I suppose you can say it's flashfic...BL "Not having sex..."

[syredronning]

***

"But I'm still not having sex with you," Denny says. After he's done grunting and got some air to say it at all.

"I know, my love," Alan replies. "I will be right back."

"We'll have champagne for dinner," Denny shouts after him as he walks to the bathroom to clean the sticky, beautiful cum that's Denny's from his hands. "I booked a table at Marcello's Bar."

They're not having sex, of course; it is by now a well-accepted definition, thanks to the former president, that anything but having your dick in a pussy isn't sex.

But handjobs...handjobs are just beautiful little tokens of friendship.

Alan thoroughly washes his hands, then looks into the mirror. He buttons his white, expensive shirt high up again, and tidies his hair. He loves looking neat. Something he shares with Denny.

When he returns to the living-room, Denny is looking rather perfect too. Not a trace of their former activity is to be seen, their affair being just as neat as their suits: exquisite, with more than a touch of eccentricity, and always following certain conventions.

And if - by chance or the catalytic effect of alcohol - there was a night when they crossed the threshold into the big field of activities that fell under Denny's "I won't do that - I'm not gay!" verdict, then there would always be a well-timed bout of Mad Cow disease striking out in the following morning.

Which doesn't matter at all to Alan. In fact, it grants him the repeated success of being the first man over and over again to lay hand on Denny's best piece, and being told that he really has gifted fingers. The experiences of a lifetime of swinging to both sides paying off at last.

There's a little dust on Denny's collar, and Alan removes it with a careful snip of his fingers.

"We're quite a sight," Denny says. "Do you think we'll meet some beautiful women in the bar? It's been a while since I had sex."

"I will endeavor to find you a beautiful woman, Denny. The type you like; a bit round, long, preferably red hair, lips made for kissing..." Alan is helping Denny into the coat; there is a cool breeze outside and he wouldn't want to see his friend fetching a cold.

"Wonderful." Denny laces his arm into Alan's, once he's donned his own coat. "Let's go!"

***