Author: Maxwell Rating: NC-17 (Danny Elfman/Tim Burton) Warning: Various OOC crap, bathroom fucking, Sex in general, Urolagnia, bad-tasting wine, Tim Burton tries to hum Cab Calloway… XD;; Summary: Danny and Tim go to an Oscar party – Danny is an emotional wreck, Tim gets laid, we all go home happy. Disclaimer: None of this actually happened – understand that. If you believe it did I’m afraid you’re far more delusional than I am. Some – scratch that – most of this information is relatively false and I don’t claim it to be true. In other words after reading this don’t believe that Danny is a complete-closeted-homosexual-basket-case-that-digs-urophilia (and et cetera). These men are /not/ - I repeat – NOT gay. We fan-girls/boys like to dream. I don’t own these people – I should probably say that for legality’s sake – and I have no desire to. I mean what would I do with these people locked in my basement – scratch that, I know exactly what I’d do… >:D… *hits self with inflatable mallet* >>Oh yes, let me make this perfectly clear; NO ONE IN THE RIGHT MIND WOULD GO GROCERY SHOPPING INSTEAD OF GOING TO AN OSCAR PARTY. I am not that idiotic. The whole “Bridget going grocery shopping late at night” is a joke between my friend, Zoe, and me. Don’t ask, we won’t tell you. >>>Most, if not ALL of this fiction was written during a period where I hadn’t eaten in about 3 days, spoken with anyone off the internet in 4, and was taking narcotic painkillers (legally prescribed of course) religiously. I was somewhat psychotic and this shows in my work. Understand that. >>>>And just for basic knowledge, let me explain to you that I am not interested in Urolagnia personally. I am an author with the ability to write about things as if I was interested/experiencing them – so no, I do not practice this fetish – I just use a very valuable tool called GOOGLE. I’ll take the time now to clear the record that to my knowledge Danny does /NOT/ suffer from the Urolagnia-fetish… the only people who would know that would be people who actually know the man, and that’s not me. I’m just a sad little fanboy who thinks it’s somewhat arousing to picture the man drinking Tim’s piss. >>>>>In conclusion, please don’t sue me. :D ….The End. ********* I hate parties. I generally hate the idea of being in a closed area full of people I don’t know or care about – call me cynical, but I just don’t like it. Worst of all is the attire. I don’t care if it’s only for an hour, a half an hour, ten fucking minutes, I don’t want to wear a suit. Not until I’m dead and I can’t protest it. I don’t want to look like everyone else – a drone – a clone – a copy. Chatting away about idiotic things that don’t matter – of course they do matter, to some people, unimportant people, and people with an IQ smaller than their waist. Tim on the other hand loves the chance to socialize – hand out some business cards, get congratulated on yet “another” masterpiece – the usual. I mean if it wasn’t for him dragging me here I’d be at home watching this year’s Academy Awards on my television set drowning myself in whatever beer was in the fridge. I’ve been coming here for how many years? Been nominated, yet never won. Perhaps it’s worth it to see the almost-naïve sense of hope in Tim’s eyes as they open the card for whatever he’s been nominated for this time. But of course he doesn’t win – he never does. Why would this year be any different? The people on the committee couldn’t recognize real talent if it bit them in the ass – but hell, why am I complaining? It’s a nice chance to be out with Tim – away from work, away from seclusion, around other people. I almost wish that it was me on his arm instead of Helena. Don’t get me wrong, Helena is wonderful and charming in every possible way – it’s just the fact that relationships change in over two decades. Perhaps it’s because I have so much respect for him that I couldn’t help but develop a crush. I’m not gay or anything, at least I don’t think I am. I just never actually considered the possibility. Everyone around me was dressed up in a ridiculous fortune’s worth of apparel. It made me feel cheap after I over heard that that girl from “Friends” spent ten million dollars on a necklace while I spent under five grand on this suit. C’est la vie. I’m not really here to impress anyone – I’m only here to support Tim. I shake my head and giggle girlishly as I feel around in my pockets. I should have been a boy scout – “be prepared” – I can feel my stomach tense as my finger brushes against the foil wrapper. I’m glad Bridget couldn’t make it – something about grocery shopping? – Who cares, she isn’t here. It’s not that I don’t love my wife, I’ll never deny that. It’s just that my little crush on Tim has been eating me up for over 20 years, long before I met her. He’s always been there – for as long as I can remember. Even back when in my Boingo days, there was Tim – a sheepish, skinny figure cheering me on from the sides. He was always so full of ideas, and by society’s standards, the man was pretty fucking weird. Maybe that’s why we were so drawn together. I don’t believe that opposites always attract, it’s the similarities that keep relationships growing. But thinking of those early years reminds me of the post-nightmare-falling-out we had – I never thought we’d speak again. I’d joke that our “marriage” was over and deep down I knew he’d move on, meanwhile I’d burry my head in my pillow and ask myself why I was so fucking stupid. Anyway – the past is over. I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s ancient history. The familiar scent vanilla and bitter-chocolate drifted by me as I felt someone nudge my shoulder. My brain lost all rational thought as I saw Tim wandering past me and towards the bathroom. Oh I wanted to get on my knees and pray to whatever higher power there was and chase after the little man---- Snap out of it Elfman. You’re going on fifty-three-years-old. You’re not the crazy kid you once were – the Oingo Boingo days are behind you – you’re not a rock star, you’re no longer a crazy icon -You’re a tired old gentleman who needs to hold on to some of his dignity – unfortunately. I’ll let it pass. There will be many bathroom breaks with all the food and drink they’re shoving down our throats. And at nearly a grand to get into this “party” I wouldn’t expect less. I look around for someone I know, someone I’ve worked with, hell someone who looked somewhat sane and friendly right now would suffice. I feel like I’m going mad – I can’t breathe – everything is just so odd and confusing. I’ve had fifty years to figure this shit out and all of a sudden, at an Academy Award’s party no doubt, it’s all rushing to me like a giant headache. All I can think is ‘Fuck you, Burton’ before I slide down in a random chair at a random table. I suppose it looked rather odd that I just sat down, uninvited, but hell, I needed to sit down before I passed out. I look up from my lap to see who’s staring at me. I know they’re looking, but I feel too embarrassed to look back. My eyes meet with a beautiful set of hazel – it only takes me a moment to realize that the brown-eyed-beauty is Helena. Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, Fuckity-Fuck. “Danny!” She smiles. Her British accent is adorable, I must admit. Great. This would make lovely conversation. ‘Hey Helena, how’s the weather? Oh, me? I’m not bad. I’m just thinking of taking your fiancé into to bathroom and fucking the shit outta him.’ Yeah, lovely conversation indeed. I feel the need to smack myself – just a couple good smacks to the noggin might make everything clear again. Pfft. That scent… that beautiful scent of vanilla and bitter-chocolate attacks my senses once again. I now feel a cold hand on my shoulder… I know it’s his. I just want to disappear – completely – I don’t want to be here anymore. I can feel my face turning red, the blood has found a more appropriate (ha, ha) place to migrate. “Darling!” Helena calls out again. “Isn’t it nice of Danny to join us?” She smiles sweetly. She’s such a pretty lady. I don’t care what people say about her gown – it may look somewhat awkward, but it still looks stunning on her. I feel Tim’s hand pat my shoulder before he goes to sit down beside me. My heart melts at his touch. Man, I’m hopeless. I can almost see him wriggling under me, his back arched, his breath on my neck. I imagine the screaming, the panting, and the moaning. Dear lord, I’m so going to hell. I’m thrown back into reality when I hear Tim’s voice addressing me. “Yeah, I knew we wouldn’t win” He mutters. I can understand why the man is somewhat bitter after all these years of being taunted with something he cannot have. I suppose we share that – not only about awards. “All these fucking idiotic movies came out this year to get awards to support the norm.” He looked to Helena, then back to me. His eyes hid behind his trademark purple-square-framed glasses. “I knew Corpse Bride didn’t stand a chance – but good lord, I...” He paused. “We lost to a fucking claymation movie about a mentally retarded Brit and his mutt?” He is pretty cute when he’s upset. I wanted to smile, but that would be disrespectful. The glass of wine in front of me appears to have not been touched this evening –I’ll take my chances- I bring it to my lips to hide my blushing cheeks. Yuck. This wine is shit. Without lowering my glass I glance over to Tim who is chuckling at me. “What, did you piss in this?” I raise an eyebrow. Truthfully I wouldn’t mind if he did - I wouldn’t actually mind tasting some of his bodily fluids. I understand how wrong that sounds – yeah, but I really don’t care. “No, but you look like it tastes like it.” He smiled. I love it when he smiles. With his age he’s began to get these increasing wrinkles in his forehead and around his mouth when he smiles. It makes me somewhat content sometimes to realize that when I first met him they were almost non-existent. For the moment I ignore the fact that his soon-to-be wife is staring at me and that there are other people at this table (Of course they’re all lost in that meaningless conversation I blathered on about earlier). Right now it’s me and him. Without noticing I’ve began to stare – I suppose it’s rather odd and creepy for Tim. “‘You alive?” Helena’s soft voice breaks me out of my daydream. I don’t know whether to thank her or be upset. Meh, I suppose I looked awkward. I hate myself for this reference, but even with Hollywood making movies like ‘Brokeback Mountain’, it is still socially awkward for two grown men to stare at one another in that way. “Are you tired?” She adds. I look away from Tim and stretch my arms until I hear a satisfying “crack”. “Not really.” I grumble. What a lie. I’ve been awake for what seems like days – while in reality it’s more like a good twenty-hours. It’s not my fault I suffer from insomnia. I’d rather work than sleep - if you can call manipulating random noises and recordings, for my own personal enjoyment, work. God, my mouth is dry. I cross my legs and sit up like a normal person. I guess I should give the appearance that I’m somewhat alive, normal, and look like I’m enjoying myself. But at this moment I am not enjoying myself. I’m miserable. I feel like an idiot even being here – yeah, here we go – let’s act like a little emotional preteen. That’s really becoming, isn’t it Elfman? There we go; I want to smack myself again. I felt Tim shift from his chair and rise from the table. He looked to Helena and mouthed the word “Bathroom”. She smiled, nodded and began conversing with some lady beside her. I never understood how women did that – they can just randomly jump in and start a conversation with someone they barely know. We men need to be more social… My mind finally focused at the fact that Tim had headed to the bathroom. My heart jumped and I felt as if I’d lost control of my body. Before I could realize that I was thinking with my pants (instead of with that brain that I’m assuming I have), I was following Tim through a crowd of people towards the restroom. A sudden flash of warm air hit my face as I opened the door to the men’s washroom. I quietly sneak in, trying my best not to be noticed. I carefully poke my head under the two stalls to see if I can see any feet – jackpot – all empty. Dear lord, someone up there LIKES me. I pinch myself to see if I was dreaming – ouch – nope, I didn’t wake up. “CLICK” went the bathroom lock as I pushed it in; no one is going to interrupt this – I’ve been waiting close to two decades for this moment, I don’t care if I move “too quickly”. Step by step I walk closer to Tim who appears to be finishing up his business. Oh baby, I hope you don’t wash your hands. He quickly snaps his head around to find me about three feet behind him. Crap. “Oh, Danny, I didn’t hear you. I’m almost done anyway.” He smiled then focused back on the urinal. I bit my bottom lip to stop me from shouting that he hadn’t begun. I wanted to stop and think what the fuck was wrong with me, but I just didn’t want this to end. Tim’s body jolted back as I wrapped a strong arm around his chest. I must admit, compared to me he looks like a noodle. “Danny... what the fuck... I’m trying to take a fucking piss...” Without thinking I unexpectedly find myself nibbling on his ear. With a sudden jerk, Tim jumped from my grip and zipped up his pants. “What that fuck is wrong with you?” He looked back with me with a look of terror and anger. I just wanted to laugh as my eyes focused on the small piss-stain on his probably twelve-hundred-dollar pair of pants. He caught my gaze then looked down. “Fuck you Danny. I can’t go out and talk to people looking like this!” I raised an eyebrow and smiled. He was just too cute when he was upset – the way he curls up his top lip and his nose wrinkles – I just can’t help myself. I move forward and push him against the bathroom wall with all the force I can use without hurting the small man. “No…” I hissed into his ear. Oh god, the blood was no longer in my face; I could almost feel it migrating elsewhere. My knee slid between his legs as I forced his arms above his head. “Fuck. You.” I didn’t even recognize my own voice. I was never like this, never. I never believed I would turn into this “monster”… and damn, I was starting to like it. “Danny!” Tim snapped. “Seriously, get off me NOW!” He began to squirm in my grip – I didn’t know if I should be aroused or pity the man. I bent my one knee and with the slightest amount of force applied pressure to his groin. Tim yelped – it was poison to my ears. It was like something forbidden – it was a noise I knew I shouldn’t be hearing from him. “Danny...” his voice was now a soft whisper, which caused me to worry if I had hurt him. “I can’t.” I pressed a little harder with my knee this time. He yelped again, this time louder. He threw his head forward so it rested on my chest then let out an enormous sigh. “God, please no.” I could feel a new pressure on my knee, I wanted to grin because I knew that he mentally didn’t want this, but some “other” part of “him” was now telling me to proceed. I didn’t want to beg him for this, as I said I would like to keep some of my dignity in my old age (perhaps if he was to do the begging it would be another story). I was a “monster”, plus there was the sad truth that the man was a shrimp, I could over-power him easily (Lord knows I’d never let him catch onto that). I wanted to shut off my brain – it was reminding me that we were capable of getting into little spats and not talking for years – yeah, jumping him in the bathroom and attacking him in a sexual nature might just be cause for another one. I don’t care. I can smell the urine on his hands and the stain on his pants… and good God it was arousing. Damn, that made whatever made me a rational person completely disappear. “Please no, what?” I grinned. Perhaps it isn’t the smartest move to show a terrified man, who you’ve backed into a corner, your wolf-like teeth. Well live and learn. “We can’t do this.” He whispered, and then raised his head to look at me. “I...I...I mean I’m flattered and all – but good God, we can’t do this.” His eyes were still hidden behind his purple glasses. Ugh. Shut up Burton. I needed reassurance that at least part of his mind wanted this - I pressed my knee up again, this time I didn’t care if I used too much force. Tim yelped again – loud – dammit, I’m sure the whole party outside heard it. It didn’t matter, my knee rubbed against the increasing bulge in his pants which gave me the reassurance I needed. My hands found his belt and started fumbling with the buckle. He didn’t protest – Lordy Timothy, I’ll never understand you. Was your whole “oh no, don’t touch me… I’m flattered” speech supposed to make you feel good inside? Blah. I’ll make you feel good inside. I don’t take my eyes off his until I hear the clink of the belt buckle against the floor and I hear his pants and underwear fall around his ankles. Dare I look? I mean I’ve come this far, it would be a shame to just walk away. My eyes leave his. I’m far from disappointed. At that moment whatever part of my heterosexuality just flew out the window. I didn’t care anymore. Quickly our mouths meet and I give Tim one last stare – I have never seen as much fear in his eyes - It seems like a cliché, but I seriously can’t remember him looking this way. The next thing I know I’m kneeling on the floor in front of him. No, I don’t suffer any short-term-memory loss; I just kept pushing forward rather quickly. What if I was going too fast? Ugh… god’dammit – why can’t this just be easy. Fuck rational thought, my brain needs an off-switch. I lean foreword and claim my prize. I quickly use the tip of my tongue and lick the head of his penis. I can taste the urine. I draw back and stare at the little salvia I left behind, almost like an artist admires their work. I smile and then look up to Tim – who is shaking. I raise an eyebrow and wait to see if he’ll give me permission to proceed. God dammit Tim, make up your mind. Finally, after what feels like hours (in all reality it couldn’t have been more than 10 seconds – I’m just impatient when it comes to sex), he nods. Let me be honest, the whole cock-sucking thing is new to me. I’ve never been with another man, ever. I don’t watch pornography involving men – so I guess I improvised. To my knowledge Tim had never been with another man either, so we were evenly matched – God, I needed to do this somewhat well if I planned to ever do this again. I rolled my lips over my teeth and moved my head down, taking his cock and it’s entirety into my mouth. Tim gasped… it was amazing to hear. He squirmed under me. I began sucking, kissing, licking his cock – I needed to hear that noise again. My tongue brushes over his slit once more – I can taste his piss again. It’s salty and sweet – it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.. Oh God.. I have an idea… God no. Don’t Elfman, Don’t you fucking dare. I pull my mouth from the panting Tim’s cock. I figured I was doing well– why is he still limp? Well it now makes my plan at least possible. Smirk. “Tim.” There’s that voice I don’t recognize again. It’s nasty and rough. “I want you to piss in my mouth.” Tim’s breathing suddenly regulated and he jumped in shock. “What?” he breathed. Oh God, I knew I shouldn’t have said that. Lord. Good Lord. “Danny?” He asks then flashes me a worried look. Without thinking I run my top teeth over the sensitive red flesh and then I apply a reasonable amount of pressure – not to hurt, just to make him realize I mean business. He grunts and I feel his cock twitch. “Yeah baby.” I mumble laying small kisses up and down the shaft. I’m assuming this is my ‘sex voice’ – if I have one. This is news to me; I don’t usually talk dirty with Bridget – especially in this sense… One more soft kiss… “I mean it Tim.” I look up and see this discomfort in his face. I’m sure that no one has ever asked him this before. I lean backwards and wipe my glasses with my necktie – then I look back at Tim to see if he’s considered it. Next thing I feel is his thin, cold fingers in my hair and pushing my mouth over his limp penis. He’s going to do it. I want to smile, but I’m trying my best to keep my teeth out of the way. He leans backwards against the wall, his head rolls back, and I can feel him spread his legs. Oh God yes. He groans and I feel the warm liquid trickling down my throat. Oh god, I can feel my own hardness trying to burst free. Mhmm.. Tim, God don’t stop. In short little spurts the urine flows into my mouth – it’s strangely sweet which gives me the impression that he’s been drinking soda and eating sugary sweets. I did notice he’s put on a little weight…. That’s beside the point. I moan as I feel the stream come to an end. Oh God. I quickly swallow the rest. I can’t take it anymore, I feel like I’m going to explode. I give the head of Tim’s cock a grateful lick then I quickly stand up and (almost literally) rip my pants off. Tim eyes me as I free my impatient manhood. He raises an eyebrow. “What?” “Nothing,” He laughs. “I always assumed nerdy musicians were less than 7 inches.” I want to laugh. No matter how serious we are he always seems to make me uncomfortable with his morbid humor. I look at Tim and smile – but I soon feel his hand on my chest, he applies pressure and soon I feel myself falling back onto my ass. Ouch. Dammit Tim, that hurt. I feel his clammy fingers wrap around my cock. Oh Lord.. “I want to play a game.” He smirks. I haven’t seen him this ‘playful’ since we were working on Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. Hey, whatever happened to ‘Oh God, no…’? Blah, I don’t care. “Probably up your alley… Are you familiar with Name That Tune?” Yes Tim, I know that game – music is my life – but how the FUCK does that relate to sex? I nod, hesitantly. “Alright,” His mouth now hovered over my aching cock. “For twenty-five dollars, name this tune.” What the fuck? Mhmm.. I could feel his warm mouth now moving up, down, and around my erect penis. I leaned my head back and my hand found its way into his hair. He wasn’t that bad at this. What he does next I didn’t expect – sure it was in a sense “the game” – but holy fuck, how did he know to do this? He began to hum. From deep in his throat I could feel his mouth vibrating. I jump back and grunt – was he actually humming a song? Was I supposed to guess? How the fuck did he expect me to actually listen? I throw my head back farther, my legs unconsciously spread; my hand forces his head down. God, the sounds coming from my mouth are somewhat privative – I’m reminded of when I was in Africa decades ago. I gasp, I moan, I pant. Dear Lord…. He stops and his head rises – our eyes meet. I can see a string of spit from his bottom lip trailing down to my cock. Oh, he is beautiful. “Well are you going to guess, Daniel?” He grins. “Fuck no.” I laugh. I pause and rub my eyes (without removing my glasses) then look back down. Jeez his hair is a mess; I just want to comb it. “Need to hear it again?” I burst out laughing. “Alright, this time I’ll listen.” I feel the warmth from his mouth once again around my throbbing manhood. I’m biting my bottom lip – hard – I can almost taste blood. There again, he begins to hum. The vibrations – holy fuck… fuck… My head rolls from side to side, I’m sorry Tim, I am trying to listen. Tim, I’m sorry, but you can’t carry a tune. However I do recognize some of those notes – maybe my mind is just making shit up; I mean he can’t honestly expect me to concentrate on his humming while he’s giving me a blowjob. I think I have it. “Mi…Minnie the Moocher.” I moan. Oh God, is he really humming Cab Calloway? The man is probably rolling over in his grave… Tim stops and sits up. I feel a sudden waft of cold air on my saliva-covered penis. He waits for my breathing to normalize before he speaks. “Actually…” I feel a hand start to massage my testicles. Bitch. “It was St. James Infirmary Blues…” Wise-ass, those songs have essentially the same tune. He smiles at me. Fuck you, Burton. I’ve had enough of this. With my right leg I push him down on his back – I don’t think I can hold out much longer. Tim chuckles. I reach into my jacket pocket – where the fuck is that foil condom wrapper I was playing with earlier? Ughh… “What?” Tim asks. “Condom.” I reply. I’m getting frustrated; I had the stupid thing not more than thirty-minutes ago. Tim looks at me for a second then shakes his head. “Fuck it.” “You sure?” I raise an eyebrow. I know that I’m safe, but he doesn’t. “Yes I’m fucking sure.” There was a slight annoyance in his voice – I love that he was getting so impatient. Goodie. I know I’m smiling. I lean over Tim who smiles in return. Mmhmm.. I lick the tip of his nose then nod which will hopefully let him know that I’m going to proceed. He nods back. to be continued... eventually... someday..