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CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 18: Having The Blues
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 05:04:36 +0000 UTCPreviously: Farmer went to the Adventurer's Guild after a successful day mining but found a lot more than just good weapons and other equipment.
Content this chapter: Gay panic/gay denial; blowjobs; handjobs
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Farmer doesn’t exactly know what he had been expecting when he decided to top off his afternoon with a visit to the Wizard’s Tower, but being relegated to an assistant had not really been it.
Rasmodius had not been hostile, but not necessarily in the mood to entertain him either, and he had not made it a secret. The way the old man had stared at Farmer had made him flush with embarrassment, his stomach curling into a tight knot as he tried not to squirm on the spot or start to explain himself. That would only make it more obvious that he had come to see whether the old guy would be in the mood to change him around some more again. Maybe try out some modifications that did not include a pussy? Or some that went even further? Though Farmer honestly isn’t too sure what he had thought of himself there.
Rasmodius is in a foul mood. That much is obvious, and Farmer is honestly surprised that he hasn’t been kicked out yet. He’s delegated to some menial labor like lugging around stacks of books or scrubbing some of the cauldrons clean, which does make him wonder why the hell he came here in the first place. His body is still aching and exhausted not only from the day’s labor but also from yesterday*s endeavours in the mines and his later… activities.
Everything gets a little clearer, however, when Rasmodius suddenly raises his head from being bent over the massive cauldron in his front room and stares at nothing in particular with such an intense expression, that Farmer feels the small hairs on his arms raise from how eerie it looks.
The sun has lowered already outside and darkness has spread across the forest. With fall coming with a vengeance, the days are certainly getting shorter and the Wizard does not seem to believe in any actual electricity because they’re sitting in his tower by nothing but candle lights and the glimmering coals beneath his constantly bubbling cauldron.
“Say,” Rasmodius says slowly. The cadence of his voice is odd; like he is coming up from some kind of dream. Farmer steps closer, having put down the last ladle he’s been scrubbing. His arms feel like noodles. He’s exhausted.
“Hmn?”
“You’ve been dilly-dallying with a lot of residents that would not have put their votes against the Community Center in the first place.”
Farmer bristles, his spine stiffening. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“I don’t really like the accusation in your voice…”
“Have you even talked to Shane yet?” Rasmodius asks, completely ignoring Farmer’s growling. He turns a little to look at Farmer with an expression that makes him feel distinctly… like he is being regarded as an imbecile. He presses his lips into a tight line.
“No, not really. He’s not the approachable sort and our schedules never really align anyway.”
Rasmodius scoffs.
“Excuses, excuses.”
Farmer rolls his eyes and turns toward the door.
“Alright. I’m done for today; I’ll be heading home. You can get the rest of the stuff scrubbed by yourself, I’m sure.”
“He’s out at the pier right now.”
Farmer pauses at the door and half turns to peer at Rasmodius, eyes narrowed.
“...You’re talking about Shane?”
The Wizard looks pained for a second. Or constipated. One of the two. He speaks slower, like he is talking to a child: “Yes. I have ordered you here so you could wait until he would arrive. He stands there most nights and I could foresee that tonight would be one of those.”
Farmer narrows his eyes at him, feeling a muscle in his jaw jump as he grinds his teeth.
“You know what- I’m not even going to start unpacking all the crazy shit you just said. I’m off.”
“Take care to actually do your job tonight!” Wizard calls after him.
Farmer huffs, slamming the wooden door with a little more force than usual. He can’t say that he is actually angry, though. In a way, the Wizard was right. The past couple weeks, maybe month have been filled with nothing but pleasant encounters in one way or the other, all with town’s people that he is fairly certain would have voted for the restauration of the Community Center in the first place, not really moving the scale one way or the other.
He hasn’t even been to Mayor Lewis’ in a hot second to even look at the standings, and the voting was fast approaching together with the Spirit’s Eve festival.
Shane he knows has been on the side of Joja ever since the beginning. He’s not certain if it’s been out of conviction or simply because he feels like it is expected of him from his employer. Having met Morris only one or two times and clocked him as a thoroughly unpleasant individual, Farmer would not be surprised if the employees had been indoctrinated accordingly.
He’s still thinking about it all while he makes his way through the darkness lit by watery moonlight and a few fireflies. He’s rounding the edge of the little lake just outside the Wizard’s Tower when he hears a low groaning sound coming from… inside of it?
Farmer immediately freezes to the spot, his blood running cold as he turns to scan the surface of the water, nervous to see a human figure floating on it.
There is, thankfully, nobody in the water. There is someone on the shoddy pier that has been built there however long ago, and he is not in the least surprised to see that that someone is Shane.
If Rasmodius was to be believed, he somehow anticipated this whole meetup, or even arranged it. Farmer does not want to believe that his decision to meet up with the Wizard has been influenced by him in the first place simply because it makes his skin crawl, but he has to admit that he had not thought about going until his feet had literally started dragging him toward the woods where he lived.
So there was that.
He narrows his eyes at Shane’s figure. The other is lying on the pier with his legs dangling off the edge, the tips of his sneakers just about brushing the surface of the water.
There’s a sixpack next to him. Farmer doubts that this interaction will go different than any other he’s had with the little weirdo, but he continues moving around the edge of the water and eventually steps on the pier.
The wooden boards are warped and feel loose on occasion beneath his careful feet. He does not really fancy a swim tonight. The thought of plunging into dark water full of algae and who-knew-what had his skin crawling, but Shane looks fine and he’s blackout drunk, so he figures that he will be fine as well.
Eventually he comes to stand next to him, peering down at the man. He looks… awful, really. His hair is limp and in dire need of a wash, and against the black stubble on his cheeks, his skin looks even paler and more sickly.
“Hey,” Farmer says softly and watches the other flinch and groan as he awkwardly turns his head and blinks his eyes open to peer up at him. There’s no real recognition visible in his expression for the longest time until he blinks and a bit more self-awareness enters his gaze.
“The fuck you want,” he groans. He starts to move over and roll onto his side until he seems to just give up and flop back down on his back, staring at the sky with a watery gaze. “Go ‘way.”
“Sure. As soon as I know you won’t just flop yourself into the water.”
Farmer watches him as his face twists into a few expressions, all of them unsavory before it relaxes again and he just closes his eyes. His hand is wrapped tightly around one of the beer cans but he’s not drinking from it. Instead, he lifts it and thrusts it toward Farmer. “Here.”
Frowning, Farmer takes the beer can from Shane. The other cracks an eye open and stares at him.
“Drink,” he orders. “You can keep me company. I s’pose.”
Farmer rolls his eyes but he does take a little swig just to pacify the other and slowly crouches down next to him.
He’s surprisingly docile tonight, but Farmer knows better than to say anything in that regard. It would be a surefire way to immediately make Shane clamp up tight again. he’s more stubborn than Sebastian in that regard.
Farmer extends one finger and lightly nudges him at the shoulder.
“You’re not about to pass out, are you?”
Shane sends him a withering glare, but it is softened by the drunken flush to his cheeks and the glassy quality of his eyes.
“Just drink and shut up or go ‘way.”
Farmer huffs. He takes another little sip from the beer. It is still cold enough in his grip and on his tongue that he feels like Shane can’t have been here all that long. Maybe he’s started in the saloon as he so often does and took the party out here where he’s more alone. Got privacy to wallow in his sorrows.
“Can I ask you something?” Farmer asks after a while of companionable silence. He’s still crouched but is surprisingly comfortable in the position. He’s rocking a little on his feet and listens to the soft, rhythmic groaning of the wooden pier beneath him.
Shane snorts like he’s been just in the middle of falling asleep. He blinks his dark eyes open. They look like black pools in the darkness of night. Like the water underneath them. He stares at Farmer without making a sound and since he hasn’t told him yet to go to hell, Farmer just asks: “When’s the last time you got laid?”
Shane blinks once, slowly. Farmer can see how he has to rub the last few brain cells that aren’t drunk off their ass together to even parse what he’s been asked.
It’s fair, Farmer supposes. The question has come entirely out of left field, but Shane is just drunk enough that he hadn’t thought anything subtler would really get through to him.
Finally, Shane’s face scrunches up in something like confused anger.
“The fuck are you even askin’ me.”
Farmer carefully puts the can down on a spot that looks just about level enough that it won’t have the thing topple into the water, and leans down to bring their faces a bit closer together.
“It’s an easy enough question,” he replies placidly. He can’t say that he’s embarrassed, really. He doesn’t suppose Shane would remember much of this anyway; and if he did and reacted poorly, he probably would think it was just a dream. “When was the last time you god laid? Like… got your dick wet. Fucked a pussy. Just… pumped one-”
“I-I know what ‘getting laid’ means,” Shane stutters. He tries to get up on an elbow, but Farmer’s hand shoots out and presses against his chest to force him back down on the pier.
He can see the confusion on Shane’s face. He can also see the flush crawling up from his throat; one that has nothing to do with his state of inebriation.
“I could help you out,” Farmer murmurs, voice pitched into a purr. He leans over Shane some more, bent down to let him feel the warm wash of his breath against his mouth and chin.
Shane’s tongue darts out, nervously wetting his lips. He looks wonderfully open for a whole of three seconds before his expression twists into something ugly and mulish. He lets go of his own beer can, miraculously not throwing it into the water, and grabs a hold of Farmer’s wrists. He’s clutching at him without trying to push him back; either because he knows he wouldn’t manage to in his current state or because he can’t figure out how to make his body do what his head wants.
“Fuck off,” he hisses. “I don’t need a pity fuck from the town whore.”
Farmer’s brows shoot up. There’s a moment where he feels weirdly conflicted about that; like hearing it said out loud makes it more real that he is actually considered the town whore. But then he blinks and the moment is gone because he realizes he does not actually care.
It’s alright if all the other residents think he’s easy and spreads his thigh on a whim. It’s alright because he is easy. He does bend over at the slightest provocation. Always has.
He grins lopsided at Shane who tucks his chin in in lieu of being able to pull his head further back. His gaze jumps over Farmer’s face, looking for something. Farmer keeps pressing down against his chest, free hand slowly creeping down Shane’s body until he can settle his hand, big and warm, on his cock. It feels a little hard at least which is certainly encouraging.
Shane’s dark eyes widen and his mouth opens but no sound comes out.
“You sure you don’t need one?” Farmer asks in that same low voice as before. His thumb presses against the zipper of Shane’s fly and slowly follows that line downward to massage his cock through the firm fabric of his jeans. “Because I’m more than willing to give one out. Free of charge and all that.”
He closes those last few inches between them to lightly drag his nose against Shane’s. “And I dunno what you’ve heard about me, but I’m good. Like… really good.”
Shane’s eyes, glassy from alcohol, get a little sharper. He stares at Farmer and when he pulls back a little he can see that Shane’s mouth is set in a mulish, unhappy tilt.
Still, his hips suddenly lift into Farmer’s touch and a trembling little sigh creeps right out of him. Farmer smirks.
Got him, he thinks as he leans in to press their lips together.
He doesn’t necessarily have a desire to kiss Shane, bracing himself for whatever foul flavor will assault him once he’s teased him into opening up to him, but as their tongues touch, he realizes that he’s worried for nothing. He doesn’t taste like he brushed his teeth just moments before but he tastes like he does it regularly at the very least and that is more than alright with Farmer.
As he slowly teases Shane into deeper, more intimate kisses, Farmer wonders about why he is being so uncharitable to the man. He’s dealt with enough customers in his life to know how to just let the bad attitudes bounce off of him, but something about Shane-
Actually, it doesn’t matter. Shane is clumsily reaching up and grabbing Farmer by the hair in the nape of his neck and slowly pushes his tongue deeper into his welcoming, warm mouth. He’s so uncoordinated about it and makes those soft little grunting sounds while he does so, that it weirdly endears him to Farmer.
”Fuck,” Farmer mutters as he pulls back, staring at the sheen of saliva glistening on Shane’s mouth. His eyes are only half lidded now. In a way they look quite eerie with how dark they are, just staring up at Farmer like there have been two holes drilled into his damn head.
“Let me make you feel good… okay? Just for tonight,” Farmer whispers, his fingers lightly stroking the sides of Shane’s face now. Further below the erection he’s stroked into attention is flexing gently against his hip. He can feel its warmth radiating even through the clothes separating them.
Shane groans softly. He throws an arm over his face and shakes his head.
“‘M not fuckin’ gay,” he mutters; but despite his protest, he reaches down, palming himself through his jeans and lifting his hips into it. Farmer lifts a brow and leans a little to the side, watching him quietly. He’s not going to force himself on the guy, that’s for sure.
“Fuck, why’re you like this?” There’s a whiny cadence to Shane’s voice.
“You talkin’ to me or to yourself?” Farmer asks dryly, eyes stuck on the way Shane is fumbling with his belt buckle and opening it up with a tremendous amount of effort.
“Shut up,” Shane gasps. He’s pushed down his old and washed out looking shorts and out springs a surprisingly nice dick. It’s on the shorter side but nice and fat with an unkempt black bush that Farmer feels inexplicably drawn to. He bites the inside of his cheek and makes sure to keep his hands to himself.
Shane wraps his fist around his cock. It’s standing proud and has to be so deliciously heavy-
“I can take care of you for that,” he hears himself say before he can think better of it. Because he is a whore and that cock looks absolutely delectable. He’s got a nice, generous slip of foreskin that he wants to get his mouth on so badly that he has to swallow the sudden influx of drool.
“Fuck,” Shane whines again. His hips jerk up, fucking into the dry, tight tunnel of his fist. It’s almost not enough to pull down on his foreskin; half his glans is still hidden away but what gets exposed is flushed a deep red and deliciously wet already.
“Shut up,” he tells him again, his voice high-pitched and quivering. He’s still got his arm thrown over his face and his legs are kicking out awkwardly as he ostensibly searches for something to brace himself against; but there’s only air. Air and water moving dark and silent underneath them. “‘M not fuckin’ gay.”
Farmer licks his lips. Stares at Shane’s cock. Feels his own arousal creeping through his body and making him run hotter, sweat prickling along his hairline.
“That why you jerk off right next to a guy? You do that often, champ?”
He reaches out because he can’t help himself and swipes the tips of his fingers across Shane’s glans. The glide is silky smooth and warm. He can feel the dip of his piss slit but only for a second before the other makes a punched out little sound and awkwardly jerks his hand, flattening his cock against his stomach where it can wet into the ratty Joja shirt he’s wearing.
He’s pulled his arm away from his face to stare at Farmer, his eyes as wet as his cock which he childishly tries to hide with his hand.
“The fuck are you doing?”
Farmer shrugs his shoulders. “I thought I was invited to touch. What with you showing off your pretty cock and all that.”
Shane stares at him, his brows furrowing and his mouth opening. His lips are chapped but they look cherry red, just like the tongue glistening right behind his teeth. Farmer is almost upset to realize that Shane is pretty just like his dick. If he’d just stop scowling all the damn time-
“You can’t just…”
Farmer barely glances up at him, too entranced by the sight of his dick, pulsing beneath the flat of Shane’s palm, liquid pearling at the piss slit. The drop is getting fatter as he watches and he wishes he could lick it off before it inevitably soaks into Shane’s clothes.
“Hmmn?”
“You can’t just say shit like that. My cock’s not… not fucking pretty, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
In a way, Farmer quite enjoys the interaction. It’s a far cry from other ones he’s had with him; always mulish and antagonistic and brushing him off as fast and as rude as he can manage to.
At least he was able to tickle a new emotion out of him even if it was out of sheer bafflement.
And he’s finally got him to at least look at him. He’s drunk and fucked up and depressed but at least he watches Farmer as he slowly moves to lean down.
Farmer keeps holding Shane’s gaze as he opens his mouth and breathes warm and wet against the even warmer, even wetter tip of his cock. He can see it immediately flexing, trying to free itself from the hand keeping it hugged jealously against his stomach.
Shane groans deep in his throat. He sounds half surprised; like he had not been able to anticipate Farmer’s move despite watching him the whole way down. It’s probably asked too much what with him being close to shitfaced drunk. It’s okay. Farmer doesn’t mind. He just keeps breathing nice and warm and slow, pushing the hot air against the tip of Shane’s cock while watching him and getting watched back in turn.
He can see the cogs in his head moving. Grinding against each other. All rusty hinges and fighting against actually having to put in any work for once.
Farmer can’t help the smirk he throws him. Just like how he can’t help slowly opening his mouth and stretching out his tongue. He waits for Shane to kick him in the head or tell him again to fuck off, but it doesn’t happen.
Shane just watches, his own mouth opening slowly as if imitating Farmer. His tongue pressing wet and red against his lower lip while Farmer’s touches the tip of his cock just beneath the dip of his piss slit.
Shane wheezes; a pathetic little whining sound that breaks in his throat. His hips move up but he seems to have forgotten that he’s hiding most of his dick beneath his hand.
That’s okay. He’ll remember sooner or later and until then Farmer will see just how much he can get away with.
He pulls his tongue back in so he can taste Shane. Salty and warm, bursting right against his palate.
And what can Farmer say? He’s just a whore for dick. He loves them. Big, small, fat, thin… he loves their smell and their look and their taste. So he dips his tongue out again and touches it to Shane’s glans. And again. And again. He starts to drag it against his foreskin, attempting to nudge it further back just with the tip of it, and fuck he’s already drooling.
Gets everything warm and liberally wet. It’s quickly soaking into Shane’s shirt but either he does not care in his current drunk state or, what’s more likely in Farmer’s opinion, he simply does not register that it is happening at all. He seems completely transfixed by the sight of Farmer kitten licking his cock.
His jaw works and his mouth moves but all he finally stammers out is: “I ain’t fuckin’ gay…”
Right as he tries to thrust up against Farmer’s face.
Farmer just stares up at him, keeps holding his drunk, confused gaze, and slowly reaches out for his wrist. He curls his fingers around it and slowly begins to pull Shane’s unresisting hand away from his cock.
Like that, he can pop his mouth properly across the tip and start suckling; wet and sloppy, slurping loud in the otherwise darkness of the night surrounding them.
Shane’s breathing becomes deep and labored. His cock flexes, salty pre-cum dribbling against Farmer’s tongue.
There is nothing preparing him for the sudden flood of cum that follows. Not a hitch in Shane’s breath nor a tremble of his hips. He just orgasms on the spot; as if it’s been months since he last got off.
As he struggles not to choke and swallow down the thick, copious amounts of cum, Farmer finds himself wondering if Shane even realized what was happening. He was so quiet, even the heavy breaths having stopped completely.
When Farmer slowly pulls back, his hand curled around the base of Shane’s cock to keep it upright, there’s a thick line of cummy saliva still connecting his mouth to the glans.
His erection doesn’t flag. It’s just as hot and swollen as it has been before, slowly flexing in Farmer’s grip as if ready for more.
Farmer glances up. Shane’s face is flushed brick red, his eyes open wide and glassy.
His mouth works a few times but instead of saying something, he suddenly lifts the abandoned can of beer and brings it to his mouth, taking a few aggressive sips of the alcohol. His flush is quickly spreading to his ears until they almost glow in the dark under the night sky.
Farmer exhales a soft puff of hot air. He spits a fat glob of cum streaked spit back down on the cock and starts to slowly fist him. It’s all slick and slimy and disgusting but the glide must feel absolutely heavenly because Shane makes a sound like he is dying, his hips suddenly snapping up after all.
Farmer doesn’t know where he even got the coordination from but here they are…
“Want another one?” he asks him, voice gone a bit deeper. A bit rougher. Shane’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He nods awkwardly, cock pulsing in Farmer’s tight grip.
“Then you gotta promise me something, okay?”
“Yeah,” he gasps without questioning it. A testament to how far he’s gone, probably. Farmer wouldn’t think the contrary, miserable bitch would usually say yes and amen to just whatever.
His lips twitch. He breathes against Shane’s wet glans again, hot and devastating. “You’ll vote for the Community Center.”
There’s just a beat of silence in which Shane’s face twists. He looks like he is going to deny him; maybe shove him off and tell him to ‘shut the fuck up’ again. But instead an eerie green shimmer is seen in his drunken, feverish eyes and he relaxes again.
“Yeah,” he sighs out soft and wistful. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll do that. Just… keep going?”
Farmer has half a mind to tease Shane about it but it’s probably been hard enough of a night for him already.
He still wants to show off a little which is kind of pathetic on his part. It’s not like Shane will remember much of this. Or even think that it’s been something real instead of cooked up by his alcohol soaked synapses.
But who the fuck cares at this point?
He lowers his mouth onto him. And lowers it. And lowers it; until the swollen glans nudges against his throat and he can rub it in even deeper. Going past the barely existing gag reflex and just have him snug and oozing down his throat while Shane makes sounds like he’s choking on his own tongue.
Farmer carefully swallows around him. He can feel the potent throb of the cock pressed against his tongue. His nose is buried in Shane’s unkempt pubes, inhaling the warm musk of his body and the scent of cock trapped in there.
His own brain goes all nice and woozy, cock throbbing slow and without any real urgency in his slacks.
Moments before Shane comes yet again, he somehow manages to weave his fingers into Farmer’s hair and hold on carefully. His thumb drags back and forth against his forehead and it feels so… intimate and gentle that Farmer pauses for a moment and just stares up at him.
They are still looking each other in the eyes as Shane comes again, mouth open and panting softly through the waves of orgasm.
It’s honestly kind of romantic. And very gay.
