Page 19

Chapter 3

“Ooh, we can have a massage!” John looked up from his phone to smile at Fergus as they walked from the subway station toward the Club 212 sauna. “Or a sugar scrub. I’ve heard those are nice.” He checked his phone again, shading it from the late-afternoon sunlight. “They also do teeth whitening.”

“Do I need my teeth whitened?” Fergus felt insecure as it was at the thought of being naked in front of dozens of strange men.

“Smile for me.”

Fergus tried, but he knew it was more of a baring of the teeth.

“Nah, you’re good,” John said after a brief examination. “Maybe in a year or two.”

They stopped at a corner to wait for the traffic light. Fergus tried not to fidget with his shirt tail, or slip his hands into his jacket pockets, or do any of his other nervous tells.

When he’d asked John to go to the bathhouse, he’d hoped the answer would be no, that the invitation itself would be a sufficient sign of trust. Instead John had been delighted at the prospect of a new “adventure.”

“Listen to this review.” John thumbed his phone screen. “‘Friendly place. Got a nice wank off in the pool. Look forward to going again.’”

Fergus hoped John didn’t see him shudder.

“I know, sounds disgusting,” John said, “but I’m sure they put loads of chlorine in the water.”

“Brilliant,” Fergus muttered as the light changed. He stepped off the curb, but John caught his arm.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

“I do want.” Fergus grimaced at his unconvincing tone. “Like you said, it’ll be an adventure.” He started across the road, moving faster now. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.

John’s footsteps thumped behind Fergus as he caught up. “Okay, but if it helps, please know I love every bit of you—the bold bits, the canny bits, and all the bits in between.”

He gave John another smile, this time a real one. “It does help.”

Fergus was relieved to see that the sauna’s side street was nearly empty. He’d heard weekday afternoons were the establishment’s quietest times, but he’d still worried there’d be an enormous queue outside. What if he saw a client of his firm, where they thought Fergus had taken the afternoon off for a doctor’s appointment?

A small plaque bearing the sauna’s name marked the ultra-discreet entrance. John pressed a button beside the door to be let in.

After riding the lift to the third floor, they found a polo-shirt-and-chinos-clad attendant with a name badge which read I’m Alan and I’m Here to Help! The young man was friendly but polite, reminding Fergus of a hotel front-desk clerk. He took their money, had them sign a short waiver, then presented them each with a white towel, along with a key and numbered metal tag hanging from a rubber neck strap.

“Leave your clothes in the lockers through there.” Alan pointed to the door behind him. “Then have a shower, then…do whatever you fancy.” He started counting off on his fingers. “We’ve got a dry sauna, a steam room, a Jacuzzi, a darkroom, a lounge, a café—and of course private cabins, which can be made semi-private if you prefer.”

Semi-private. If they wanted to be watched—or joined.

Fergus unfolded his towel, which was smaller than he’d expected. “We wear these through the entire place? Nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” Alan said. “If you like, you can leave it off. But in the dry sauna, you need to keep it on whilst you’re on the seat, else you’ll burn your baws off. Don’t worry, there’s a sign reminding you.”

Fergus followed John into the empty locker area. “Have you been here before?”

“Nah, but a mate of mine from uni came for his birthday.” John checked his keychain tag, then opened one of the tangerine-colored lockers.

“What did he do?”

“Says he met a married man from Liverpool. Fucked like squirrels all night.” John stripped off his shirt and chucked it into the locker without folding it. “Loads of straight guys come to these places—ostensibly straight, at least.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” It did not make sense. Club 212 made Fergus feel such a prude. He was only three years older than John, but at moments like this they seemed to belong to different generations.

A thirty-something man with a mane of ginger-blond hair entered with a casual “Hiya.” Fergus turned his back to the newcomer to remove his clothes, wrapping the towel around his waist while his shirt was still on.

They had a quick shower in the next room—just the two of them, to Fergus’s relief. On their way out, John took his hand. “Gonnae no worry, love. We’ll stick together like glue. Or something sexier than glue. I know—we’ll stick together like the pages of an old porno magazine. Wait, is that worse than glue?”

Fergus longed to cling to John for reassurance, to never let him out of his sight. But if their love was to move forward, he needed to show John—and more importantly, himself—that he had faith.

“I’ve a better idea.” He drew his fingers down the side of John’s neck, in the way that always made him shiver. “Fancy a game of hide-and-seek?”

John’s eyes popped wide with glee. “Not It!” he shouted, as Fergus knew he would. “Close your eyes and count to twenty. No, sixty!”

Fergus took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “Go on, then.”

“See you soon.” John kissed him hard and quick, then released his hand.

Fergus steadied himself against the wall outside the shower room, counting silently. At the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes and nodded to the shaggy-haired ginger from the locker area.

“Hello again.” The guy started to pass on his way to the shower, but then stopped and turned. Before Fergus could look away, eye contact was made.

Uh-oh.

“I’m with someone,” Fergus blurted.

The man looked around and shrugged, palms up. “He’s not here, is he?”

A memory sideswiped Fergus harder than a fullback’s tackle, a memory of waiting for Evan at a club one night last March. Half a dozen lads had approached Fergus to buy him a drink or ask him to dance. He’d told them all, “I’m with someone” , and they’d all replied just like this man— “He’s not here, is he?”

And they were right. Evan never showed up that evening.

But that was Evan, this was John.

Crossing his arms, Fergus drew himself up to his full height and looked his fellow ginger in the eye. “I don’t need to see him to know he’s with me.”

Then he began his search.

The brightly lit room beside the shower area held a Jacuzzi big enough to fit the entire Warriors football team—including substitutes.

“Hiya!” said one of the three slim men within. All in their early twenties, they each sat on a different side of the pool, about ten feet from one another. The blond who’d just spoken looked relieved, as though Fergus’s entrance had interrupted an awkward moment.

“Hello,” Fergus said. “I’m only passing through.”

“First time?” asked the Asian guy, sitting closest to the door. “Ours too. None of us knows each other. It’s kind of weird, yeah?” he added with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah.” Fergus examined the spare, industrial decor around him. The floors and walls were concrete, and the pair of oddly shaped white chairs in the corner were plastic. The non-porous materials made sense—no doubt the place was hosed down with cleaning solution twice a day, like the dog kennel where he’d worked as a teenager.

He moved on, past the door to the café ( Really? People EAT here? ) and down an empty corridor. The ceiling, he noticed, was rather stylish, with exposed pipes and metalworks. The shiny surfaces made the club feel clean, and the wide spaces between the ceiling fixtures made it feel open, less like a prison.

He reached the clear glass door of the dry sauna. Peering through, Fergus saw four middle-aged men lounging on the wooden benches within, all with their towels still tied. Apart from one guy’s hand wrapped another’s thigh, the scene looked more fraternal than porny.

Fergus returned the gents’ friendly waves, then moved on to descend the steel stairway, breathing easier now. This place wasn’t the seamy hellhole he’d imagined it to be.

Halfway down the stairs, his mind changed back again. The lights on the lower level were dimmer and redder, and the tranquilizing chillout music had switched to a throbbing dubstep that shook Fergus’s bones. As he stepped into a foyer that branched into two corridors, he realized this level even smelled different—of earth and sweat and…

Sex.

“Can I help you?” asked a deep voice.

In a shadowy alcove to Fergus’s right, another young man in a Club 212 polo shirt sat on a stool before a small podium, looking like a restaurant ma?tre d’. Unlike the harmlessly cute front-desk clerk, this guy was beefy as a Highland bull, his frame filling the alcove and his hand dwarfing the pen he held poised above a clipboard.

“We’ve got an opening for a sugar scrub in five minutes.” The man gestured to the door behind him marked Massage Suite . “Only thirty quid on a Tuesday.”

“No…thank you.” Fergus considered asking the giant if he’d seen John, but that would be cheating.

“Steam sauna’s through there.” The man extended one sausage-thick finger toward the hallway to Fergus’s left.

Ah. That seemed a likely place to find John, given his love of hot water.

Fergus thanked the attendant, then hurried down the hall. Like the dry sauna upstairs, the steam room had a glass door, but a thick fog cloaked the interior. Swallowing his nerves, Fergus opened the door and entered.

When the steam parted, he stopped short. What the ? —

Intellectually, he knew that this…creature consisted of more than one body. Its shifting limbs varied in length and skin tone. The sounds from its throats varied in pitch and volume. The hair on its eight (nine?) heads varied in color, length, and location.

But at first glance it seemed all one continuous form, writhing upon splayed white towels like a dying deer in a snowbank.

“Don’t just stand there, ya big ginger beauty,” slurred a voice to his left. “Come and join us.”

Fergus turned but avoided eye contact with the thin, dark-haired young man whose nipples were providing a feast for a middle-aged chubby guy—a guy whose hand was wrapped around the lad’s cock, pumping it with a graceless fury.

“Sorry,” Fergus said, trying not to look at…well, anything. “I’m searching for someone.”

The nipple sucker chuckled. “We’re all searching for someone, mate,” he said without looking up. Then he gave a long, low moan, due to the fact his arse was being filled, slow and deep from behind, by a hulking blond with a serpent tattoo coiled around his arm.

“We all are someone,” the snake man said. He extended one hand toward Fergus, waist-high. His fingers curled, his offer obvious.

Fergus’s prick responded—just a brief, I’m-awake-and-need-attention twitch, but a clear signal to GET OUT NOW .

Heart in his mouth, Fergus scanned the ceramic-tile room. Most faces were turned away—occupied with kissing, licking, or sucking—but he saw enough to know none belonged to John.

The mist swirled as the door behind him swung open. “Still looking for your man?”

Fergus turned to see the leonine ginger from the shower room, his hair now hanging in loose, damp waves. “I am.”

“Perhaps he doesnae want to be found.”

“He does. It’s a game.”

Laughter rippled behind him. “We like games,” someone said, his hoarse voice rising above the sex noises. “Right, Neil?”

“Oh yeah,” said the ginger. He eyed Fergus up and down, still blocking the exit. “And this yin looks a win-win.”

More laughter. Fergus’s ears began to burn.

He was used to having the piss taken out of him on the football pitch. Compared to anti-gay slurs from opponents and their fans, this jeering and leering was a just bit of banter.

So why was his heart pounding a million miles an hour? Was it the heat of the steam? Or was it fear that John had already been in this room and liked what he’d seen?

Fergus forced a congenial smile. “I’ll take a rain check, thanks.” Then he stepped forward with more confidence than he felt, as though expecting Neil to move out of his way.

Which he did.

Outside the steam room, the air felt cold in comparison, raising goosebumps on Fergus’s arms. He moved down the narrow, twisting hallway, brushing past a pair of old men who were nearly bald but for their shoulder-length, pepper-and-salt ponytails.

God grant me the courage to shave my head if I lose that much hair , he thought.

Fergus stopped at the threshold to a casual lounge, empty of men but with more lush decor than the rest of the club. Faux-leather chairs surrounded an oak coffee table near a TV showing BBC Scotland.

On the opposite side of the lounge was a doorway fitted with floor-length black-vinyl vertical blinds. Fergus wondered if the room beyond was off-limits, perhaps a storage area.

Frustrated, he looked down the corridor in both directions. John must have taken the other hall when he entered the lower level, perhaps at the suggestion of the massage-room gatekeeper. Surely he and Fergus would meet somewhere in this murky maze.

Just then, the blinds on the other side of the lounge slapped open. Out strode a muscular man with a long, dark mustache that ended in a pair of upturned points. He stopped short, squinting at his surroundings, and as the blinds swung shut, Fergus could see why. The room he’d left was pitch black.

The darkroom.

“Gonnae stay out of there, mate.” The tusk-mustachioed man stomped forward, fists clenched. “It’s full of perverts.”

Speechless, Fergus moved aside to let him pass. Then he stepped up to the darkroom’s still-swaying blinds. Could John be waiting for him inside?

He wouldn’t.

Aye, John would.

Fergus checked that his towel was firmly tucked around his waist, giving the top an extra twist to tighten it. Then he forced his feet to propel him forward, through the blinds.

Inside the room, a single short strand of orange Halloween lights were draped over a rectangular mirror on the side wall. Other than that, the chamber was utterly dark.

Hello?…John? Fergus called out in his head, unable to make his throat work. He knew his white towel and fair skin would make him visible to anyone whose eyes had already adjusted. So if John were here, he’d call to Fergus, right?

Sure, because that’s how hide-and-seek works.

A scuffling noise came from his left. Fergus froze, widening his eyes in a desperate grab for light. Then he inched forward, using feet instead of hands to detect obstacles, lest he accidentally grope a naked stranger.

A rhythmic jingling sound stopped him in his tracks. As the dance music fell into a quiet lull, the jangling came clearer, accompanied by two muffled moans of dissonant pitches. Was someone wearing handcuffs or chains or…dog tags?

Checking the security of his towel, Fergus felt his hand strike the key hanging from his neck, knocking it against the locker tag and producing the same jangle he was hearing in the room. So somewhere, very close, heads or bodies—or both—were moving back and forth, rattling their keys.

“Faster now,” whispered a new voice near the jangly fellows.

Fergus stepped back in surprise. How many men were in here? Was his own boyfriend hidden in one of these shadows?

“John, are you there?” His voice sounded loud and foreign amid the music and panting and jingling.

“Shh!” said the other man. “I’m trying to concentrate.” There came a sudden rip of Velcro. “Gonnae let’s hear you scream.”

Fergus lurched away, crashing into what felt like a soft vinyl armchair, before realizing the man’s last sentence wasn’t directed at him.

The other two voices crescendoed, no longer muffled. Mixed with their clinking keys and rising cries was the third man’s hoarse whisper-shout. “Yes! I’m gonnae come all over youse.”

Fergus’s skin tingled, and his cock gave a quick jerk, then another. He thought of how sex noises drove John mad, how Fergus’s often theatrical orgasms could send him over the edge in an instant. He would love this room.

But unless John was bound and gagged in the corner, he wasn’t here.

Light flooded in as a head poked through the blinds on the room’s opposite side. (At least Fergus thought it was the opposite side. For all he knew, he’d traveled in a circle since entering.)

He made a beeline for the light, startling the newcomer as he passed. “Sorry,” Fergus said. “It’s dark,” he added, like an idiot.

He stumbled out into a new corridor, and for a moment he was relieved he’d not gone in circles, stuck in some Moebius Strip of a world, like the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks .

Until he saw what was in the corridor.

So that’s where everyone is.

Lurid red light cast shadows down the hall, which was lined with narrow doors spaced several feet apart. Beside many of the doors loitered a man, waiting.

Watching him.

Fergus looked back at the darkroom. At least in there no one would see the beginnings of the hard-on he was sporting beneath his towel. But John could be waiting for him behind one of these doors.

So Fergus tightened his towel again, literally girding his loins. Then he began to walk. He straightened his shoulders and added a swagger, pretending each man he passed was an opposing footballer, to be neither feared nor fouled.

Murmurs of admiration preceded and followed him, making his face flush. He walked fast enough to avoid contact but slowly enough to peek inside each open cabin.

Not all were empty.

“Sorry,” he said to the first few couples (or threesomes) he came upon, but soon stopped apologizing. They’d obviously left their doors open on purpose.

He quickened his pace, narrowing his mental search parameters to exclude all but John’s features, letting every other face and arse and cock blur into the background. None of these men mattered. Not the gym rat flexing his arms against a door frame, not the pair of faux-hawked twinks dry humping against the wall.

“Oi, big fella! Here’s your man.”

Fergus stopped without turning.

“Aye, you,” the voice said. “I think I found who you’re looking for.”

Fergus spun on his heel. The door of the final cabin had been half-shut, so he’d passed without glancing inside. Outside the cabin stood a kindly looking gent who reminded Fergus of one of his dad’s old mates.

“Thanks,” he said, pushing open the door.

Stretched out on the cabin’s thin mattress, still wearing his towel, was?—

Fergus stopped just past the threshold. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Faint light caressed the smooth skin of a Nordic god, a long-limbed, chisel-jawed blond whose sky-blue eyes stood out even in this dim red room.

“Hello,” the man said in a soft-but-commanding voice, sounding enough like Evan that Fergus took one confused step closer.

Mistake.

The man undid his own towel, revealing a long, stiff cock that curved slightly to the right. Just like Evan’s.

“Wh-why did he—” Fergus’s tongue shuddered through his stammer. “I’m not looking for you.”

“Oh?” Evan’s doppelg?nger stroked himself, eyelids hooding. “Then why are you still here?”

Fergus stepped back, fumbling for the door. “Because I-I thought you were someone I knew.”

“I could be.” The man’s gaze locked on Fergus’s towel, now tented with an obvious and regrettable semi-erection. “It seems you want to know me.”

“I want—” Fergus stopped, his throat, mouth, and mind paralyzed by the phantom in front of him.

Ghost-Evan reached out with a hand bearing a gleaming platinum wedding ring. “How ’bout it, then?”

Fergus blinked. That was John’s line. He’d last used it to propose a terrifying act of trust, to let their bodies join with no barrier between them.

That was what Fergus wanted. And this was what stood in his way. Evan, who’d kept fucking him without a condom for months after he’d started cheating. Evan, who’d taught Fergus never again to put his heart—much less his life—into the hands of any man.

His fingers curled to form fists, and his blood fled north to collect at his face, which burned now with the need for justice. “You bastard,” he whispered.

“Sorry?” The blond quickly sat up, a look of horror replacing his sly smile. “Did I do something wrong?”

Fergus shook his head, returning to the here and now. “What?”

“I’ve never been to one of these places before.” The Not-Evan covered himself with his towel again. “That’s why I had that-that guy out there choose someone for me.” He hunched over, placing his hands on opposite knees, arms forming a protective X in front of his body. “It’s all so awkward.”

Fergus drew in a deep breath, then let it out. Evan wasn’t here. Evan didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one waiting at the end of this journey.

“‘Awkward’ is a good word for it.” Fergus turned to leave, then felt weirdly obliged to be polite. “Best of luck with…everything…I guess.”

“Cheers.” As Fergus swung open the door, the blond added, “I hope you find the one you’re looking for.”

Without glancing back, Fergus said, “I will.”

The corridor was empty now, with no sign of the man who’d tricked him into entering the cabin. When Fergus reached the stairs again, he stopped before the burly massage-suite attendant. “Have you seen a lad about this tall,” he held his hand up to his own collarbone, “dark hair, early twenties, sparkling brown eyes?”

The attendant shook his head. “Sorry, mate, it’s our policy not to look too closely at the folk who pop through. Maybe he’s upstairs?”

“I looked there. I’ve looked everywhere but the?—”

Oh.

Really, John?

Fergus ascended the steps as fast as he could in his leg-constricting towel.

At the top, he turned to enter the wee café. To his right sat plush chairs surrounding a coffee table, as well as a trio of unattended computer stations, each with a Club 212 scrolling screen saver. To his left was a refrigerated case of snacks and bottled drinks.

And sitting at the bar in front of him, chatting to the server, was John Burns.

“I’m in absolute despair over Fellaini,” John was saying as Fergus came closer. “Half the time he’s on the bench for red cards and the other half he’s on the bench for playing complete shit. Every week I nearly transfer him, but then I give him another chance.”

“I’d keep him,” the server said, wiping down the espresso machine. “He’ll get more starts soon, seeing as Di María’s been the world’s most expensive disappointment. Just keep Fellaini on your bench until he finds form.”

Fergus felt himself smile for the first time since entering the building. He’d given John free rein to go where he wanted, do what he wanted. Yet to assuage Fergus’s fears, John had hidden in the club’s most innocuous spot, and instead of spreading his charm amongst naked men, he was getting fantasy-football advice from a fully-clothed barista.

At that moment, Fergus fell in love harder than ever, and he knew exactly how he wanted this day to end.

* * *

John saw the barista’s gaze slide past him. “All right, mate?” the server asked. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” came a familiar voice that made John’s bare toes curl around the rung of the bar stool.

The server winked. “Cheesy toast and a cup of tea, pronto.”

John turned to Fergus. “There you are! Thought you’d got lost.” He gestured to the barista. “This is my new mate Calvin. Calvin, this is?—”

“Sorry, have we met?” Fergus asked John as he gracefully slid onto the next stool, sweeping his towel beneath him like a kilt.

Brushing the hair from his forehead, John purred, “I don’t believe so.” He glanced at Calvin, who moved away with a knowing smirk, sussing Fergus’s game.

It was a game John fancied. He put out his hand and introduced himself, first name only.

“John,” Fergus repeated softly, gazing into his eyes. “I’m Fergus,” he crooned in his lilting Highland accent as he took John’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

The current of energy between them nearly knocked John off the bar stool. He slid his palm from Fergus’s and looked at his stranger-boyfriend through his lashes. “Would it be terribly crass of me to ask if you come here often?”

“Not as crass as me answering ‘I hope to come here very soon.’”

John laughed, then examined Fergus from head to toe, imagining he truly was glimpsing him for the first time.

Fergus’s endless legs extended from beneath his towel, his thighs and calves flexing as he pressed his feet to the floor. The towel was slung low on his hips, and John could see the thin line of red hair descending from his navel. When Fergus rested his arms on the bar, John let his gaze wander over the freckles on his shoulders, finding new constellations he’d never noticed before.

“So…” Fergus raked his gaze over John’s biceps, which he was not-so-subconsciously flexing. “Have you ventured downstairs?”

“No, is it nice?”

“Not a bit.”

Calvin returned with Fergus’s tea and cheesy toast, half of which he shared with John, on account of all the carbs. As they ate, Fergus told John about his odyssey through the lower level, including the nine-way steam room orgy ( “I literally did not know where to put my eyes” ), the jangly darkroom threesome ( “I’ll never hear sleigh bells the same way again” ), and finally his running the gauntlet down the corridor of private cabins.

John was laughing hard when Fergus added, “And then I saw my ex-boyfriend.”

John stopped laughing, nearly choking on his bite of toast. “You saw—wait, what?” His heart began to pound.

“It wasn’t him. It only looked like him.” Fergus took another sip of tea, then set the cup on its saucer with a clatter. “But it made me realize why I came here today.”

John reached out to brush his fingertips against Fergus’s arm. “Why is that?”

Fergus stared at the menu on the wall as he crunched his toast. Finally he swallowed and said, “I wanted to prove I wasn’t afraid.”

“Did it work?”

“No.” He turned his head and met John’s eyes. “I’ll always be afraid. But I won’t let it come between me and the love of my life.” Fergus blinked and glanced away. “If I find him here, that is.”

John collected himself before answering, as Fergus’s words had made him a bit melty. “This isn’t the sort of place one usually finds love.”

“All the more reason to grab it if I do, aye?”

“Aye,” John breathed. He slid his left foot around Fergus’s right calf. “And never let go.”

Fergus looked down, then up at John’s face. “Are you getting ideas about me, erm…John, was it?”

“I’ve an idea you might fancy getting me alone.” He stroked Fergus’s leg with his toes, opening his own legs wider. “Seeing what I’ve got under this towel.”

Fergus reached down and seized John’s foot, which he pulled up into his lap. Then he slid a hand up John’s calf, behind his knee.

When Fergus’s fingers reached the edge of his towel, John felt his own balls lift and tighten. A moment later, his hard-on was at its peak, a peak he’d been climbing ever since Fergus had sat beside him.

“I don’t want to see it,” Fergus whispered, his hand sliding over John’s inner thigh. “I want to hold it.”

John let out a little moan of affirmation.

“May I?” The back of Fergus’s fingertips brushed John’s balls. “May I hold it?”

“Yes. You may.” His voice shook with desire.

Fergus leaned in close, bringing his mouth to John’s ear. “May I suck it?”

“Yes,” John said, not caring when or where it happened, as long as he could get his cock inside this man’s ravenous mouth.

Fergus kissed John’s earlobe, exhaling a breath that made John shiver. “May I take it deep in my arse and fuck it until we come?”

John couldn’t manage a yes , but his whole body screamed it on his behalf. He pulled Fergus into a deep, hard kiss, his blood singing with need.

After a moment, Fergus stood suddenly, backing out of John’s embrace. He turned his head toward the café door, the one leading to the Jacuzzi room. Then he licked his lips, blinking rapidly, as though on the verge of a big decision.

Finally, with a long deep breath and a nod to himself, Fergus headed for the door. As he moved, his long, nimble fingers loosened, then removed his towel. John sat frozen with admiration for his boyfriend’s newfound courage—not to mention his perfect arse—until Fergus stopped at the threshold and turned, displaying a towering erection that somehow looked even larger here than it did at home.

“How ’bout it, then?” Fergus said.

John leaped off the bar stool, nearly tripping in his haste.

As he reached the spa pool, John whipped off his own towel and hung it on the hook beside his boyfriend’s. Fergus was already waiting for him at the top of the small staircase beside the pool. He took John’s hand, then together they descended.

The hot, bubbling water set John’s nerves afire, and he barely noticed the three men at the other end of the pool as Fergus pulled him to sit on the tile bench beside him.

He took a moment to luxuriate in the roiling water. “Och, this feels amazing. We need one at home.”

“Yeah?” Fergus looped an arm around John’s shoulders and drew him close. “And where’s home for you?” he asked, still playing the game.

“Right here.” John took Fergus’s mouth, first in a soft kiss, then tugging his bottom lip with his teeth.

Fergus kissed his way over John’s jaw, then down his neck. When John opened his eyes, he saw the other three lads, who were now in one another’s laps, looking like one body with three heads and (he assumed) six legs. They watched John and Fergus with bright-eyed interest.

“Hi again!” shouted the blond one over the rushing water. “You two need some company?”

“Nah, we’re good!” To drive home his point, John turned his back on the other lads, then shifted to straddle Fergus’s lap. “This is all we need,” he murmured.

“Aye.” Fergus held him steady. “All I’ll ever need.”

John gazed down into the eyes he knew so well, eyes that seemed to darken and lighten with Fergus’s moods. In their hazel depths, he searched for hints of doubt and unease.

Miraculously, there were none. Fergus was here. Fergus was his.

He cupped John’s jaw with one hot, wet hand, then kissed him so slow and deep, John’s mind began to swim, rising and dipping with the waves around him. Fergus’s other hand slid down over John’s hip, then forward until his fingertips brushed the base of his shaft. John gasped into Fergus’s mouth, squirming with need until that hand wrapped around his length.

Fergus’s strokes began, as slow and strong as his kiss. His tongue swirled in John’s mouth as his thumb flicked over the ridge beneath his head with each pass.

With a muffled moan, John linked his arms around Fergus’s neck, holding tight on this strangely intimate ride. He marveled that here in a bathhouse, in the presence of other men, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world.

Fergus took John higher with each stroke, a slow but inexorable climb that sent blood pounding through every cell. Thighs locked tight around Fergus’s, John forced himself to hold still and dwell in this kiss, in the taste of absolute trust on his tongue.

Finally the pressure of the swirling water and Fergus’s hand became too much. “I’m gonnae come if you don’t stop,” John said.

“I’m not stopping, so…” Fergus licked the corner of John’s mouth, slipping the tip of his tongue inside. “I guess you’ll be coming.”

“Here?” John panted. “Now?”

“Here. Now.” Fergus gripped him harder and stroked faster. “Everywhere. Always.”

As the orgasm swept over him, John slung his head back and cried out, not caring who saw or heard. All that mattered was Fergus, whose shoulders John now clutched to keep from dissolving and drowning in the heat that flowed around, through, and out of his body.

When the final shudders subsided, John slid his hand down Fergus’s smooth chest, over his tight, defined abs, until it arrived at the base of Fergus’s rigid cock. “My turn,” he said, his thumb and forefinger encircling the shaft. “I want to make you?—”

“Wait.” Fergus gently removed John’s hand. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Fergus took John’s face between his palms and pressed their foreheads together. “Look, I know we just met and all, but I think I’m in love with you.”

John chuckled. “Me too. With you, I mean, not me.”

“In fact…” Fergus shut his eyes tight. “This will sound absolutely mad, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me too. Again, with you , not me.” John kissed him softly, his mind still draped in a post-orgasmic fog. “I’m pretty much stuck with me.”

Fergus opened his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“Asking?” John tilted his head. “You didn’t ask?—”

His heart thudded to a stop, then began to pound faster than ever. Oh God.

“John.” Fergus’s face shone with sweat and steam and something more. “If you say no, I won’t be hurt. It won’t change a thing between us, I swear. But I’d truly love to be your husband.”

The last several words had tumbled out so fast, and with all the background noise—the water’s burble, the music’s throb, and the other men’s moans—John wasn’t 100 percent certain what Fergus had asked.

“Yes,” John said anyway. “I’d love to be your husband.”

Fergus’s jaw dropped, and John wondered if he’d in fact misheard.

“That was what you asked me, aye?” John said. “To marry you?”

Fergus just stared at him, then nodded mutely.

John’s pulse raced faster. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“No, I-I didn’t expect to ask the question now.” Fergus looked as shocked as John felt. “I was going to wait until tonight.”

John was confused. “So…should we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“No!” Fergus wrapped his arms around John’s waist again. “I’ve thought about making this permanent every day since we moved in together. But I know I’m not always easy to live with.”

John wanted to laugh at the absurdity. “Fergus, you’re the easiest person I could ever live with, because you’re the one I need to go on living. Without you, my lungs would say ‘sod this for a lark’ and just give up.” He shook his head. “Och, that came out pure gibberish. But aye, let’s do it. Let’s marry.”

“Yes!” Fergus shouted. He turned to the lads at the other end of the pool, whose configuration had grown even more pretzel-like. “We’re getting married!”

The guys looked confused. The Asian one asked, “Is this still part of the game?”

John laughed, remembering how he’d told the trio about the hide-and-seek as he’d dashed through earlier, searching for a hiding place. “It’s for real,” he said. “We just got engaged. Right here. Right now.”

The men erupted into high-pitched cheers, splashing the water around them.

“My sister’s a wedding planner,” the blond lad said. “I can leave her card for you at the front desk. Unless you’re away now to celebrate?”

“Slip it into my locker.” John recited the number off his tag. “I think we might be here a wee while.” Then he lowered his voice to speak to Fergus alone. “Shall we go downstairs now and commemorate the occasion?”

“We could—or we could pop by the clinic and do that testing thing first.” Fergus laced his fingers with John’s. “So we can have a more thorough celebration.”

John’s mind, body, and soul lit up at the thought. “Yes,” he said, then kissed Fergus to let that light flare between them again. Yes. Yes. Yes.