49. boss/intern au

A few people follow them out of the fundraiser and down the steps, men in bowties and women in long satin dresses. They seem drawn irresistibly in Lucem’s wake, and he has a ready smile and handshakes for all of them, lingers over his goodbyes with what looks like sincere warmth and regrets for a night cut short. Sam is left stranded next to the limo, hovering near the open door and the stone-faced chauffeur who holds it open.

He’s keenly aware, just as he had been all night, of his wrinkled suitjacket and plain tie, the lack of Italian silk or leather anywhere on his person. Lucem hadn’t told him it was black tie, had just said come, and dragged Sam straight from his desk into the car. He likes keeping the staffers on their toes, he’d told Sam and rest at the start of the year. On their toes is one way to put it.

There are still a few photographers outside from when the gala opened, and a few snap pictures of the departing guests as they drift by. Lucem gives them a cheery wave as he trots down the last of the steps and swings himself into the car, Sam folding in after him as quickly as he can. He hates the cameras at these things.

The car starts rolling, and Lucem seems to be lost in thought, gazing out the window with his hand over his mouth. Sam takes the opportunity to ease his phone out of his pocket, aiming to do some of the work he’d had to abandon for this event. Tomorrow afternoon is still a hopeless snarl of competing meetings, and there are about ten emails he should have sent before close of business. He’d spent the interminable hours of the gala writing them in his head, so maybe if he starts now and writes that briefing on the metro home, he can actually get to sleep before—

Across from him, Lucem says, “Sam.”

Sam’s fingers lock up on the keyboard.

“Put that thing away?” Lucem asks, smiling faintly. “You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

Sam clutches it a little tighter. “There, ah. There are a few things we should discuss for tomorrow. The lobbyist meeting after lunch you asked for, it conflicts with—”

“Put it away,” Lucem says, “and come here.”

Sam swallows thickly, and slips it back in his pocket. He starts to shift over on the seat.

“Sam,” Lucem says, still smiling.

He gets down in the floor and crawls forward, the car rumbling quietly under this hands. Lucem spreads his legs obligingly so Sam can kneel between them, hands coming up to tilt Sam’s face to his.

“You work so hard for me,” he says, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Washington slides by outside the windows, embassies and hotels and federal office buildings. “You know how much I appreciate it, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam nods, and when Lucem’s fingers tighten he manages, “Yes.”

“Good.” Lucem drops his hands, leans back against the plush seat. After a moment, Sam’s hands rise to the button on his trousers, opening it.

“Good boy,” Lucem says approvingly, and Sam ducks his head and shudders.