"Tell me, Bart. What endless sorrows are you trying to drown?"

The blond shot his former enemy an irritated glare, knowing full-well his question was miles away from genuine concern. Sideshow Bob was leaning next to him against the bar, a knowing smile plastered onto his face. It was a wonder why Bart kept going to that bar, as it was apparently the one favored by his childhood stalker. He had given it some thought, and told himself he wanted to keep an eye on the criminal. Despite the danger, all Bob ever did to him there was the odd chat, not caring much about him at all. Perhaps the presence of a known face was comforting for Bart, in a twisted way. His fingers tightened their grip on his beer as Bob came to sit on the stool right next to his.

"I got fired from my job," he replied, shifting his body to distance himself as much as he could.

He noticed Bob grin, obviously unaffected by the sad news. "Stop the presses. Do I care to ask you how?"

"Mph, I got caught stealing from the cash register... My boss was paying me like shit, that j-jerk deserved it."

"And now you aren't paid at all. Sweet, sweet consequences. I know the feeling," Bob sighed as he downed the rest of his liquor.

"I dunno what I'm gonna do..." he whined, on the verge of crying pathetically due to his near-drunk state. "I'm sure as hell ain't gonna tell my pa... my parents, they're gonna kill me... It's my third time trying to keep a job! And asking them for money... Shit... Let's just say Homer already answered that one. In any case, I'm... I'm just screwed."

"Is that so?" Bob wondered out loud. He remained quiet for a few seconds as he gazed at him in an unnerving manner. "Hmmm... I may have a proposition to make. And I'm willing to pay you for it."

"What the hell... do you mean?" he gnarled vulgarly. He checked the remainder of his beer, and considered making a run for it after he was done getting his ass drunk.

"Let's say an hour, and I pay you a hundred dollars. Cash."

"Whoa, what? A hundred bucks? To do what?"

"To spend some time with me."

"Time with- What the f-fuck..."

"A hundred dollars for an hour at my place," Bob explained quietly but intently. "Seems fair, doesn't it? Much more than an average salary, and you only need to do what I ask of you."

Bart just laughed him off, albeit more awkwardly than he meant to. "Are you serious? You think I'm some kind of... of... slave?"

"Absolutely not. A slave wouldn't be paid. You will get a hefty reward."

"No way, man. Get fucked," he snapped with a nasty glare.

"Very well," Bob replied as he put some change on the counter and got up to leave. He leaned forward, just enough so Bart only would hear him. "If you want to make some easy money, you know where to find me."

After the man left, Bart realized that the change thrown absent-mindedly in front of him was to pay for his beers. He chugged the rest down shamelessly, glad he wouldn't have to run off for at least two more beers. Hopefully, it would be enough to forget the disturbing interaction with the psychopath.

He had milked his parents' hospitality for improvised dinners enough times this month already. He had taken food directly from their fridge a couple of times, delicious meat he knew he couldn't afford anymore. And when he picked up the last instant noodles from his cupboard, Bob's indecent proposition came back to grind the back of his mind.

Easy money. Quick cash to buy the most basic food. Perhaps he could get Bob to pay for his beers again, and perhaps...

"Evening, Bart."

Bart took a seat next to the palmtree-haired man already present at the bar. This time, he was fully conscious, and he was going to be very careful about him, although he had no idea how to go about it.

"So, let's get straight to the point," he asked bluntly. "Are you gonna kill me?"

After a careful sip from his drink, Bob set down his glass and looked him in the eye. "If I wanted to kill you, Bart, I would have done so last night. You were the perfect target, drunk as you were."

A ice-cold shiver ran down his spine as he noticed Bob's shit-eating grin, reminding him of the danger of the previous day. And that of the days before. Still full of doubt, he wanted to dig deeper into Bob's motivations, if they made sense at all. "But why would you give me a hundred dollars?"

"Fair question," Bob said, still looking mischievous. "If you must know, I find a certain joy in seeing you more miserable than ever. I figured I could give you a hand of some sort, if I get to see you serving me around in my apartment." Bob blinked after a second of blank, seemingly lost in a little fantasy of his. "If you behave nicely, I'll pay for your company."

"Sounds like... Wait, what would you have me do, like, for example?"

Bob's expression returned to normal, as well as his tone, but his face still betrayed his motives hidden deep inside his mind. "That's for you to find out if you accept. Fear not, you'll be free to leave at any point. But you won't get your due."

"The hundred bucks, do you have them?"

Looking almost offended by his skepticism, Bob reached for his wallet and pulled out some appetizing-looking bills. "All for you," he sang, waving them about in his hands, "to make ends meet, or to buy yourself a little treat."

Bart reached out to the treasure, but Bob quickly pulled his hand away. "An hour, at my place, Bart."

Never taking his eyes off the hundred dollars, the young unemployed adult nodded slowly. "Okay..."

Bob put the money back into his wallet and gave him a wide smile – full of genuine happiness, or contempt, or something perverted in his eyes that Bart feared he recognized.

"What will it be?" the bartender asked as he walked up to them.

"Nothing, we're leaving," Bob replied politely as he left his seat and started for the exit door.

"What? Shit, can't I get drunk, first?"

"No, you may not. I want you to be lucid and alert."

They arrived at Bob's place not much later that night, a short trip as it was located only a few blocks away from the bar. Right outside the front door, Bob paused and turned toward Bart, who wondered what the hell he was even doing here.

"Remember," he began very seriously. "If you want to leave, for any reason at all, you may. This door will remain unlocked, you have my word. But be advised that I will not give you your reward if you do."

Bart nodded as casually as he could manage. The door was pushed open, and he slowly followed Bob into his apartment, still on his guards, but desperate for the money. Once inside, he had to contain his amazement as he gazed upon the lavish interior, garnished with dark wood and massive furniture, illuminated by a small but elegant chandelier. He felt out of place, an intruder in a chic apartment in which he shouldn't even have been, ever. It was no wonder Bob would pay him that amount of money for an hour, if his intentions were really as he'd said.

He watched Bob grab a small object in his hand, tinker with it briefly and set it down on a nearby counter.

"It starts now," he declared solemnly.

"So... What do I do?"

"You'd better be obedient for the next hour. I would hate to have to kick you out. Follow me."

They walked into the living-room, the word that was used just now lingering in Bart's mind and bringing fear and regret to the forefront of his preoccupations. Obedient. He very nearly turned around and left, but all he would have to do for the rest of the evening was check his bank account balance, and have tap water to eat the next day.

"Do you remember how many times you have humiliated me, Bart Simpson?" Bob muttered. "I counted, and the results are tragically in your favor. Let's turn those tables around, shall we? I want you to be the perfect sycophant."

"The what, now?"

"Flattery, Bart. For the next hour, whatever I ask of you, I want you to do with a smile on your face, and compliments toward my person. It shouldn't be too hard for you, I hope? If you do well, I should be satisfied. And don't hold back, I do enjoy praises."

"What? You want me to stroke your ego non-stop?" Bart asked with a small wince.

"It's just an hour. Well, just under an hour, now." Bob clasped his hands together comfortably and looked at him expectantly. "First, I'll have some tea. Bart?"

"What, tea? I don't know how to make tea!"

"Then, who could you possibly ask to teach you, I wonder?"

Bart made a disgusted face, understanding perfectly well what he meant, but deciding to play along. "The... smartest man on Earth?"

"Well said. Why don't you ask him?" Bob suggested, but noticed his irritated sigh. "Without the attitude."

Bart looked away, inwardly groaning all he could without being heard. "Please, Bob. You're so smart and intelligent, could you please show me how to make your own tea?"

"You are on the right track, though you could do without the sarcasm."

In the kitchen, as otherworldly as it looked, Bob explained the process step-by-step, and Bart obliged reluctantly under his watchful eye. As per their agreement, one did everything as the other told him, and it must have been quite satisfying for the ex-attempted murderer to watch his former victim follow his every instruction quietly. Once they only needed to wait for the water to boil, Bob congratulated him with an obnoxious pat on his shoulder.

"I am now going to sit back and relax. And I want my tea boiling hot," he added in a whisper, a little too close for comfort.

"Please do," Bart replied with an awkward grin. "I, uh, I'll bring it right to you."

Waiting next to the kettle, he kept an eye on the man sitting in the other room, trying to rack his brain as to what to tell him next. He had never been good with compliments, he wasn't even used to receive them himself, but now he was stuck with that assignement for the remainder of the hour. He eventually poured the hot water, delicately despite his frustration, and brought the tea into the living-room, where Bob was waiting patiently.

"Here's your tea, Bob. I made it perfect," he stopped, barely believing what he was about to say, "just like you."

The older man happily took the cup that was extended to him and chuckled lightly. "Most excellent. Now, you mentioned the smartest man on Earth, would you mind exploring that interesting idea for me?"

"Err... No, of couse I wouldn't mind," he sang in his most fakey voice.

"Then sit right down and go on," Bob said as he pointed to the floor in front of him.

"H-here?" It took Bart all of his willpower to ignore his cruel little smile. He stifled a sigh and sat on the space of hardwood floor, crossing his legs, facing him. "So, you're uhh... a genius, because your plans were always... incredibly... intricate and clever. I never really foiled them, you know. It was always only luck. And Lisa, sometimes."

"Sheer, dumb luck, indeed," Bob repeated, cheered by the confession as he looked down on him.

"Yeah, I'm just lucky," he went on, and gave him a hopeful gaze. "And- and now, now I'm lucky again, because you're so generous that you're going to give me money."

Bob looked amused by the remark, but let it slide. "And what are some of my other qualities?"

"Your other qualities?" Bart replied, stumbling on his words. "Uhmmm... You- There's so many, I couldn't possibly list them all, you know..."

"Give it a try, I'm very interesting in what you have to say about me..."

Bart darted his eyes around, thinking hard to find something to say that couldn't be a lie. "Err... I guess you're successful, now? Like, you must be kinda rich?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"And, you're cultured, more than anyone else in town."

"True, true..."

"And you're refined, even when you're just drinking tea." Bob gave him another chuckle, reveling in the praise. Bart felt inspired, knowing this was going to pay off in the end. "I know you didn't deserve all that time in jail. Everybody knows it. Life has been unfair to you, right?"

"Yes, exactly," Bob added as he closed his eyes and laid his head back. "Unfair, so unfair. Glad to see we're on the same page, Bart. Glad you understand where your place is."

Bart pressed his lips together, fuming, repressing a scream. It was impossible for him not to respond, but he had to keep his attitude in check if he wanted to get what he was here for. "Yeah. On the floor. Praising you. For money."

"Come now, don't be so sour about it," Bob assured lightly. "All you should be is thankful, don't you think?"

"Yes... Thank you, Bob. I..." his voice trailed off as he suddenly felt all weird about overcomplimenting Bob. A smile was tugging at the corner of his lips, but he wouldn't let it out. He needed to keep the act up, but as he swallowed a lump he realized that it was now more of a game, one that gave him something inside, something pleasant he couldn't quite explain. "I just love doing stuff for you, it's my pleasure, Bob. You're the... best." Bart's body jerked slightly in interesting places, but he had to ignore it at all cost. Now was not the time.

"Get up," Bob asked bluntly. Bart was surprised, but he obeyed without a word. "Entertain me."

"H-how? You're, uh... You're the better performer, I couldn't even compare! Even your voice is so good. I... I can't get enough of it," he kept on going, wondering when he was acting to get money, and when he was acting for his own pleasure. He also wondered when he started getting kicks out of the situation.

"Ah, you love it, don't you? I remember you saying that, years ago..." Bob pondered thoughtfully, before shooting daggers at him. "A rather delicate memory."

"Oh... Well, I mean, it's true, isn't it? And now, I'm here to... to tell you all these things that are true because you're such a... wonderful person, Bob. It's so great to be here, praising you..."

Bob laughed wholeheartedly at his awkwardness and crossed his legs comfortably. "Why don't you dance for me?"

Before Bart could respond, he grabbed a small remote. After the pressing of a single button, music started from a nearby radio, filling the apartment with its slow, deep beat. It awakened something within Bart, who eyed the man sitting in front of him and considered his suggestion. He bit his lip, unsure of himself, feeling his face hot. He was never the type to shy away from this kind of activity, as silly as it was, even if he was made fun of – he had always been the class clown, ready to make everyone have a good time, no matter how ridiculous he looked. But this...

A hundred dollars.

He straightened up, hesitant, and began moving his arms and hips, in rhythm to the music playing. It sounded strangely sultry and enjoyable, making him wonder how much of it had been prepared by Bob. The man's eyes were following his every move, scrutinizing him, enjoying him with no shame whatsoever as Bart kept on dancing awkwardly. He was surprised to find himself getting more comfortable, even going as far as trying to meet Bob's gaze, but couldn't understand why he wanted that.

"Not much of a dancer, are you?" Bob asked derisively as Bart struggled to keep up a coherent choreography.

"Not really, but I'm doing my best, for you," he replied, the words getting out automatically.

"Get on my lap..."

The soft-spoken words slithered straight into Bart's brain, the deep voice caressing his ego and personal choices. He stopped dancing and turned fully toward Bob, gulping with difficulty and alien anxiety. He knew he had to do as he was told, or else he wouldn't get the money, and all of this humiliation would have been for nothing. He walked, uncomfortably, toward him, and sqeezed in between Bob's thighs. Focusing on the music, he kept his eyes glued to the opposite wall, wondering what was crazier, Bob's requests, or his own weird compliance. When hands landed on his hips and reached up, the pleasant feeling that had been nesting inside his chest simply exploded, as though he was being taken over willingly and being happy about it.

A shrill sound went off somewhere, snapping Bart out of his confused state, and silence fell again after Bob turned the music off.

"It's over. Here's your due. Was it really so bad, now?"

Bart hastily distanced himself from him, and found his irritation back when he saw the dollar bills being waved temptingly in front of him. He snatched the reward from Bob's hands with a huff and put it in his pocket before Bob could change his mind.

"It's... been an hour?" he asked meekly, slowly reverting back to his true self.

"Time does fly when you have fun."

"Whatever. Can I leave, now?"

"Absolutely," Bob replied indifferently. "You're free to go."

"Ugh." Bart rolled his eyes indignantly and walked toward the door at a brisk pace, shaking everything that had happened off his mind, hopefully for good.

"You know where to find me if need be."

"No way."