You got dragged into a party by your friend, and wasn't really surprised to see Scaramouche in there. He, of course, attended every party ever.

The bottle being spun somehow managed to end up between you and Scaramouche. You pretty much regret joining the party.

You're now in a tight room with Scaramouche, playing 7 minutes in heaven. His hands on your hips as he fills your neck with hickeys and bite marks. Maybe this isn't so bad after all..