Issue 11 - May 2006

Inn & Out by Lullena

He smells of three cups of early morning black coffee, long road trips, and the drizzling rain that is pattering down outside, slowly churning the gravel parking lot of the Inn & Out into a mud pit. I raise my head from my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice to peer at the man who dares to open the door so the wind ruffles the pages of my precious book.

He carries two panniers slung over one shoulder and a silver helmet in one hand. He resembles a soaked rag; his body is mud up to the knees and water from the crown downward. Must have been biking since the rain started at dawn this morning, I think with some admiration and, immediately afterward, some disgust-what kind of idiot bikes in the rain? His bike is going to rust solid. I sigh and set my book aside.

"Need help?" I ask, pushing up from my cushioned chair. He flashes me a quick, dazzling white smile.

"If you would, my bike's on the porch. D'you have a place to store it overnight?" My legs carry me out from behind the reception desk.

"There's a bike rack in the basement. I can put it there." He nods, smiling again.

Handsome fellow, I think, early twenties, maybe? Clean cut features, straight nose, deep brown eyes, dark eyebrows and curling hair dripping on the welcome mat. Not just his face either; he has the build of a cycling prince: long, lean, heavily muscled thighs and torso, skin dark from time spent outside. What is this guy doing out in the middle of nowhere without a training peloton or, at the very least, a pit crew?

"I'll just put this here, then?" The cyclist's voice breaks my train of thought. I shake my head to bring myself back to reality. "No? Where should I put my stuff?" His good-natured smile widens.

I correct my 'handsome fellow' to 'gorgeous fellow.'

"What?"

"I was wondering where I should put my stuff." I don't hear him. My eyes have alighted on his ass, covered only in tight biking shorts. Oh. My. God. "Hey, are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, fine. I-I'll just go get your bike. Back in a minute." I gape at him, wordless, and I feel my face beginning to flush. I lunge past him through the open door, slamming it closed behind me.

I collapse against the door, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Shit. Not again. I can't breath. My hand scrabbles at my pocket, ripping apart the Velcro holding it shut. Where's my damn inhaler? Shitshitshitshit...found it. I gasp for breath, and slowly, finally, my head returns to normal functioning. I don't deal with embarrassment well. Okay, that's an understatement: without my inhaler, I would literally die of embarrassment. Asthma sucks.

And, what the hell was I thinking looking at that guy's ass? He's a paying guest-well, not yet, but if he needs to store his bike overnight he probably is going to be-but, in any case, he doesn't need my 'oh my god aren't you hot, let me drool over you' routine. Jeeze, I've probably already scared him off, and he's the only company I've had all week, with the exception of my uncle coming to check on how his caretaker-nephew is holding up. Great job, Hani, I congratulate myself, you are an utter fool. I shiver. Make that a wet and cold fool. Why couldn't I just enjoy my book without interruption?

I spot his bike leaning against the porch railing. Not just any bike, but a cherry-red masterpiece of titanium and full suspension. I whistle in appreciation. I daydream of owning a bike like this one, but I have a one in a million chance of ever making the money necessary to buy one, or getting a sponsor to buy it for me. I check over my shoulder. He's not watching through the window. I run my hand along the frame. Water droplets gather and fall in small streams down the red metal. Beautiful. I check again. Still not there. Aw, hell, I've got to try it. There's no chance I'll ever be this close to this sort of bike a second time.

I swing a leg over and settle onto the gel seat. I could die happy right here. I push off and glide across the porch. I stop and adjust the seat lower; the cyclist's a bit taller than my five feet ten inches. I push off and glide again, this time heading for the stairs that lead off the side of the porch to the basement door. I slip my feet into the cages and stand. I level out the pedals and sit back off the seat as the front wheel falls onto the top step. The bike bounces smoothly down the length of the stairs, without jarring like my own mountain bike would. Sweet. If I could fall in love with an inanimate object, I would fall in love with this bike.

Rolling the bike into my basement workshop, I plan to give this bike royal treatment.

When I reemerge, half an hour later, into the main floor of the Inn, I find the cyclist sitting at the dining room table, his bags in a pile at his feet.

"Have a nice ride?" I stare at him, frozen. No way he knew, right? Right? "You took so long, I was afraid you'd run away." I feel the blush returning.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I-I," I take a deep, shuddering breath. Don't panic. He raises one eyebrow, and he's laughing. Laughing. At me. Keep breathing, I yell in my brain. Keep breathing. I have my inhaler in my hand. Oh, God. My knees give way and I crash against the china cabinet and slide to the floor. Ow.

"Crap!" Strong arms wrap around me, cradling my head. "Are you all right? Answer me, dude, come on. I don't know if you told me your name, shit, answer me." He sounds worried. Why is he worried? I'm comfortable here on the floor. But he won't stop nagging. I force my eyes open.

"My name is Hani. Please shut up, you're hurting my head." There is relief in his laugh. He pulls me a little closer.

"My name's Berk, Berk Almeric. I'm going to sit you up, okay?" I nod, and shut my eyes against the pain. I must have hit my head. Berk shifts me so I'm propped up against the china cabinet. "All right, Hani, do you think you can stand? I want to get you into bed." My lips twitch in a smile.

"You tryin' to pick me up?" Heh, pun-ny. I hear him snort.

"Nice one. Come on," Berk hooks his arms under my armpits. "Ally-oop." He grunts as he hauls my dead weight off the floor. "Hani, give me a hand here." I shuffle my feet until they seem to be under me. "Thanks. Lean back." I don't like that advice. Instead, I lean forward into the nice, still damp warmth of Berk, only half pretending to swoon. If nothing else, I am an opportunist.

"Mmph," I mumble into his jersey, "room five."

"What was that?" His breath is hot on my ear.

"Bed, room five."

"Oh."

With some stumbling into doorways and up the stairs to the second floor, Berk finally hauls me into my room and drops me onto my bed. He unties my hiking boots. I keep my eyes closed-I don't want to see the hurricane-like state of the room I cleaned just yesterday.

"You know, I didn't actually think you rode my bike," he whispers, a bit too late to make any difference.

"Sweet bike," I whisper back, already half asleep. Berk chuckles quietly as he pulls off my second boot. I feel his weight settle on the bed next to me.

"So you did ride my bike," he sounds serious. Uh-oh. "I don't really mind, but something like that shouldn't induce an asthma attack."

"Second attack," I murmur. "Second one today."

"Jesus, man, what causes them-"

"You. Stupid hot biker." Aw, shit. My mind gladly welcomes sleep.

Lullena, a.k.a. Sweet ‘n’ Low, is a soon-to-be-college student who writes only when she is not outdoors kicking her own butt in a number of sports. She goes absolutely gaga over skis, kayaks, bikes, books, her boyfriend, and her twin. She owns a lucky black cat, Lupine, and a disaster on four paws, Basil Pesto. Her work has been published in a few very small literary magazines in the state of New Hampshire, and, although she has been writing almost from birth, readers should be warned that Inn & Out is her first attempt at gay fiction.
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"...he has the build of a cycling prince: long, lean, heavily muscled thighs and torso, skin dark from time spent outside."