Hold on Hun, We’re Gonna Bunny-Hug (pt1)
“I’m not cruisin’ for a love connection,” she warns him with pursed lips. He still has her pinned to the door, one leg thrown around his waist as they grind into each other ever so often.
James doesn’t miss a step, just drags his teeth over her pulse and says, “Good. Me either.”
or, ‘I slept with you the other day and I didn’t know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward'
The pub is raucous tonight. It seems like everyone and their mum decided to hit up the Three Broomsticks, and Rosmerta only had time to sling their drinks across the counter before hustling off to deal with another round of patrons. It just errs on the side of uncomfortable; the close packed bodies, the almost deafening levels of chatter, the slowly building humidity that leaves his skin damp, even after he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel in an attempt to cool down.
It’s a bit chaotic, but then again, he thrives off of chaos. At least, that’s what he says after watching some bloke spill his drink on a girl in an attempt to feel her up, only to receive a punch to the jaw. It results in a minor scuffle and he just sits off to the side observing it. It reminds him of an Andy Warhol painting for some reason; just a blur of colour and movement.
James Potter is not good at flip cup.
Or, more accurately, he’s not good at this blaspheme of flip cup that Sirius came up with. He’s making them chug a bitter stout instead of beer, and James grimaces the whole way through, costing him and Remus significant time.
He gives up after the third round of losing- he doesn’t hate himself that much, plus he’s sure that if he doesn’t wash down the taste with something else, his tastebuds would never forgive him- and Sirius pats him on the back.
“Oh don’t be sad, Prongs,” he says, pinching his cheeks.
James bats his hands away. “You’re a sadistic bastard.”
“Funny, that’s what my mum used to call me growing up.”