Res ipsa loquitor, or so Denny Crane had argued--successfully--many times before. Well his res was certainly loquiting loudly this morning--not a bad act considering that it had only one eye and no mouth--the case under discussion being how it allegedly wanted to habeas Alan's most delectable corpus snoring in flagrante delicto an uncomfortably comfortable distance away. The prima facie evidence was his post protruding de facto less than two inches away from Alan's, uh...post hole, one might say.
It's not like he had a mens rea for men's rears, Denny Crane argued with himself (If Denny Crane argues with himself, who loses?). Lots of guys wake up like this. It's normal. In fact, if I didn't wake up with a hard-on (less than two inches from Alan's ass--which looks a lot like Streisand's, if you catch it in the right light--but the jury doesn't have to know that part, do they?) THEN I'd be abnormal--like homosexuals are abnormal. So, when you look at it that way, my stiffy proves that I'm not homosexual. Ha! Denny Crane! At that, Denny's face leaked a grin, and the name dribbled out loud from the corner of his mouth catching him unawares, but not necessarily displeased.
Then again, lots of guys don't find their thoughts hijacked ex parte by thoughts of Alan's private parts or by the soft movements of Alan's lips in sleep and how they get all pouty when he's hard at work, or how they would feel wrapped around Li'll Denny Crane (because, when you think about it, a mouth is just a mouth; it's not like girl mouths have breasts or vaginas or anything, so what's the big deal?) or how they would sound saying his name -- Denny Crane, Denny Crane, Denny Crane -- over and over again as you thrust into him and make him come like no one every has before and how you would blow your load into that soft, sweet ass practically pressing up against your bona fide boner now, begging for it like the little dick-hungry whore he is.
Which leads to the issue of a little quid pro quo...
Oh, no! Dismissed with prejudice! Denny jerked away.
The pull on his leg jolted Alan awake. "Hey, careful! I'm trying to sleep."
"Let me up; I have to go." Denny tried to tug their legs apart.
"Oh, please, Mom, just thirty more minutes." Alan twisted around, threw an arm around Denny's belly, and snuggled up
"No, I have to go." Denny moved Alan's arm further away from his bladder--and further away from danger of imminent and potentially disastrous collision with his Junior Partner, still standing pro se, despite Denny's strict instructions, only a couple inches below Alan's elbow.
"Oh, 'go'. Right." Alan sat up and started working on the knot. "There you are."
Denny swung his legs over the side of the bed. Today's pajamas were Scooby Doos--800 thread-count cotton flannel--complete with footies shaped like dog paws. He put his feet--his footies--on the ground. The rope was still dangling from his ankle though Alan's end had been undone.
Denny raised his eyes up in one of those silent looks of "why me?"
"What?" asked Alan. "You can still go."
"Right." Denny paused for long enough to make his point, then pushed up and into Alan's bathroom trailing the rope behind.
Unfortunately Major General Crane was still rigidly at attention, insisting on saluting the flag and showing no signs of falling at ease just to allow Denny Crane, esq. to take a whiz. Denny washed his face, finger-combed his hair and politely said good morning, seeing as whizzing was out of the equation for now.
"Who are you talking to?" Alan called from the other room.
"My erection. It's one of my better ones." The elastic waistband of his jammies smacked his belly with a snap as Denny let it fall back in place after checking.
"Can I use this?" He picked up Alan's electric toothbrush. "I've always wanted to try one. It's one of those vibrating ones, right? Shirley said they make her hot." He pressed it on and watched the bristles shake.
Alan was at the bathroom door. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. I didn't say where she put it."
"I meant the discussion with your anatomy."
"It's how I write most of my opening statements. It helps me think. Be nice; I'm sleeping with you."
"Yes, it is. But you made me. And I'm not having sex with you."
"No, I mean the discussion with your anatomy."
Denny blinked. "As opposed to you tying me up and forcing me to sleep with you?"
"No it's not. I don't sleep with just anyone, you know."
"Yes, you do."
Nolo contendere. Some times you have to cede a battle to win the war. "Well, I don't let just anybody tie me up." He smeared toothpaste on the brush and popped it into his mouth.
"Hey, that's my toothbrush!"
"Thanks; you know, I think Shirley's right." The words were a little muffled around the brush and foam.
"Do you two want privacy?" Alan asked.
Denny shook his head. "It's all right. I've seen you naked. We can share these things."
Alan rolled his eyes, but lifted the toilet seat and whizzed. He stepped to the sink. "Move. I need to wash my hands." They sort of did a seasick looking two-step each angling for a space near the water.
"Stop it," Denny said as their sides bumped. "I know you want me."
"I want to wash my hands." Alan made a grab for the water.
"That's what they all say." The toothbrush beeped and shut off. Denny began to gargle.
Alan gave up and settled for a slightly damp towel. He wiped his hands, put the lid down on the toilet and sat on the cover with a sigh. "This is all my fault. I know you don't really want to be here."
Denny Crane looked down past his reinvigorated erection to the nylon rope at his ankle. "That's one way of putting it."
"I want you to know, you don't have to worry about it any more. I'm going to hire a woman. Or get a big dog, maybe. One of those ones with the curly black hair that rescue people from the water. They should be comforting, I think."
"Newfoundlands. Does your shrink say that's safe?" Denny smiled at himself in the mirror, partly to check his work, but mostly because he liked to.
"You don't want to know what my shrink has to say about this."
Denny looked over with interest. "Is it about me?"
"Then you're right: I don't. "
"You're a very strange person, Denny."
"Sui generis, that Denny Crane." Denny reached for Alan's deodorant and spread it under his arms.
Alan yawned. They hadn't had much sleep. "I'm going back to bed." He headed back to the bedroom. "You coming?"
"No. I'll sleep at the office. Is Ralph Lauren all you have?" Denny examined a cologne bottle.
"There should be some Lalique on the top shelf--but don't use it all; I have a date tonight."
"Nice," said Denny sniffing the top. "Reminds me of Streisand." He sprayed the bottle dry.
Alan yawned and climbed back under the sheets. He called back to the bathroom. "You make your own plans for tonight. I'll work something out...somehow--today. Do you think dogs will eat leftovers? Maybe if we get French. They speak French in Newfoundland, right?" Alan yawned again.
Cui bono? Denny had a conversation with his conscience--or at least he told himself that was the part making the decision. He called into the bedroom from the doorway. "You need toothpaste. I like the kind with the red and green stripes. And toilet paper. The kind with the bear on the package."
"What?" Alan rolled over and stared at him like he was...well, like he was Denny Crane.
"I like the bear. He's soft." Denny shrugged. So was Li'll Denny it seemed. He moved over to the toilet and worked the front of his Scooby Doos.
"All right, the bear it is." Alan stared in confusion. Maybe a second CAT scan would be a good idea.
"Good." Denny let fly like there was no tomorrow. It felt really good.
"You want breakfast?" Alan called.
"Sure. It's the least you can do. Usually I get flowers and Godivas--then tears when it's time for the big good bye. " Denny looked over with his infamous "who knows: I guess he could be serious...or not" lack of expression.
"I could manage eggs, bacon, and pancakes."
"You're cooking? I didn't know what a luck man I am."
"Not a chance. The bistro on the next block delivers."
"Skip the bacon," Denny said. "I'm watching my figure." He tucked little Denny back inside and flopped back on the bed, the toes of his Scooby footies wiggling in the morning sun. Heck, it was his office; he could be late. "And get a new pillow," he added. "This one hurts my neck."