A/N: The idea for this story came when I went to Universal Studios. I was walking behind the truck where the people in the Simpsons' costumes were. I noticed Bart Simpson reach down and pat the assistant's head and she looked up at him. Wihle I was there, I produced this whole story, stretching that little scene into a whole story. This is quite short, yes, but I wasn't planning on making a big thing out of it. It's a story of fiction. It never happened, haha.
Enjoy and please review with constuctive criticism if you find an error.

It was an extremely hot summer day in Orlando, Florida. Sweat blanketed my forehead as I walked along beside the Simpson Mobile. My feet ached and I could scarcely wait to sit down. The sun beat down on my dark hair and shirt. I felt so uncomfortable in my tightly fitting jeans and longed to be wearing shorts, or at least to be standing in shade.

A soft and thick finger came down and tapped the top of my head. Startled out of my thoughts, I looked up quickly and took the hand in my own. Finn would be exceptionally hot in his Bart Simpson costume. I was grateful I had not been chosen to wear one of the dreaded costumes. All were so big, heavy and sweltering in the sun. I looked into the felt eyes of the masking hat he wore and forgot all about the shade. My only thoughts were on later; our after-work ritual. I winked at him and let his hand go, still keeping pace with the inconceivably slow truck, which housed the Simpsons as they made their way over to their next destination. All of them waved at the sea of people that followed. I frowned, knowing that my wait would be a long one.

Universal Studios was always popular in the summer. I had known that, yet taken the job anyway. For some reason I believed that being an employee would make the park much more enjoyable. I mean, it was enjoyable; but that was only thanks to Finn. By the end of July I had ridden all of the rides much more than ten times and the park became dull and pedestrian in my eyes. The shrill scream of visitors as they were turned upside down on The Hulk became a nuisance and the expensive items in the stores became worthless to me. It was funny how much a whole summer could make you realize that the things you loved were not what they seemed. In my case, it was the amusement park and I found I could no longer enjoy anything without knowing that sooner or later the rush of excitement would fade until it were as if it no longer existed; anything, with the exception of the ritual.

The line was atypically long. It was longer than I had ever witnessed in my whole one and a half months of working. I tried to cut the line at a certain point, but half of that line meant at least sixty pictures, maybe more depending on the number of children and if the parents wanted them to pose alone or with their sibling. I cursed them all for wanting a picture so bad. They were costumes, for God’s sake, not real versions of the cartoon.

“I don’t mind you cutting it, just not at me,” a man said after I explained that we hadn’t the time to take so many pictures up to him. His hand was firmly placed on his son’s shoulder and he wore cold expression on his face. It took all I had not to swear at him or kick him where it would hurt. I was exhausted and felt the heat hard on my head. I managed to keep control and, in spite of that man, told the family in front of him that we won’t be taking anymore pictures from that point on.

Finally, the last picture was taken and the Simpsons were packed up into the back of the truck. I hopped into the back with them, not caring much for walking on my hurting feet. I sat on the small bench provided and Finn, still in costume, sat beside me. He placed his arm around me. I knew it would have been quite a sight but that thought was not with me long. The time was ever closer to what I awaited everyday. I leaned against him, every part of my body stimulated by his touch, even through the costume. I did not miss Marge Simpson’s eyes on us, but deemed nothing of it.

The locker room was where we met each day, though everything became easier on the days when we happened to be working together. Finn and I waited until each of the costumed employees exited in the work uniforms given to all of us. It was mandatory that we wear them, as every other workplace. I had always felt somewhat like a robot, seeing the employees around in the exact same attire as I. Well, all but the ones who wore the costumes that day.

“You changing, Finn? You might want to now, before someone closes the door and it’s locked,” Alice, who had been costumed as Frankenstein’s wife that day, asked. Finn nodded, though the Bart Simpson head he wore barely moved. He got off the curb we had been sitting on and, without a look back, went into the locker room. I stayed where I was; knowing the drill from previous experiences.

I waited until every employee was out of sight before I entered the locker room. My eyes looked around anticipatorily. I nearly screamed when I felt arms stretch out around me and squeezing me tight, an unfamiliar head pressed to the back of my head. I whirled around to see Finn with his Bart Simpson head still on. I laughed out loud and took it off for him, throwing it to the ground in front of the door. Bart Simpson had been decapitated.

“Lucy,” he breathed heavily, pushing me up against the wall. His lips touched my neck softly and I gasped. His simple action sent electricity through my every bone. I noticed all he wore were his boxers.

“Finn,” I said softly, knotting my fingers in his hair. “Were you wearing only boxers in that costume the whole time.”

“Yep,” he replied as her fingered my belt.

“I see,” I said, kissing his forehead. “Easy access.”

He finally took my belt off and unbuttoned my jeans. “Exactly. I can see it’s something you don’t practice.” His hands moved up my shirt and he tasted my lips kindly before pulling my shirt right off my torso. He kissed me again, but hungrily. I was pressed harder against the wall and his hands grabbed my legs. I wrapped myself around him. Once again, his lips trailed down to my neck and, slowly, lower.

“Never thought of it,” I said breathily. My heart was racing. His lips touched between my breasts and I moaned softly, arching my back. My eyes shut in pleasure. It wouldn’t be long…

Fin stopped abruptly and his grip loosened as he put me down slowly. I felt him turn around slowly and I opened my eyes, about to ask if he was getting cold feet, but the words never escaped my mouth. Her expression showed great disgust. Her eyebrows were pinched in anger. Janet, Marge Simpson, was in the locker room, her cold eyes scrutinizing. In her hand was Bart Simpson’s head.

“How…? I trailed off, wondering how she could possibly have gotten in, not owning a key. The doors locked upon being shut; one could only open them from the inside.

Her thin lips, white from being pursed, opened and she spoke. “The door was open.”