like the fact that Sean is half-naked (wearing jeans, but no shirt) which happened purely by accident, or at least he and we would like to think so, having spilled beer all over himself in a fit of laughter, or maybe it was frustration, who knows, perhaps in the end it was just fate, although Sean himself couldn't care less at this moment because now Viggo is checking him out,

looking him over and appraising him like a prime-grade side of beef, or maybe a complex piece of artwork (hard to tell which, but Sean doesn't care about that either, so long as he's deemed valuable and worthy) and Viggo's fingers shake with the effort of preventing himself from personally checking out the nearest square inch of material -- clothed or otherwise -- and what with flesh this firm and well-muscled and gorgeous being a valuable commodity these days and sure to fetch a real good price on the open stage,

Sean knows that it's a seller's market right now in their particular corner of New Zealand so he has fun with it, teasing and playing coy -- even though he really really wants to be consumed by this particular consumer, he knows it's no good to appear like too much of a bargain -- and he gives Viggo those special sly looks and innuendos he likes to reserve for the most promising prospects only, of which Viggo is definitely one, and Sean's acting skills pay off mightily as Viggo immediately falls for the display and decides he'd like to take this one home,

so to speak, (since they're already at his home, or what we presume to be such) only he probably shouldn't until he disposes of his current steed, this shiny new item intended only as a temporary replacement and not a permanent addition to his current stable of two because his life is complicated enough right now thank you very much, so he asks if he can defer his purchase, and at such a result how could Sean look anything but crestfallen (who wouldn't?) with an expression that melts Viggo's heart and instantly springs open his mental notepad so he can jot down a reminder to kick himself later for his stupidity which he dutifully does,

but quickly, so he can go on to explain his predicament to this most luscious vendor, wanting to impress his strength of morality and other quality characteristics -- who's doing the selling now, eh? -- and he proves to be a damn persuasive salesman because Sean nips hungrily at the bait, falling hook, line, and sinker, so that all Viggo needs to do now is reel in his catch which is quite easy really,

because Viggo's terribly good at doling out precise measurements of whispered entreaties and gilt-edged words (in a good, positive way though, because this isn't snake oil he's selling, it's the real thing, honest to god) but he remains a bit reluctant, moral to a fault perhaps even though Sean, quickly back to being the seller once again, promises no strings attached, by which he also means the one he's currently attached to, just like Viggo -- figuratively, of course, not literally, you don't think these boys are just puppets for our amusement, do you? --

and Sean snips himself free, (figuratively speaking again, of course) telling Viggo to do the same just for tonight, even though I'm offering no warranty but boy will I ever make it worth your while, just watch (all this said in a low, seductive growl and thick British accent, which Viggo's always been a sucker for) and, well, who could resist such a tempting one-time-only offer, especially when said seller is suddenly grinding his worldly goods against the buyer just so, trafficking in pleasure and lust and sinfully hot promises -- and, whoa, is that a hand, crossing the border there? -- and

now Viggo's totally at the mercy of that hand, yeah, that's right, the one expertly palming his cock through his jeans and reminding him tacitly, a tad domineeringly perhaps, (when did the dynamic change so quickly?) that he'd better be nice and respectful or else forfeit the sale entirely, no refunds or exchanges, sorry, for that's the terms of the contract and I think they're fair, take it or leave it, sir,

and all those words, both spoken and unspoken, the promise, just the fucking tone, of that offer is just way too hot to resist, especially in his present flushed and one-hundred-percent-aroused state, of course Viggo'd be nuts not to take it so he does, moaning his verbal consent (since his hands are otherwise occupied, finally checking out the peddler's flesh to see what sorts of pleasures it yields, not that he'd have any ink or similar fluid handy to sign the contract with anyway, at least not yet), and at that Sean quietly smiles,

well, if you can call it "smiling" because his lips and teeth and tongue are pretty busy inspecting Viggo's as their hands jointly remove all obtrusive clothing and roam the similar-yet-different merchandise, unconsciously checking for defects, probably, but finding none and both quite enjoying the whole discovery process, okay, suppose Sean smiles inwardly then, proud that he's finally managed to close the deal (pardon the clicha33;) that he's been eyeing for weeks now, feeling the triumphant glow of winning a prize you didn't think you even had a chance at,

and hey, back to the action and speaking of eyes, those lovely green ones of Sean's flutter closed as the pace picks up and his breath hitches, mirroring Viggo's (breath, not eyes, since Viggo likes to keep those open and tonight's no different in that regard, maybe it's even more special because, well, you know) and the deal is finally and officially struck -- a barter, if you will, an exchange of services if you want to be all formal about it --

when finally all that frenzied rubbing and exploring and moaning produces a bonanza for each of them, a high-quality red-light special, some of the best that money (or other legal tender) can buy although technically they've both given it away for free, really, and then it's hard to tell who was originally the seller and who was the buyer because they've collapsed together in a sticky and twisted heap on the couch, lying there like a sad, soggy pile of liquidation-sale items, the kind that shoppers always seem to stroll right by without checking out,

even though they (Sean and Viggo -- not the shoppers, nor the items in the sale bin) both have a very contented air about them and there's even a distinct look of satisfaction on one's face and crazed happiness on the other's (I'll leave it up to you to decide who has which) but that lasts for, oh, only about ten minutes or so because sleep starts to overtake them, still curled up together on the lumpy couch, Viggo's we presumed it to be,

not that (for the nth time) it really matters to the story, and, oh yeah, one final thing, in the process of drifting off they both had the exact same thought, even though they couldn't possibly have known about such a weird synchronicity, that wouldn't it be nice to wake up like this, together, in the morning and then maybe even sample each other's wares once again,

morality and consequences be damned because tonight had been just too bloody/fucking (choice of words dependent on the nationality of the person thinking it, of course) good and there's obviously something to be said for shopping at a different store once in awhile, although wouldn't it be really terrific to become a regular, permanent customer at Chez Viggo/Sean regardless of the ransom that would have to be paid to their current respective owners, yeah, most definitely, and with that thought they both fell into slumber at last.