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‘Gotta be honest here, Marty. I didn’t think you’d show.’
Martyn turns away from his contemplation of the still pond and finds the trash rat peeking out from the tangle of leaves and twisted twigs of a nearby bush. He’s wearing his trash can lid hat and the mid-morning light makes his eyes glint like cut rubies. There’s something wary about him, like he’s expecting Martyn to declare all of this a joke and run off at any second.
When ten breaths pass and nothing happens, the trash rat wriggles out of the flower bed. The greenery, twisted tight around him, holds him back until he starts to struggle, then it spits him out like a rat vomiting up garbage. One with an inferior stomach, that is.
The trash rat falls onto the ground with a soft ‘oof.’ Dirt clings to his paws and knees. He crawls towards Martyn on all fours, head turned up, craning his neck until the tips of their noses brush. Two sniffs later, he pushes himself onto his hind legs to stuff his whole face into Martyn’s fur.
Martyn lets him, relaxing into the touch. It’s kind of fascinating, the way the trash rat seems so entranced by his smell, pressing himself close and mingling the scents of their fur, making soft noises; small purrs and silent little squeaks. It’s… endearing.
Birds twitter overhead. The sun reflects off the surface of the pond, warming the dark grey stones that form the ragged shoreline. Their little spot, nestled between a big rock and the bushes, is shielded from prying eyes – not that any of the rats from the attic colony would venture outside before nightfall.
The trash rat’s purring grows louder as he moves closer to Martyn’s ear. ‘You still smell like me.’
He hums. ‘Gonna smell even more like you in a minute.’
‘Yeah.’
The trash rat hisses and digs his claws into sandy-brown fur. Martyn twists around, quick as a bug, and pushes him down, all but burying the other under his bigger body. He lets out a startled squeal, eyes going wide.
Martyn grins. ‘Before we get to that, though, I’d like to make you smell like me, too. Turnabout’s fair play.’
The trash rat stops wriggling. ‘Yeah,’ he breathes. ‘Sure. Go ahead.’
Martyn leans in, sniffing the trash rat’s cheek. He reeks of banana peel today. From the way it’s spread over his fur, he didn’t just eat it – he must have stuck his forehead in and rolled around in it, or something. Martyn darts his tongue out and gives him a considering lick, then sticks his nose into the sweet, warm niche behind his ears, where the sweat gathers, thick and pungent, yet somehow… nice.
Moving down, Martyn ruffles the fur at the back of the other’s neck. He shifts his paws to the ground, boxing the trash rat in with his body without resting his weight on him. He doesn’t want to actually squish the little guy, after all.
The trash rat lets out a ragged sigh. ‘Oh, yeah, baby.’
Martyn blinks. Waits. When nothing more is forthcoming, he continues his examination. He tugs on the trash rat’s Hawaiian shirt with his teeth until he can push it down enough to stir the hairs between his shoulder blades.
The trash rat moans. ‘Rip it off me, stud. Show me how strong you are.’ He shudders. ‘Been waiting all day for a big, powerful rat like you to give it to me.’
It sounds so fake, Martyn can’t help but laugh. ‘Dude.’
The trash rat jerks. His head shoots up. The look he gives Martyn over his shoulder is wide-eyed and startled.
The two of them blink at one another. Red seeps into the trash rat’s cheeks, enough of it to be visible through the grey.
‘I, uh. I’m sorry,’ he stammers.
Martyn pushes himself up, bringing some distance between them. His tail swishes behind him, stirring up the dirt. ‘Wait. I thought you were doing that on purpose?’
‘I– I wasn’t.’
The trash rat curls in on himself and Martyn realizes his mistake. He shuffles closer, carefully resting his flank against the other’s.
The trash rat un-tenses a fraction. ‘It’s, uh. An old reflex.’
Oh!
‘From when you were in the industry?’
He nods. ‘Some things just become automatic after a while, I guess.’
He’s still not looking at Martyn.
Martyn nudges him. ‘Did that often, huh?’
The trash rat’s shoulders go up. He looks away. ‘That line of work has limited options for rats as tiny as me. People always think themselves so unique, but when it comes down to brass tacks, so to speak, they all want to see the same.’
‘Is that why you left?’
The trash rat hesitates. ‘I enjoyed myself for the most part, but yeah. Eventually, I just didn’t want to do it any more.’
Except now an old pattern has reared its head. Martyn’s stomach lurches. This day should have been so good for both of them. He nuzzles the other’s neck, then lets out a soothing, sub-vocal chirp.
The trash rat eyes him warily, but chirps back. Then he licks Martyn’s whiskers. They end up grooming each other for a while. The sun rises higher in the sky, but the breeze picks up at the same time, keeping them pleasantly cool.
Eventually, Martyn draws away. ‘I, um.’
The trash rat’s ears flick in his direction.
Martyn feels heat crawl into his cheeks. He clears his throat. ‘If we’re… If we’re still on for the other thing that was supposed to happen here today–’
They came here for one very specific thing, after all.
‘– I’d rather do that in a way that won’t trigger any potentially unpleasant memories for you. So how about we switch positions?’
The trash rat gapes. ‘Really?’ He jumps to his feet. ‘I mean, yes!’
Martyn’s lips twitch. He wriggles until he’s presenting his rump to the trash rat. ‘Come on, then.’
Paws push into his fur, claws extended. Even lying down, the trash rat needs to climb Martyn to plaster himself against him. His nose ends up somewhere in the vicinity of Martyn’s ears. ‘Is this really okay for you?’
He sounds dazed again, already affected by the proximity.
Martyn laughs softly. ‘I have five hundred kids, dude. I don’t need to be in the pole position any more.’
The trash rat chuckles, biting softly at his jaw. ‘Bit of a dirty mind you got there,’ he teases, but he seems more comfortable now, emitting little squeaking sounds as he explores Martyn’s body.
Martyn stretches out under him, slipping into a light doze as he lets the trash rat sniff, groom and mark him.
They end up having to wash more than once that afternoon. Their attempts to lick each other dry afterwards only lead to renewed rounds of intense cuddling. Neither of them minds.
When night falls, they curl up under the trash rat’s berry bush, too loose and lazy to bother scrambling back inside. A million stars twinkle overhead. The trash rat chatters away about some relative or other until what comes out of his mouth are more yawns than words and the two of them sleep tucked against one another, close and warm and safe.