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must be like the genesis of rhythm

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It's election season and Amy knows this because of the campaign posters, the rallies, the promises she hopes they could fill, but know they won't, but she knows it for trickier reasons. Maybe it was the red eye to meet that Senator or the two days missed sleep or the fact that she's currently sustaining herself on coffee and ephedrine pills she keeps in a mint container. But it's happened again.

It's alright because politics is a place for the manic. The perfect staffer is a machine, they don't need to sleep or eat or do any of those more human things lesser beings need. While others stumble over answers on the tip of their tongue Amy's got that answer and the next three lined up. They've been on the campaign trail forty something days when the senator says "Amy do I need to read you a bedtime story? Go the fuck to sleep, you're starting to freak out the interns."

It's 2 am and she makes her way over to a bar, the bars close late in DC and nobody asks questions when you show up stone cold sober at some ungodly hour, they assume you just left the office, or at least that's why they're here.
She's sitting at the bar, her skin is humming with want, want for something more than a white wine buzz and the endless energy that comes from some dark part of her brain.

So she scans the bar, it's easy, it's boring and she's not going to sleep with some asshole in a suit with a wife in some backwoods state. That's how careers are ended and hell she may be reckless, but she's not crazy, no matter what her sister says to her.

It takes till E to hit a potential target on her Blackberry whose usefulness hasn't been wrung out.

"Amy Brookheimer. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink?"

He walks into the bar and she can see the madness in him. He doesn't know it yet, hasn't had the kind of crash that risks destroying everything and is only saved when you start flying again and prove yourself three times over.

He's a shit, he's an Upstate New York cum DC shit and he's fucked at least three girls on her staff on four different stops. He likes sleeping with the enemy almost as much as she does, but he doesn't know that, not yet.

She sleeps with the enemy because it's reckless, because sleeping with people in the office is a one way ticket to being labelled the girl who fucked her way to the top and Amy is worth more than that. She sleeps with the enemy because nobody would ever believe that DCs most loyal ice queen would ever do something so crazy (there's that goddamn word again) and nobody admits to fucking in politics if they didn't get something other than the obvious from it.

He enters the bar, Amy flashes her best smile, it's over and he doesn't even know it's started.

Time skips for a bit there, they're three whiskey neats in, and she can see the need escaping from his breath in too fast sentences. He doesn't know she popped a Klonopin in the bathroom keeping her on an evenish keel while she reels him in.
He's posturing on his meteoric career path when she wraps her calf around his leg and you feel the shudder of wantonness all the way up to her ears. He's not being careful, he's letting things slip that seem insignificant but are nuclear missile codes in Amy's hands. He's running the risk of realizing what a mistake he's making when she places her hand on his.

"I know you think you take girls, chew them up and spit them out but let me tell you I am no girl."

There's a gulp, a pause and Amy grabs her purse, he follows. They always follow.

They're outside the bar when he kisses her for the first time, considered yet a little bit sloppy and for the first time she wonders if this is a mistake because it's boring, her head is still loud and she hears the ticking of a streetlight in time with her own heartbeat so loud she has to interrupt it by asking "Do you want to head back to my place?"

So they walk, easier than calling a cab and at least it puts a dent in the calories of all those drinks. He talks too fast still, sending out feelers of switching teams and Amy can't help the laugh that escapes from her mouth when she realizes he thinks he's still got the upper hand. That he doesn't realize they're going back to her apartment because it feels good to kick someone out and she doesn't mind if he slips off after anyways.

They're in the entryway of her impersonal apartment and kissing now, messy, teeth just grazing in a way that gives the right amount of pain, but won't leave a mark. She kicks off her heels, unzips half her dress and he's behind her, helping her and fuck maybe she's finally starting to feel something? Stumbling their way through the apartment she decides on the bed because even though her brain still races her body is fucking aching and it feels so good to lie back against a pile of pillows as he traces kisses down her body and she sends red lines down his shoulders as he moans into her skin so she can feel the warm vibrations. He makes his way up her thighs up to her cunt, wet halfway by his work and the other half the rush she's getting because it's been too damn long.

He takes her into his mouth and begins lapping at her with precision, each movement as calculated as his latest press release and fuck it feels good but almost infuriatingly perfect. She grabs him by the hair, bringing him up for a sloppy kiss and growls "Is this a chore for you?" and he responds like a perfect teacher's pet, enthusiastic and a little messy and it's so good now her hands go back to his hair and one of his hands is on her breast as his fingers tease at her sex.

It's all too much and so she props herself up, flipping him over and grinding her way down to return the favour. He's half hard and she feels him come to full attention in her mouth as she pops off with a truly pornographic noise. They stare at each other, smiling like teenagers on ecstasy and Amy laughs, maybe a little too hard, but he joins in and the movements of his body bumping up against her are almost too much to bear.

She brings herself down onto him, still laughing, her body shaking a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and pure happiness. They're almost at the end and maybe this time this whole routine will work and the crazy will stop and she can get some fucking rest.
"Hey" says Dan, lying there like her pillow queen college fling. "Is this a chore for you?" He echoes her words with an eyebrow raise and a smirk and she begins to ride him so mercilessly that he will never question who got fucked tonight.

She brings one hand to her clit, moving in a figure eight that hits every edge as his hips cant upward and they're both whispering "more". A junkie can identify another one from a block away Amy thinks as Dan adjusts himself to grab hold of her breast and that's it, Amy shakes her way through the pleasure, continues the frantic movements until they both fall, boneless onto her bed.

He stares at her, smiles that Dan Egan smile she's heard so much about. Fingers moving in slow circles on her shoulder as he murmurs "You know if I stay over I can eat you out before you head into the office?"

Amy opens her laptop, she knows she only has a little time before her brain catches up with her and she does have standards to uphold. She turns to him and says in her most professional voice "Mr. Egan you've been a great help here, but the grown ups have actual work to get done."

Once he's left, she moves her laptop to the desk, hoping the words that come streaming out of her fingers make any sense. Whatever this is, she doesn't know when it's going to end, but the knot in her stomach whispers "Soon, soon."