The alarm clock on your phone sounded, startling you awake. Today, there was a pest inspection in your building. According to management, they were going to be a regular occurrence from this point forward since there was a new owner. Fuck the owner… fuck corporations taking ownership of residential buildings and the rent skyrocketing. Fuck landlords.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, groaning as you flailed and reached for the source of the blaring and beeping. Your fingers catch the edge of the touchscreen, swiping the dismiss command before your phone clatters to the floor. "Shut the fuck up, already," you mumbled, still not quite awake, the rasp of slumber still evident in your throat.
Typically, you cherished your sleep, especially since your job as a bartender didn't require you to rise early. But today, oh today, you had to get off your ass. There were still some things you'd like to clean up before you had unwelcome guests in your home. To be honest, you didn't really like people in your personal space. Your best boy, your fluffykins, Hot Sauce didn't like strangers either. So this whole ordeal was a real pain in the ass for you, even though it was, in the grand scheme of things, rather trivial.
Deciding not to waste any more time after 15 minutes of groaning and rolling around, you shoved the duvet off and clambered out of bed and into the bathroom for your regular morning routine. Brushed your teeth, washed your ass, put some fucking makeup on because it made you feel like less of an NPC. With your hair done in a half up/half down style, eyes lined and lips tinted, you threw on a green velvet skirt that hung off your hips nicely and reached about mid-calf. Your top was a black and lacy corseted thing and there was a silver butterfly pendant around your neck to match the half butterfly wings in each of your ears. Something shiny to keep the dread at bay.
While you busied yourself in the kitchen, you gave everything a good wipe down and set your coffee machine to brew a single serving. "Saucy Boy," you cooed as you continued to tidy up, "company comin'."
The gray ball of fluff heard the word 'company' and knew exactly what it meant. His striking blue eyes narrowed, and he hissed, then made a run for his favorite spot under your bed. Surely he wouldn't be coming out until the coast was clear. He was such a good boy. He was just like you. Anti-fucking-social.
As you scrubbed a particularly stubborn plate, an insistent knock on your door disrupted your focus. Dishes clattered as they slipped from your startled fingers. With soapy wet hands, you called out, "gimme a sec," and you grabbed a towel to hastily dry them. The knocking persisted impatiently. "For fuck' sake," you muttered to yourself, making your way down the hall to the entrance. "Just a sec!"
You patted your damp hands on your skirt. The unintentional damp spot made you grimace at the sensory ick as you wrenched the door open. A less-than-graceful, "Yeah?" Tumbled from your lips, voice crack and all. It was disgusting. But when you looked to whoever was gracing your doorstep, your eyes were met in a broad chest adorned with a scuffed up navy blue jumpsuit rather than a face.
"Pest control. Management sent me up," a low and husky voice announced. You followed the sound, eyes traveling up from the broad chest dressed in a scuffed-up navy blue jumpsuit with a name tag that read 'Ryomen.' Up further, a beautifully muscled neck with tattoos around the sides. Chiseled jawline, check. Plush pink lips with silver rings decorating them, check. Your eyes traveled up to meet his, brooding and... crimson? He stared down at you with what you could only assume were colored contact lenses. It was a startling surprise. He was a startling surprise that you hadn't expected.
"Well, damn," you said accidentally out loud. Ryomen's eyebrow arched slightly, and his mouth twitched in a fleeting moment of amusement before he cleared his throat and scratched the nape of his neck, breaking the silence.
"So, uh, you gonna let me in or?..." he began, voice trailing off. Your daydreaming bubble burst, and you snapped back to reality. You blinked a few times, realizing you've been standing there like a complete dolt, just staring at him. Wouldn't be the first time, but fuck, you wish it didn't happen right now .
"Y-yeah, right, sure," you stuttered. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks as you stepped aside to let him in. He practically had to squeeze past you with how bulky he was as he stepped further inside. Ryomen stopped at the edge of your living room, seemingly taking in the view. You closed the door behind you and followed after him, silently cursing at yourself. Clenching and unclenching your fist, you cringed at how abnormal your behavior was— an awkward blast from your teenage past, rudely reinserting itself into your rather uneventful adult life. War never changes.
You watched him as he walked down your hall and paused in front of the bookshelf, just at the edge of your living room. It was then that you looked him over in his entirety. Rather than the sexy jump scare you initially experienced, you could fully see the man in front of you with his tall muscular build in plain view. His vivid salmon pink hair was styled in a spiky undercut. The natural hair color being a dark brown at the roots with the same color tapering down his nape. The jagged tattoo on his neck wrapped around the sides and disappeared beneath his collar. You wondered where the inky lines ended or if they just kept on going. There's a clear edge to him that makes you wonder what else he gets up to besides bug zapping and rat catching. His appearance wasn't conservative, conventional and certainly not professional by any means. But if he got the job done who the hell cares? You figured his employer must be pretty laid back individual and suddenly you were feeling thankful that he got the job.
Ryomen seemed to be taking in the scenery with detached curiosity, from the antique furniture to the faded old paintings you thrifted from a shop down the block you liked to frequent. He traced the spine of a book delicately, casting an expressionless sideways glance over his shoulder at you. Adjusting the tank strapped to his shoulder, he finally asked, "Kitchen?"
You damned idiot, you've been staring again, haven't you? You'd been standing there, shoulder leaned against the wall and shamelessly ogling the gods-damned Exterminator.
My, have the mighty fallen...
It's been a while since you've had a proper romp in the sack, and yeah you most definitely should have probably had a morning DJ session. This could have been easily avoided. But then again, it's not like you expected a hell god of a hulk to be knocking at your door and sizing you up like a steak and shrimp dinner. No, you expected some old guy with shrunken height, male patterned baldness and questionable B.O. to be doing this job and then he'd get the hell out. You tried to settle yourself and start again because you still weren't being normal, apparently.
"Around the corner to the left," you told him, with your features a bit tight. You rushed past him, trying to save yourself anymore embarrassment. As you walked into the kitchen, you glanced back at Ryomen. "Sorry for the mess," you stated matter-of-factly as if you didn't expect anyone to come over. As if you didn't just clean up for that exact purpose. Either way, you felt super self-conscious about your horn dog state of mind-or from his perspective-your scatter brained air-headedness. This was your way of showing it, by trying to make useless small talk from a list of 'social norms and shit regular people say'. So smart. So cool. Such a dumbass.
Though, Ryomen thought it was endearing. It mildly tickled him that he could still smell the lemony scent of your all-purpose cleaner in the air. You and your little white lie. He wasn't going to mention it though. You were flustered enough as it is. He merely shrugged, the tattoos on his neck scrunching with the movement. "Don't worry about it. I've seen worse." He reassured you with a stoic demeanor, unfazed. It didn't help.
You picked up the waiting cup from your coffee machine- a single serving- and quickly mixed it to your liking before getting out of his way. Stood near the breakfast nook but refusing to sit in case you need to excuse yourself to scream into a pillow, you took a good sip of coffee help your nerves. "So, what exactly are you inspecting for today?" you inquired, trying to strike up a conversation as he started checking the corners of your kitchen. You were more than mildly interested because why the hell is management scheduling this to happen every other month? What are the not saying? Gods, this place is a dump.
"Pest infestation. Management said tenants have been havin' issues with some critters in the building," Ryomen explains, all business as he examines the nooks and crannies. Some nasty fuck has the cooties and now it was yours and everybody else's problem. Fantastic.
"You had any problems?"
You shook your head, huffing a sigh. "Nope," you replied, popping the 'p'. "Haven't seen a single crawly since Sauce and I have been here. Not a single one."
He grunted an acknowledgement at first, but then a flash of confusion sparked across his features. It's one of the few changes to his face that you've gotten to witness since greeting him and you took comfort in knowing that he wasn't all stone. Though the idea of him hard didn't sound all that bad. Being newly single has finally started to take its toll.
"Sauce?" Ryomen questioned as he sat the tank down in the middle of the floor. He bent over to rummage through a bag by his side. He pulled out a bug trap and a tube of something you didn't really recognize. He's got a great ass… you thought and it had you feeling a little bold.
"My pussy." You said, taking another sip of your beverage, it was hot and… so was the view.
Ryomen paused, head ticking to the side minutely.
"Cat, I mean," you added on hastily when he stilled for a moment at your words. Get a hold of yourself, girl.
"Where's it?" he asked, focusing on the subject. There was mild concern in his voice as he peeked at you over his shoulder. You weren't sure if it's because you were acting out of pocket or if his concern was for Hot Sauce. "This stuff won't hurt it, but it'll still probably be irritatin'," he stated, gruffly. It was for Hot Sauce.
You sigh in relief, grinning a little at his subtle display of concern. You liked men that liked animals. You ex hated animals so, Hot Sauce had lived with you mom and you'd go and see him whether you wanted to see her or not was another story. It was cute the way his brows furrowed and you were tempted to smooth out the little wrinkle between them with your index finger. Sure a boop would follow, it was only right.
"No biggie, he's under my bed. Doesn't like unfamiliars in our territory, and he's not allowed in the kitchen, anyway," You explained with a sly smirk, casually pacing to the doorway. Your skirt swished at you moved and his eyes followed you. There was something about the intensity in them that sent shivers down your spine. It was a type of attention you weren't accustomed to. Like he didn't want to miss a thing or like he was trying to see inside you. Had he been looking at you like that the entire time? Like he was undressing you in his head? You were probably imagining it. You were probably still letting your coochie do all the thinking.
"Good boy, I guess," he chuckled lightly, resuming his work with skilled efficiency. "Must be well-trained."
"Good boy indeed," you responded, but the words slipped from your mouth with an unintended sultry tone. If nothing else clued him in on your thought process right now, that certainly did the trick. To mask your embarrassment, you gulped down the rest of your drink before setting the cauldron shaped mug aside with a hard thump against the table. You cleared your throat again and fidgeted with your skirt-a seasoned habit you never could shake-unable to escape the feeling of those hungry eyes tracking you. Swallowing you up.
Ryomen chuckled again, the sound sending vibrations through your system given the deep rumbly tone of his voice. He shook his head as if he was having some sort of internal monologue you were unaware of. The glimmer in his eyes, gave you another dose of what was hiding underneath his facade of cool. It was boyish. It was cute. You wanted to know more.
The inspection carried on a while longer without much more being said when you decided to break the silence. "So, are you into pest control full-time, or is it just a side gig?" you asked him, genuinely curious.
He turned to you, eyes seeming softer now, and he offered a small smile. "Nah, it's just a day job. I have other shit that keeps me busy all night." People didn't usually ask him about anything other than the stuff pertaining to the current work at hand. It was refreshing to see you show interest and he welcomed it more than you could ever know. He was pulling you in and you were diving after him. It was nice. A sort of chemical reaction that felt magnetic and natural. Something that was supposed to be just routine bullshit adulting on both ends was teasing at a comfortable familiarity and opening up a door to something more. Even if it was only just a crack. Even if it was barely anything at all.
Ryomen's mysterious reply had you dying to know what exactly it was that kept him 'busy all night'. Was he living some sort of double life? Was he Batman? A drug dealer? A pimp? Or were you overthinking things like usual? "Care to share with the class?"
"Maybe some other time," his sweet smile faded a bit. "But for now, let's focus on keepin' your spot in order," he hummed his response, pointing to the space around him as he peeled back the adhesive for a trap.
You let him have that. Despite the initial awkwardness and your spacing out, it seemed like this visit might not have been so bad after all. You even hoped it would be him showing up the next time too, rather than some other random bastard that might not be kind, might not be respectful and might not be him.
Ryomen stood and closed the distance between you in fewer steps than expected, disrupting your inner ramblings.
"Bathroom," he said simply in a low, almost whisper tone. He was standing right in front of you now, looking down at you. His gaze flitted from your eyes to your lips and back, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Gotta check in there next," he continued in the same low voice, so close you could feel him breathing. He smelled nice, like almonds, incense and something you wanted to fuck. Of course he did.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you struggled to maintain eye contact, challenging but not challenging him. Because your bark was a lot bigger than your bite. "Down the hall," you instructed, gulping. Your voice was almost a breathless whisper to match his. That intense look was back– the look in his eyes that suggested a magnetic pull, a need you couldn't place. Or a need you didn't want to outright assume.
With a subtle, inviting gesture, he held out a large hand– with black nails and pronounced veins that disappeared beneath a rolled up sleeve– gesturing toward the hallway. "After you," he offered in a smooth baritone voice. And you lead the way.