Shameful | Congressman!Kylo x Reader

Chapter 37: Dangerous

HEYYY this is a short one!! by my standards, anyway. got really excited for the stuff i have planned (you'll see) and figured I'd shoot this one out first so i don't keep you guys waiting for much longer. 

ch38 is all outlined out, so it shouldn't take me long to finish. see you soon, and hope you enjoy ch37 for now. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo hope you're all safe and having a good time 

also, would be remiss not to mention that we've exceeded 65k reads. i'm fucking flabbergasted, and so honored that you guys choose to spend time with shameful <3 <3 

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Swathed in a comfortable, pious silence, we all make our way through the Great Hall of the Library of Congress. I can practically feel the warm, full-body wash from the coastal blue stained glass that soars 75 feet above us.

It's empty in here, save for a group of tourists conducting what looks like an unsuccessful self-guided tour.

The grandeur is almost too much to bear – we collectively gaze up at the Commemorative Arch, entirely dwarfed by its size and significance. Gilded letters reading "Library of Congress" flash above us, flanked by two etched figures, one young and one old, meant to represent the pursuit of knowledge.

It's brilliant. Stately and austere.

All I can think, though, is, I want to get fucked in here.

I blink.

Rep. Jackson breaks the silence. "Bible Gallery's up ahead."

"Mmm," Kylo murmurs ahead of me. I can see his neck stretch as he gazes up at the details of the arch. "My favorite work of fiction."

"Fuckin' edgelord," Vicrul murmurs, knocking into my side for effect.

We meander slowly through the Great Hall. My head falls backward to fully admire the aluminum-plated ceilings replete with colorful murals. The sunlight draws out the warm sage greens, tangerines, buttercup yellows, and faded reds – all the colors that light up behind my eyes when Kylo's around.

My love for him is an 1890s color palette.

We follow the dizzying patterns of the tile floor toward the two encased bibles on either side – one Gutenberg, and another with a name that escapes me.

I'm much too focused on Kylo's large, thick finger tracing over the glass of the display case. The wiry tendons push so gracefully through his rough porcelain skin. His knuckles are a sweet, rosy pink, his nails freshly trimmed (I would know; he keeps them nice and short for me). I stare too long at those thick, strong wrists that I can't even wrap my middle finger and thumb around.

He must have caught me looking. I watch his hand fall by his side. He then hooks two fingers, thrusting them toward the heel of his palm twice, beckoning me over.

I step forward tentatively, glancing to my right and left to ensure that everyone's sufficiently distracted.

Kylo proceeds to stretch out his hand, and I quickly close the distance, enlacing my fingers with his.

This feels positively dangerous. It is dangerous.

We feign interest in the text the book is opened to (it's in Latin; we're not fooling anyone).

"The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body," Kylo murmurs quietly, pinching the web of skin between my thumb and pointer finger.

"Where's that from?" I whisper breathlessly, keeping my eyes glued to the ink.

"1 Corinthians."