"Oh fine. Your arse looks fantastic, you pretty man, you." Then, very deliberately, Roger reached out with the hand he had been scratching with and pushed George. Smugness exuded from every one of his pores, as he wordlessly leaned back and made himself comfortable. If he had been afraid of being pranked, he would have never accepted George's offer. He was still half convinced that George had spiked the firewhiskey and he could expect to grow a third arm or something soon enough, but hey. It wasn't as if he was worried about not being able to make it to Quidditch practice the next day because he was laid up suffering from the aftermaths of a prank.
Yes, that was his brightside to all this.
He offered the firewhiskey back to George with a laugh. "It's probably a good thing that didn't work out. Wouldn't want to give anyone nightmares of your faces popping up randomly."