Of all the emotions Marth might have expected to feel that morning, aroused was not one of them. Sitting at his desk and checking through the final figures on his computer he was bored if anything, chewing the tip of his pen and doodling rainbows on Post-It notes. With a yawn he stared out of the large window that formed the entire wall on the outer side of the room, enjoying the sunlight on his face. It wasn't much of a view, just other skyscrapers and a few large advertisements stuck on the sides of the buildings below. Dithering, he walked over to the window and gazed out thoughtfully, wishing he could be relaxing at home instead.
A low whirring noise began and Marth frowned, turning around and hoping it wasn't something wrong with the computer. But as he stood there a long metallic structure rose slowly into view outside the window like a submarine with the top half sawn off, a man protruding out of it on the right hand side. For a moment Marth stared at it without thinking, and then blinked and realised it was in fact a window cleaning box, and the man was not protruding out of it but simply standing inside it, operating the controls. The grey beast eventually juddered to a halt and the window cleaner reached down for his tools before straightening up again to begin cleaning the window. Uninterested, Marth turned towards one of the files on his desk, ready to resume work. But just before his attention could withdraw his sense of peripheral vision the window cleaner's gaze passed over it, and their glances met through the glass. The eye contact was brief, barely an acknowledgement of the other's presence, but as Marth resumed typing his mind shifted idly through the details of this indirect intruder of his personal space. It was a tall man, clean shaven with short blue hair. He'd worn a bright orange puffer jacket as if to protect himself from the cold but it hung open unzipped, revealing underneath a simple black tank top. And his eyes had been friendly yet somehow intimidating, as if hoping for a quick game of rough-and-tumble. This detail lingered the longest, but then dissolved into his subconscious like other useless information.
Marth sighed, multitasking as he scanned over his timetable whilst fumbling in a drawer for a list of phone numbers he'd been given. Then he made two calls to different businessmen, boredom like a recurring itch from an insect bite on the inside of his skull. As he waited on a particularly strung out reply he swivelled in his chair almost automatically to stare out of the window. But half the glass had already been soaped up, spoiling the view. Marth yawned, watching the window cleaner's arm move up and down in a steady rhythm. As the man's arm went up it lifted the puffy orange jacket with it, pulling it away from the tank top which clung to his actually quite shapely chest.
"Pardon sir, could you repeat that?" Marth said automatically into the phone, distracted. The window cleaner's arm went up again, the jacket lifted, and Marth's eye followed the gentle curve in from his strong chest to his flat stomach with something more than just mild appreciation.
"I'm sorry sir, could you go over the last detail again just to confirm?"
Marth finally diverted all of his attention back to the call. It took longer than expected to note all the particulars, and only when he hung up did he have the chance to look back out of the window. The whole of it had been soaped over now, Marth thought initially. But as he looked again he realise that a patch in the middle had been left clear. A patch that was the perfect size for the window cleaner to stand in almost as his own outline. And this was what the man was currently doing, a teasing smile lifting his lips.
Hey, he mouthed.
Marth froze, not quite knowing what to do.
"Hi," he replied automatically.
The man grinned, but didn't say anything else. Marth watched him awkwardly, feeling strangely inclined to continue the conversation. However the man simply began soaping in the space that revealed him – from bottom to top this time. Not sure what to do Marth continued to observe him until there was only clear glass enough to see the man's face. At which point the window cleaner suddenly looked back through the glass at him, and winked. Then with a final movement he soaped himself out of sight. Marth could feel himself blushing. Oh dear. He was rather inclined to find the man seriously attractive. And, sweet marshmallows, any moment now the soap would be wiped off and he could see him again. No, must focus on work.
But there was nothing much to do. And as soon as the soap began to come off Marth felt his eyes revolving almost of their own accord to look back at the window cleaner. It was odd that each of them could see the other so clearly, yet neither was paying the other any attention. Although Marth was beginning to. And as the window cleaner never looked back his confidence that their eyes wouldn't meet grew, and with each flick of his gaze he lingered longer, watching the simple focus of the man's expression and the fluid movement of his body as he wiped off the soap. Was the man avoiding his gaze, or just unaware of it? Marth shuffled papers on his desk. It didn't matter, did it? It was just a little harmless ogling. The window was almost clear now anyway. Sure enough seconds later the low whirring sound started up again, and the window cleaning box moved up and out of sight.
Marth ate lunch at his desk, a small Tupperware full of healthy things that he had packed in it this morning at home. It included two salad sandwiches and a fat free yoghurt, which tasted disgusting. He threw it in the bin. Healthy eating really ought to have attractions above and beyond lowering weight watching concerns, he mused. Like a good taste, for instance. Would that be too much of an indulgence?
Two hours and a reasonable amount of work later, Marth was tempted to call it a day and go home. He felt that he should, however, do at least one more hour of work before he left. The thought made him sigh. Half an hour? Still he felt unwilling. Ten more minutes? he bargained with himself. Yes, he could manage that. He readjusted himself and clicked his pen decisively.
He was halfway through composing a fax when a familiar low whirring noise came back into earshot. Eh? Surely the window cleaner had finished with his window? But maybe he was just lowering the box back down to the ground. Come to think of it – what did happen to window cleaning boxes once they had done the whole height of the building? Not that the window cleaner had done the whole height, being as it was a very tall building… Marth shook his head briskly, annoyed to find his mind going off on a tangent. But he couldn't help but be distracted further as the window cleaner himself casually descended into view, the wind tousling his hair into an attractive disarray. It seemed like the man would go straight past, but at the last moment he released the controls and the box juddered to a halt. Then the man looked up – and straight at Marth. Marth instantly began to panic. What did he want? He couldn't have come back to clean…
The man watched him with an easy smile. Marth, not knowing how else to respond, looked back at him, a silent yet somehow intense exchange. What was he doing there? What was he waiting for? Marth fidgeted nervously, unable to bear the tension. Do something, he willed the man. Don't just stand there and look at me.
This thought was very badly timed.
The man slowly removed his orange puffer jacket and let it drop down inside the box. And then, never taking his eyes from Marth's, he slowly peeled off the black tank top underneath, leaving him bare-chested. What was he doing? Alarmed, Marth knew he couldn't watch this any longer. But he couldn't not watch. The window cleaner's chest was just a stunning as Marth might have imagined. Flawless skin flexed over subtly defined muscles. The man's smile broadened, his eyes lighting up mischievously.
I'm back, he mouthed.
Marth felt his insides melting.
The window cleaner bent down to retrieve his sponge, and then, to Marth's confusion, began soaping up a small section of the window in front of him. Having done this he put the sponge down and then, raising his eyebrows at Marth ever so slightly, he pressed his chest to the soaped window and began to rub against it rhythmically.
Marth watched him in shock and embarrassment, an unintelligible sound choking the back of his throat. It was a show. For him. The man's skin slid smoothly over the window, up and down. Up and down. So that was why he put the soap there. No! Marth gave himself a mental slap. Friction really wasn't the most pressing issue here. For goodness sake – there was a man, a fit man, practically strip teasing outside his office window. It felt like an occasion for swearing.
"Marshmallows," Marth muttered. He didn't really do swearing.
The window cleaner was enjoying himself, licking his lips in an erotic manner and…gyrating. Marth was rapidly turning red. That man really knew how to…use his hips. Look away, look away… But he could still hear a quiet squeaking as the window cleaner's chest moved against the glass. He couldn't ignore it, he just couldn't.
Standing decisively he left his desk and walked briskly towards the window, physically forcing his eyes elsewhere as he opened the section of the window on the right and peered out. The man turned slowly to look at him. He was smiling still, completely relaxed and obviously unbothered by whatever Marth might have to say. Which was, currently, nothing. It felt like his voice had simply closed off.
"Nuhhh," he managed. There was so much adrenalin coursing through him he felt like he might fall over.
The window cleaner raised an eyebrow. "You've been watching me." It was almost an accusation. The irritation this caused helped Marth recover his voice.
"You drew my attention," he argued back.
"Didn't I just."
Marth was unnerved by his playfulness, and briefly forgot what he was going to say. What came out instead was, "You were…making the window squeak." He blushed instantly. Marth, you incompetent idiot.
"Would you squeak… if I did it to you?" the man drawled, taking a slow step towards him. The images formed themselves in Marth's mind before he could prevent himself. He resisted the urge to close the window and retreat hastily out of the room.
"Uh…" Why did he feel like he had to answer this question? It was this guy that was in the wrong, not him. "I don't think that's a professional thing to be doing…" he tried, vainly attempting to keep his tone as measured as possible.
"Correct," the man answered, sounding amused. "It was…totally personal."
Lost, Marth tried a managerial voice. "I think you should come inside."
"Oooh, what are you suggesting?" With his low, steady voice and soapy toplessness, everything about him made it blatantly clear what he was suggesting. Marth was beginning to feel that if he stayed a moment longer in the man's presence he would be provoked into doing something highly unprofessional. Like slap him.
"I'd rather you…not do that again," he finished, desperate now to simply escape.
The man shrugged. "Yeah, sure." But something in his tone of voice implied that he might easily switch it for something equally suggestive instead. Or perhaps it was just Marth's imagination. He was just a window cleaner; they would probably never see each other again anyway. Marth closed the window. Well, there was no chance of getting any more work done now. Collecting his things quickly he headed for the door.
As soon as he was outside of the room, however, he felt his confidence returning. How could he let the man get away with embarrassing him like that? He was only a window cleaner! And that office was Marth's space, not his, and he'd just given it up to a man that hadn't even technically been in the room. He felt infuriated. With himself, with the window cleaner. Only now did the witty and professional responses occur to him, inevitably now that the moment was gone. Well this was his right! To a bit of peace in his own office! He couldn't just give it up like this! Re-energised, he turned and went back into the room.
The window cleaner was still there. Unaware of Marth he was running his hands slowly down over his chest and torso, wiping the soap off. It was provocative but unguarded, unintentional. His expression was serious, and when he was done he wiped off the small patch of smeared soap off the window before reaching for his top. Marth hesitated, suddenly feeling as he watched that he could almost warm to him, this more professional, simply attractive man. But then the window cleaner looked up and saw Marth watching him. He blinked, surprised, but smiled easily and Marth's heart rate rocketed like a small firework.
Hello again, he mouthed.
Marth fled the room.