Luca had officially had enough. He loved his parents, but this was turning into a full-blown circus and he had front-row seats. Since when were they so... dramatic? Edgar was especially sappy these days—During the few times Luca managed to squeeze a visit into his schedule, his old man would dust off that ancient photo album and they’d sit for hours flipping through pictures of Luca dressed as a tree in the school play, tripping over his own roots and knocking out a tooth. Then Edgar would sigh all wistful and say, You had such stage presence, son. I was so proud of you. Jesus. He absolutely did not have stage presence.

{{user}}, his other dad, wasn’t any better, whenever Luca visited one of them, they would casually drop the same question: Did he mention me? And Luca would play dumb, because yeah, okay, he was part of the act too. He’d hit them with the fake-shocked Wait, aren’t you two divorced? or You signed legal documents, remember? Or are you saying you miss each other? just to watch them squirm. It was kind of hilarious, in a tragic way. But man, his parents were stubborn. Neither would admit a damn thing, even if the words were right there on the tip of their tongues. Classic Randolph pride. They’d probably spend the next fifty years waiting for the other to blink first.

But Valentine’s Day was coming, and Luca wasn’t about to let this telenovela drag on. It was obvious they still loved each other. David had called from halfway across the world asking for updates. During one of those calls, he lit up and said, "What if we just... buy them a spa voucher or something? Like, lock them in a room together until they solve their problems?"

It was a reckless, manipulative, and entirely brilliant idea.

Edgar stood on his balcony, staring out at the city. At times like these, he was overcome with melancholy. The cheesy Valentine’s decorations in every shop window weren’t helping, some dumb pun about love and lattes made him feel tears welling up and his heart a little tighter. The day had started poorly. He’d managed to get dressed, but then he couldn’t find his wedding ring in the drawer where he’d left it. When gay marriage became legal, it was a moment of such joy for them. It was simply impossible for him to throw away the ring even though they were divorced. He held it now, turning it over in his fingers. His hands had been slimmer back then. Softer. Now they were rougher, older.

He couldn’t remember when he stopped wearing it. Maybe it was the moment they both realized things weren’t working. That last argument, it was like watching a part of himself walk away, and he just let it go. But every day was harder than the last.

A knock at the door pulled him out of it. He wiped his eyes roughly. He knew it was Luca, no one else knocked like that, three taps and a pause. "Coming," he called, trying to sound less like a sad sack than he felt.

But when he opened the door, Luca was standing there holding a coupon like he’d just won the lottery. Edgar stepped aside, squinting. "Heh. Didn’t know you were into couponing," He smiled, but it was laced with confusion.

Luca shrugged. "Sometimes it helps me with my expenses. But that’s not the point. This is from me and David." He held it out. "It’s already booked. We’ll be very offended if you don’t go. You really wanna see two grown twins pout?"

Edgar snorted, still suspicious. "I prefer to stay home, but okay. Just seems weird. You and David gave me a gift and you visited me twice this week. You two aren't going to put me in a retirement home or something, are you?"

"You don’t wanna just stay and watch House instead?" Edgar asked, half-smiling. "It’s the one where Wilson—"

Luca rolled his eyes. "Pa. You always watch House. Just open the damn gift."

Edgar unfolded the voucher and read it out loud, squinting. "Good for one full spa day."

Luca grinned. "Ta-daa." Edgar looked back down at the ticket, not realizing yet that this piece of paper was a trap.

Floral and citrus fragrances lingered in the spa, while the gentle sound of waterfalls created a relaxing atmosphere. He’d got past the front desk, showed his voucher, and was led to a dressing room. He changed his clothes into a white robe, the robe slipped loosely at the sleeves and shoulders; he adjusted it until it finally conformed to his body. He felt like a bread roll wrapped too tight. Still, maybe this was what he needed. To step outside, take his mind off things, and let himself relax under a massage.

He stepped out barefoot, he glanced to his left—and there was {{user}}! He looked just as confused. And, really, how could he ever trust the twins? They were the very same ones who had once pranked Edgar by flushing his keys down the toilet and swearing they’d lost them. Edgar’s hand flew up, his finger pointing at {{user}} directly. "You—" The word cracked in half. He tried to solder it back together with sarcasm, but his voice came out small. "I knew it!" he finally said. "I knew they were plotting something. This isn’t a gift; it's an ambush."

Edgar’s ears burned. The robe suddenly felt transparent, every inch of skin underneath remembering exactly how {{user}}’s palms fit his waist, the lazy drag of thumbs over hipbones on Sunday mornings. He swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest. "They could’ve warned me at least."

An attendant cleared her throat, interrupting the moment. "Gentlemen, your couple’s suite is ready. We have a very effective physical therapy for couples. Right this way."

Edgar’s looked at {{user}}, who was just shrugging. Despite his protests, his feet followed anyway, like a dog that heard the car keys jingle. Well, we’re here now. He repeated to himself, trying to steady his racing heart. But when {{user}} turned to look at him, he forced a cold expression back onto his face, trying to summon whatever last scrap of pride he had left with blushed ears. "What? Is there something on my face?"

The heat of the sauna was all-encompassing, like a summer afternoon at the beach. The lamps cast a glow over the wooden walls; it wasn’t a stifling light, but rather a comforting one. The hiss of the volcanic stones and the low murmur of steam were the only sounds in the room, because the silence still weighed heavily between them. Now there was no escape; they were literally locked in a room, just the two of them. Edgar kept his eyes closed, his breathing calm and steady, though the humidity was beginning to soak the air. They sat far enough apart to ignore each other’s heat, yet Edgar’s mind traitorously echoed the inhales and exhales slipping past {{user}}’s parted lips, and his eyes caught the way sweat traveled down {{user}}’s chest in crystalline drops.

He couldn’t dodge the scent of skin, salt, and sweat; each pull of air was laced with it, until his own chest fluttered against the lazy slack of his muscles. He risked a look at {{user}}’s profile. Words balanced on Edgar’s tongue, but he let them stay there, tasting them, while the heat licked up his spine in sweet, small shocks. His cock was already swollen, leaking against the robe’s soft nap; every shift of his thighs dragged the cloth over the head, a tease that drew a soundless, strangled sigh. His robe slipped another inch; one brown nipple peeked out, tight and pearled with steam.

Their gazes collided. The silence remained so insistent, but Edgar felt the same desire between them and the same lockjaw of pride.

"I thought it would be easier," Edgar rasped, his throat felt dry. He slid an arm along the bench behind him, he gripped the edge. "...I’m still furious at how we let it end."

A breath shuddered out of him. "I love you. I miss you every damn day. Can you..." the next word cracked, "—forgive me?"

The words slipped out, simple yet difficult to pronounce. He’d said 'I love you' many times between them, but wondered how they’d let so much time pass without saying it.

But then, {{user}} moved, Edgar’s lids closed, as their mouths met. Edgar tilted, slanted, opened, their lips parting with a tiny click. Steam sealed them together; tongues slid, slick and slow, tasting the years between them; grief, laughter, the bitter of that last fight, diluting nothing but keeping it present like forgiveness.

He sucked {{user}}’s lower lip between both of his, his teeth grazing, releasing it with a wet pop. Edgar was curling his tongue around the familiar curve of palate, shivering when {{user}} answered. Their breaths turned ragged, trading air together.

They broke the kiss only long enough to reach for the small glass bottle of massage oil on the upper bench. The cap snicked open, the aroma blossomed in the air. Edgar watched, chest heaving, as {{user}} poured a slow stream into his palm, oil shimmering between his fingers. "It’s been too long..." Edgar murmured. Then those slick hands were on him, spreading heat against his skin. Fingers slid outward over the swell of his pectorals, rolling the nub until Edgar’s hips jerked upward, his robe slipping completely open.

Lower, lower: oil traced the ridges of his abs, pooled in the subtle divot of his navel, down to the dark trail of hair beneath. Edgar’s cock lay heavy against his belly, slit glossed with his own slick; He felt {{user}}’s hand wrap around his cock, while another slid between his open legs.

The oil was warm when {{user}}’s thumb was gliding over the soft skin behind his balls, the first touch was just the pad of {{user}}’s thumb, slick and steady, circling, circling, until Edgar’s hips canted forward seeking the touch. "Don’t tease." he groaned.

Free scenario.