Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)

Steam Heat

  I left the office late, as usual, and groaned when my work cell went off in my pocket.  I inhaled deeply through my nose before I answered. "Sunnyside Services," I smiled into the phone.

   " Winnie! Where do you keep the...the...the stuff you clean my carpet with? The spot cleaner stuff?" Sebastian. Perfect hair, perfect chin, perfect personality, perfect eyes, and a tendency to take up a lot of my time; not that I was necessarily complaining.

   My shoulders slumped. "What happened?" And how long was it going to take me to fix?

   "There was a spill. It's everywhere. How do I clean this?" I could picture him, standing over the mess he'd made, one hand on his head, looking distressed.

   "It depends on what you spilled, Sebastian. I'll get a steam-cleaner over there tomorrow."

   "You're a life-saver, Win." He disconnected, and I went back into the building, to grab a steam-cleaner and wrestle it into my trunk. I owned my own business, cleaning and cooking for the rich and famous. Mostly the rich, mostly cleaning. If you wanted to work for me you had to be efficient, you had to be good, and you had to be discreet. Especially discreet.

   I was doing alright for myself, and I loved being in charge, but I could have done without the late nights and the paperwork. It was getting to be about time to hire an assistant. A few more clients, a few more employees...but first, the mysterious stain in Sebastian's carpet.

   The next day, I lugged the steam-cleaner to his door, and when I didn't get an answer from anyone but the dog, I let myself in. Music was coming from somewhere in the house, explaining why he didn't get the door, and I went looking for him. Just as I turned the corner at the top of the stairs,  Sebastian came out of his room, shirtless and sweaty. He threw his hands up in surprise and I shrieked.

   "Oh my god, Winnie, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in!" No wonder. How could he hear anything over that music?

   "I didn't know if you were even home. Where's this mess you've made?" And why did he look like he'd just run a marathon?

   He gestured at his bedroom, and the music somehow fell to a more reasonable volume. How did he do that? "It's in here. Jesus, Win, it's so bad. You're gonna kill me."

   "What did you do, murder someone and let them bleed on the rug?" I joked. He had turned away from me, staring into his room, and now he looked back over his shoulder at me, pinning me with a deadly gaze.

   "You didn't." I swallowed.

   His expression changed in an instant. "What? Christ, of course not. You're so easy to scare. I spilled juice," he laughed. "Red, dark, thick juice. Murder. Good god."

   "What exactly have you been up to in here?" I asked casually as I swatted his arm and walked past him to survey the damage.

   "Scrubbing. I thought I could help but I just sort of spread it out."

   I pinched the bridge of my nose. What a mess. "Alright, well, thanks for trying. Can you help me bring the cleaner up here? It's heavy." I gulped, trying not to think about his arms. Or his chest. I wasn't going to admire his physique. I just wanted to borrow his strength, right?

   I won't lie and say there was never a time when I caught myself looking a little too long at Sebastian. Or when maybe I could have been a bit quicker with my work, or given the job to one of my employees. Truthfully, my twice weekly stop at his house was one of my favorite parts of the job.

   And dear lord, did he flirt.

   "I'll drag it up here for you if you let me watch you work," he said.