I have on?" Derek grumbled, looking down at his tight gray henley and blue jeans. He thought he looked good, thank you very much.

'Nothing, except we look like we're trying too hard." Stiles answered, stepping away from the Jeep, revealing the exact same outfit.

"Matching is fine, it's matchy-matchy we gotta be worried about. And this," he points back and forth between them, "is matchy-matchy at its best."

"I'm not changing, Stiles." Derek said, exasperated.

"Ooooook, then I'm gonna have to. And you know that's gonna take forever, making us be late, and then my dad's gonna think we were having sex, and your gonna have to deal with his comments and judgment all night, and Scott's gonna take cheap shots -"

"Alright!" Derek full out growled.

He stomped back into the house, and came out five minutes later wearing darker blue jeans and a black henley.

"Happy now?" He snarled, heading for the passenger side.

"As a clam!" Stiles answered, climbing behind the wheel.

Before he started the jeep, he leaned over to Derek's side and pressed their lips together, slipping his tongue inside when Derek moaned.

"I can't wait for the incredible birthday sex we're gonna have later! Happy birthday, Sourwolf!"