Starlight Stories Rich and Love: Burns Song

Chapter 8: Quarter-Million Dollar Baby

The next morning, as Mr. Burns awoke, he surveyed his environs. The scratchy motel blanket pulled comfortably taut over his chest. Smithers' glasses askew on his slumbering visage. The smell of cheap liquor abandoned in a pair of whiskey glasses. The blanket abraded his skin like coarse sandpaper as he moved against it, mainly because his frail skin was so sensitive to the texture of the cheap fabric. As he moved, he realized he had no shirt on, and his pants were similarly absent. In fact, he was completely naked.

Oh. Now I remember. His eyes darted to Smithers. How shall I face him now? Surely he will expect me to accelerate the pace of my amorous advances. Smithers yawned and rolled over a bit toward him but quickly resumed snoring. I'd never touched a man that way... The feel of the hot vapor of Smithers' breath on his neck lingered in his memory. With anyone else, it would have felt like an intrusion, but with him, it felt strangely familiar. I am so accustomed to his touch... The clock radio alarm on the nightstand sprang to life, broadcasting a lively rendition of "In the Mood." I yearn for his touch...

Smithers opened his eyes slightly, then closed them again. Please, God, tell me I didn't just dream that. I would give anything for it to be real. He opened his eyes again, keeping them open for ten seconds, the world remaining a blur as his glasses were crooked and smeared with sweat. Oh God, I'm going to say something stupid and scare him off. Okay, Waylon, just play it cool and act like it was no big deal and you're perfectly fine if it never happens again. Burns' bemused tittering as he had responded to their intimate contact the previous night echoed in his mind. Then the tittering had yielded to expressions of craving and satisfaction as their genitals had touched. Oh God, I wish I could just take him again now. He opened his eyes again and removed his glasses, grabbed a nearby tissue to wipe the lenses, and placed them back on. He's going to tell me this was a horrible mistake and fire me! He's going to tell me he can't stand to look at me anymore. He's going to lash me with caustic remarks.

Mr. Burns sat up against the headboard. He turned his head to meet Smithers' trepidatious gaze. Vivacious, he said, "Good morning, Waylon."

He sighed in a massive wave of relief, enraptured tears dripping from his eyes. His voice faltering as euphoria replaced disquietude, he said, "Good morning, Monty."

As Smithers helped Mr. Burns get dressed, he mulled over his next words. "I can't believe...I never thought...I never dreamed you'd touch me like that...I mean, I always dreamed, but I never thought... Thank you, sir."

"Yes, well...now that you're my vice president, I needed to think up a way to increase your workload, and you already do everything else for me."

"I'll work overtime any day of the week for you, sir."

"Smithers, please. Your sycophantic nymphomania is growing stale."

"I hope you enjoyed last night even half as much as I did." He handily buttoned down Burns' shirt. "You sounded like you were enjoying yourself."

"I must confess, you are exceptionally good at serving my needs. But then, that's no surprise."

"I must be dreaming. Tell me I'm not dreaming."

He smacked Smithers upside the head with the complimentary newspaper on the nightstand. "There. Now will you shut up about whether you're dreaming?"

"Thank you, sir." He became acutely aware that again, he was nude next to his clothed boss and reached for his boxers.

"You do understand no one can know about this. No one."

He pulled his pants up around his waist. "Of course, sir. I understand more than anyone the need for discretion."

"They would misconstrue the entire affair as some sort of romantic entanglement as opposed to an indulgence of our profligate urges for each other."

His hands freezing over the shirt button he was fastening, he said, "You have urges for me...?"