Paint Me Lie Your Farmers Maret Boys

It started with a sketchbook and a stolen glance.

Every Saturday morning, Silas arrived at the town farmer's market just as the vendors were setting up their stalls, his leather messenger bag slung across his chest, sketchbook tucked under his arm. While everyone else carried baskets and reusable totes, Silas carried graphite and desire.

He wasn't there for produce. He was there for him.

Booth #17. Cedar crates stacked with carrots, honey sticks, golden beets, and bundles of spring herbs. But the real attraction was the man behind the stand.

Chase.

Twenty-something. Broad-shouldered, sun-kissed skin, brown curls tucked beneath a backwards cap. He wore faded denim shorts, frayed at the edges, hugging his thighs indecently. His white tank always rode up just enough to flash that obscene V-cut of his lower abs--and sometimes, if Silas was lucky, the trail of hair vanishing beneath his waistband.

Silas tried not to be obvious. He'd settle on a bench across the plaza, angle his sketchpad just so, and draw with the obsession of a sinner painting his own temptation. Lips. Jaw. The curve of Chase's ass as he bent over the crates. The veins along his forearms when he lifted a basket of apples.

It was ritual. And it was safe. Chase didn't know. Couldn't know.

Until he did.

It was the third Saturday in April. The sun was out, the breeze smelled of lilac and damp mulch, and Silas had just finished shading the cleft of Chase's chin when a shadow fell over his sketchbook.

"You always watch me like that?"

Silas jolted. His pencil slipped, dragging a line across the page. He looked up--and there he was. Chase. Smirking. A honey stick between his teeth.

Silas' mouth went dry. "Sorry--I wasn't--"

"Drawing me?" Chase grinned, cocking a brow as he leaned in to look. "Could've fooled me. That's definitely my ass."

Silas snapped the book shut, face flushing. "It's just... studies. For a series."

Chase squatted down so their eyes were level, his voice dipping lower. "What kind of series?"

Silas hesitated. Then, boldly: "Intimacy. Masculinity. Things we look at but don't talk about."

Chase's eyes twinkled. "And my ass fits the theme?"

"Perfectly."

Chase laughed, a full-bodied sound that made Silas's stomach twist. He bit the end off his honey stick and chewed, his tongue flicking over his lips. "Well, if you're gonna sketch me, you should at least get the good angles. I close up at noon. Wanna come by the stall after? I'll model for you."

Silas blinked. "You're serious?"

"Dead. You bring the paper; I'll bring the body."

And just like that, the air changed. No more stolen glances. No more anonymity. Just the promise of skin and sketching and the kind of tension Silas had only ever imagined.

--

At twelve-thirty, Chase led him behind the vendor tents to a side lot where his truck was parked--an old Ford, mint green and rusting at the wheel wells. A mattress was laid out in the bed, topped with a blanket and two pillows. Homemade. Intentional.

"You live out of this?" Silas asked.

"Nah," Chase said, hopping into the bed. "But I nap here between markets. Helps my back." He tugged the tank off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. "So, how do you want me?"

The question hit like a punch to Silas's gut.

He took a breath, willing his voice to stay level. "Lean back. Elbow propped. Legs relaxed."

Chase arranged himself with surprising grace, one arm bent behind his head, abs flexing as he shifted. "Like this?"

Jesus. The lighting caught every ridge of his stomach, the softness of his lips, the bulge beneath his waistband pressing against the seam of his shorts.

"Yeah," Silas croaked. "Perfect."

He began to draw. Lines flowed easily now, his wrist moving with practiced control, capturing the tension in Chase's pose--the ease in his muscles, the quiet hunger behind his smirk.

"You always draw people like this?" Chase asked, eyes following Silas's strokes.

"Only the ones I want to see naked," Silas muttered before he could stop himself.

Chase raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

Silas looked up, his cheeks burning. "Sorry, that was--"

"No, I like it," Chase interrupted, his voice low, gravelly now. "You're honest."

Then, slowly, deliberately, Chase lifted his hips and popped the button of his shorts.

Silas's pencil froze.

"Thought you wanted the good angles," Chase murmured, unzipping. His shorts slid down his thighs, revealing snug white briefs that did nothing to hide the shape of him--thick, curved, clearly half-hard already.

"Chase," Silas breathed.

"I'm not shy, Silas. And you don't have to be either."

Silas's sketchbook hit the mattress as he crawled forward, the charge between them snapping like a live wire. He hovered over Chase, eyes flicking to his mouth. "You sure?"

Chase's answer came with a hand behind Silas's neck and a kiss that melted every inch of restraint he had left. It was firm, tasting of honey and citrus, lips parting to let Silas in. Their tongues met, slow and hot, hands roaming without direction.

Chase tugged Silas's shirt off, fingers brushing his chest, his ribs, until he reached the waistband of his jeans.

"You been thinking about this?" Chase whispered, grinding up against him, the bulge in his briefs pressing against Silas's thigh.

"Every Saturday."

Their mouths crashed again. Silas slid down, kissing along Chase's jaw, his chest, his stomach, dragging his tongue down the trail of hair that led to the waistband. Chase arched beneath him, panting.

"Then stop drawing," he groaned, "and do something."

Silas did.

And the farmer's market would never taste the same again.

Chase's thighs tensed under Silas as the artist slid down, slow and deliberate, teasing him with nothing but breath and the scrape of stubble. His briefs were damp, clinging to every curve of what had been sketched and imagined for weeks. Silas paused there, right at the hem, letting his lips brush the fabric.

"You're taking your time," Chase murmured, voice husky with anticipation.

"I've waited a month for this," Silas said, pressing a kiss right where Chase's cock strained. "I'm going to enjoy every second."

With that, he mouthed over the outline, tongue tracing the shaft through the cotton. Chase bucked slightly, a soft groan escaping his throat. Encouraged, Silas peeled the briefs down, releasing Chase's cock--thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

"Fuck," Silas whispered, just staring for a beat. It was even better than he'd drawn.

Chase cocked an eyebrow. "You gonna keep looking or put that pretty mouth to use?"

Silas smirked--and obeyed.

His tongue traced the head slowly, collecting the bead of precum, savoring the slightly salty taste. Then he took him in, inch by inch, hand curling around the base as he hollowed his cheeks. Chase let out a ragged moan, fingers tangling in Silas's hair.

"That's it," Chase hissed. "God, you've definitely done this before."

Silas pulled back with a pop. "I study what I draw."

Then he dove in again, deeper this time, working his throat, letting Chase fuck slowly into his mouth. Every suck, every swirl of his tongue drew another moan, another curse, until Chase's thighs started trembling.

"Stop--shit--stop, or I'm gonna blow."

Silas pulled back with a sly grin. "Not yet."

He crawled up Chase's body, straddling his waist. Their cocks rubbed together, slick and hard, grinding in a slow rhythm that left both of them gasping. Chase's hands gripped his hips, nails digging in.

"I've wanted this since the first time I saw you sketching me," Chase confessed. "You looked so serious, like you were trying not to pop a boner in public."

"I was," Silas admitted with a laugh. "I failed."

Chase reached between them, stroking both of them together, his fist working in slow, teasing pumps. "Bet you went home after and jerked off while looking at those sketches."

Silas's face flushed. "Yeah. More than once."

Chase groaned and rolled them, flipping Silas onto his back. His mouth found Silas's neck, then his chest, then lower--kissing down his stomach, biting softly at the waistband of his jeans.

"Take these off," Chase ordered, voice dark with need.

Silas obeyed, shoving jeans and underwear down in one desperate motion. Chase leaned in, licking a slow stripe up Silas's cock before swallowing him whole. Silas gasped, his back arching, hands scrambling for something to hold.

Chase sucked like a man starved--messy, eager, deep--and Silas felt like he was being devoured. His fingers fisted the blanket beneath them as Chase bobbed, throat working, the sounds wet and obscene.

"Fuck, Chase--I'm close--"

Chase pulled off just in time, grinning. "Nah-uh. You came, you'd stop drawing me."

Silas pulled him up into a kiss, tasting himself on Chase's tongue, their bodies slick with sweat and spring air. He wrapped a leg around Chase's waist, pulling him close, their cocks sliding against each other again.

"Then fuck me," Silas breathed. "Right here. Right now."

Chase froze, eyes flicking to Silas's. "You sure?"

"Do I look unsure?"

Chase fumbled in the glove box of his truck, emerging with a condom and a travel-size lube. "You're not the first person I've wanted to fuck in this truck bed," he admitted, ripping the foil with his teeth.

Silas laughed. "I feel honored."

He watched as Chase sheathed himself, then slicked his fingers and leaned in. Silas spread his legs, welcoming, breath hitching as Chase slid one finger in, then two. He worked Silas open gently, patiently, whispering praise between kisses.

"You're perfect," Chase murmured. "So tight. So hot."

Silas whimpered, pushing back against his hand. "I need you. Please."

Chase lined up and eased in, slow but firm, watching every expression cross Silas's face. The stretch burned for a moment--then melted into pleasure so intense it stole his breath.

"Fuck," Silas gasped. "You feel so good--"

Chase kissed him, deep and rough, and began to thrust--shallow at first, then harder, deeper, until their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Skin slapped, breaths tangled, and the whole world narrowed to the two of them, tangled in heat and honey and spring sweat.

The sun filtered through the trees, painting their skin in golden streaks. Birds chirped, oblivious. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed near a lemonade stand. But here--between the creaks of the truck bed and the sounds of sex--it was like time had stopped.

Chase gripped Silas's thigh, pounding harder now, cock hitting just right. Silas cried out, hands clawing at Chase's back.

"Come with me," Chase growled. "Wanna feel you all over me."

Silas's orgasm hit like thunder--hot, blinding, his body jerking as he spilled between them. Chase followed with a grunt, burying himself deep as he came, pulsing hard inside the condom.

They collapsed, breathless, sticky, completely undone.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of panting, and the rustling of leaves overhead.

Then Chase chuckled softly. "So... think I make a good muse?"

Silas rolled to face him, brushing a kiss to his jaw. "You're going to be my entire exhibit."

------

The day of the Spring Art Walk bloomed bright and wild--azaleas in full flirt, tulips spilling color down every sidewalk crack, and Silas's nerves dancing just as wildly.

Chase had promised he'd come.

The community gallery was small, nestled next to a vegan bakery that reeked of patchouli and sourdough. Inside, it smelled like varnish and dreams. Silas stood near the center, watching people drift through his exhibit, sipping wine and murmuring over the pieces--every last one of them sketched, painted, or inked from memory.

All of Chase.

Some were soft. Some were explicit. One, in particular--Truck Bed, Noon Light--was already drawing scandalized gasps from an older couple.

Silas didn't care. He knew what it meant to want.

"Hot damn," a familiar voice said behind him. "I knew your art was good. But I didn't know it'd give me a semi in public."

Silas turned--and there Chase was, wearing a light blue button-down, sleeves rolled, abs still peeking through like a dirty secret under good manners.

"I didn't think you'd show," Silas murmured.

Chase stepped closer. "I didn't think I'd let you suck my soul out through my dick in a truck bed either. And yet, here we are."

Silas grinned. "So, you like the work?"

"I like being the work." Chase's voice dropped. "But also--this one?" He pointed to a painting where Chase lay half-nude in a bed of spring flowers. "You made me look like a goddamn Renaissance faerie."

"Only because I didn't have time to paint you naked in the farmer's market stall."

Chase leaned in. "You still could."

They slipped out the back of the gallery after Silas gave a half-hearted excuse to the curator. Neither could wait--not with the memories of last time still raw on their skin.

This time, they didn't need the truck. They had the tiny storeroom behind the bakery, where herbs hung from the rafters and the air was warm with yeast and cinnamon.

Chase pulled Silas against him and kissed him like it had been months, not days. The heat came fast--buttons popped, jeans shoved down, Silas's hands all over Chase's chest, tracing each muscle like he was studying it again.

"Did you draw this one?" Chase whispered, pressing Silas's hand to his abs.

"I wanted to feel it first."

Chase shoved Silas up against the wall, his cock already hard and demanding between them. "Then feel it, artist boy."

Silas dropped to his knees.

He didn't waste time. He knew what Chase liked now--the slow drag of his tongue under the shaft, the tight suction, the way he could swirl his tongue just under the crown and make Chase whimper. He deepthroated him, letting spit drip down, the lewd, wet sounds echoing off flour bags and shelves.

"Fuck, you're good at that," Chase groaned, hands gripping his hair. "You're mine now."

Silas moaned around him, fingers stroking Chase's thighs, his own cock aching against his leg. He sucked until Chase had to pull him off.

"Bend over," Chase panted. "Right now."

They fumbled for the lube in Silas's bag--he came prepared--and Chase didn't wait long. He slicked his fingers and opened Silas fast, already leaking with need. When he finally slid inside, they both let out broken sounds--pleasure and pressure and the raw, delicious ache of being full.

Chase fucked him hard--no teasing this time. Just deep, fast thrusts, low grunts, slaps of skin on skin. Silas braced against the wall, biting his lip, moaning every time Chase hit that perfect spot.

"You take me so good," Chase growled. "You love being fucked like this, don't you?"

Silas gasped, "Yes--yes, I fucking love it."

Chase wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It didn't take long. Silas came all over the shelf, legs shaking. Chase followed with a deep, rough cry, pulsing inside the condom, burying his face in Silas's neck.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled in the afterglow, sweat cooling in the scented storeroom air.

And then, softly: "What happens now?" Silas asked.

Chase kissed the top of his spine. "You keep painting. I keep selling squash. And every Sunday, I bend you over the produce table."

Silas laughed, breathless. "Romantic."

"You make everything romantic," Chase murmured.

And outside, the bells of the Spring Festival rang like a blessing.

End

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