Chapter 4: The Bath Dive
The mug wobbled on the edge of the tub as Mavis let go. “Ignoring it is a perfectly valid strategy,” he retorted, his voice echoing thinly in the damp space. “It’s kept me alive for twenty-five years. You big, lumbering things notice everything. We notice nothing. It’s a survival trait.”
Travis sighed, a puff of air that stirred the soap bubbles near his chest. “This thing notices you. That’s the problem.” He let his head loll back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The heat was leaching the last of his energy, leaving behind a hollow, worried ache. “We can’t just wait for it to get clever.”
Mavis was quiet for a long moment. The only sound was the slow drip-drip-drip from the faucet onto the surface of the bathwater. Then, a tiny splash. Travis looked down.
Mavis had plunged over the side of the mug, a pale, deliberate dart into the cloudy water. He surfaced a second later, sputtering, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He swam with jerky, efficient strokes towards Travis’s midsection, the water rippling around his tiny form.
“What are you doing?” Travis asked, too tired to be startled.
“Proving a point,” Mavis said, dog-paddling to stay afloat. “The cat can’t get in here. The door is closed. The window is shut. For this moment, right now, it’s just us. And you’re worrying about tomorrow, which is stupid, because tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.” He reached out a small, pruned hand and patted Travis’s sternum. “Be here. In the stupid, hot water. With your stupid, prune-like friend.”
Travis looked down at him. Mavis’s large eyes were earnest, his expression uncharacteristically serious beneath the sheen of bathwater. The simple, physical reality of him—a tiny, vulnerable creature treading water in a sea of suds—cut through the fog of dread. Travis managed a weak smile.
“You’re right.”
“I’m always right,” Mavis said, the bravado returning instantly. “Now, stop thinking. You’re ruining the ambiance.” He gave a little kick and dove under the surface again.
Travis watched the small disturbance in the water, a trail of bubbles marking his path. He felt a sudden, gentle pressure against his inner thigh, then a soft, exploring nudge near his groin. He froze.
Mavis surfaced right beside Travis’s hip, grinning up at him, his pointed teeth glistening. “See? Distracted you.”
Travis’s body responded before his mind could formulate a protest. The warmth of the water, the intimate closeness, the sheer surreal normalcy of it all conspired against him. He felt a familiar, sluggish stirring beneath the soapy veil. “Mavis…” His voice was a low warning.
“What?” Mavis’s grin was impish. He paddled closer, his tiny hands finding purchase on Travis’s hip bone. “You’re warm. I’m cold. Basic thermodynamics.” His eyes darted downward, tracking the subtle change beneath the cloudy surface. “And other things are basic, too.”
“Don’t,” Travis breathed, but it lacked conviction. It was a plea and an invitation, all tangled together.
Mavis’s expression softened, just for a fraction. “You need to not think for a while,” he said, his tone shifting from teasing to something more deliberate. “Let me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He took a deep breath and disappeared under the water again.
This time, Travis felt the full, deliberate contact. Small, sure hands gripped him, one at the base and another further up. The sensation was immediately electric—the contrast of the hot water and the cooler, smoother touch of Mavis’s skin, the shocking intimacy of the act. Mavis’s entire body seemed to wrap around him, a sinuous, living embrace in the silken heat. He moved with a purpose that was neither hurried nor hesitant, a slow, underwater exploration that felt less like arousal and more like a profound, wordless reclamation.
Travis gasped, his hands flailing for a moment before gripping the sides of the tub. His head thumped back against the porcelain. The steam, the heat, the impossible slick pressure—it all coalesced into a single, mind-numbing point of focus. Every worry about holes in walls and copper-eyed predators dissolved, burned away by a simpler, more urgent fire.
He could see Mavis’s blurred shape moving beneath the water, a pale ghost dedicated to its task. Travis let out a shaky moan, the sound thick in the humid air.
Mavis surfaced for air, gulping a breath before whispering, “See? No cat here.” Then he dove again, his mouth joining the concerted effort, a warm, wet suction that drew a ragged cry from Travis’s throat.
This was different from their earlier play in bed. That had been sleep-fogged and mutual, a shared secret in the dark. This was deliberate, a gift offered in a bright, steamy room, a focused rebellion against the fear that crouched outside the door. Travis surrendered to it completely. His hips pushed upward in a slow, helpless rhythm, meeting Mavis’s ministrations. The water sloshed gently against the sides of the tub, a rhythmic accompaniment.
It didn’t take long. The buildup was a swift, rising tide, heightened by the vulnerability and the bizarre tenderness of the act. Travis’s back arched, his toes curling against the slick tub floor. A raw, guttural sound tore from him as he came, his release lost instantly in the vast, soapy water.
For a long minute, the only sounds were Travis’s shuddering breaths and the relentless drip of the faucet.
Mavis broke the surface, paddling back to the mug. He looked exhausted, water streaming from his hair, but he wore a look of deep satisfaction. He hauled himself over the ceramic edge and collapsed inside, breathing heavily.
Travis was boneless, sinking deeper until the water covered his mouth. He felt utterly spent, clean, and empty of thought. He turned his head, his cheek against the cool tub, and looked at the small creature panting in the mug.
“You,” Travis said, his voice wrecked, “are a lunatic.”
Mavis waved a dismissive hand, still catching his breath. “You’re welcome.”
Silence settled again, but it was a different silence now—peaceful, sated, thick with shared understanding. Travis watched as Mavis wrung out his hair with tiny, efficient hands.
“I mean it,” Travis said after a while, his voice softer. “Thank you.”
Mavis shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Just passing the time.” He peered over the rim of the mug. “We should get out. We’re both going to dissolve.”
Travis nodded slowly. The water was cooling, and the pruned state of his fingers confirmed it. He stood up, water cascading off him in a loud torrent, and stepped out onto the bathmat. He grabbed a towel, roughly drying himself before carefully wrapping Mavis in a soft, clean corner of it, lifting him like a precious, damp swaddled infant.
He carried Mavis back into the bedroom, the night air cool on his wet skin. The room was as they’d left it—the patched wall, the silent hole, the screen door with its dancing moths. It felt different now, though. Less like a besieged fort and more like a home, however temporary.
Travis set Mavis down on the nightstand, still cocooned in the towel. He pulled on a pair of soft sleep pants and sat on the edge of the bed, facing his small friend.
“Alright,” Travis said, his mind clear now, sharpened by the catharsis. “New plan. We don’t wait for it to find a way in. We find a way to make it not want to.”
Mavis, who was vigorously rubbing his hair dry, paused. “Poison?”
“No. Too dangerous for you, and… no.” Travis leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We make its favorite entry point… unpleasant. We booby-trap the hole.”
A slow grin spread across Mavis’s face. “I’m listening.”
“You said you can hear everything in the walls. So you’ll be our early warning. We rig something at our hole—nothing that’ll hurt you, but something that’ll give that ginger bastard a nasty surprise if it pokes its paw through again.”
“What kind of surprise?” Mavis’s eyes glinted with mischievous interest.
Travis stood up and walked to his closet, rummaging in a box of miscellaneous junk he’d never quite unpacked. He returned with a small, battery-powered motion sensor from an old security light kit and a can of compressed air, the kind used for cleaning electronics. “We aim this,” he said, holding up the can, “right at the hole. We rig the sensor to trigger the nozzle if something breaks the beam. It’ll get a face-full of freezing, high-pressure air. Probably scare the hell out of it.”
Mavis clapped his tiny hands together, a dry, rustling sound. “Genius! And wonderfully petty. I love it.”
“We’ll set it up tomorrow,” Travis said, a new energy threading through his weariness. “For tonight…” He looked at the patched wall, then at the hole. “For tonight, you stay with me. No arguments.”
Mavis, for once, didn’t argue. He simply nodded, his earlier bravado replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the danger. “No arguments,” he agreed.
Travis lifted him gently, towel and all, and placed him on the pillow. He turned off the lamp, plunging the room into the soft, blue glow of the peeling neon stars. He lay down, curling his body around the small lump on the pillow beside his head.
In the dark, Mavis’s voice was a tiny whisper. “Travis?”
“Yeah?”
“Your bathwater tasted like soap.”
Travis snorted a quiet laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love it,” Mavis whispered back.
And Travis, drifting into a dreamless, secure sleep, knew that he did.
Outside, on the rusted fire escape, a pair of copper-colored eyes reflected the distant streetlight. A low, curious rumble vibrated in a striped orange throat. The scent was still there, that tantalizing, small-animal smell, but it was muted now, blurred by the overwhelming human scent and something else—something chemical and sharp. Steel wool. The cat stared at the wall for a long time, its tail twitching, before it stretched and melted back into the shadows. The hunt, for tonight, was over. But the memory of the tiny, skittering heartbeat behind the drywall remained. It would be back.
In the quiet bedroom, two heartbeats, one large and slow, one small and quick, found a shared rhythm in the dark. The trap was not yet set, but the will to fight had been renewed, forged in steamy water and a desperate, affectionate act of defiance. Tomorrow would come. But for now, they slept.
But for now, they slept.
Like every morning since the cat became a problem, Travis woke to the fluttering sensation of Mavis’ body wriggling and squirming against his bare skin. And also like every morning, Mavis delighted in making such a large being beg and moan for more of his ticklish touch. Tiny, insistent fingers found the sensitive space between Travis’s ribs, skittering like a spider before diving into the softer flesh of his stomach.
“Stop,” Travis gasped, his voice thick with sleep, but he was already curling in on himself. A helpless laugh burst from him, high and breathless.
Mavis danced across his sternum, a mischievous shadow in the grey dawn light. “Make me.” His own laughter was a faint, melodic chirping. He focused his attention on the dip of Travis’s navel, tracing rapid, dizzying circles that made Travis buck and writhe.
Travis’s hands, clumsy with sleep, swatted at the general area but Mavis was too quick, too small. “I’m up, I’m up!” he pleaded, tears of mirth beading in the corners of his eyes.
“Good.” Mavis ceased his assault, planting his small feet on Travis’s solar plexus. He stood there, hands on his hips, a conqueror surveying his landscape. “Now, I’ve been thinking…”
“You think with your fingers, apparently.” Travis sucked in great gulps of air, his chest heaving beneath Mavis’s weight. The familiar morning ritual a comfort.
“Among other things.” Mavis jumped, landing with a soft thump on the pillow.