Disaster

James was a rough kisser. He snogged for inhumanly long in the dark corners, running out of breath and getting drunk on the sweet, the cherry and rum kind, taste of Lily’s lips. His hands were wrapped around her waist at those times, or he loved putting his fingers through her usually messy red hair. He hit her against the wall, a bit to harshly, perhaps, but she loved it, and she loved kissing him until she couldn’t breathe anymore, and then a bit longer.

Harry was a soft kisser. No matter for how long he kissed though, he could always make the kiss seem like it lasted for centuries. He hugged Ginny like she was the only thing keeping him from falling into some pitch black abyss without an end, he held her in his arms — literally — because she was so short, and he so tall. Her mouth felt soft too, but also on fire. She loved jumping on him right after he’s gotten off his broom and kissing his cold lips, passing her fire to him; it felt like breathing flames.

(Inspired by this)