One of the first rules of DC, Hux’s Craigslist roommates had explained to him upon his moving in, was that as a junior staffer to a senior senator, one was free to blow and be blown by almost the entire District, including tourists.
There were only three categories of people whose dicks were strictly off-limits: Interns, the children of elected officials, and justices of the United States Supreme Court.
“And I’d say band members,” Rey had said. “But that’s kind of a personal preference thing.”
Phasma asked to see him after the hearing. Hux trudged into her office and braced himself to be gruesomely fired.
“You have to tell the interns not to sleep if they’re in the room,” she said. “There were like four awake people there.”
“Sorry,” he said. “They were kind of taken off guard.”
Phasma sighed. “Kylo has been an intern here for three years,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “We keep him on correspondence.”
Hux crossed his arms, and didn’t say that Ren was probably still an intern so he could honeypot earnest young political staffers out of their jobs, and also for free eggs.
On Thursday he watched Anakin Skywalker the band shout songs about Secretary of State Anakin Skywalker the person, then went back to the Woodley Park rowhouse to get high and fool around on top of Ren’s incongruously nautical-striped duvet.
Ren called him an Uber at five in the morning and set the playlist to “Emo Fever.” Hux was preposterously moved, and, determining that he was circling the drain of attachment, deleted Ren’s number on Saturday and adopted a cat that Sunday.
Fill: Horrible DC AU [4/4]
There were only three categories of people whose dicks were strictly off-limits: Interns, the children of elected officials, and justices of the United States Supreme Court.
“And I’d say band members,” Rey had said. “But that’s kind of a personal preference thing.”
Phasma asked to see him after the hearing. Hux trudged into her office and braced himself to be gruesomely fired.
“You have to tell the interns not to sleep if they’re in the room,” she said. “There were like four awake people there.”
“Sorry,” he said. “They were kind of taken off guard.”
Phasma sighed. “Kylo has been an intern here for three years,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “We keep him on correspondence.”
Hux crossed his arms, and didn’t say that Ren was probably still an intern so he could honeypot earnest young political staffers out of their jobs, and also for free eggs.
On Thursday he watched Anakin Skywalker the band shout songs about Secretary of State Anakin Skywalker the person, then went back to the Woodley Park rowhouse to get high and fool around on top of Ren’s incongruously nautical-striped duvet.
Ren called him an Uber at five in the morning and set the playlist to “Emo Fever.” Hux was preposterously moved, and, determining that he was circling the drain of attachment, deleted Ren’s number on Saturday and adopted a cat that Sunday.
There was a line to adopt cats.
“I hate DC,” Hux heard someone mutter.
--
THE END