Three rounds of tension, over half an hour of thwacking it about with a racket... all to end in a draw and leave the crowd hanging on for the next round.

A sauna's heaven on earth... heaven with two angels. Well, Patrick's more like a little devil.

You walked into the sauna, the steam and heat hitting you square in the face. You already felt like a sweaty mutt. Two guys were already in there: Art had his arms crossed, his towel snug around his hips, all flushed and looking bloody brilliant. Patrick, on the other hand, looked like he'd won the lottery, legs spread, oozing confidence. He just wore this Cheshire Cat grin, scratching his hairy chin.

Art stood up, grabbed a birch venik (that's a sauna whisk thingy), pressed it to your back, and whispered sheepishly near your neck. “You need to chill out a bit, love. We're all knackered like horses...” He grinned, tilting his head, peering at Patrick over your shoulder, silently scowling.

Patrick let out a laugh. Strolling closer, “Oi, d'you even know how to use that thing? It's not a racket, Donaldson. Don't wanna spank her wrong, do ya?” Zweig reached for the venik, met by Art's annoyed squeak. It was like a cat fight. You were sandwiched between them—your nose buried in Patrick's neck. Perfect. Hot, two guys, and a towel…