A Casket Built For Two

Chapter One

"So, Smithers, what do you think of the prospect of lying with me for eternity in there?" Smithers paused his examination of the indigo silky interior of the metal casket for a moment to contemplate lying with Burns while they were still both very much alive. "It's 84 inches by 56 inches by 24 inches. It's mostly steel, and look," said Burns, grabbing the lid of the casket and trying to close it. Smithers noticed and helped him close the lid, revealing a depiction in gold of Burns tenting his fingers over the globe and Smithers rubbing his hands mischievously beside him. "Anyone who exhumes us will know what the score was."

"Oh, it's great. The silk lining is so smooth, it's a shame we'll have to wait until we're dead to lie on it." It was about double the width of a typical casket, given their plans to be interred together.

"Who says we have to wait?" Burns raised an eyebrow. "Go on, open it up and let's give it a try."

Smithers swiftly flung the lid open at a 90 degree angle and climbed inside, then offered his hand to help Burns inside. Burns took his hand and lowered himself inside, losing his balance and rolling up against Smithers' side. He slowly rolled onto his back, then shifted his body, feeling the smooth layers of silk. "This is nice," said Smithers, following suit and rolling the back of his head against the casket lining.

"Now, don't you get any ideas about bumping me o–"

"I wasn't!"

"Smithers, I'm only joking. I know you wouldn't have me killed just to get to lie in a casket early."

"Oh – right. Of course."

"Now, let's go get dressed for the show."

"That's right, tonight's the musical adaptation of Waiting for Godot!"

The ground began to rumble, and Burns said, "What's that?" as the movement of the ground grew more violent, and the casket lid slammed shut over them.

Smithers pushed the lid up and said, "Get out, now!"

Burns tried to climb out, but as he began to rise, a beam fell from above, shutting the casket door and throwing them back to the bottom. The earth continued to quake, and Smithers tried frantically to push the lid open. "Smithers, get us out of here!"

"I'm trying!" After some more unsuccessful pushes, he said, "I'm pushing on the hinged side. If I'm going to have any hope of opening it, we need to switch sides."

"Good thinking," he said, rolling onto his side and sliding over Smithers' stomach as they changed positions, Smithers moaning a bit as he did. The ground stopped shaking. "Give it a try." Smithers mustered up tension in his arms and chest, summoning his strength and then explosively propelling himself up against the casket lid. He tried time after time, his energy diminishing and his breathing growing more labored. After about ten minutes of him consistently trying, Burns said, "Quit wasting your breath. You're not going to get it open."

"I have to try!" he said, giving it another go, then plopping back in exhaustion.

"At least rest awhile before trying again."

"You're right. It's hopeless. It sounded like the upper floor collapsed on us." He tensed his brows in worry. "Wait, I have my phone. I can call for help!"

Burns' eyes brightened. "Smithers, I could kiss you!"

"And I could let you." He got his phone from his pocket and dialed, but he couldn't get any reception. "Shit. I'm not getting any signal." He paused midway through dialing 9-1-1. "This casket is made of metal. Of course. It's acting as a Faraday cage."

"So your phone won't work?"

"Nope."

"So what's the plan?"

"I don't have one."

"That's reassuring."

"I'm sorry."

"How much air do you suppose we have?"

"Let's see, the casket is 84 by 56 by 24, right?" He opened the calculator on his phone and started tapping numbers onto it. "Convert weight to kilograms to estimate our volumes... say we breathe six liters a minute... deplete oxygen by about five percent with each breath... Oh."

"How much time do we have?"

"About two hours. Maybe two-and-a-half."

"Oh, no."

"What do you think the chances are that a servant will find us in time?"

"Abysmal. I dismissed most of the staff so we could prepare for the show in peace."

"Well, looks like when the show starts, we'll already be resting in peace."

"Smithers..." he said in the most fragile, frightened voice Smithers had ever heard. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I can try to push the lid up again once I've rested a little while. I doubt I can lift it completely, but I might be able to open it enough to give us a little more air and buy us some more time. In the meantime, I'll try not to breathe too much and conserve oxygen for you."

"You'll have to give it a shot. You're our only hope." Smithers activated the flashlight function on his phone and set it between them, allowing them to see each others' faces, the light catching Burns looking tenderly at him. Once the light splashed his face, Burns screwed it up into a scowl. "If you worked out more, we'd probably be out of here by now."

"I work out a lot, sir."

"Then why can't you budge the lid even a little?"

"It's hard when I'm in such a confined space. And whatever fell on us is really heavy."

"Spare me your facile excuses."

He turned on his side and grabbed Burns by his biceps, gripping him firmly. "Do these arms feel weak to you?"

Burns' mouth fell agape, his eyes widened in shock that Smithers would be so physically confrontational, even though he had no fear that Smithers would try to hurt him. It shook him to feel in Smithers' hands the stark contrast between Burns' ostensible authority and Smithers' obvious physical superiority. "No, I suppose they don't," he said, giving a sheepish grin and squeezing Smithers' biceps. Smithers loosened his grasp, and as he was about to retreat, Burns said, "Well, perhaps a little weak." Smithers squeezed his arms tighter, and Burns grinned, having successfully manipulated him. "Oh, no, my mistake. You're very strong, indeed."

"That's better," said Smithers, who loosened his grip a bit, but still held onto his arms, wondering why the hell Burns was teasing him like this.

"What do you want to do to me?" said Burns, not in a frightened or apprehensive tone, but in a tone that was menacing, hinging on seductive.

Smithers blushed, but he still held onto Burns' arms, if only because he didn't know what else to do with his own. "Um..."

"Yes?"

Smithers slumped forward and started crying into his chest, wrapping his arms around Burns. "We're going to die in here! There's so much I never got to say to you..."

"There's plenty of time to say it now."

He paused to consider it. "I don't want to make things awkward."

"More awkward than you weeping on me like a willow?"

"Yes."

"Then fine, keep it to yourself." He tousled Smithers' hair, dislodging his glasses so they were askew on his face. "I have things to say too, you know."

Smithers nudged his glasses back in place. "Like what?"

"You're my only real friend in this world, yet we hardly get to speak as friends, do we?"

"It's not very often."

"You're always handling my business affairs, or enacting my schemes, or tending to my personal care. You're the only friend I've had who doesn't get in my way, apart from your father while he was still alive. You're so skilled at your job, I hesitate to have you do anything else for me. I don't want you to start getting in the way."

"Mr. Burns, friendship doesn't have to interfere with success. You know I'd do almost anything to help you succeed. Even if you didn't pay me."

"You really care about me," he said, as if reminding himself of something he had a hard time believing.

"Of course I care about you." He rested his chin on Burns' shoulder. "And I'm going to do my damnedest to get us out of here." He readied himself to push open the casket with the sides of his arms by heaving his body weight upward. Smithers hurled himself against the underside of the casket lid repeatedly.

"Oh, give it up, Smithers. We're never leaving this casket."

"I can't give up. I'll try again after resting."

Burns looked into his anxious eyes, Smithers' pupils floating upward to gaze at their narrow ceiling, as if it were a puzzle he needed to solve. "It's strange, isn't it?"

"What is?" said Smithers, his eyes briefly darting to meet Burns' before straying back to the impenetrable barrier above.

"In this box, all that exists is you and me. There's no money, no government oversight, no PR to manage. It's only we two together."

"Does that relieve you?"

"One of the perks of being elderly and close to death has been my lack of a damn to give about what others think of me."

"Whatever anyone else thinks, I think you're a remarkable man."

"Quit brown-nosing; it's not as if I can give you a raise."

"You underestimate yourself, sir. I mean, I'm not trying to flatter you. You're everything someone could want in a man. Striking beauty, calculating intelligence, old-fashioned charm, the most adorable laugh I've ever heard..."

"Oh, please, Smithers, do you really expect me to believe you're being sincere? You're rhapsodizing about me like a schoolgirl."

"Well..." He chuckled, nervously fiddling with his bow-tie. "You do give me butterflies."

Burns turned his head away for a second, his cheeks reddening, overwhelmed by Smithers' saccharine sweet yet impish visage, before looking back at him and saying, "Your laughter is, too – adorable, I mean."

"I want to hear you laugh – that sweet, innocent, carefree laugh I love the most."

"I don't have a lot to laugh about, right now," he snapped.

"I bet I could make you laugh."

"Try me."

"Remember when we were in line for Macbeth, and there were a couple of guys waiting in the cancellation line, and I went over and bought the last two tickets even though we already had our tickets? I did it just to see the smile on your face."

Burns giggled mirthfully. "That was such a lark! And then, at intermission, you sold them the tickets at twice the cost. That was masterful pranksmanship. I didn't know you had it in you." As his gleeful smile faded and gave way to his customary frown, he said, "Do you have anything else to say to make me smile?"

"You're the only man I've met who makes liver spots look sexy."

Burns' face lit up. "Smithers, you are truly one of a kind," he said, then averted his eyes. "I regret keeping you at arm's length so often."

"Well, I'm in arm's length now." Burns hugged him, and Smithers gently curled his arms around him. "Oh, sir... I could stay like this forever."

"And so we shall."

"We're really going to die in here, aren't we?"

Burns nodded, eyebrows spread a bit in fear, his eyelids dragging morosely over his pupils. "Yes, we are."

"I have to tell you, right now before I lose my nerve again, I'm deeply in love with you. Your balding head, your trenchant lips, the tuft of gray hair on your chest, your sharp, sexy nose, the bony protrusions of your spine and ribs, your frail, wrinkled hands, your front teeth overhanging your bottom lip, your fiery eyes, your beautiful brain, your glorious manhood, and every last luscious liver spot on your body – I love it all. I love everything about you. I've loved you like this for the last two decades. I love you more than I can ever say." He realized he had pressed his face tightly against Burns' chest and backed away a bit, looking into Burns' eyes to gauge his reaction. "You already knew that, though, didn't you?"

Burns nodded. "Yes, well, it's hard not to know since you kissed me on the eve of that 'apocalypse' out of 'respect.'"

"So I gather you don't feel that way about me?"

"Waylon, what does it matter what I feel? We're going to perish in an hour or so."

"I want to know – Monty, if you feel the same way about me, I need to know. And I can take it if the answer is 'no.' It's not as if we'd have a future together even if your answer was 'yes.'"

"We'll have an eternity together."

"Is that why you wanted me buried with you?"

"I know, it's pathetic, but... I'm terrified of being alone. Even in death. Especially in death."

"No, no, it's not pathetic. It's human." He held Burns' hands in both of his. "You still haven't answered my question."

"No. I don't feel about you the same way you feel about me."

"I understand, sir. I didn't expect you to."

"I owe you a little honesty."

"At least it doesn't cost you any money."

"I can always count on you for the silver lining." He set his palm gently on Smithers' elbow. "This is tremendously difficult for me to say, but... I do feel affection for you."

"How much?"

Burns' eyes focused on his hand on Smithers' elbow. "More than I care to admit."

"I'm the only one who'll ever hear, and you know no amount would be too much for me."

"Enough that I wouldn't mind you kissing me again." Smithers kissed him, holding him tight, and Burns kissed him back. They stared into each others' eyes, only breaking their gaze when Smithers kissed his cheek, then kissed down his jaw and down his neck. "Smithers..."

Smithers lifted his lips from Burns' neck. "Yes, sir?"

"I don't want you to get carried away. We aren't going any further than this."

"Of course," he said, moving his head back to face Burns, then locking lips with him again, caressing his cheeks in both of his hands. "I love you, Monty." He rested his cheek against Burns', moving his head slightly to caress him, cheek to cheek. "I love you so much."

"I know you do." His hands drifted up Smithers' elbows to his shoulders. "I'm glad you do."

"Tell me... if we somehow lived through this, could you ever see yourself falling in love with me?"

"Oh, Waylon... That question is so unfair."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is... I'm not sure I'm capable of loving anyone. Oh, sure, I've been smitten, taken with, infatuated, enamored, and even head-over-heels before, but that's not the same thing as love, is it? You truly love me, that much is clear. I could never love someone so deeply that I would serve and sacrifice for that person even knowing they mightn't ever return my feelings, as you have for me."

"Well, then... could you ever be smitten with me?"

"You don't know, then?"

"No, I don't. Could you?"

"I knew you had poor vision, Smithers, but I didn't think you were blind."

"What?"

"You must not be very observant if you've missed the signs."

"What signs?"

"The way I look at you when you tuck me into bed, my eyes begging you to stay. The way my cheeks get hot when you massage my hips. The way I insist you come along for nearly every business and recreational function I attend, even when I don't need your services beyond chauffeuring me to and fro. And, perhaps most obviously, the way I, not two minutes ago, probed your mouth with my tongue like an NRC investigator probing the plant."

"So that means you –"

"Yes, Waylon. I'm quite taken with you."

"Oh, my God. You're finally attracted to me, and we're going to die. Why must fate taunt me so cruelly?"

"Don't be so melodramatic. I'm going to die, too, and you don't see me carrying on." After a moment of silence between them, Burns said in a shaky, frail voice, "I'm really about to die. Hold me, Smithers."

Smithers wrapped his arms around Burns and stroked the back of his neck. "It's okay, I'm here for you." Burns closed his lips over Smithers' lower lip and pressed his palm against Smithers' shoulder blade, pulling him closer. Smithers' eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and he deepened the kiss, his other hand reaching for Burns' hip and squeezing. "Oh, Monty. Even considering the whole suffocating-in-a-casket thing, this may be the best day of my life." He kissed Burns again. "Are you sure you don't want to go any further? It is our last chance."

"What could we do, anyway? It's so cramped in here."

"We could loosen our clothes and... touch each other."

"What if we ran out of air during it, and we get found with our pants down?"

"We'll be dead by then. How could public opinion hurt us then?"

"Hm. You have a point." Smithers gave him his most adorable pleading look. "Oh, what the hell?" He began loosening his belt, and Smithers followed suit.

"You won't regret this, sir," he said, teasing the seam of Burns' underwear.

"We're a little past 'sir,' by this point, don't you think, Waylon?"

"Agreed – Monty." They fooled around in the casket, making small talk about the things that drifted into their minds. Smithers wondered how long it would take before somebody would think to go feed his little dog Hurky; Burns realized he would never be able to win his human chess game with Richard Branson; Smithers realized he still had the pair of opera glasses he'd borrowed from Dewey Largo; Burns wondered whether he could have lived longer than his mother had if not for this accident.

"You know, out of all the thousands of ways I've dreamt this moment would happen, I never guessed our first time would happen like this."

"Still, I'm enjoying myself."

Smithers beamed, letting out a quick giggle as he said, "Me, too." He kissed along Burns' neck down to his chest, unraveling his tie and parting the unbuttoned sides of his shirt until his lips brushed against a tuft of gray chest hair. "It's a shame we're going to die soon, and I won't be able to enjoy your fantastic body anymore."

"The death we're facing is far superior to dying in a hospital, hooked up to machines and bags of fluids in a cold, sterile room filled with strangers and one friendly but sad familiar face. Trust me, Waylon. I've stood perched on the brink of death so many times I could draw the gaping chasm from memory."

"Is it scary?"

"Yes, but only the first dozen or so times."

"So you're not scared this time?"

"Ask me again when we're on the other side." He nuzzled his head against Smithers' shoulder and brought an arm around his waist, running his hand up and down his forearm, then curled his fingers around Smithers' wrist and brought his hand to Burns' hip. "Ready for round two?"

"Boy, am I ever!"

They resumed their amorous congress, and after about twenty minutes, Burns noted how hard Smithers was breathing. "Is the air getting thin, or am I that air tight?" As Burns labored for his next breath, he realized it was the former. "It won't be long, now," he said, caressing Smithers' cheek.

"I'm scared," he gasped, his chest tightening.

"So am I." He ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Smithers' head and nibbled at his ear.

"I love you, Monty," said Smithers, starting to sweat profusely as he took in another gasping, unfulfilling breath. His hearing muffled as Burns whispered into his ear, "I love you, Waylon," and kissed his cheek.

Panic set in as they each grew more desperate for breathable air, flailing and gasping helplessly in an instinctual attempt to breathe they each knew was futile, their vision grayed out, and after some quick, deep inhalations, they fell into unconsciousness, and back into each others' arms.

Author's Note: I wrote these first two chapters in one night as an exercise to get out of writer's block. Don't be surprised if I end up revamping this story sometime down the line to make it a tighter narrative. If I do, I'll edit the summary to reflect this.