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Retirement was not a concept Monroe often thought about. Like with the concept of death, it brought up uncomfortable feelings of inevitability. The preparation for both was, financially at least, similar to him.

Being a man of confidence, or a conman as was the modern vernacular, the rat didn't exactly have a 401K to fall back on. The only reliable source of income he had was through investments in several companies belonging to CEOs, CFOs, and/or board members that he and his son, Sasha, had the pleasure of blackmailing. Not that their victims knew this. They were all under various accounts of different names and aliases. Having friends in governments and the black market made identity theft a breeze.

Running the numbers on his computer screen, eyes bloodshot after his third cup of coffee, he'd determined that dividend income wasn't enough to coast by. Not with Sasha's spending habits anyway. Yet they've built up a nice little nest egg that, so long as he budgeted for his son's fashion requests, they could rely on for the next five or so years without any major schemes. The chair holding him creaked as he leaned back. Sighing with a cloud of smoke escaping his mouth, the rat sucked down the fag to the bit before pulling out another from a drawer filled with scented candles.

"Retirement..." he mused aloud, chewing his cigarette as it burned. "It's not as if he shouldn't go to college. Paper trail aside, the connections he could make are..." Monroe closed his eyes and took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out through his nostrils. Sasha's request wasn't some build-up to another scheme and he needed to accept that. Not everything had to be manipulated for gain.

That didn't make the decision any less difficult. Monroe loved his son dearly, but he loved the schemes just as much. Sasha's mother asking him to settle down nearly killed him. He thought he could just smile and sell cars to random schmucks while she raised their boy. Too easy he soon realized it was too dull a life for a mind as sharp as his.

Could he pull cons while Sasha went to school? He'd done so before, but it'd lack the spark. The rush of his son's pivotal role. Not to mention the evenings after with his lovely hole. Five years was a long time no matter how he saw it. Half a decade of letting his son grow away from him while he reduced his own desires. Was it worth it? Every parent had that question, even one as fucked up as Monroe.

Spotting headlights in the distance, Monroe stamped out his cigarette, opened a window, and lit one of the scented candles. Pine needle. Hurriedly waving the smoke away the rat then rushed to the living room, keeping sure his door was closed so the scent wouldn't seep out. He catapulted himself onto his recliner, turned the TV on, and pretended to sleep as the front locks clicked open.

"Oh, Daddy!" Sasha sang with cheery glee, entering their safehouse with several brand shopping bags in one hand and food in the other. Pretending to rouse himself away Monroe noticed the faintest scent of wings being brought in. No doubt a salad for Sasha, he liked to keep his figure. "I brought dinner."

"Oh, so you have." Monroe smiled, getting up to hug his son and steal dinner in one fluid movement. Spicy wings drenched in buffalo sauce, a delight as taboo as the apple of Eden if his cholesterol had anything to say. Even now Sasha was buttering him up.

"These are marvelous, dear. How was the mall? Catch any good deals?" From the bags, he figured that was the case. "Was it shoes this time or skirts? Oh, tops? Tops are important."

"Mostly panties actually," Sasha giggled, "You might see them later."

Forget buttering up. Monroe considered himself a Thanksgiving Turkey because of how his son played to his weaknesses. Any more and Monroe might go into cardiac arrest with all his blood circulating into the netherregion. "I sure hope so. Why don't you put it all away and I set the table?"

Plastic plates and cutlery lined the dining table when Sasha returned. His bright pink hot pants were perfectly shaped around his crotch to embellish his bulge while the matching top left little to imagine as he exposed his stomach. Gaudy gold earrings hung from his ears, real gold that Monroe gave on his birthday. The response in bed was divine.

Meanwhile, Monroe was still dressed in the boxers and shirt he'd slept in. To his credit, he stayed inside and studied numbers all day. Something Sasha told him not to do and knew he did from the glimmer in the short mouse's eye.

"I suppose we should talk about the question," Monroe said, enjoying a steaming hot pile of wings.

"If you want." Sasha's fork stabbed through the leafy greens and twisted. "I'm still waiting on applications after all."

"My dear, you're my son. We've got enough strings that, if you wanted, I could put you in any Ivy League school." That wasn't a bad idea come to think of it. The prestigiousness of Ivy League's spoke less about their education value and more about the connections made. Legacy after legacy attended places like Harvard, or Yale, children of the rich, famous, and powerful that Sasha could mingle with. Even the straightest of college studs would be like putty to his son's charms if he so chose, and the connections that would come from it. Monroe salivated less for chicken.

His son did not mirror him, staring wistfully aside for a brief moment before shrugging whatever thought aside with a smile. "I know, Daddy, but I want to do this honestly. To say I could."

Honesty never mattered much to Monroe but if his son wanted to, then damn it, he should have it. "Well, I have run the numbers."

"Did you sleep?"

"That's irrelevant. I've looked it over. If you take your average four-year course, we should be fine. Provided you hold back on your shopping sprees and focus more on education. I'd rather not have to take out a loan to supplement what dresses you've found on sale." Whether he could was another question entirely.

"So, I can go?" Sasha asked, smiling as he waited. There was no doubt in Monroe's mind that Sasha would have gone without his approval anyway. Monroe would be proud of that, knowing his son could get along fine without him. Unfortunately, it would sting to lose him just like he'd lost his mother.

Good for him then that Sasha had his permission. "Yes."

Before he could say more, Sasha squealed like a giddy schoolgirl and tackled him. Knowing the pain of sauce stains, Monroe avoided hugging his son. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He kissed with every bout of gratitude until his father pushed him off. "We need to celebrate. You really deserved the outfit I got today."

"Oh, I'm sure, but I'd like you to hold off on that," Monroe said, pulling out two tickets before the confused mouse. Sasha took them tentatively, squinting for one second and eyes bulging the next. His mouth worded disbelief but no voice came. "Oh yes." Monroe nodded, "And while I do plan for us to spend at least two days in Paris, I do hope you enjoy Provence. It is lovely this time of year."

***

The night in Paris was magical. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre Museum, and even the local cafes were simply divine. There, like most places, if he were to be honest, no one knew they were related by blood. They were just two rats enjoying a city they and each other, unashamed of their affection.

Monroe made a point that he would not get physical until they reached the rented villa in Provence. It made the lavender flowers they passed by while driving through all the more exciting.

The villa was small, bigger than their safehouse cabin but nowhere near what Monroe originally imagined. It searched its purpose well enough, being private from any scrying eyes in case they wished to enjoy themselves outside. He let Sasha explore the town while he prepared the evening meal. French onion soup and vintage wine from a local vineyard.

By evening's end, Sasha returned. His wide-brimmed straw sunhat cast a shadow over his lovely white and gold dress that looked blue in the shade. "Just a moment, daddy," Sasha silenced his father with a finger, slipping past without so much as a hug. "I'd like to slip into something better for the evening. Until then, I have a book to read." A few hours later he was called down, stunning his father with the red dress that left little to the imagination.

"How fortunate I am," He said, taking his son's hand, "To have the prettiest boy in the world."

Sasha giggled, batting his chest affectionately, "Oh, Daddy, stop." He said, fishing for more compliments as always. Monroe couldn't blame him for it. After all, he spoiled his son.

"I mean it. The prettiest and, dare I say it, the most cunning young man a father could ask for." He swept the rat off his feet, clutching his son in his arms as he carried him to dinner. "Your mother could never compare."

"Let's not talk about mom," Sasha said, curling his father's hair, "It's just the two of us here. No need to sully our fun."

He had a point so Monroe dropped the topic. Instead, they reminisce about old jobs and capers. Politicians they smeared, gang lords humiliated, and religious zealots who pleaded for their hypocrisies to remain hidden. So engrossed in their conversation that their food grew cold before they could finish. "I wouldn't worry about heating it back up, daddy," Sasha said with a hushed whisper, slinking around the table to climb over his father's chest. "In fact, I think it's time we really enjoyed ourselves."

Their lips graced each other gently, tongues twisting with the taste of each other hidden underneath their meal. Their breaths mixed into a storm, Monroe rumbling like thunder as he held Sasha tight. His son's nails dug into his chest for balance and desire, wrestling his father's tongue for fun over dominance. They both knew who'd be on top in the end, so why not play around first?

"Ah, ah, ah," Sasha pulled away just as a hand grabbed his dress. "You don't get to take this off."

"Why not?" Monroe asked.

"Because I don't want you ripping it. It's a lovely dress." He slinked off only for his father to hoist him between his arms.

"My dear, allow me to bring you upstairs then. As you deserve."

"How noble." Sasha's sarcasm did little to weaken the smile over his maw, "But I don't think you can be a knight and a king."

"A king can enjoy his princess. No one talks about it is all."

Up the stairs to their quarters, Monroe let Sasha undress in the bathroom while he pulled out toes. Nothing fancy. Some soft rope, a ballgag, a paddle, and cuffs. Truth be told the rat wasn't sure he'd use them all, but better to prepare in case.

"Oh, something special?" Sasha hugged him from behind, "Are you going to call me a bad boy with every spanking?"

"Are you?" Monroe asked, undoing his shirt. Sasha took the initiative, unbuttoning his shirt before falling to his knees to relieve the rat of his pants. His father's thick cock bounced out from under the elastic waistline once he pulled it away. "I think not," he added, watching his boy's eyes glimmer at the sight of his father's rod. Skilled hands gripped the shaft, bumping it from base to tip where a warm tongue lapped it.

"That's it..." Monroe shuddered, palming his son's skull. Practice had long since removed Sasha's gag reflex but not his enthusiasm, easily taking his father's cock. Every inch down was controlled, with a satisfied gleam in his eye looking back up the bigger rat. He held his nose to the base for a moment, his breath tight while saliva lavished the rod.

Monroe grinned. "Oh, I know that look." He dug his fingers into his son's red hair. Never enough to hurt, just to peel him off slowly. Bridges of saliva formed and fell from the pop of Sasha's maw leaving the cock. Deep breaths sucked in his father's musk, helped by the rat shoving his son's nose into his sack. The wet cock slathered his face, wetting his fur and staining the black mascara Monroe had been too lost to notice. "You want me to go hard, don't you?"

"Always, Daddy." The way Sasha said it washed over Monroe like a warm summer breeze. His cock bounced against the feminine rat's snout, hard enough for a meaty slap to echo across the room.

"Beg for it," Monroe ordered.

"Give it to me, Daddy."

"Beg. For. It." Each word is punctuated with his hanging bludgeon.

"I need it." Sasha smiled, "Gimme your cock, Daddy. Give me everything you got."

"Well, if you're so inclined." Monroe pried his son's jaws open with both thumbs and shoved his cock inside. "I'll oblige your little whore mouth."

With his fingers tight around the skull, Eager, Monroe thrust into his son's head. Gagged gurgles and spit slipped to the flow while his fat rod recoated itself on his son's tongue. Balls slapped the younger rat's chin as he picked up speed, imagining his seed drowning the rat.

Sasha did not sit idle nor pull away. His hands clutched his father's thighs for balance. What little freedom his mouth had was spent in service to the fat rod. All until the spasm took hold and Monroe pulled him to the base. Strand after strand surging down the throat as a special treat for being a good fuckhole.

Sasha coughed out a white wad when his father pulled out. "Sore throat?" Monroe asked. When his son shook his head he simply nodded back and hoisted the rat up. "Good. It'll be a moment before I can go again but don't let yourself think we're taking a break."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sasha mused aloud. Once cuffs clicked around his wrists he playfully tugged at them. "Aren't these supposed to be behind my back?"

"Perhaps another time," Monroe whispered, "But not tonight." Without delay, he pushed his son face-first into the bed. Grabbing a paddle and hoisting his son's ass up, the father cracked it down over his son's backside. The echo was undercut by the pitched squeal of the victim.

"You're such a dirty slut," Monroe teased, bringing the paddle on repeat. "Even when we don't need to honeypot people, you go ahead and do it. Do you plan on being the campus bicycle amid your studies?"

"Of-" Sasha's answer became a yip at the next strike. In truth, Monroe didn't care how much his son slept around on campus. He expected it. College was, after all, a place where one didn't need to hide activities from their parents twenty-four-seven. A place to let loose and then learn how to balance that with studies. Sasha would make puppets out of the inexperienced.

Satisfied with the redness of his son's cheeks, Monroe tossed the paddle aside in favor of lube to coat his cock with. His son's hole spread with ease as if inviting the dick he so desperately craved.

He started slow, building a comfortable rhythm for Sasha to ease into with the burning pain of his spanked cheeks. "Harder," Sasha whispered. The older rat obliged, sinking deeper and faster into the stretched hole. Monroe yanked his son's head back by his hair, eliciting a boyish shriek that, for a moment, made him wonder if he should ease up.

"Harder, Daddy," Sasha begged.

Monroe, the doting father, spoiled his son more.

Their panting moans mixed with the straining creak of a wooden bed older than each of them. Wet slaps of hips filled the air. Monroe reached around to find his son's full erection, grasping it tight to pump. "N-Not yet," Sasha mumbled, "I don't want to c-cum yet."

"Who says I'm stopping when you do?" Monroe whispered, gently gnawing the nap of his son's neck. "We're going all night, little bitch. Just the way you like it."

Sasha's protests, playful in nature, were met with a tight squeeze of his sack. What little sadistic glee Monroe gained paled in comparison to his son's masochism. He often wondered if the younger rat would find just as much joy in being his cellar gimp. He'd be useless as a partner if so, thus Monroe never considered it beyond a night or two.

He withdrew his cock only to turn Sasha towards him and impale it back in. His lips smothered his son's whilst he pumped the meager rod between him. The smaller rat's cock twitched, warmth spewing from the head to coat his stomach and Monroe's hand. "What a mess," Monroe teased, forcing the seed-covered hand to Sasha's face. "Clean it up, slut."

Sasha did so. One finger at a time.

Feeling his dam ready to burst, Monroe slammed deep into his son. Once, twice, thrice, four times, five, and at the sixth he stayed. Sasha's maw hung open in bliss, his cock pushed close enough for a dribble to spill into his maw as his father filled him. "Fuck," Monroe swore through gritted teeth, his body aching for rest but his spirit wanting more.

With many partners, that would have been it. Monroe, to his shame, laid beside many conquests without a word once conquered. But his son, his precious pretty boy, he fondled lovingly as the two came down from their high.

Sasha nuzzled into the hold in kind, looking up with what Monroe could only describe as 'fuck-me' eyes. "Is the old man tired yet?" he asked.

Monroe laughed. "Not even close."