Chapter 1

Contract Renewal

Smithers ran a comb through Burns' hair, one hand planted firmly on his shoulder as Burns gazed upon his inverted image in the mirror mounted on his bedroom wall. Smithers combed through the same spot on the back of his head long after the hairs had been sorted and smoothed, the motion automatic as he mulled over his next words. "How do you plan to broach the topic of...us," he said, a statement and not a question.

"They wouldn't dare cast aspersions on me. I am the heart of Springfield's Republican Party."

"I don't know...Barlow is a fixture at those meetings, and he's incredibly homophobic."

"I am not a homosexual."

"I doubt he thinks highly of bisexuals."

"I'm not a 'bisexual' either."

"See, Monty, you can't be heterosexual when you're fucking me and fucking loving it."

"I told you, I'm Smithers-sexual."

"Um, in case you haven't noticed, dear, I am a man. As long as you're attracted to me, you're attracted to at least one man. Most bisexuals aren't equally attracted to men and women, anyway." Burns looked apprehensively into his reflection. "Are you sure you want to go? If you don't want to go, then don't go."

"Of course I'm going, Smithers! What's the point in having millions of dollars if I don't use it to control the denizens of this backwater burg?"

"I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to miss one meeting."

"I'm not going to miss this meeting."

"If that's what you really want, sweetheart."

"And don't call me 'sweetheart'! I am nobody's 'sweetheart'."

"You'll always be my sweetheart."

He sighed ponderously. "Yes, I know." He kissed Smithers' cheek. "You'll protect me if things get too hairy, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I always have."

At a long table in the Republican Party Headquarters, the party members had assembled and were already immersed in a garrulous colloquy when Mr. Burns and Mr. Smithers entered the room and the chatter diminished to hushed whispers.

Birch Barlow sneered as they walked by. "I never thought you'd turn sodomite on us, Burns."

The Rich Texan chimed in with, "It just ain't natural."

"Homosexuality is perfectly natural," said Dr. Hibbert. "I'm a Republican because I believe in fiscal responsibility, not because of some moral crusade"

Rainier Wolfcastle said, "I used to think gay marriage should be reserved for a man and a woman. But now I believe we should be the party of equality, not unequality."

At least that strapping young man is on our side, thought Burns. He certainly is an attractive fellow; no wonder he's such a popular actor. His eyes scanned Wolfcastle's muscular frame. What was that? Was I...checking him out? No, I was merely admiring his muscular physique – there can't be anything 'gay' about that, can there? Nothing more manly than muscular men, yes?

The Blue-haired Lawyer said, "As a Republican Party member, I will say I do not condone their lifestyle. However, as Mr. Burns' lawyer, I caution you all that we'll sue you for slander at the slightest provocation."

Lips curled into a snarl, Burns said, "I am not like him."

Krusty said, "But you do like him – in bed!"

"I am a real man, and I would never let him take me like a woman," said Burns.

Barlow said, "So you're saying he's the woman."

Smithers said, "There is no woman – we're a gay couple; the whole point is there is no woman."

Burns said, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Krusty whistled in astonishment. "I'm impressed you can take the man's role at your age."

Smithers said, "Both of us take the man's role because guess what? We're both men!"

The Rich Texan said, "You mean you do-si-do who takes it in the rear?"

Smithers said, "What? No, what I'm saying is it doesn't matter who's giving and who's receiving; it doesn't make either of us any more or less of a man."

The Rich Texan said, "So...you are the girl in the relationship."

Smithers said, "No! Why are you so fixated on what we do in bed, anyway?"

Burns said, "Yes, that's right. I've made him my bitch. So don't...fuck...with...him. He is mine and mine alone to fuck."

Smithers said, "That tears it! I will not be humiliated like this. I'm waiting in the car. And you can forget about having any of my pumpkin pie tonight." As they snickered at the feeble threat, Smithers' cheeks reddened in mortification. "And you can forget about our Thursday night Ivy League rub."

Burns, now equally mortified, rushed in to say, "He's referring of course to our weekly massages by those two chaps from Princeton."

"No, I mean we rub our dicks together. And he just loves it. Craves it. Isn't that right, dear?"

He went into the hallway, Burns running after him, saying, "Smithers, how dare you!" Once in the hall, he said pleadingly, "Waylon, please don't cancel our Thursday night plans."

As Smithers and Burns walked down the corridors to their office that Wednesday, a wave of workers snickered and straightened their faces upon seeing them. Burns' scowl deepened and Smithers' lips pursed in tension as his eyebrows furrowed in consternation. Once in their office, Burns huffed and said, "You said my reputation wouldn't suffer."

"No, I said you'd still have a reputation as the most powerful man in town. They still fear you."

"How can they fear someone they ridicule? Someone they've seen in flagrante delicto in his office with his assistant on the ten o'clock news?"

"Don't expect me to feel sorry for you." He opened a file cabinet and pulled out some manila folders and walked casually back to their desk.

Burns' eyes widened with surprise at his tone for a moment before softening with regret. "No, I wouldn't expect you to." He watched as Smithers thumbed through the papers inside, eyes focused and intent. "Waylon," he said, grabbing his wrist, "I'm sorry."

"Forget it. It's history," he said, waving him off as he resumed his work.

Flustered, he said, "Is that all you're going to say to me? Good God, man, I put you through hell. Where's your self-respect?"

"What do you want me to say, Monty? We've been through it all before."

"I want you to say..." About twenty seconds passed.

"Yes?"

"Dear God, Waylon, I'm sorry," said Burns, each syllable laced with solemnity.

Smithers stretched his lips into a strained smile, patted the back of his hand, and said in a quietly happy voice, "Apology accepted."

He watched as Smithers resumed perusing the file. His face looked so soft and innocent, as though those eyes had never seen the hardship of total ostracism. "How could I have done this to you? I treated you no better than a common Lenny!"

"You came through for me in the end. That's what matters most. Now, please, I don't want to think about that time."

"Yes, yes, of course." He continued to stare as Smithers returned to the file. He pushed the papers down against the desktop and grabbed his wrists again. Deliberately, he said, "I don't want you to leave me again."

Smithers beamed. "Don't worry. As long as you give your love to me, I will be right here to give all my love to you." He put his hands on Burns' lap and gently rubbed his thighs. "I will always love you."

"You promise?"

"Yes. Always."

"I've revised your contract," said Mr. Burns, reclining in his office chair beside Smithers, both of their feet resting on the desk. "You'll find the document most engaging. I'll need you to read and sign it posthaste." He handed Smithers a clipboard with a few pages stapled together, and Smithers flipped to the end and signed and dated. Mr. Burns made flustered sounds. "Aren't you going to read it first?"

"Why? You know I'll sign it no matter what it says."

"It does matter, you impudent young upstart. Now read the damn thing already!"

"All right, all right." As he read, he said, "I don't see the difference from my old contract yet."

"Keep reading."

He scanned the text in search of the new clause, curiosity piqued about what made this revision so interesting that it should command his full attention. "Engagement clause? 'I hereby agree to live with C. Montgomery Burns and act as his eternal companion, supplying support, affection, and sexual exclusivity as long as we both are living. In return, C. Montgomery Burns agrees to supply same to me, Waylon Smithers, Jr., and to never deny his affection for me again.' You...you're asking me to marry you."

"Well...do you agree to these terms?"

"Oh, I do!" He buried his face in Burns' chest. "I do, I do, I do!"

"In that case, I have something for you." He opened his drawer and opened a little box. "Give me your hand, Waylon."

"Absolutely." He splayed out the fingers of his left hand and let Mr. Burns put a platinum ring channel set with princess-cut diamonds on his ring finger. "What kind of ceremony do you want?"

"I don't care, as long as you don't have any sappy romantic music playing. You take care of the planning."

"You can count on me, dear."