Chapter Fourteen

"Our profit projections show a steady increase over this quarter..." An executive continued to speak in front of the board for the power plant in a meeting room to many bored yet attentive faces. Mr. Burns giggled, prompting one or two people to turn their heads his way, then revert their attention to the executive's financial slideshow. A few minutes later, Burns giggled again, leading a few more executives to glance at him and see his gaze was fixed on his phone, his thumbs close together as he texted. Five minutes later, Burns broke out in guffaws loud enough that the executive speaking trailed off, then said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Burns. Is there something funny about my report?"

"Hm?" Burns lifted his head from his phone screen, puzzled. "Oh, yes, the report. Carry on." As the executive resumed his prepared speech, Burns continued to text and giggle. Smithers was sending pictures of himself that had been altered to look silly, from adding floppy dog ears to the sides of his face to transforming his face to look like that of an alien. He also shared GIFs and videos of funny animal antics, and they texted jokes to each other. The tenor of their conversation changed when Smithers brought up their previous night's activities.

Has anyone noticed the hickey I gave you last night?

A few have done double-takes.

No one would suspect my own right-hand man is the one who gave it to me.

I wish I was up to going back to work. I'm just too tired for it.

You weren't too tired last night.

You were pretty energetic, too. ;)

It was such a delight to see you writhe and moan for me.

I loved hearing you moan for me, too.

I'm not distracting you from work, am I?

You are, but the distraction is welcome.

How do you like this distraction?

Smithers sent a picture of his face and torso, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

I like it a lot.

How about this?

Smithers sent a picture of himself shirtless.

It's good the room is dark because you're making me blush.

Your photographs are chock full of sex appeal.

I'm glad you like them. ;)

Maybe on your next break, you can send me some sexy pics.

It's a tantalizing proposition.

Burns surreptitiously lowered the camera below the desk and pulled his pant leg up, exposing his sock and a little bit of his ankle.

Ooh la la.

I can't get away at the moment, but until the meeting is over, you can amuse yourself on www. Sexymontypics .com

(*¬*)

Wait, why do you have a website of sexy pics of yourself?

It was your idea.

Oh, now it makes sense.

O_O

8D

I take it you're looking at the site now?

Yes.

I'm looking at it on my MyPad.

Why didn't you tell me about this site weeks ago?

I'm glad you're enjoying it.

All the wasted hours...

I forgot about that site until you asked for pictures.

I especially like the ones of the feather fan dance.

Do you ever show the full Monty?

No, what do you think I'm running, some sort of digital bordello?

I know you're skilled at certain other digital manipulations. ;)

You liked that, eh?

Oh, yes.

Mm. Hot!

Another pic?

You should wear leather more often.

Duly noted.

The meeting adjourned as Burns continued texting Smithers about his suggestive photographs, oblivious to the fact the other executives were disbanding until one came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Burns startled, fumbling with his phone and dropping it onto the floor, then diving for it, hoping to cover up the screen until he could press the screen lock button. "What is it, Perkins?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to startle you. I know Mr. Smithers has been on your mind, and –"

Burns gasped. "Who told you I've been texting him?"

"Uh – nobody, sir, but I know you're eager for him to get back to work –"

"Which is what you should do!"

"I was just going to ask how he's doing."

"Oh. He's on the mend." After Perkins left, Burns said under his breath, "And how," then growled. He left the conference room to stalk the halls, keeping the workers on their toes. His effort to intimidate the employees quickly deflated when Smithers started sending him cute cat memes and Burns began giggling at them in the halls. "Isn't that precious? That cat is clutching the ball of yarn as if it were a bag of money."

Lenny, Carl, and Homer stood nearby at the break room sipping coffee and eating donuts. "Boy," said Homer, "Mr. Burns has been acting nutty today."

Carl said, "Yeah, I think he's on some new medication that's making him act cuckoo. I saw him at the pharmacy yesterday during lunch."

Lenny said, "Nah. He's been texting someone all day and acting twitterpated. I think Mr. Burns is in love with a woman."

Burns turned sharply around. "I am not in love with Waylon!"

Carl said, "Oh, so now it's Waylon."

"I meant Smithers! I meant no one! Lenny, you're fired!"

Lenny said, "I didn't even mean that! I assumed you were in love with some woman."

Burns slapped his hand over his own face, trying to cover his blushing cheeks as he slipped out of the break room and ran into his office. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath. "All right, Monty. No need to panic. They don't know you slept with Smithers. They don't know we've been talking dirty over e-telegraphic communications all day." His phone alerted him to another text from Smithers. He held his phone up and read it:

That picture of you dressed as a firefighter really does it for me.

As well it should. I know how to handle a hose.

Do you ever! Here's one for you.

Smithers sent a picture of himself in his boxers lying on Burns' bed, posing.

I hope you like it. ^_-

When do the shorts come off?

When you get home, fireman.

Burns' cheeks flushed. "Oh, my..." He locked his office door, then drew the window curtains and undid the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a tuft of chest hair. He jumped into his chair and posed seductively, an arm draped over his head, as the chair spun. He took a picture of himself, then sent it to Smithers.

Yes

More please

Burns was already taking off his shirt and jacket. He took off his belt, then shuffled out of his pants. In only his underwear and sock garters, he posed on his desk, tugging at the corner of his underwear, and took a picture of himself.

Hot

Burns thought of how Smithers had sounded the night before, how he had felt in his arms, how he had felt wholly connected to his long-time partner, body and mind, in a way he hadn't dreamt was possible with another person, not even with Smithers. How he longed just to be close to him again.

I want to hear you speak to me.

You're in your office now, right?

Yes.

I can call you.

Burns' phone rang, and he picked it up. "Ahoy-hoy?"

Smithers audibly smiled. "It's me, silly."

"So, you were thinking of me when you took those pictures?"

"I wouldn't think of anyone else."

"Tell me you want me, Waylon."

"Oh, Monty, I want you."

"Again."

"I want you." After a moment, Smithers said, "Do you have any idea how sexy you look?"

"Give me an idea."

"You don't know how much I'd been looking forward to finally seeing you naked."

"And you liked what you saw?"

"Does this ring a bell?" Smithers moaned.

"Yes, it does. Moan for me again." Smithers moaned again. "Yes, that's the ticket. Oh, Waylon. I can't wait to kiss you again, to feel your skin against mine, to feel truly alive again." Burns threw his head back against his chair and closed his eyes in relish of the memory. "I crave you, I need you. I want you inside me. Make me alive."

"Oh, Monty, I crave you, too. I could lick every inch of you and still want more."

"Didn't you do that last night?" He chuckled with a sly smirk on his face.

"Yes, I did," said Smithers with a chuckle. "And I still want more."

"I'll give you more. I'll give you more until you have every piece of me." He smiled, replaying the previous night in his mind. "You've earned it more than any bonus I've given you."

"I promise to work hard for you," he said slyly. "Very hard."

"And if you don't work hard, I just may have to crack the whip."

"I know you try to look like a hard ass at work, but I know you have a soft touch in bed."

"You're eager to get me back there, eh?"

"I was thinking tonight, you could show me some pictures of the cake from my last birthday, or a recording of the song you had Sondheim write for me, and then we could go for round two in the love ring. This time I just might pin you down."

"Mm, sounds delish – wait, what song? And what cake?"

"The song you sang to me on my birthday? The one you had Sondheim write for me. And my birthday cake. You told me all about it last night."

"Oh, yes! Of course! That song. And the cake..." Great heavens, the cake.

"I'd love to hear it, especially coming from your honeyed voice."

"Oh, why, yes, that – that could be easily arranged!" Sweat drenching his face as he grew dizzy, he said, "I now have to go attend to some completely unrelated matter – yes, that's right."

"Oh, that's too bad. I guess you have to get some work done eventually."

"How good of you to understand! Lots of love, ta!" He hung up his phone, then said in a frantic whisper, "How in the hell am I going to produce evidence of a birthday party I never threw him?" Burns looked through his Rolodex, then dialed his telephone. "Is this Stephen Sondheim? ... Excellent. I'm calling because I need to commission a song from you. ... It's for someone very dear to me, who has been convalescing in my home for the last several months after pushing me out of the path of an approaching car. ... I have in mind something of a more romantic nature. ... I need it in the next few hours. ... I thought you might say that, but it is imperative I have a recording of this song before I go home to him tonight. ... I understand this is short notice, but I simply must have this song. My partner is one of your biggest fans, and I told him I would have you write a song for him and I would sing it. Name your price, and I shall pay it."

On a plane en route to Springfield, Sondheim spoke to Burns over the phone. "What kind of song do you want it to be?"

"I told you earlier, a love song."

"You don't want me to write something generic and schmaltzy. Tell me what you love about him."

"I love his sycophantic smile."

"That's a... start. What about some of your favorite memories together?"

"Well... One night we were working late, and while he was working in his office, I fell asleep at my desk. When I woke up, he'd draped a blanket around me and moved me to a settee while he worked on our budget at my desk, using his phone for light so the office would be dim and not perturb me. After I watched him awhile, he stood, and I shut my eyes as if I were still asleep. He walked over to me and knelt beside me, and I heard him whisper, 'I can't believe how beautiful you are,' then stroke my cheek with the lightest of touches and pull my blankets back up to my neck. It struck me at my core, for he thought I was sleeping, so surely he wasn't attempting to flatter me. I opened my eyes, and he startled, then set his hand on my shoulder and told me he'd finished our quarterly report, then asked whether I wanted him to drive me home.

"On our way home, I asked him, 'Do you really find me beautiful?' and through the rear window, I saw his face flush as he realized I must have heard him. Finally, he said, 'I don't just find you beautiful, sir. You are beautiful.' It was the first time I realized he truly saw beauty in me."

"Tell me more about him."

"You don't have all day to write this song, so I suggest you shut up and start."

"Do you want me to write this song for him or not?"

"I must have this song."

"Then I suggest you let me write it the way I want."

Burns sighed, resigned. "All right." He picked up a framed photograph of Smithers and himself taken at his hundredth birthday party from his desk. His eyes brightened, and he said, "He's nice, yet formidable. That's a rare combination. He's so dedicated to excellence and loyal to me, whether he's preparing my taxes or baking me a cake. He'll go to the ends of the earth to satisfy a fleeting whim of mine. Whenever I'm with him, he makes me feel like the most important man in the world. I've always been able to trust him implicitly..." he trailed off, gulping in a twinge of guilt over his current plan to deceive him.

"Great, that's very helpful."

Burns went on: "One time we were on the top of a Ferris wheel, and he held on to me. As a fierce gale blew, he held me tighter, and I felt so happy in his arms, I felt a deep sadness when the wind subsided and he loosened his grasp of me. It wasn't until the drive home that I realized I wanted to hold him again. I told him I was exhausted from our day out and would need him to carry me to my bed. He lifted me up in his arms, and I held him snugly the whole way to my bed. When we got there, we sat on the edge of my bed as I reluctantly withdrew my arms, and then he tucked me into bed. As he was about to leave, I called his name, hoping to keep him longer. I couldn't think of anything to say to keep him, so I barked at him to get me some tea. When he returned, I feigned sleep, and he stroked the back of my hand so gently it sent a shiver of delight down my spine, and I couldn't help but smile. Another time, he took us out in a swan boat when the city had been flooded, and I daydreamed about kissing him..."

Burns spoke at length with him about his feelings for Smithers that he'd kept buried. "...And you haven't lived until you've had his pumpkin pie."

"All right, Mr. Burns, I think I have enough to work with to write a song for him," said Mr. Sondheim, beginning to regret opening this particular floodgate.

"I cannot stress enough that your song must be excellent. He's a truly excellent man."

"Of course. I'll call you when the plane lands."