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The wine glass in Jonah’s hand wobbled as he tried to sip at it without pouring it down himself. This would be easier if he didn’t have his head resting in Barnabas’ lap, a fact that Jonathan had reminded him of several times this evening. The rim of the glass rested on his lip and he began to tilt it ever so slowly when a hand shot out and tipped the glass over his face. Jonah spluttered and coughed as he breathed in the wine. He rolled off Barnabas’ lap and onto the floor of the lounge he and his friends were resting in. Barnabas was complaining about the wine soaking into his trousers, Jonathan was sounding far too pleased with himself for Jonah’s liking while the rest of the room was alternating between pretending to be worried and stifling their chuckles into their own drinks. The little Italian prick was laughing his heart out, still leaning over the side of the couch.
Jonah looked to his glass, empty on the floor and then up to Barnabas’ that still stood on the side table next to the couch.
He was an adult. He was not going to engage in some sort of childish food fight. It would be juvenile and petty and so much fun .
He grabbed the wine glass and like he was cracking a whip, threw the wine in the cackling maniac’s face, Barnabas caught in the crossfire again. More laughter from the room, framed by echoed sounds of dismay, Barnabas sounding particularly betrayed while Mordechai watched as wine splashed up his rather expensive curtain. The artist looked even more overjoyed, throwing himself over the couch to tackle Jonah, crimson wine smearing on his skin as the room’s previous pretense of civility descended into the slightly more risqué atmosphere that everyone was really here for. Albrecht, having been told by his wife that if he came home reeking of wine again, that she wasn’t letting him in the door, took a proactive, if not unwise, stance by hiding behind the mass of the master of the house, Mordechai’s bulk enough to halt any stray drops of wine.
Jonah wasn’t really angry, never had been and leaned up from where he was pinned to kiss the eccentric artist, tasting the wine on his skin. Rivulets of alcohol dripped into his hair and he shook it, spraying the drink around him.
The sensible members of the group who had taken to sheltering behind the increasingly grumpy Lukas, could hear him grumbling that at least he had taken precautions not to host this party in one of the reception rooms that he cared about.
Barnabas, feet still trapped under Jonah, tried to pry himself away from the messy pair, only for Jonah to pull him to the floor as well. Extracting himself from the breathless and seemingly endless kiss, Jonah pulled Barnabas into another kiss, making sure to run his wine-soaked hands into the other’s hair.
The room, filled with laughter and affection, filled Jonah's heart with a fleeting joy. He didn’t know what he would do without the men in this room.