The Simpsons : Love poem
Title: Love Poem
Author: serialbathera
Fandom: The Simpsons
Prompt: None
Challenge: None
Characters: Montgomery Burns, Waylon Smithers
Characters mentioned: None
Pairings: Smithers/Burns (one sided)
Rating: Pg-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 159
Summary: Smithers is in the middle of writing a poem, when Mr. Burns comes back from his doctor’s appointment.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters.
Author’s notes: For Intergalactic empty_marrow appreciation day.
“Ode to Montgomery Burns: A Waylon Smithers poem
A beautiful site
For my bespectacled eyes
I would follow you anywhere
Just give me the word.
I would drink glass for you,
If you wanted me to,
You’re name I whisper
On my lips as
I curl in bed at night…” Waylon Smithers stopped writing, and quickly put the small notebook in his suit pocket. He had heard the slow approach of his beloved.
About fifteen minutes later, the wizened, shriveled figure of Montgomery Burns entered the office. “What are you doing, Smithers?” The man asks, taking another fifteen minutes to sit down in his chair.
“Nothing, sir.” Smithers said standing behind the old man’s chair.
“Good, good, I think it is time to count some money.” Mr. Burns smiled, and rubbed his hands together, a greedy look in his eyes.
“Very good, sir.” Smithers answered in his usual monotone, though he was enjoying being so close to his boss.
Author: serialbathera
Fandom: The Simpsons
Prompt: None
Challenge: None
Characters: Montgomery Burns, Waylon Smithers
Characters mentioned: None
Pairings: Smithers/Burns (one sided)
Rating: Pg-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 159
Summary: Smithers is in the middle of writing a poem, when Mr. Burns comes back from his doctor’s appointment.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters.
Author’s notes: For Intergalactic empty_marrow appreciation day.
“Ode to Montgomery Burns: A Waylon Smithers poem
A beautiful site
For my bespectacled eyes
I would follow you anywhere
Just give me the word.
I would drink glass for you,
If you wanted me to,
You’re name I whisper
On my lips as
I curl in bed at night…” Waylon Smithers stopped writing, and quickly put the small notebook in his suit pocket. He had heard the slow approach of his beloved.
About fifteen minutes later, the wizened, shriveled figure of Montgomery Burns entered the office. “What are you doing, Smithers?” The man asks, taking another fifteen minutes to sit down in his chair.
“Nothing, sir.” Smithers said standing behind the old man’s chair.
“Good, good, I think it is time to count some money.” Mr. Burns smiled, and rubbed his hands together, a greedy look in his eyes.
“Very good, sir.” Smithers answered in his usual monotone, though he was enjoying being so close to his boss.