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The inconsequential hamlet of Sechanall's Grove was a cheery and relatively secure place, nevertheless rife with secrets and interpersonal intrigue. It wasn't small in the sense of its size, at least; the riverside settlement was heavily forested with a low population density, and only the town's appointed administrators really knew the boundaries of their jurisdiction. Stretching across an area of around twenty-four square kilometers of mostly deciduous forest, the town remained populated year-round by all manner of walking, talking mammals.

Constitution Boulevard ran parallel to the river, a wide street lined with many venerable homes, most of which had been constructed by the town's first settlers before subsequently being remodeled. The street ended in a sizable plaza; here could be found many of the town's storehouses, businesses, administrative buildings and even a pair of churches. The Grove was a humble place, its' economy based primarily on its' strong agriculture and artisan classes; remember Witley Badger and his kin? Their wine was one of the most popular exports from the nearby port, and was only one manner of good among many. Yes, Sechanall's Grove was a bustling center of civilization and trade.

Most of the residents, however, lived some distance from the constant din of the Plaza. There was far more space and privacy to be found on the outlying streets, and some preferred the woods. Others still favored the shores up-river, or the nearby tributary streams for the placement of their homes. The whole town was rather loosely organized and taxed. This, unfortunately, meant Rórdan had to walk unpaved paths when it came time for him to leave the house that morning.

Presently, the thick-bodied rat male raised a paw, wiping the sweat from his brow and hefting his knapsack further up onto his shoulders. His eyes closed momentarily as he leaned on a nearby oak, retrieving his waterskin from where it hung on his hip and bringing it to his lips for a drink. He was a wide-built, chubby rat, and the black fur he was covered with didn't help when it came to refracting sunlight. The hot summer sun all day on a fat black rat? Yeah, he could use a bath...or three. Rór huffed indignantly, silently cursing the elements before resuming his march along the path.

He had spent the better part of that day down at the Plaza, in the market-bazaar by the port. The boy had been sent to search for tomes, knowledge for his Master using the money he had been given. What he had 'purchased' included a history of the great northern city of Melogona, and a cookbook written by an author called Aldith. The young scribe's master had insisted that he collect every book he see that they did not already own - and mind, he'd been doing this at least twice a week for almost three years now. The young rat had many years ago made the decision to give up his general education at the local schoolhouse in order to pursue a trade. Additionally, he had been given a way to pay his Master for allowing him to live on his estate. The rat was grateful for that - he loved being around books whenever possible, and his Master's ultimate goal was to construct a grand library for the region. His other wish was that he and his two students teach the arts of book-binding, transcription and proper writing technique to the townsfolk. Someday, Rórdan and Gerhild would even take on apprentices of their own. As far as Rór understood it, his Master had recently borrowed some money from his brother; it was to facilitate the purchase of the land that said library would be built on. They were getting closer every day...

And Rórdan knew his two books would help to do just that - at least, they would have in theory. Perhaps not in practice.

The boy had been ruminating on these facts of life the previous night; today, though, he'd been unable to think. Too many voices, as well as the fact that he had to focus on his work. He reminded himself of it now as he trudged down the path towards his Master's home. He'd take almost a year to construct the library, even with employees to help him. Rórdan had already posited that he would help build, though his Master had demanded that he do no such thing. After all, Rór knew nothing of construction or carpentry or architecture. Still, he couldn't help but want to lend a helping paw. The library was where his life was, and would be. It was odd, having one's own future laid out in front of oneself in no uncertain terms. He would be a teacher and a scholar, like his master before him - but the difference would lie in the details, in that he would have greater capacity to teach and learn in turn. He would have a repository of knowledge to draw upon; his Master's collection of tomes already numbered in the thousands, and each day he and Gerhild would bring him more. Not all of them were transcribed or given bindings yet, but they were there, and that was what mattered. Rórdan had plenty of work left to do, and would for years to come...possibly even forever, if the books kept coming. The idea of it all was exciting to him - and yet, left him feeling oddly empty.

It took nearly an hour to complete the commute from Sechanall's Plaza to the Master's house. Rór's Master was one of the few citizens on the outskirts of the township who had a home that stood on its' own, rather than being carved out of a tree or heavy stones. Instead, it was made of oaken planks, constructed with the utmost care and expertise by the Beavers who lived down-river. They were said to be able to do fantastic things with wood, and while it could be expensive to hire them, many with their help. A pair of Beavers even lived right in town, though Rór doubted they wanted to take on large projects on their own. His master's home was two stories tall, and apparently had taken two moons to construct. The library would take much, much longer, and they would need at least a dozen helpers to manage such a workload. Rór imagined how big it would be, daydreaming away...

But soon, the rat boy approached the door, gold eyes half-lidded against the glare of the sun. He knocked a few times, just in case Gerhild was back already. Discerning no answer, Rórdan reached a dainty paw into his tunic to retrieve the key that hung around his neck, promptly unlocking the door and letting himself in.

The foyer of the home was large - or rather, it had a high ceiling and was quite wide. Dimensionally, it was a sight to behold for many a mammal, most of whom never saw a personal residence of this size. Functionally, however, there was little room to walk around the obscene, almost cartoonish stacks of books everywhere; a couple of bookshelves were overflowing against the opposite wall, and now the home looked less like a place to live and more like a warehouse for book storage. There were stacks of stories and poems here, histories and political philosophy there, all of which were laid out in a scatterbrained fashion. A hoarder, a pack rat indeed! It's too bad his master is a mouse. Really ruins the pun.

"Master Eilert!" Rórdan called out, glad to be in the house and out of the sun. "I'm home!" He turned his head, peering through the large bay window, it being one of the few things not obstructed by stacks of tomes. He estimated that he had three or four hours left at most. That would afford him ample time to work on his transcriptions and still be punctual for his 'appointment'...

"I'm back!" He tried again, proceeding to the stairs. His Master spent the better two-thirds of his day up in his study, sometimes transcribing, or checking his apprentices' work, or simply reading a book and enjoying a cup of tea. He was a quiet, elderly mouse, grey-furred and with one cloudy, mostly-blind left eye. His right worked fine, though; sometimes Rórdan had to wonder how he could see him doing things like chewing his claws or putting his feet on the table. He could be a crotchety old guy, and strict too...but Rórdan owed him everything, and if nothing else he had some respect for the old man. Rór just hoped Eilert wouldn't see through his ruse. Heart pounding, he knocked on the door of his Master's study and peeked in.

"...Master?"

No response. He grew concerned, but then pushed the door open to peer inside. The study was not entirely unlike the foyer (and, admittedly, most of the downstairs) in that it was packed almost to the ceiling with precarious tome-towers. At least in here they were mostly organized - the bookshelves lined all four walls, and each was meticulously alphabetized. The ones stacked on the floor and on his desk were not quite so lucky. Eilert himself was resting his head on the escritoire, monocle having fallen from its' rightful place over his good eye. The rat grinned from ear to ear, chubby cheeks turning up in amusement as he stepped inside.

"...Fell asleep at the desk again, huh?" He asked him playfully, tail twitching and flicking behind his big butt excitedly. The old mouse groaned, perking little round ears up momentarily as his apprentice laughed at him. "...Really, Master...?" He chastised, laughing and shaking his head. Soon, though he took a more serious tone: "...You ought not to get up so early. Sleep a little longer. Or don't stay up so late working..." Rórdan said, stepping close. His Master always wound up passing out in the middle of the day, now. The rat un-shouldered his pack, kneeling down to retrieve the two books he had 'purchased'...only to find that they were gone. He hurriedly rummaged through his pack, eyes widening for dramatic effect as he checked both pockets of the vessel. They were nowhere in sight. He heard his Master groaning. "O-oh...Rórdan. It's you. Glad to see you're back, lad...." He grumbled, pulling up his monocle and replacing it against his eye. He realized that the old man hadn't even seen any of that, and momentarily frown.

"Uuuh..." He stammered, buying himself some time as his cheeks flushed. Standing, the rat used the corner of his shirt to wipe the drool from Eilert's chin, neurons firing as he tried to cook up an excuse. Best to break it to him while he was still sleepy, Rór thought. The chubby rat's heart thumped away in his chest - would he get in trouble? Would his master see the truth? He fancied himself a good actor, but still...he really ought to have figured out what had happened to them.

Eilert groaned in response to Rórdan's doting, nudging him away with an old, wrinkle-skinned paw. "...Go make me tea, would you?" He asked with a tired grumble. The rat nodded at once, leaving his bag where it was on the floor of his Master's study. Rór turned to make his way out of the room; he had yet to decide what to say. Had he set the books down somewhere? Maybe forgotten them? Perhaps someone had stolen them? It wouldn't have been unheard of...but who would steal books? And how had they done it? Would they take them right out of his knapsack without him noticing? That would make him seem even more foolish than if he had just misplaced them. Damn it all. He had spent so much time thinking up the books and their titles that he had forgotten to decide what had happened to them.

Just as he was about to the still-open threshold of his Master's quarters, he heard the old mouse speak behind him. "...Did you find any new books for me today?"

The rat froze in place. "U-uhhh..." He looked over his shoulder; presently, he looked more 'deer in headlights' than 'rat in a library'.

"No, no I didn't. Nothing interesting, or...anything at all, really."

The rat shrugged, pinning his ears back and lashing his tail, tell-tale signs of falsehood in his kind. He wasn't nearly as talented an actor as he liked to think. He knew Eilert would be able to tell from that glint in his eye. Hurriedly, Rór turned to leave the study, almost running down the stairs to prepare a cup of tea before his Master could press him further. As the water in the pot boiled, he mused longer on what could have possibly happened to those two books. Maybe he had dropped them along the path? Eilert was always sure to indicate to the young rat when it was sliding off his shoulders. Maybe the bag had been left open, and they had just slid out...

The kitchen was the one book-less room in the house. Rór was glad for that - he couldn't imagine trying to bring his Master a piping-hot cup of tea while dodging stacks of books...though he did have to do just that to get to the stairs. Nevertheless, their three-layer earthen oven with its' open-basin design meant that too many books could be a fire hazard. He knocked politely on his Master's door again, teacup and saucer in hand, before letting himself in. He presented his Master with his tea, and set it on the desk, in the same place Eilert always put it. His Master had only just roused himself from slumber, but that didn't stop him from already getting nose-deep in A Revised Biography of Ceoghan the Lesser.

Eilert brought his tea to his lips, blowing on it to cool it off before taking the smallest of sips.

"...You're a terrible liar, you know," he spoke softly, eyes flicking up over his book to bore into his apprentice's. Rórdan froze in pace, long tail wrapping itself nervously around one ankle. The rat knew that already. He felt as if the old mouse was looking through him. "Uuuh. Whaddya mean...?" He asked, playing dumb in the dumbest way possible. He cursed himself for being a bit too obvious, and cursed himself twofold for the sin of not deciding what had happened to those imaginary tomes.

"Did you find a particularly nice piece? Perhaps one you wanted to keep for yourself?" The elderly mouse asked, tone calm and measured, barely a whisper. There was a hint of playfulness in that tone, but poor nervous Rórdan didn't pick up on that. Eilert had a soft, soothing voice that put others at ease; not that Rór could relax while being accused (albeit accurately) of theft. His little heart raced in his big chest. He licked his lips and opened his mouth:

"No, Master Eilert. I...well..." he steeled himself, deciding to spill the colloquial beans before he could overthink things. "I had a couple of books. A cookbook by one Aldith, and a history of a city, Melogona, I think..." He began, reciting that part perfectly. He continued after clearing his throat, one ear twitching. At least this lie was a well-practiced one. He continued

"I bought them from some sailors on the docks, as you requested. I even have some change..." he explained, remembering that he could at least come back with the remainder of his Master's money. He had separated what he had intended to keep from his Master's coinpurse. At least offering the so-called 'change' would help him look good, and absolve him of some guilt. Rórdan let his pack off for the final time, deciding to just leave it on the floor beside the mouse's desk for now. The apprentice retrieved his little pouch of coins and set it by the older male's paw, lighter than when he had received it that morning.

"I'm sorry. I lost them. Or they got stolen...I'm not sure which. I had them when I left the market, I think, and when I got here I realized they were gone..." He felt like an idiot - how hadn't he felt the weight difference on his back? Eilert might ask such a question too, perceptive as he was. That was a simple oversight on Rórdan's part; but it could be his undoing. His little round ears pinned back and he blushed pink, thankful that his shame couldn't be seen under his black fur. He really was a terrible liar.

"I'm really, really sorry. Please forgive me..." He looked down at his feet...but Master Eilert only laughed. That put him at ease, somewhat.

"Oh, it's fine, child. Relax. Just be more careful next time. Keep them tucked under your arms, or tighten your bag more. Always be careful, and aware of the world around you..." he instructed, nodding sagely. "Don't fret. We all make mistakes..." The older rodent turned his gaze back down to his book. The rat looked up in turn, grateful to not make eye contact. Was that all he had to say...? Rórdan hadn't thought that Eilert would be mad - he doubted the old guy had it in him. But he had at least expected him to perhaps be a bit disappointed. The fact that he wasn't was oddly disappointing in itself. Didn't his teacher care at all that he had lost the books? Then again, maybe that was for the better. No questions asked. Don't ask, don't tell. He decided to shrug it off, for now.

"Yes, sir. I'll remember better next time, and keep an eye out..."

It still irked him, though. Eilert seemed too eager to forget about the books and the money he had wasted that day. There was something a little off about it, as if his Master knew the little scheme he had just concocted. Rórdan cleared his throat, deciding to try and redeem himself. He still had time before dark, after all. "I...am gonna go finish my work now, okay?" He asked, sounding almost hopeful. The old mouse merely laughed once more, removing his monocle and polishing a smudge away on his tunic.

"...If you must. However, you may have the rest of the day off, if you wish. Gerhild will be returning from her parents' this evening, and she can pick up the transcriptions from where you left off..." he suggested, a wry smile on his snout. He appeared to take some delight in the idea of putting her to work after her little vacation. For that, the rat was immensely grateful.

"Oh! Thank you...thank you so much!" His male apprentice blurted out, beaming ecstatically. The boy left the study in short order then, dismissing whatever else his Master may or may not have said as he ran for the front door. Suddenly, being outside didn't seem like such a bad thing.

---

Rórdan spent the rest of that warm spring day wandering and thinking. Presumably, this was not the sort of thing your typical teenage rat boy did when they got the day off; nor was Rórdan a typical teenage rat boy. He had made plans for later that evening, but for now he wanted to enjoy the day, even if it was uncomfortably hot out. Rórdan wandered the paths of the forest aimlessly, only stopping when he realized that his meandering had carried him somewhere familiar.

Of course, he hadn't realized he had been going this way - a more pious individual might suggest that little Rórdan was beckoned by some divine influence. Gerhild was lucky, he thought as he looked at the weathered old oak tree; it was one of the oldest in the forest, stretching up thirty times the height of our young rat friend. She - Gerhild, that was - got to go home occasionally. He, however, had no true home; he lived in old Eilert's house, just as he had since he was a little pinky. Gazing upon this old oak, though, he could feel a certain temperament of nostalgia coming over him...

Rór vaguely remembered his parents. His mother had been a seamstress, and his father...well,okay, he didn't remember him as well. He had been too young for remembering when his sire had left them, and so he had only had a vague impression of what his Father might look like. Accordingly, he had been inquisitive regarding his father at a younger age. Unfortunately, no matter how many times he pressed her for information, his mother refused divulge his father's reason for leaving them. It had frustrated him to no end when he was a child. Older and wiser now, the chubby little rat suspected that his father had run off with another woman, abandoned his responsibility to his family. It was a despicable move, especially given that he had impregnated his wife for a second time prior to doing so. One of the few things that the black-furred rat apprentice did remember - again, vaguely - was that his dad had always seemed distant. Worried, anxious, stressed...even as a young cub, Rórdan had been relatively perceptive, the very trait his Master had said he lacked earlier that day.

He blinked, shaking his head from its' pensive fog. His mind was as apt to wanderlust as his feet, and by now the rat had been staring at the tall tree with a blank expression for nearly five minutes. Rór wondered what it would be like to learn there again. Perhaps I ought to elaborate: this old oak was used as a sort of schoolhouse for the instruction of the youth of Sechanall's Grove. There was no lawful statute stating that they had to attend, but most of the children did so regardless. Their parents didn't always have the materials to teach them how to read or write, and the school offered these skills and more to the young of the quaint community. The nameless School had been there as long as any living mammal could remember, and attending was tradition and even expected in many households. Our star rat had gone here, years ago. He was fond of those times, and reflected back amicably - still, he would certainly rather be where he was now. While Rór had no living family today, without them, Eilert would never have known him, and never would have been able to save him.

Oh, his family. To fully understand little Rórdan's motivations, it is important to first understand his background. Eilert's sister had been the midwife to Rórdan's mother, further cementing his relationship to his Master. Their families had been intertwined for many years, even before his parents' time. Still, Eilert's sister hadn't been able to save the rat's mother, nor his unborn sibling. Sometimes, one must learn a hard lesson, or acknowledge hard facts; that day, he had learned that giving birth was no easy feat, even for his Mother. Maybe he could help make things easier for other mothers. He wondered if (and consequently doubted that) one could learn such skills in books, or in schools...

Rórdan shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow. The chubby young rat looked to one side, craning his head up to see the sun through the verdant canopy. The closest star to their particular planet looked blood orange from Rór's perspective. It was turning to pink, beginning to just caress the horizon along its' bottom-most edge. He realized that he ought to be going home...and getting ready.

He might not have had a typical family to go back to, but he did have his Master, his fellow student Gerhild, and a very special friend...

---

The rodent just couldn't resist a bit of mischief first, though. He stopped along the way, ignoring the usual path in order to trek through another mammal's land. His purpose? Steal a few treats from the foxes' berry-patch. He did so with no qualms and little difficulty, darting between the bushes with surprising dexterity for a boy his size. He half-wished he had thought to bring a basket to take a few more; but for now, he acquiesced for simply swiping a pawful of them here and there, staining his fingers and muzzle red with their juices while he munched away. He'd have to wash up, but it certainly beat being hungry...he knew he ought not to do it, but he just couldn't help himself. It wasn't the first time he had stolen today, either. He didn't mean to take advantage, of course...but sometimes certain things were just too tempting.

It hadn't been his idea today to spend so long at the bazaar - just long enough to convince his Master that, yes, he really was looking for books. He had big plans that night, and the money he had lifted from his Master's coinpurse and slipped into his own would be just enough.

He returned home after a few hours, retreating to his study and armoire on the first floor and dressing himself in a pair of brown trousers. This was followed by his Sunday's finest - an overlong, sea-blue tunic, belted around his chubby middle. It was a beautiful piece of cloth in his mind, gifted to him by his Master several months ago for his birthday. He felt bad looking down at it now - he had stolen from his poor old half-blind teacher. As he meditated on that, he felt for the first time in a while some remorse for his petty larceny. Indeed, many of the tomes he had attained previously were stolen. Why buy a book when he could steal it and pocket the difference? And he had the advantage of his species; after all, it was a bit offensive in the popular vernacular to call a rat a thief. Even on the rare occasion that he came under suspicion, the boy managed to act innocent enough to get away with his insignificant little heists. The rat hummed momentarily, staring into the mirror and deciding not to think about it. His mind insisted on wandering to dark subjects today, but no matter how hard he tried...he couldn't quite shake that guilty feeling from what he'd done.

"I'm going out!" He called up to his Master. Gerhild glared at him from her desk in the front room, the young brown-furred otteress groaning, looking over the half-bound book in her webbed paws. "...Have fun, worm-tail." She murmured, giving him one of her favorite pet names. Of course that wouldn't get him down, not tonight.

"Sure. You too..." He replied with a cheeky smirk, practically able to feel her frowning at the back of his head as he closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool, crisp night breeze through his fur, smelling the grass. With a satisfied smile and a confident gait, our young rat set out for the evening, lantern in paw. He'd retrieved it from the wall near the fireplace in his home, knowing he would need it when the sun was down. This time he traveled North along the road; after a short while, he came upon a shallow stream. Again demonstrating impressive dexterity for such a fat little thing, he crossed the water with two bounds, the first to a rock and the second across the shore. He felt pretty cool doing it, too. Grinning to himself, he righted his posture and continued, this time uphill. Huffing and panting after another laborious five minutes, he finally arrived at the usual spot - a mossy old boulder betwixt three birch trees. Night was upon him by now and the waxing moon was glowing above the treeline, three-quarters full. The streetlamps of Sechanall's Plaza could be seen down in the clearing about a mile away, and beyond that the glimmer of the river. The ships bobbed like little wooden toys in the water, and the relative silence of the night felt strangely alive. Rórdan felt excited, alive. And the best part...?

He was there, just like the rat had expected. He was only wearing his pants, though, and he was wielding a candle in his paw instead of a lantern. Cheeky thing must have been in a rush, the rat thought.

"There you are. About time..." Fulke said, beaming at his boyfriend. Rór could see those pretty eyes glowing in the dark, and the way the light from his candle played off his deep, coffee-brown fur made Rórdan smile back, for he looked all the prettier for it. The rat approached, licking his thumb and forefinger and pinching the wick of the candle, putting it out with a playful smirk. They were cast in the solitary glow of his lantern then, and Rórdan draped an arm around the slightly shorter boy's shoulders. He rested his forehead against Fulke's, breathing a sigh of relief as their slender tails wrapped about one another in a tightly-entwined helix. Each pair of lips found each other, and the rat opened his mouth, letting Fulke's tongue in to taste him.

When they broke their oral embrace, the chubby rat had the biggest smile on his face. "Porridge again?" He could taste it: that kind of bland, grainy taste of oat.

Fulke laughed at that and rolled his eyes. "...Yeah. And you stole some of Mr. Lundry's berries..." he replied. Now it was Rór's turn to laugh. No doubt Fulke's tongue had sensed the sweet tartness of those red berries on his boyfriend's tongue. The fat rat nodded. "I can't help myself. Especially when they get in season, and all..." He explained, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "So, uh...dinner was the usual, then, I take it?" Rórdan asked his boyfriend after a quiet moment of simply embracing one another.

Fulke response was to heave a great sigh before he spoke, eyes darting away from his boyfriend's. "Yeah. A bit more yelling than I would have liked. Donovan's been fighting with Father again, but I'd rather not get into it. I'm just glad I get to see you." The rat listened closely at first, but then beamed at that compliment, rubbing his nose against Fulke's and drawing close, pressing his body warmly against the other male's. He wanted to talk to him about his family, but he knew Fulke just wanted to unwind. Their little date was going to be swell, he just knew it.

"Mmh..." Rórdan hummed, eyes closing momentarily. "Me too, Fulke. I miss you every day." The rat nuzzled his lover with gentle nibbles of those big incisors to his collarbone, arms tightening around the mouse's slender shoulders. Their fur brushed, and he could smell the other male's natural, musky scent.

"...are you sure nobody followed you?" Fulke asked him, always the cautious one when it came to their little meetings. He didn't want his parents to find out, and understandably so, the way they were! Traditional and conservative to a fault, Fulke would no doubt be in deep trouble if he was found out to be a buggerer.

Rórdan quickly shook his head in reply. "Nope, we're fine. All alone...and hey..." He reached into the pocket of his trousers, remembering the little coinpurse he had brought with him. The rat took the pouch of illicitly-obtained money out of said pocket, jiggling it to make the coins clink around inside. "I got some jink..." He said - money he had stolen, but he left that part out. Especially the part about stealing it from his Master. He winked at the bare-chested mouse boy, feeling quite satisfied with himself. "We can head to town if ya want, grab somethin' to eat from one of the restaurants," the fifteen-year-old rat suggested. Many of the eateries in the Plaza were open all night, and it wasn't that late, not yet. One of the pubs on the riverside was his favorite place, and he and Fulke had gone there before - they had fish and potatoes and some of the sweetest daffodil pie the young rat had ever tasted. Still, typical of the fat boy to suggest going out to eat....

"Oooh. That sounds nice. But..." Fulke's fingers ran over the rat's chest, tickling him there slightly before dipping down, sliding under his tunic to rub the chubby boy's belly. Rórdan sighed, pushing his soft tummy into that touch. Fulke tenderly kissed his lips again, this time without the insistent push of his tongue into that mouth. "...Why don't we have some fun first?" The mouse asked in suggestive, lusty tones, waggling his eyebrows at the rat, teasing his bellybutton with a finger. Those soft lips caressed his again, and Rórdan blushed but slowly nodded. It'd been far too long, and he felt his heart working a little faster at the thought of consummating his relationship with the other male once more. He looked around nervously, as the mouse had, ensuring that they were totally alone before turning his gaze back to the brown-furred mouse. "Uuh...right here, love?" He asked him, slowly reaching between Fulke's legs despite his uncertainty. He cupped at the crux of his thighs, feeling at his crotch through his trousers - the mouse was already hard down there, cock pushing against his slender fingers with all that girth and strength. They forced their bodies together, Fulke beginning to hump into his rat-boy's furless pink digits

"Yeah, Rór. Right here," was the mouse's answer, eliciting another little laugh from Rórdan. He had butterflies at the thought of just getting down on the ground and doing it right here...but it wouldn't be the first time. It made him feel very naughty - and so with that, he nodded. "Of course...."

The rat took a step back to take off his tunic, but Fulke followed close, not letting him get too far. "Arms up, big boy," he cooed, making the fat rat giggle - his boyfriend wanted to do it himself! It made the 'big boy' blush and feel all the more appreciated. Complying, he lifted his arms up to help Fulke undress him, the waif pulling Rór's pretty blue tunic over his head for him. It seemed great minds thought alike in this, since Rórdan loved being undressed - it turned him on immensely. Soon their chests were pushed back together sans clothing, Fulke's paws dropping down to explore his mate's body. Rórdan could feel Fulke's fingers on his lower back, rubbing there as he started to sweetly kiss him again. He closed his eyes, moaning softly while the mouse boy began to slip his tongue between his lips, those eagerly rubbing little paws dipping south over the small of his back, sliding into the back of Rordan's trousers. This elicited a low groan from the rat boy, who pushed his big butt backwards as Fulke began to knead and massage his cheeks, peeling them apart and mashing those fat mounds back together like dough. The younger rodent was wasting no time in feeling the chubby boy up.

This time, Fulke took a step back. The mouse looked at his lover with a cheeky grin, thumbs hooking into his waistband. Rórdan's eyes dropped now as the younger boy tugged his trousers down. His eyes widened a little bit and his mouth watered at what was revealed.

That was one thing he had always been amazed by. Fulke's cock.

It was fat and throbbing now, thicker than three of the rat's fingers when pushed together. It dwarfed Rórdan's own penis both in length and in girth, as well as in the amount of excess skin covering his tip. Fulke started to wank for Rórdan's viewing pleasure, grin unfaltering. The rat watched enrapt, mouth watering as the foreskin was tugged back past the soft head of his boyfriend's cock, then pushed up to cover it again. It was a peach-brown color, the same as all of Fulke's skin under his fur; a little curl of darker brown fur nestled at its' base. The fat rat could see a few of the wide veins throbbing through the length. Fulke was a gifted boy.

"Kiss it," Fulke told him, the boy pulling the skin back once more to let his seminal fluid glisten in the lamplight. Rórdan stared as he got down on his knees.

"Oooh...that's it, Rór..." Fulke urged the older rodent, leaning back and putting his paw against one of those birch trees, supporting himself as Rórdan got close to smell him. Rór thought that the cock's scent was amazing - slightly sweaty and with the satisfyingly pungent, masculine musk of a mouse twice his age. He already smelled like a man, even at his age - chalk it up to him hitting puberty early, Ror thought. The chubby rat nestled in against the monster's base, dragging his tongue over those big pink sweaty balls and making Fulke groan his appreciation. The rat felt an urging paw on the back of his head as he pulled back, sniffing that hooded cocktip and giving it a teasing lick too, swirling his tongue about the very end of Fulke's mousehood to tease him. The musky pre that dribbled into the rat's mouth had him lifting his fat tail over his back. This, too, was out of instinct - but more, it was also out of practice. The fat boy crawled further forward then to nestle himself right between Fulke's legs. Wrapping his lips around that tip proper, he started to apply a bit of suction with his lips and tongue, tugging softly. As that fat, uncut mouse prick pushed between his skilled lips, he kept his maw open nice and wide, tongue starting to wrap around and massage the covered tip of that penis. He suckled on the musky pink flesh a bit before pushing more of it into his hot wet mouth, tongue working to massage and stroke the veiny belly of his lover's shaft.

It was just instinct.