Organic | ✓

February 3rd, 2020

God, you need to stop staring, Thomas.

Thomas Penn scolded himself silently, tearing his eyes from the ridiculously attractive stranger currently perusing the organically grown eggplants at the local farmer's market. He glanced briefly at a crate of dirt-caked potatoes for the great length of three seconds before his eyes involuntarily flicked back up to the man who had, in that time, picked up an eggplant to inspect it for any imperfections. Cerulean eyes stared at the real-life counterpart of the phallic emoji, the vegetable rolling between large hands, and God, what Thomas would do to get those hands on his-

The man's hands suddenly paused their ministrations on the apparently blemish-less eggplant, his head whipping to the side towards Thomas, sensing a gaze on his back. Thomas's head snapped downwards, expression casual, as he stared at some bright red gourmet tomatoes. Thomas felt blue eyes track across his form, before dropping again, probably back towards the bulging eggplants which were getting more action from the stranger's hands than Thomas's aubergine would probably ever get.

Yes, 23 and a bit years old, and still very much a virgin.

For the most part, Thomas was fine with his current situation; on track to a stable career, a good group of friends by his side and non-dysfunctional family at his back. He had everything he needed and didn't want for anything, apart from a non-existent thing called romance.

But in this day and age, where people met on Tinder and romance was just a flick of a finger and a few water drop emojis next to an eggplant, romance was long dead. Real, true, organic love. That was what Thomas longed for, but knew he was never going to get it. While he enjoyed the dream of romance, he was by no means a romantic. In fact, the people around him would probably label him a realist. A cynic. A disenchanted pragmatist whose career was on the forefront of his mind, and not the ridiculously handsome man who had paid for the perfectly-shaped eggplant and moved on to the equally phallic bananas.

Oh, dear Lord, he's so fucking hot.

Tall, lean body draped in dark jeans and a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dark brown hair was neatly brushed back from an angular face, a few wisps falling over bright blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes. A few wrinkles at the corner of his eyes told Thomas that the man was older, but probably no more than 30. Straight-edged nose, thin yet pink lips naturally curved upwards at the corners and a clean-shaven jaw. A little beauty mark above his upper lip that moved when he spoke. Elegant fingers stroking his bottom lip as he selected his bananas, a flash of an expensive watch. He was someone who was blessed with God-tier good-looks but didn't know it, not when he barely reacted when a group of women giggled as they walked past him, casting him furtive and shameless looks while nudging each other.

Thomas didn't realise that he was moving towards the man until he was standing in front of the crates of organic peaches next to the bananas. His body moved as if magnetised by the attractive pull of the man now beside him, drawn into his orbit despite his head floating without gravity.

The man glanced at Thomas, and Thomas looked away. The peaches were pink and yellow, soft and ripe, and their aroma sticky and sweet. Interesting. The man looked away at Thomas's apparent nonchalance, finding the bananas to be equally as interesting.

Thomas inhaled deeply, and floating above the smell of the peaches was the man's sharp aftershave, a clean and crisp smell, much like the man himself.

Thomas's fingers itched by his side, the boy fumbling to hold a ripe peach to stop him from trying to hold onto something - or someone - else. The peach skin was furry, soft in some places, hard in others. His thumb slot into the peach's indented ridge, moving up and down absently.