A Smithers Named Desire

Chapter 1

Waylon Smithers sipped from his cup of coffee as he reviewed personnel files. Specifically, his own. He loved to read over Monty Burns' evaluations of him, even though there were many critical comments. He valued those the most, as they provided him insight into how to better please his boss. He took a framed 9x13 photo of Mr. Burns from his desk and drew it close to his face, stroking the glass over his boss' face, tracing well-worn smudge marks and absentmindedly voicing a pleased moan.

He checked that his door was locked, then furtively went back to his desk and from a lower cabinet, he removed a false bottom to access a cache of letters on various types of paper in various stages of yellowing and crumpling, everything from the most ornate and pristine stationery marked with painstaking calligraphy to scribblings on twenty-year-old coffee-stained complimentary hotel note paper. One of the latter was the first time he had committed his feelings for Burns to writing: I've never felt anything like this before, he had scrawled into the sheet of paper. I'm inexorably drawn to him. Life will never be the same for me again.

Some notes were fleeting comments scrawled on paper scraps:

Hotel mistakenly roomed us together, and he didn't demand a separate room!

He hugged me!

He fell asleep against me on the plane. I held his hands and nuzzled his head. He even drooled on me! I didn't want that plane to ever land.

Others were elaborate declarations of love, such as this one on orange stationery:

My Dearest Darling Monty Burns:

In our fifteen years working together, I have developed a strong affinity for you. Most people don't see you how you really are. They don't deserve to know the real you; they've earned your scorn. I, too, am misunderstood. But you understand me, except for one thing: you don't understand the depth of my devotion to you.

And why shouldn't I be completely devoted to you? You are the perfect male specimen: powerful, outspoken, ruthless, refined, with a carefully-controlled gentle spirit, and you cut a handsome figure. When I'm around you, your mere proximity exhilarates me. Your touch elates me. I gaze into your eyes and am overtaken by an uncontrollable urge to please you in any way imaginable. You're my eternal companion, and there is nothing I wouldn't do if it meant we could be together on a deeper level.

I know a sexual relationship is most likely out of the question, but I still desire greater intimacy – to be able to freely express how I feel. I would give anything to kiss you. I want to kiss you long, hard, and often, but I would enthusiastically settle for occasionally kissing you on the cheek. Tell me what it takes to fulfill you. And if you have the slightest curiosity: let me take you, Monty, let me indulge myself for once.

I love you more than life itself, Monty. I want you in my arms so I can keep you safe in your vulnerable moments. I want your lips on mine to ease the pains of this life. I want you to take me in your arms. You are strong-willed, and you can overpower me despite your frail body, of which I love every inch. Cuddle against me in bed or just on long flights. But most of all, I want you. I want to be near you, to laugh and glower and plot and unravel and unwind with you. I want us to be together, and for you to know as long as I am with you, you are loved.

–Your Loving Companion and Assistant, Waylon Smithers

He studied this one, as it was the closest he got to actually confiding in Burns. "Oh, if only I could muster the courage to give this letter to him."

Mr. Burns' voice cut through on the intercom. "Smithers! I need you."

Although those words were spoken in a work context, they comforted Smithers. As long as Burns needed him, they would be together. He clicked the intercom switch. "Right away, sir," he said, quickly putting away his letters under the cabinet false bottom save the last one, which he tucked into his shirt pocket, and he ran out of the room to attend to Mr. Burns. As he entered the office, he said, "Yes, sir?"

"You're going to be the sole person to file my taxes this year. I can't have Accounts getting their grubby hands on it since they've started complaining about all these 'tax laws' I'm 'violating.'" He handed Smithers a folder containing a thick stack of papers.

"You can count on me, sir!" He took the papers to his office. As he began preparing the paperwork, he paused over the 'Single' designation. While legally and romantically he was single, socially they functioned as a couple. The thought was comfort enough, for the moment.

After a few hours of filling out forms and looking up tax loopholes, his attention turned again to the love letter tucked in his pocket. He unfolded it and read it for what must have been the thousandth time. After rereading it, he felt a bit peckish and concealed it in his pocket before wandering into the break room to get an apple from the vending machine.

On his way there, a paper posted to the bulletin board caught his eye. He snatched it from the wall and ran back to his office.

"Simpson!" Smithers' curt voice came through the intercom. Homer awoke at his workstation, the giant donut he'd been feasting on revealed to be a figment of his imagination. "Simpson!" he called again. "My office. Immediately."

Homer pried himself out of his chair and lumbered over to Smithers' office. "Okay, okay. Yeesh. What bug crawled up his butt?"

As he arrived, Smithers greeted him with a stern glare. "Are you responsible for this?" He showed Homer a crude two-panel comic of Mr. Burns in a diaper yelling "Nincompoops!" in the first panel and his diaper sagging as he says, "Oh dear," in the second.

Homer cracked up. "Oh, yeah, that. Hee hee! Isn't it hilarious? I mean...nooo..."

"Oh, really? Then why is it signed, 'Homer S.?'"

"Maybe it was another Homer S."

"There is no other Homer S." He scoffed. "The consequences of this insubordination will be severe. You will go home and stay there for the rest of the week–"

"Woo hoo!"

"Without pay."

"D'oh!" His expression turned from one of frustration to one of confusion. "I don't get it. How can you not laugh? You get more crap from him than anyone else at this plant."

"Mr. Burns' approach may seem callous at times, but he has the company's best interests at heart, and what's good for business is good for us."

"Oh, come on! He treats you like dirt! Worse than that – he treats you like dirt would treat whatever is lower than dirt."

"I prefer to see it as tough love. He doesn't like to show it, but he really does care about me." He gazed longingly at his photograph of Mr. Burns, then blinked it away and straightened his bow tie. "About us employees, I mean."

"Can I go now? My ass is getting sore." He rubbed his ass, which was oozing out between the seat and the armrests.

"Yes, Simpson. Please go."

After he dislodged himself from the chair, he left the office, and Smithers locked the door to work on a new letter, referencing the older one as he went. It needed to be perfect, and he needed to wait for the perfect moment to deliver it. He was only a couple minutes along when Mr. Burns called him with an urgent need to draw him a relaxing bath, so he haphazardly stuffed the letters into the cabinet without bothering with the false bottom and rushed out.

It wasn't until Homer was about to leave the plant that he realized he had an important unanswered question: was he allowed to come in for morning donuts during his absence? He retraced his steps to find out, then knocked on the door upon his arrival. "Hello? Mr. Smithers? I have a question." He tried the knob. It wasn't locked, so he entered. Maybe I can find their donut policy somewhere here myself without bothering Mr. Smithers. That's what a model employee would do! He rifled through the filing cabinets, disheveling the whole office in the process.

"What's this?" he said, picking up a folded orange paper that had fallen onto the floor. He read it with puerile fascination. "Eww. Oh, man! What a weirdo!" He backed away and retreated to the break room, where he repeated his expressions of dismay.

"What is it?" asked Lenny.

"I just read the grossest things! Mr. Smithers wrote this sick letter about how much he wants to be gay with Mr. Burns!"

"Get out of here," said Carl. "I mean, I knew he was gay, but...isn't Mr. Burns 104 years old? No way he's into that."

"I'm telling you guys, I know what I saw!"

As it grew closer to lunch time, more people filtered into the room, many of them gathering around Homer to hear a retelling of what he had read. On his way to the executive lunchroom to retrieve lunch for Burns and himself, Smithers saw Homer standing on a table and entered the room to lambast him for his defiance. People snickered at him as he walked past.

One guy said, "I hear you're hot for Mr. Burns," and touched him with an index finger, making a sizzling sound.

"What are you talking about?" he said, chuckling nervously.

"Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad – he's hot for Burnsy!" sang an employee to the tune of "Hot for Teacher." Another guy high-fived him. Smithers felt his stomach drop and his cheeks turn cherry red.

"So...I hear Mr. Burns was giving you a raise," said Lenny, giving him the suggestive elbow and eyebrows.

"Yeah, I hear he gives you lots of raises," said Carl.

"You guys don't know what you're talking about," he said, unconsciously shrinking his shoulders inward and sweating as if he were in a sauna.

Homer continued to regale them with what he had read while standing on a table: "...And this is my impression of Mr. Smithers," he said, then clasped his hands together close to his face, leaned to one side, and adopted a high-pitched voice as he said, 'I love you, Mr. Burns. I want to kiss your old, wrinkled, smelly butt!'"

He seethed and said through gritted teeth, "Simpson!"

"Uh-oh."

He dragged Homer along by his tie as the other employees hooted and said, "Look out, Homer, he's going to 'punish' you!" and made whipping sounds.

Once he got Homer back in his office, he slammed the door shut behind them. "What in the hell are you doing to me, Simpson! You think this is funny?"

"Very," he said in a monotone.

"This is not a fucking game. I'll sue your fat ass for creating a hostile workplace environment! What gave you the idea to humiliate me like you humiliated Mr. Burns?"

"Uh, you. I saw your letters to Mr. Burns," he said, "I get you being gay, but 'Take me, Monty, let me take you!' Ah ha ha! You can't be serious! He's more than twice your age. You can't possibly think he's attractive."

"Oh. My. God. You read them. I'm ruined," he said, slinking down to the floor and dropping his forehead into his hand. He proceeded to run his fingers through his hair, gripping it with increasing strength. His speech became punctuated by frequent, desperate gasps for air as his throat tightened. "It's... only a matter of time... before... Mr. Burns... finds out. Then I'm... out of here... for good." He began crying and brought his other hand to cover his face. "And shut your fucking mouth about Mr. Burns. He's a handsome man; it doesn't matter to me whether a man is 44 or 104."

"Gee, I didn't mean to ruin you, just emotionally scar you. Tell you what, I'll go tell them I was making it all up."

"It's useless. They'll just think I ordered you to do that."

"Hmm...tough jam you're in."

"Thanks to you."

"How about you organize a shindig for employees and go with a fake boyfriend. That way people will think I was just lying for attention."

"Boyfriend? I'm still in the closet; I can't do that!"

"Really? You could've fooled me."

"Well, sort of. There are still some people I don't want to know. I mean, I can't introduce anyone as my boyfriend to Mr. Burns."

"You don't have to call him your boyfriend. Just call him a close friend you've been seeing for a few months, hold his hand a couple times, and everyone will assume he's your boyfriend."

"That's the best idea you've had the entire time you've worked here! If you weren't the one who put me in this situation, I'd hug you."

"Phew," Homer said, swiping his forehead in relief.

AUTHOR NOTE: I haven't seen many newer episodes, so I don't know whether it's generally known in Springfield the full extent of Smithers' adulation for Burns, just that he's gay. The Simpsons is pretty selective about continuity (good ol' rubber band continuity), though, so I don't really care if it is established in the series.