Whisper of the Heart

“You wanna come in?” His tone was small. Slowly rubbing a gloved finger across his wind-burned, wrinkled brow, Clayton sighed—boring a hard gaze into Travis’ blues. With him, there certainly needed to be no questions. Nothing had to be explained. Effortlessly, he slid off the bike and said, “Sure.” Silently, they made their way up the walk, but feverish blood inside Travis pounded burning ears. And reaching for the latch, a world once restrained gushed forth—making Travis wince, while heels of heavy boots scuffed hesitantly across smooth, polished slate. Then, Clayton stopped. And turning around, the expectancy was birthed. “I’m glad you’re here,” Travis whispered—spellbound by childlike lashes. He could only imagine how they might feel against skin. Allowing the slightest curl to form within glistening lips, Clayton gazed—as if reading Travis’ most inner thoughts. Then, slowly…deliberately, he closed those lashes, only to re-open with the most convincing allure of innocence. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “I’m glad I’m here too.” Clayton’s stare extended as he unzipped his jacket. “Here, let me take that,” Travis eagerly offered—stepping closer. “Thanks.” And sinking into supple hide, Travis’ fingers immediately clenched—absorbing hidden remnants of Clayton’s warmth. It made him shiver. “Oh…” the visitor then gasped—stretching arms out to full design. Taut and silky, a white turtleneck hugged symmetrical muscles, with only the slightest hint of throbbing veins, “I need to loosen up a bit, you know… too long on that bike today.” Tauntingly, sweet scent escaped—filling the entire entry, while Travis groped for air. “I’ll bet.” The hanger barely caught the bar.