#beyond reasonable doubt

There were perks to being this high up on the food chain, as it were. Not only did everyone know you, but they mostly trusted you. Trusted you enough to lead you down a hallway and around a corner, nothing but bleak grey and off-white walls passing you by, linoleum under your feet. You recognize these rooms from your previous dealings with Rikers, but never in a million years – a billion years – did you ever fucking think you’d be in one of these with Kylo.

He’s wearing orange, neon and bright. A number is splashed across the back in black paint, and you hate it. You hate him so fucking much, hate how he could have been so stupid to get himself in here. The second the guard closes the door, you’re crossing the small room to get close to him.

Kylo misinterprets your meaning, and as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips, anger flares up through you and you can’t help yourself from doing what your first instinct had been – smacking him across the face.

“Hey!” Kylo scowls, eyes snapping open as he brings his cupped hands up to his cheek to soothe the stinging skin.

Immediately you are on the prowl, stalking him around and around the room.

“What the fuck did you do?” Your breath comes in harsh pants as your mind reels with the implications of why he’s here, “I ignore you for two fucking days and you wind up in jail? Are you insane?”

“Sweetheart – ” Kylo puts his hands up in front of his face, trying to deflect another irritated smack, but you only swat at his hands instead, before clenching your jaw and practically backing him into the corner of the room.

“No, fuck you! You don’t get to call me sweetheart. I’m supposed to be in a meeting right now getting a goddamned promotion and instead I’m sitting here with some dipshit who couldn’t handle his liquor?” Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair.

“Would you just listen to me -- ?”

“Let’s see, what did you in? Was it that big mouth of yours? I saw the photos in the paper, you looked like you were yelling at them. Kylo you know better than to provoke already pissed off cops!”

“They’re charging me with murder.”

Kylo’s voice cuts through the tension in the room, and the air rushes out of your lungs. You remain frozen exactly where you’re standing, your noses nearly touching, your hands fisted in his orange jumpsuit like you’re some schoolyard bully about to lift him off his feet to demand his lunch money.

Your hands only clench tighter in the scratchy rough fabric, but for the first time in a long time, it isn’t anger that spikes through you, it’s fear.

“Excuse me?” Is all you can manage, your eyes searching his, knowing that if he’s joking, you’ll knee him so hard in the balls that the Skywalker bloodline will end with him.

He holds your gaze steady, and your throat closes because he’s telling the truth.

“In the first degree.” Kylo replies, and only then do you release him, your mind spiraling.

You move to sit down at the table in the center of the room, missing the way his hands reach for you. Head pounding, you point at the chair opposite the table. Kylo sits without a word, his face drawn in a frown, his teeth grinding. You’ve always reminded him not to do that, to unclench his jaw and unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, but you find that you’d be a hypocrite to say that now.

“Who?”

“My grandfather.”

“Did you do it?”

Kylo reacts to that question like you’ve slapped him again – he recoils physically from it, nose scrunching up as he bares his teeth at you like some wild thing, so very unlike the Prosecutor you knew. This must have really rattled him, and you’re almost sorry for asking, but it’s a question you have to ask nonetheless.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kylo hisses, “Did you seriously just ask me that question?”

“Yeah, I did.” You reply, repeating yourself with a level, “Did you?”

“No I didn’t fucking kill my own grandfather.” He scoffs, “I’m being framed, obviously.”

You can’t help but let a small smile begin to creep up at the corner of your mouth, only Kylo could say something with that much gravity so flippantly. You look at him, and he looks at you, really looks at you. In all the years that you’ve known Kylo, you don’t think you’ve ever really looked him in the eye for very long, one of you always pulling away after a moment.

But now, in the quiet of this private room, there is nothing stopping you from staring at him for as long as you’d like. His eyes are brown, but they’re a strange sort of brown, the kind that looks light from within under the fluorescents. Even in the ugly color of the room and the jumpsuit, he’s handsome, something you positively abhor him for. It shouldn’t be fair, for a prisoner to be so handsome, you think.

You’re reminded briefly of that morning, when he brought you croissants with the jam that you like, when the two of you chuckled softly in the light of morning and kissed the fruity flavor of raspberries and the sweet snap of chocolate off one another’s lips.

God, how you fucking hate him.

“Can you prove that you’re being framed?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He whispers back, looking too vulnerable for your liking as his eyes shine, as he clasps his hands in front of you and says something that you never thought would come out of his mouth, “Will you help me?”

Part of you wants to say no.

Part of you wants to pound your fist on the table and leave, because dammit you should be thrilled about this. Kylo is the man who has caused you more stress than anything in your life, more than the LSATs or the BAR, more than the first time you ever stepped foot in a courtroom, even more than that time you had been chosen to speak at your cousin’s wedding. He is the only person you have ever lost a case to, he is the only person who has ever broken your win streak and your resolve, and he gloats about it.

You should be gloating about this, you should shove this right in his face the way he shoves everything into yours. Instead, you sigh, try to calm your frazzled nerves, and in a halfway defeated voice ask, “When’s the preliminary hearing?”

“Already had it – plead not-guilty, it’s going to trial and bail is set at a million dollars.” Kylo shocks you by answering, and you frown at him.

“You already had the preliminary hearing?” You suddenly feel very small, almost offended by that. Having the hearing meant he technically already had representation, especially if he already got a trial motion and a bail, which means he asked someone before he asked you.

“Well someone wasn’t answering her fucking phone!” Kylo can sense your mood shift at once, and he rushes to say it before you can even get your mouth opened fully to scoff,

“If you already have a goddamned lawyer then why are you wasting my time – ”

“Do you think I want your help?” Kylo snaps, once again sucking all the air out of your lungs as his face gets red, as his teeth bare once again, the vein in his neck thick and pulsing. “You think I want you to see me like this? You think I want you to have enough to gloat about for the rest of your life? No, so I’d appreciate it if you’d not be such a bitch about everything for once.”

“Why am I here, Kylo?” You whisper, wondering who is representing him. It’s probably his cousin, Rey, or maybe his business associate, Hux.

You want to fight him on it, but at the end of the day he would be right. You didn’t answer his calls.

Kylo looks away, a deep crimson blush blooming angrily across his face. It splotches over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, as he lets out a pent up breath in a deep sigh that has his shoulders sagging.

“Because you’re the only person I trust to do this right.” He says truthfully, even though he hates himself for it, “You’re the only person who can. This is the rest of my life that’s at stake, I need the best attorney I can get, and that’s you. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Kylo wasn’t one to give out declarations like this, compliments like that. You decide not to push the issue, not now anyway, when you’re both clearly in such a bad mood.

It’s hard seeing him like this, hard thinking of him as anything other than the pain in your ass that he was. He wasn’t just Kylo now, he was a client, a high profile client with a murder charge sitting heavy on his shoulders. And you’re the only one he trusts to help him.

“Did you post bail?” You ask, knowing he has that kind of money.

“I’m working on it, it should be in sometime today.” He replies with a nod, and you nod back.

Getting up from the chair in the table, you bite at your lip. Kylo does the gentlemanly thing and stands out of respect for you, before taking a few measured steps over to you. He looks around, makes sure there’s no cameras hidden in the space, makes sure there’s no one watching.

Very carefully, ever so slowly, he leans forward and closes his eyes, his nose gently rubbing against yours. You want to kiss him, but you know you can’t, not here, not while he’s in custody like this.

“When you’re out, and whenever you’re ready, give me a call.” You whisper, and he smiles one of those cheshire cat grins of his that show off all his crooked teeth.

“Will you answer this time?” His lips ghost over yours, just barely, just a hint.

“I’ll answer.” You pull away, leaving him huffing and puffing and frustrated.

Good, you think. Let him be frustrated, if there was one thing you were certain of, it was that this case was going to age you nearly a decade from the looks of it – and you didn’t even know anything yet. Just knowing it was Kylo that the world is up against is enough.

You gather your things and brush past him to the door, knowing you’ll be seeing him again very soon, possibly even that evening, depending on how quickly the process his bail. Maybe you’d put in a good word with the office for him, get him a little higher on the priority list.

Giving the door a gentle knock to let the guard know you’re finished, the two of you wait as the locks shift and turn.

“And for the record,” You say, when the door swings open and they begin to usher Kylo back to his holding cell, you look him dead in the eye and swallow your pride to tell him, “I would’ve taken your case no matter what.”

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Neisha is waiting for you with a fresh cup of coffee in one of those disposable paper cups, and even though it tastes like shit, it’s still a calming balm on your nerves. You thank her for it and the two of you sign out through visitation, walking the way you had come to go back to the car.

“Who was it?” She can’t help but ask, curiosity in her voice.

“Who do you think?” You groan, downing another gulp of the watery caffeine, “Our favorite asshole.”

Neisha stops in her tracks at that, surprise written all over her face. Part of you wonders how she hadn’t recognized his voice over the phone, but then again, maybe you were the only one who cared enough about the deep baritone of his to notice it.

“No way!” Still, she’s shocked, and that shock turns to confusion almost at once, “He wound up in Rikers over a DUI?”

You sigh, and shake your head, chugging the rest of your coffee. You used to down two pots of the stuff a day in law school, and now nothing ever seemed strong enough. Even chain coffee didn’t hit right anymore, everywhere either burned their beans or under brewed, it was a mess. A million coffee shops in Manhattan and the only good cup of joe was the kind Kylo made for you. The bastard.

“If only it were that simple.” You chew on your lip, the two of you finally approaching the company car that’s been waiting for you the whole time. “Do you want to stop anywhere on the way back to work? Part of me is dreading facing Holdo.”

“She’s called you three times.” Neisha winces, holding out your phone for you to take. You had to leave it behind before going back to see your client, and so of course you left it with her.

“Voicemail?” You almost are too afraid to ask, but you bite the bullet anyway.

“One.” She confirms, and you groan.

“Great.”

“Are you going to listen to it?” Neisha raises a brow while she watches you slip the phone into your purse, decidedly choosing to ignore it in favor of finding a better cup of coffee somewhere.

“No.” You chuckle, explaining, “We’ll be back soon enough, if she’s going to bitch at me, I want it to be in person where I can bitch back.”

“Maybe we can pick up lunch for everyone.” She suggests cheerfully, “No one can be too mad when you’re bringing them food.”

At just that moment, your stomach growls, and you cast a glance up to the sky wondering how you ever got so lucky to have a mind-reader as an assistant. She only smiles at you, and you smile back, letting her know, “I love the way you think.”

In the end, you decide to skip out on the rest of the day of work entirely. By the time you and your assistant had ordered and picked up food for the office, it was almost three o’clock, and you knew that there was no point in trying to get anything done when you had already been scheduled to leave at five. Mondays were a waste of time as it were, you decided you’d just go in early and stay late tomorrow to make up for the time.

Giving your assistant the rest of the day off too, you retreated back to your apartment and tugged your clothing off. You had a strict rule about keeping outside clothes away from your bedroom, and it was a relief to change into something less professional and far more comfortable. Not quite pajamas, because it was early enough in the day still and you weren’t completely giving up on the evening just yet, but still comfortable.

You wondered what Kylo would change into when he got home, wondered if he’d take a long hot shower, or a deep soak in the tub to scrub prison off of him. He hadn’t been there long, but it didn’t take long to shake a man up, even a man as tough as Kylo. Guilt ate at you inside, if only you hadn’t been so stubborn, and adamant in your misery to ignore the world…maybe you could’ve sweet talked the judge into letting him stay on house arrest or something.

If you hadn’t been so stubborn, maybe Kylo never would have gotten himself drunk and angry, driving around town and getting himself arrested. Not that you could really blame yourself for that, you were perfectly in your rights to be pissed off with him for winning against you. And if he was framed like he says he was, then they would have had a warrant for him anyway.

But still, it eats at you.

You groan, smacking a hand to your forehead – the DUI isn’t going to look good to a jury, not at all. Especially if the police think the murder happened that day, that was going to cause him trouble, and by extension, you. He needed to have a rock solid alibi, and as much as you hated it, if he was so plastered as to get pulled over, he might not remember where he was or what he was doing. That was going to give him trouble too.

Speak of the Devil, you can’t help but think, as your phone rings. You pick it up right on the second buzz, recognizing the caller ID and smiling to yourself about it.

“Kylo?” You say stupidly, because you know who it is. You just like to make sure, want to know that it’s him.

“Hey sweetheart, go outside.” He answers, and you frown, your heart-rate spiking.

“You have a key, let yourself in.” You scoot over on the couch enough to peek out through the living room window, looking down the ten stories to see his shiny black car indeed parked on the curb, flashers on.

“No, it’s just my car, we’re going out to dinner.” Kylo chuckles, and you frown.

“Right now?” It was barely half past four o’clock, it wasn’t even time for the early bird dinner specials yet at most of the diners around the block.

“Right now, put on something nice.” He instructs, before hanging up.

You blink in surprise for a few seconds, before springing into action. Curse that insufferable man! If only he could think far enough in advance to warn a woman before sending the car, you bounce the thought around in your head. You quickly brush your teeth while you step out of your sweatpants, tug the t-shirt over your head.

Wondering what the world record is for getting dressed for a surprise dinner date, you throw on something elegant, really dressing to the nines. Not having much time to do anything with your hair, you put it up in a style that you hope looks purposefully messy as opposed to just sloppy, and you clasp on subtle yet expensive jewelry.

You almost wish you had timed yourself as you spray a few squirts of perfume, slip on some heels and dash out the door, grateful for the fact that you live in an upscale enough apartment that you don’t have to worry about getting your shoes caught in the grates of a stairwell, taking the shiny polished elevator for a ride.

Kylo’s driver is waiting for you next to the car, and when he sees you, he straightens up his posture, squares his slim shoulders. The kid wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty, but he was nice, and you knew he was family, and it was always a pleasure to see him.

“Hi Dopheld, it’s been a while.” You smile at him as he opens the back door for you, giving you a hand to balance yourself as you securely settle in.

“Hey (Y/N), how have you been?” Dopheld is soft spoken and kind, a very gentle soul. How he manages to deal with Kylo’s road rage, you’ll never know, but you’re glad that it’s him picking you up and not his boss.

“Better than you I bet.” You chuckle as he closes the door and rounds the car. When he’s back in his driver’s spot and pulls out onto the road, curiosity gets the better of you so you ask, “Where are we going?”

“Del Frisco’s, you know Kylo.” Dopheld’s eye meets yours in the rearview mirror, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“That man and his steak, oy.” You mutter to yourself with a roll of your eyes, admiring your reflection in the glass of the window.

“Well you can’t blame him, he’s been eating prison food for the past four days.” Dopheld shudders at the mere thought of it, and you sigh.

“He really was in there all weekend, huh?” You feel that guilt again, it rises like acid up into your throat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know, it was all over the news.” Dopheld’s eyebrows raise, and you sigh.

“I uh,” You clear your throat, trying to find some way to not tell this kid that you threw something of a temper tantrum over losing your case, “I didn’t really pay much attention to anything these past few days.”

Somehow, even though you didn’t say it, Dopheld seems to know anyway.

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Del Frisco’s is a real swanky place just shy of Times Square, and undoubtedly one of Kylo’s favorite places to eat. He’s got a host of restaurants he likes, but there’s something about a well-cooked steak that can’t be beat, he’s told you this too many times. Just about every time he’s had a steak at Del Frisco’s, anyway. It’s a three story tall building, and a dress code, and if there was one thing Kylo loved more than steak, it was an excuse to put on his expensive suits, his nice shoes.

He hasn’t said so, but you have a sneaking suspicion he likes an excuse to see you all dolled up too, which is just what you are, as you step out of his car at five o’clock on that Monday in January, bundled up in a coat that you can’t wait to dramatically remove in front of him.

“I’m meeting a Mr. Ren.” You say quietly to the host, who recognizes both you and the name you give her at once.

“Right this way.” She invites you further into the restaurant, up a flight of stairs to a secluded corner of the floor that overlooks the main level.

Kylo stands when he sees you, looks utterly mesmerized by you. Good, you can’t help but feel pleased, you like the attention, like the way he gives it to you. He’s pulled out all the stops himself as it would seem; a custom tailored Gucci suit in rich brown, with deep green and burgundy stripes running down the length of it that makes him look impossibly taller than he is.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if all your teasing about his solid black suits day in and day out finally got through to him. He wears a beige turtleneck underneath for warmth, and his hair is smartly styled. You want to run your fingers through it, want to muss him up for all the trouble he puts you through.

“I like you better like this.” You say teasingly, playfully, “Orange isn’t your color.”

“I like you better like this too,” Kylo chuckles back, carefully slipping your fur coat off your shoulders, revealing the dress that hugs your body and shows off all the assets you’re proud of, “When you aren’t smacking me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” You smile, taking a seat opposite him at the small circular table.

“Thank you for coming.” Kylo says, and you roll your eyes.

“You didn’t give me much choice, did you?” You point out, he gave you no notice at all, no option to opt out, not that you would have.

Sitting across from you, you can feel the way his shiny polished dress shoe nudges up against your heel, a purposeful invitation that you pretend to ignore just to rile him up. You like getting him annoyed, just as much as he likes annoying you.

“No, but you do always have one.” Kylo pours you a glass of something bubbly, and hands it to you with a soft, “You look lovely.”

“I already agreed to take your case, Kylo, you don’t have to lay it on thick.” You shake your head, accepting the glass. He was so charming, too charming for his own good. This was how he wound up in situations like being charged for murder, that charm of his.

“Maybe I want to.” Kylo shrugs, “Maybe I missed complimenting you.”

“Go ahead then.” You lean back against the chair for a moment, your arms crossing over your chest, an eyebrow raised.

“I love when you wear this dress, your body is dynamite in it.” He settles on, “Makes my mouth water.”

“Are you sure that’s not just the steak talking?” You take a sip of the drink, and he groans in the back of his throat, ripping a piece of fresh bread off the loaf and dipping it into a small plate of oil.

“Remind me never to go to jail again.” He mutters, “Imagine spending the rest of your life there.”

“No thanks to you, too many of my clients don’t have to imagine, now do they?” That strikes a nerve in you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the way the last case really went down, the implications for that poor man, probably in Rikers himself for a crime he didn’t commit.

“Hey – ” Like lightning, Kylo reaches out and grabs your wrist, preventing you from getting up and leaving, afraid of you bolting away, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” You blink, stunned.

“I’m sorry, I mean it.” He rushes to say, “I’m sorry. But you have to know that I’m only doing my job, when I do that. Same way that you do yours when you let guilty men walk free.”

It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to you…about anything. You’ve known him for years and years, and this is the first time he’s ever uttered those words. Jail must have really fucked with him, if he’s apologizing to you.

“I know, but it still sucks.” You eventually say, not moving your hand at all.

“Stay with me? Have dinner, I already ordered.” Kylo licks his lips, eyes dark, glittering.

“Most women don’t like you assuming their order.” You find it important to mention.

“You’re not most women.” He counters, and well, you can’t deny him that.

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Hours later he’s stumbling with you through the hallway of his apartment, kicking his shoes off and unclasping your gown desperately, kissing you deeply, his nose bumping against yours as he hungrily sucks on your tongue, hands groping at you. You lead him to the bedroom, your eyes closed, going off intuition alone.

It’s dark in the apartment, the lux lavish thing, rent probably four times what you pay for your already expensive place. No, knowing Kylo he owns the fucking penthouse, that’s just like him, isn’t it. You smack into a wall accidentally, and he laughs, and you laugh too, before you’re both moaning, trying with all your might to get into his bed.

“I’m not doing any of the fucking work tonight.” You gasp and moan against his mouth as he shoves you down onto the mattress, wrenches your legs open with his warm broad palms.

There’s a fireplace in his bedroom that he turns on with the press of a button, filling the room with an ethereal quality that bathes you both in an orange glow.

“When do you ever do any of the work?” Kylo grunts against your throat as he kisses down down down the length of your body, his hands kneading in the flesh of your thighs. You’re too desperate to come to snap back at the remark, so you let it slide, especially as he begins to shove two fingers into your cunt, thick and hot, “Let me take care of you, just take it, I know you can take it sweetheart.”

You squirm under the intrusion, too tight. Trying to relax for him, you breathe deeply, your voice shaky shuddery on the exhale. Already your toes are curling as you let your head fall back against his pillow, your back arching as he stretches you open, determined and focused to bring you pleasure, to get you ready for him.

Kylo sucks on your hip, at the spot where your thigh joins it, that crease there that he loves to run his tongue over over over, his thumb rubbing rough circles on your swollen clit. He pulls back enough to spit on it, right on your pussy, not that you need any help, you’re practically dripping for him.

“Kylo, fuck, forget it just give me your cock.” You grow impatient, shifting your hips around, nudging the side of his jaw with your knee when he leans up to look at you.

“You sure?” He’s transfixed with the sight of his own fingers disappearing into your folds, but he’s already pulling out, his cock hard and heavy, aching and throbbing for the hot wet tightness of your cunt.

“Yes I’m sure, just fuck me, fuck me hard?” You pat at his shoulder, and he nods, scrambles up your body and covers you like a blanket, warm and wide and strong. If he weren’t such a fucking asshole, you think you might like him.

But that’s not what this was, this was something you both agreed on a long time ago – a no strings attached arrangement, fucking out frustration and pent up aggression that otherwise was exploding all over the courtroom. This wasn’t anything more than an excuse to relieve some tension, since you two were the only people in your caliber, the only two you could trust to do it right and not mess anything up.

“I fuckin’ missed this pussy, missed the way she stretches for me, god you look so good getting stuffed full.” Kylo moans as he presses the head of his cock through your folds, chasing the heat.

Your pussy sucks him in, swallows him down as it clenches around him, your body thrumming with pleasure as he bottoms out in one swift thrust. You egg him on, throw your arms around his neck and pull him down close close close, your mouth open for him to kiss.

“Oh!” You gasp when he starts to thrust in earnest, grabbing the headboard for leverage as he rails you hard, “Yes, right there! Come on give me more!”

His dick drags against your gspot perfectly, and your legs lift to wrap around his waist, holding on to him tightly, your hands scratching up his shoulders. He is relentless, dangerous, dark with his desire as he makes your mind white out, makes your vision go spotty as he shakes shakes shakes the bed, the frame creaking and groaning under your sweaty bodies.

“Greedy whore, that’s what you are isn’t it? My greedy girl. I bet you missed my cock, didn’t you?” Kylo grunts, grabs a hold of your jaw with one of his hands and sticks his fingers in your mouth, leans down to kiss your cheek. He bites at it, bites at your face like an animal and you lose yourself in the pleasure of being so consumed.

“No,” You lie, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing you got yourself off angrily to the thought of him, not wanting his ego to get any fucking bigger than it already did.

Kylo doesn’t buy it for one second, he licks up your cheek, licks away the sweat that drips down your temple, suckles it off of the dip in your throat, the space between your tits. He bites and sucks at your breasts as he fucks you hard, as he pushes you up up up the mattress, until you have to throw your hands against the headboard and push back down so you don’t smack your head.

“Bet you thought about it every fucking day like I thought about your tight cunt, damn you’re wet.” Kylo groans, his voice muffled as he buries his face between your cleavage, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside your pussy, the pleasure making your shoulders pinch in, your knees and thighs shake, body starting to convulse.

“I did not!” You lie lie lie, “Believe it or not but you don’t consume my every waking fucking thought, you know.”

“Don’t I?” Kylo pushes, drops a hand back down to your clit and brings you to the edge, painfully hot white sparks dancing through your nerves.

“No!”

“No?” His voice is dangerously sweet, charming, handsome. You hate him, fuck he’s so handsome.

“Fuck you – yes, okay! Yes!” You glare at him with a deep frown, frowning while he grins with all of his teeth, until your eyes are rolling back into your head and your toes curl and your body snaps up with tension as you come and come and come, “Oh yes, Kylo, yes right there, right there…!”

You let out a strangled shout of his name as your orgasm hits full force, and Kylo grins like the cat that got the cream as he comes inside you, collapsing down onto your chest. He’s too heavy though, and he knows that, he knows because you tell him all the time, so he rolls over to a spot that isn’t sticky, pulls you with him so you’re both resting on your sides.

Kylo doesn’t dare pull out, and if he gets his way, he won’t until morning. You’re too tired, too well fucked to challenge him about it, even though you know you really should go to the bathroom, at the very least.

You’re both breathing hard, heartbeats pounding together, until eventually, somehow, inevitably, your lungs and hearts sync up in a slow even rhythm, breathing in and out together in the quiet of the night. The fireplace flickers gently across from the bed, making shadows dance across Kylo’s face as he leans in to rub his nose against yours.

“Let me kiss you?” He whispers, a strange sort of vulnerability you don’t want to deny.

In the morning, you’ll grill him about everything that happened over the weekend, exactly what the charges against him are from, as much as he knows. In the morning, you’ll yell at him and hate yourself for taking on what is going to be probably one of the toughest cases of your career.

But for now, you shuffle as close to him as you possibly can and crane your head up to make up for the height difference from where your bodies are still joined, and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, until you both fall asleep.

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Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this story, please feel free to leave a comment or send an ask! :)

Glancing at the clock on your phone, you chew your lip for a moment or two, before finally turning off the do not disturb function, immediately going into the bathroom to shower and ready yourself for the day while damn near a hundred backlogged notifications make your phone buzz nearly onto the floor.

There’s a small mirror in the shower, a little compact to make sure there’s nothing left on your face after you scrub your skin clean, and you catch your own reflection in it. You’ve looked better, that was for damn sure – but by that same token, you’ve also looked worse. Mondays were shit, but today was gearing up to be an even worse one than normal.

No, you think as you shake your head adamantly, you have no desire to let him soak up any more of your good mood than he had already. So what if you had forgone your entire weekend, canceling plans and ignoring friends to nurse the sting to your pride that was losing? So what if instead of checking your email or your phone, you sat yourself on the couch and wasted two entire days doing nothing but watching shitty shows on Netflix?

What you did on your downtime was nobodies’ business, and since you live alone in your beautiful one-bedroom in SoHo, no one was there to spill your secrets. If anyone asked – not that anyone would, if they knew what was good for them – you would tell them that you absolutely did not spend the weekend wanting to throw darts onto a photo of his face. That wouldn’t be very professional, now would it?

Shutting off the water, you wrap yourself up in a big plush towel, and pad across the floor to your closet. Briefly, ever so briefly, you glance at your phone on your way, holding your breath, wondering, hoping that there might be something from him.

If there is, it’s buried under a pile of emails and text-threads from your firm, so he’ll have to wait.

Manhattan in January was chilly, so you bundle yourself up in your chicest coat overtop your most well-fitting skirt suit and a pair of heeled boots. Even if you felt like shit, you could look like million fuckin’ bucks, and no one would be the wiser.

And what a wonder the power of confidence was! Through the streets and down to the subway, you smiled at everyone, and they all smiled back. You offered your seat on the train to an elderly man who clearly needed it more than you, and he complimented your gloves. Everyone from the NYPD officer drinking his coffee to the mom scolding her three children brightened as you wished them a good morning, and somehow, along the way to work, your Monday blues disappears into something a little brighter.

                                         ----------------------------

Your good mood only continues to grow as you exit the elevator of the huge high-rise that you call your home away from home, your office on the twenty-third floor right in the heart of the Upper West Side. Sandwiched between the Hudson and Central Park, you have to admit that getting your ass out of bed was worth it, even if just for this view.

“Morning (Y/N).” The front desk security guard greets you, and you say hello back to him with a performative show of your badge.

HKS Law, so named after the founders and current partners Amilyn Holdo, Ben Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker, is a shining pinnacle of what defense attorneys and opposing counsel at trials should be. Not only had the firm made history time and time again with incredible wins and even more incredible ultimate losses, but it prided itself on being representation for the people no one else could represent.

Most of all, it had you.

If your alarm was a constant, than this was a universal truth: you are a damn good defense attorney. As you walk through the crisp and clean polished floors, you hold your head high, knowing that this loss against him still put you at the lowest loss rate of anyone in the history of HKS, lower than even the founders themselves.

That little reminder has you grinning to yourself. You’d been working with HKS for nearly six years now, and very quickly you saw your office climbing higher and higher up the skyscraper, saw it getting bigger and bigger. And now, you were nearly positive, that your meeting at eleven o’clock would be to discuss partnership with the firm as a reward for your continued hard work.

“Hey (Y/N)!” One of the associates, Rose Tico smiles at you from where she’s chatting with her sister Paige by their desks.  

“Someone looks like they had a nice weekend.” Paige remarks, and you only wink at them, playing the game.

A game, which becomes instantly easier as your assistant, a bright-eyed intern fresh out of law school appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“(Y/N), good morning!” She is already offering you a cup of something nice and hot, her arm cradling a stack of manilla folders that have all sorts of sticky-note flags on them, that she shifts onto her hip ever so slightly to brush a few loose braids out of her face, speaking at what feels like a million miles a second, “I have your coffee ready and there’s a fresh breakfast buffet in the break room if you’d like, I can get you something – ”

“Good morning Neisha.” You accept the coffee gratefully, but interrupting her only to give her a chance to catch her breath. You check your watch, it’s only half-past seven, she’ll wear herself out if she exerts that much energy first thing. “A bagel with the usual would be perfect, thank you.”

“No problem – oh, Rick wanted you to look over those case files before your eleven-o’clock.” She breathes a sigh of relief, and gives you a smile.

Groaning, you accept the manilla folders too, balancing the coffee cup on top of them as Iman follows you into your own private office. Your assistant stands in front of your desk at the ready, looking sharp and put together, as ever.

One thing that you loved about Neisha – aside from the dozens of things that you admired and appreciated about her – was that you have never ever seen her in something other than a pantsuit. She did not wear dresses or skirts, she was almost never in heels, and she did not carry a purse. Instead, Neisha could almost always be found in a very smart trouser and blazer set, often complete with vests, and fun-colored socks in her loafers to coordinate with her ever-expanding collection of ties.

“Rick can go fuck himself.” You mutter under your breath, and she laughs.

“Should I tell him you said that?” With a playful glimmer in her eye, she crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“Yes.” You wink, before checking your watch once again and reminding her about that, “Bagel?”

“Bagel – right, on it.” Neisha snaps her fingers and leaves, closing the office door behind her.

 You like your office, even if you’ve outgrown it. Much like the rest of the firm, it has stayed up to date with the contemporary interior design of the day. However where the open floor of the firm is mostly whites and silvers and glass, your office feels warmer with shades of coffee browns and creamy neutrals. 

Remembering how you had been so excited for the promotion to your own office, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself now – it really was a small office. It consisted of a long dark brown desk situated in front of a wall-unit bookshelf/display area, and a seating arrangement of matching brown chairs situated around a free-edge wooden coffee-table. A soft rug covers the marble flooring, and cream gauzy curtains cover the windows, but that was about it.

You had been to the offices of the higher ups, you knew just what you could achieve if you made partner – even if you made junior partner.

And if all went well during this meeting at eleven, you knew you’d be moving into one of those offices soon.

For the first time all weekend, you sit down in the big leather chair behind your desk and finally check your phone. The case files remain on your desk, and you know you’ll get to them eventually, but until you’ve had some breakfast and that coffee can work its magic, no one could blame you for scrolling through the shit that you had put off since Friday.

It’s mostly work friends taking your side, which you appreciate. They knew losing a case was hard for you – you didn’t do it very often. And even though you never lost to anyone besides him, it still never got easier.

The case had been a simple one, or at least, you had thought so. Murders are so often simple, either the person did it, or they didn’t. If they did, there’s evidence, and if they didn’t, well, there’s evidence too. And when two parties come forward with their own evidence, compelling, strong fucking evidence – evidence of alibis and proof that your client couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have done it – it’s up to the jury to decide who to believe.

In this case, this jury decided to believe him, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was losses like this, losses like the knowledge than an innocent man was going to prison, that make you seriously question the legal system as a whole, frankly.

It’s then that you see it, and your hand freezes.

You have a missed message from him.

He’s saved in your contacts as the dick from VTH, and even though that could refer to any number of people, you know that it’s him. You have five missed messages from him, as a matter of fact, which sends both a rush of adrenaline through you, as well as a spike of anxiety.

The two of you…you’d never been friends, not really. In fact, the closest thing to a relationship that you might have is that of a rivalry, if not flat out enemies. You hated him, and he hated you, and he had hated you ever since the first day he set eyes on you, from the very first moment you walked into the courtroom as a last-minute addition to the defense counsel, and won the case in fifteen minutes.

Which was a shame, because you often find yourself thinking that if he weren’t such a…well, a dick, there could have been something there. Instead of a friendship, or even a civil acquaintanceship, you have over the years developed something of a hate-fucking-enemies-with-benefits arrangement. He was probably pissed that you ignored him all weekend, but that was okay – let him be pissed, you were pissed too.

You don’t open his messages, not yet. You’d need coffee in you and food in your stomach before you’re able to handle whatever mood he has to be in, now that you’ve got the energy to deal with him.

You’re so deep in thought that you nearly miss when Neisha returns with a plate for you, a big spread arranged on your desk for you to enjoy. You’re about to thank her and let her get on with whatever work she has to do, but she holds out a newsletter with a devious smile and curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you seen?” She asks, and you raise a brow, a smile of your own creeping across your face.

The newsletter was something that circulated through the different firms in the area, keeping everyone up to date – or at least as up to date as legally possible – on the goings on in the sphere of influence that you all found yourselves in. Everything from congratulatory memos to case results, and even high profile celebrity gossip was fair game, but one of the more scandalous parts of the newsletter, was the publication of trouble that various lawyers found themselves in.

The Monday morning newsletter had quite a bit of this from over the weekend, and right there on page sixteen, is none other than his face looking as irritated as he possibly can, as he’s being given a hard time for a DUI on Friday night.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Whatever he wants, evidently.” Neisha shrugs, no doubt thinking the news would cheer you up in some sort of vengeful way that you appreciate. She reaches for a pumpernickel crisp from the spread on your desk and muses, “I bet the cops are thrilled, they hate that sonofabitch.”

“Yeah them and me both.” You mutter, already rubbing away a headache that’s starting to form across the expanse of your forehead. “He’s not going to be pleased about that photo, he looks rumpled.”

Sighing, you look down at the photo. He’s very clearly intoxicated, you’ve seen that look in his eyes more than once, the blurry out of focused glassy look that he gives you over smiles at dinner sometimes. You blink away the image of him in a nice suit on the other end of a table, reminding yourself that you’re angry with him.

“Doesn’t he have a driver? I wonder why he got behind the wheel himself.” Neisha continues, and bless her you think, for continually giving you a means to not be left alone with your thoughts.

“If there’s one thing I know about that man, it’s that when he sets him mind to something, no one is going to stop him from doing it.” You reply, not able to ignore a bit of gut-wrenching regret.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mad at him, you could’ve gone with him to wherever he was coming back from, and maybe you could’ve --

“Should I have this framed?” Neisha asks, and you blink again.

You check your watch, it’s only a quarter ‘til eight. Have you really only been at work for fifteen minutes? That stack of folders sits on the edge of your desk, taunting you. You’re gearing up for an extra long day.

“No, that’s okay.” You shake your head, opening the bottom drawer of your desk and dropping the newsletter into it. “I will keep a hold onto it though. Just for fun.”

With a laugh, Neisha leaves and once again closes your office door.

“God dammit.” You grumble, pulling your phone out yet again.

The unread messages from him sit buried beneath thirty other messages that don’t warrant responses, and you hover your thumb over his name.

After all these years, something about getting a text from him made your heart jump. It felt stupid, you weren’t some teenager with a crush in high school, you were an adult, and this was just another adult, who you happened to have developed some sort of attachment to. Not a friendship, or a relationship even, but some kind of attachment.

Right now, you wanted to bitch at him for getting himself into trouble, for driving while he was so very clearly drunk, a whole argument prepared about how he could have seriously hurt or even killed someone, how even though he’s a rich asshole he can’t afford to be so reckless.

But first, in order to bitch at him, you have to read what he’s sent you over the weekend, and that’s where you keep tripping up. You don’t know why, but when you do finally open up his texts, you find that you’re holding your breath until you read them.

You try to ignore the way the thread starts out, try to ignore how if anyone were to squint, they might think something was going on between you two.

 Incoming: [1/8 6:03am] just picking up croissants from that place u like. jam?

[1/8 6:10am] Yeah, raspberry if they have

Incoming: [1/8 6:11am] on it, go back 2 bed.

 That had been just over a week ago, and you remember the day well, how you exchanged smiles over bites of fresh and flaky pastry, how you had dipped the croissants into hot chocolate in his bed, not giving a fuck about the crumbs that weren’t your problem because they weren’t your sheets.

How that was the last time you had seen him, before the conclusion of the case.

Now, now that you’d lost, the tone of the thread has very clearly shifted to something much colder. One thing you’re surprised to see though, is that they’re all from around Friday night, which was unusual.

 Incoming: [1/15 7:43pm] going out 2 celebrate tonight, join me

Incoming: [1/15 8:57pm] u can’t ignore me forever u know

Incoming: [1/16 12:02am] i’m glad u didn’t come, ud fucking hate it here. theyre playing music 2 loud

Incoming: [1/16 12:15am] r u seriously still mad?

Incoming: [1/16 1:09am] Fuck you.

 Rolling your eyes, you rub away more of that headache that starts to form. It was weird that he didn’t text you at all for the whole day of Saturday, or Sunday for that matter. If you didn’t spend the weekend together, he was very content to simply blow your phone up with links to random bullshit or long text conversations in broken grammar because his thumbs were too big for the buttons.

So for there to be radio silence after one o’clock in the morning was strange.

“For fucks sake.” You find yourself texting him back without even thinking about it, your fingers moving over the keyboard easily and quickly, sending off a slightly antagonizing reply after two days of nothing;

 [1/18 7:55am] Looks like you had quite the night on Friday.

 There, you think. That should get a response out of him. No doubt he would be quick to complain about how he had been pulled over and the whole nine yards. You wait for it to come through, the text. Or more accurately, the string of impassioned paragraphs that he tends to send you.

But a minute go by, and there’s nothing.

Five minutes, and nothing still.

You know you have to work, you have shit to do, you have that big meeting in a couple hours that you have to mentally prepare for, there’s no time to be worrying about him not texting you back. Still, you don’t like the silence. Sure that makes you a hypocrite, but he deserved your cold shoulder for beating you in court. At least, that’s how you justify it for yourself.

Getting up from your desk, you hover in the doorframe, where your assistant’s desk sits just outside to act as a buffer for anyone wanting to bother you.

“Hey Neisha?” You ask quietly, getting her attention, “I haven’t missed any calls, have I?”

A crease of confusion dips between her brows as she frowns, and immediately she checks the call logs on the conference phone that sits on her desk next to the big computer that takes up most of her space.

“No not that I can think of, are you expecting someone – ?”

Just as she’s asking, the phone rings. You lean over and see the number is one you don’t recognize, and you frown too.

“Better get that.” Neisha says awkwardly, so you just nod and retreat back into your own office from where you came.

It’s been seven minutes now, and there’s still nothing from him.

“Fine, fuck you too.” You mutter at the phone, locking it and putting it in the shallow drawer of your desk so you can focus on the folders in front of you finally.

 The stack is pretty normal, all the weekend material finally coming in now that it’s the start of a new week. There’s new case files to look through to decide if you’re doing to accept the client, supplementary material from old case files that you’ve asked for to review, notes and evidence belonging to associates’ cases that you said you’d give your opinion on – all mixed into one big pile.

You liked it though, liked staying busy. It was a good distraction from a loss, the ability to win, the ability to prove to yourself and to the world that you’re good at what you do. There are all sorts of awards and pieces of paper displayed on the walls of your office that show that you’re good, but still, there’s nothing like a strong win after a frustrating loss.

But you’re not even halfway through reading the first folder, when Neisha knocks on your door and opens it slowly, a look of preemptive apology on her face.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need to cancel your eleven o’clock.” She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in trying to argue with her.

You let the folder fall down onto the desk, and brace yourself for whatever bombshell she’s about to drop on you, what could possibly be so important for you to have to reschedule one of the biggest meetings of your career. They would understand, you’re sure.

You hope, anyway.

“Who is it?” Your tone is already filled with dread, but a resigned kind of dread, knowing that whatever it must be, it has to be big, and you’re the only one in this entire fucking firm who can handle big things like this – it was the reason they wanted you for partner in the first place.

But Neisha hesitates with this response, scratches the back of her neck in a way that makes you instantly curious.

“I…I was instructed not to say, just that you’ve been requested to meet with them regarding representation.” She tells you, and now your headache pounds even harder.

Clients didn’t withhold their identity from you; some used an alias of course, but you can’t say that so far in your career you’ve had a completely anonymous client. Whoever this person was, had to either be royalty, or something very very close.

And though that meant there was going to be a nightmare of a trial – because these high profile people almost never got to simple settle, not when the prosecutor wants to make a show of prosecuting them – you can’t help but think that would be a pretty good notch in your beltloop, as it were.

“Alright, where are they?” You’re already up and away from your desk, shuffling the case files into a locked cabinet.

“Rikers.” She says straight away, and you let out a groan.

“Of course they are.”

You had almost hoped that whoever this mystery client was, they had posted bail and could meet at a nice neutral location. You didn’t have anything against Rikers personally, but rather the entire prison industrial complex as a whole, and as far as New York prisons went, there were few more infamous for being unnecessarily brutal than Rikers Island.

“I can call them back and tell them you’re busy…but they sounded adamant about wanting you in particular.” Neisha nudges gently, and really there’s no need to butter you up, you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you why?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Correct.” She replies with a sheepish shrug.

You look at her, at your watch, at your phone screen which shows no new notifications from the last time that you checked it, and you square your shoulders.  

“Alright, reschedule the eleven o’clock, and let’s get out of here before Holdo freaks the fuck out on me for that.” You say, grabbing your coffee and a few more of the pastries to take in the car with you for the drive.

                                           ----------------------------

Most times, you have no problem taking the subway wherever you need to get, but visiting Rikers wasn’t as easy as hopping off the train and walking a couple blocks. For times like these, you and Neisha take one of the company cars, a sleek and shiny black thing with dark tinted windows. Cars really aren’t practical in the city, which is why you don’t have one of your own, but it was nice to be driven around from time to time in the peace and quiet of a car like this.

Normally, visitors are not allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays, but you’re not a normal person, and you’re not here for a normal visit, so once you pass through the security gate, the K-9 unit and the metal detector security tests with ease, you find it a pretty quiet lobby.

“Good afternoon Ms. (L/N), here on official duty?” One of the correctional officers that sits up by the front visitation desk beams at you.

“No, I just missed you Jake.” You reply, fishing out your identification for him even though he really doesn’t need it. Jake has worked there only a year or so, and every time you see him you can’t help but think he’s young, too young for this job, you think, too young to become desensitized to the humanity of incarcerated individuals. But that’s not a conversation that you’re here to have today, so instead you keep up the chitchat with, “How’s Lottie and the kids?”

“They’re good, who are you here for?” Jake asks as a matter of protocol, and you give Neisha a look, before looking back at him.

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know. I wasn’t informed for confidentiality reasons.” You try to explain, before leaning forward and mock-whispering to him, “Please tell me someone has me on the list and I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”

Jake laughs, a sound that feels out of place in a place like this, and pulls something up on his computer. You can’t really see it, the list, and that’s okay. Whoever this mysterious person is, you’ll find out within just a few minutes.

“You know the drill, they’re waiting for you in the back.” Jake waves you off, and you’re glad to go.

“Wait out here.” You tell Neisha, who clearly looks uncomfortable even being in the lobby, and with good reason. She doesn’t argue you on that, instead takes a seat on a bench near Jake’s table, and the two of them get to chatting while your boots click on the floors as you walk away.

There’s a couple different visitation areas in the jail, and the deeper into the building you go, the more that you’re glad that visitation isn’t allowed on Mondays. You don’t want the chance of running into someone that you had failed. Granted there had only been a handful of those instances, but the thought of any one of them being here is not outside the realm of possibility.

Through the sea of empty tables and chairs that are reserved for long term inmates who happen to have visitation privileges for good behavior, you find yourself moving deeper and deeper, until you’re at the door of another room, a closed off one more typical to that seen in movies and television shows.

Opening the door, you hang in the hallway to confirm that there’s no one else there, as there shouldn’t be. There’s eight stations, four on each side of the small room, with a phone and a pane of bulletproof glass. Right away, you have a feeling this is going to be a murder trial, if they’re not even letting you meet with the client out in the open, if they’re monitoring the phone conversation that you’re about to have.

You see a shuffle of movement out of the corner of your eye, and assume that that’s who you’re here to meet, so with your chin held high, you step into the room, and make your way to the visitation booth where a man in a bright orange jumpsuit is waiting on the other side of the glass.

Stopping as quickly as you’ve started, you stand frozen in the middle of the room, blinking away and desperately shoving aside a wave of feelings that have crashed over you at the familiar face behind the glass.

The dark hair, the deep eyes, that proud nose, those full lips, you take it all in with some strange sense of disbelief – surely this must be a dream? It has to be, even as you sit on the little stool and yank the phone off the wall, shoving it against your ear, not even knowing where to start as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man, this mystery client…

“Hey sweetheart.” He says, and you could smack him upside the head if only there weren’t this glass between you and Kylo Ren.

                                         ----------------------------

You’re stunned, and confused, to say the least. Blinking a little more rapidly, in the dark you see the shape of a figure in your bed, nestled against the pillow and tucked under the covers. Or well, he was tucked under the covers, until you threw them off, waking him up. He’s not happy about that, if the way he’s tugging you back down onto the mattress with a little too rough of a pull is anything to go by.

“What..?” You start, not really knowing what exactly you’re asking.

What are you doing here? is a good bet, but this early, it could really be any number of things. Kylo rarely slept over at your apartment after he fucked you hard, much preferring his own penthouse to that of your one-bedroom.

“Go back to bed.” His voice is thick, he’s not even awake himself, halfway between dreams of his own. You briefly wonder what he’s dreaming about, and then all you can think of it how strong this massive bear of a man must be, for him to have such a strong grip when he’s not even conscious.

“I can’t, I have work.” You try to get out of said grip, eyeing your clock.

Kylo doesn’t play nicely, but then again, when does he ever?

“Call out.” He manhandles you a little, waking up enough to get his other arm around you, pulling you closer closer closer to him, until you’re back in bed fully, your face tucked under his chin. His breath smells bad and you crinkle your nose at him when he mumbles, “Tell them you’re busy.”

“No, Kylo, I can’t – ” Protesting, you swat at his shoulder a little, but it doesn’t do anything other than make a dull thudding sound. He’s too solid, the bastard.

“Here I’ll do it for you.” Kylo reaches over for your phone on the nightstand, and is dialing before you can even threaten him about it. “Ms. Heart? (Y/N) won’t be coming in today. Something’s come up, she’ll be in tomorrow. Uh huh. Mhm. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

You’re positive that he’s not going to tell you whatever it was that Neisha told him, and you’re also positive that you’re pissed at him, illustrating that anger with a snappish, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Someone who just got you a day off.” Kylo replies tiredly, locking your phone and setting it back on the nightstand.

“I don’t want a day off, Kylo, I have – oh shit, the meeting!” You accidentally smack his face with yours as you sit upright in bed, the cold rush of realization crashing through you. At once, you’re groaning, your head falling into your hands.

“What meeting is more important than – ”

“My promotion, Kylo. That’s what’s more important.” You snap, “They’re never going to make me a junior partner if I keep blowing them off like this.”

Kylo’s quiet about that for a blissful three seconds, before he’s settling back down against your mattress, rubbing his hand over your bare arm to coax you back under the sheets. You hate him so fucking much, as you shove yourself against his chest, his arms automatically curling around you.

“You say it as though you make a habit of ignoring work, which we both know is the opposite of the truth. When’s the last time you actually called out of work?” Kylo mumbles into your hair, still somehow asleep, his eyes not having opened once this entire time.

“That’s not the point – ”

“When?” He urges, and you bite him sharply on the shoulder for being right.

“Six years ago.” You admit, even though you’re not happy about it.

“Exactly.” Kylo sounds entirely too pleased with himself for it not even being five in the morning, “Now, back to bed.”

It is absolutely not snuggling, the way that you press your body against his. He’s a space-heater and nothing more, that’s all. Even with the heat turned on in your apartment, Kylo radiates warmth and you’re comfortable under the covers with him, as the winter rolls on outside your windows.

But as comfortable as you are, your routine has your eyes open, and you start to get antsy just lying there.

“I’m too awake now, I’m hungry. What do you want for breakfast?” You nudge him with your palm, making him groan as if you’re the one who is insufferable here. You quickly amend your question with a disgruntled, “And don’t you dare say pussy, because that’s not happening.”

“What? Why not?” That wakes Kylo up, has him sitting up against your headboard with a scowl as he turns on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room with a gentle orange glow.

“Because you’re an asshole, that’s why.” You explain with a scoff, and Kylo only rolls his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. You want to kiss him, so instead you stretch and ask, “Why don’t you go make yourself useful and run to the deli?”

“I’ll have my assistant do it, what do you want?” He’s reaching for your phone again, and you don’t care enough to stop him this time.

“The usual. You want money?” You offer, but he only frowns at you with a shake of his head, as if the offer is insulting.

With a deep sigh, you throw the covers off your legs once again, your eyes trailing up and down Kylo’s naked body as the movement reveals him. He really is fucking sexy, you think. Too bad he’s the biggest pain in your ass to exist.

“I’m going to shower, are you coming?” You already know the answer, but Kylo likes to hear you ask anyway, so you do, and he does.

-------------------------

Your moans echo and bounce off the shower walls, as he presses your face against the warmed tile. His body covers yours, he’s touching you all over, his hands broad and wide and searing hot. Hotter even than the water that runs over your shoulders, soaking your hair, pooling into your mouth where your jaw is dropped open as he fucks you hard.

It took all of two seconds for him to get hard, and you weren’t in the mood to waste a perfectly good opportunity to come first thing. In the shower, it felt so secretive, so secluded, just the two of you in this little rectangle of space, curtains drawn, no one around to see the way your body begs for his.

He’s got you pressed against the tile so you have something to brace yourself on as he hikes your leg up and plows his cock into you. Soapy sudsy water slicked up your bodies and the two of you groan and gasp and moan moan moan as he fills you completely, his mouth latched to your throat, pressing his teeth into the muscle there.

“Goddamn – ow, shit – ” You wince when he thrusts a little too hard a little too fast, and he stills at once, kissing your shoulder and your throat, the spot behind your ear, your jaw and your cheek to soothe you.

“You okay?” His voice is deep, it sends a shiver down your spine despite the steam that fogs up the room, crystal clear above the noise of the water cascading around you.

“Yeah just, just a little sore from last night.” You admit with a sigh as he continues his pace for a few more thrusts, going slower, deeper. You squeak out a moan as he drops one of his hands to massage at your clit, your nipples rubbing against the tile wall as he grinds his cock into you.

“C’mon let me eat your cunt, I’ll make it feel better.” He licks across your jaw, broad thick strokes of his tongue, a preview for how he wants to lick into your pussy.

“Yes, okay yes – Kylo!” You moan with a nod, and you can feel his grin on your throat when he manhandles you carefully, making sure you don’t slip. He almost landed you in the fucking emergency room that way once, and you still haven’t let him live it down.

Kylo turns you around so that your back is against the wall, and he drops to his knees in front of you. Carefully, he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, your hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself as he nuzzles his face right between your thighs.

“Attagirl, I know I’m a lot to take but you do a damn good job, don’t you?” Kylo praises you with that deep rumbling baritone of his as he bites and kisses dark marks into the flesh of your inner thigh, and the way it travels up your body has you dizzy, has you breathing in deep lavender scented breaths from the shampoo he’s stolen off your shower caddy.

“You fuckin’ bet, I’m the only one who can.” You groan, fisting his hair and pushing him closer, until you can hear him chuckling at how eager you are for his nose to prod against your clit.

He doesn’t respond, only spreads your folds with his big thumbs and gets to work, making out with your pussy in a way that has you moaning from deep in your chest. Your eyes shut as his tongue wriggles and thrusts inside of you, teeth lightly scraping enough against your clit to make your body jolt from the barely-there friction.

You could do with a finger or two shoved up your cunt, and you’re about to ask him if he would, when you feel the steady rhythmic shaking of him jerking off. He grunts and groans into your pussy as he kisses and licks and sucks sucks sucks, drinks down all your slick in a way that has your eyes rolling back into your head, the hot puffing panting breaths he ghosts over your walls have your knees shaking. He laps you up like he’s desperate for it, and with the way he keeps bucking into his own fist, you know that he is.

You grind your hips against his mouth, the hand in his hair tight tight tight, holding him there, suffocating him almost. His nose is too big for that to really happen, but it’s right where you want it to be, and he moans and grunts as he breathes the heady scent of your arousal in, your body undulating above him until you’re coming down his throat.

“I’m gonna come.” He mumbles into your body as he sucks and slurps it down, a messy sloppy sound that makes your chest tighten with mild embarrassment. Kylo doesn’t seem to care about the noise, he’s so lost in his own pleasure as he speeds up his fist on his cock, the head leaking and dripping pre-come down his shaft only to be swept away by the water from the shower.

“Where?” You pant, “Want to come in me?”

“I – shit.” He spills over his fist at the very thought of it, and grunts out small groans in rapid succession as he milks it for what it’s worth, wringing out every drop that he can.

It’s almost bittersweet, you think, watching his load swirl around and around down the drain. But then you’re shaking your head, and you take back your leg, planting your foot firmly on the floor. Kylo is still on his knees, and he’s panting, his cock softening, his hair inky black as it covers his face.

Spent, he leans against your body, shoulders rising as he gulps down lungfuls of air. You push the hair away from his eyes, and in a moment of tenderness, he rests his head against your stomach, turning to press a chaste kiss to your belly-button.

“Maybe next time.” He finally musters up the strength to say, and you don’t let him see you smile as you reach for the conditioner and begin working it through his locks.

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Nearly an hour later, you and Kylo are drying yourselves off on the padded rug that covers the heated tiles of your bathroom floor. You tie the sash of a terry-cloth robe around your waist, and he secures a towel around his hips, and you almost want to say something about how he’s so annoying for taking your favorite towel, but you let the comment go.

Instead, you have an altogether different comment, when you exit the bathroom and smell the familiar savory scent of your deli order wafting in from the dining room. It only takes a moment to recognize that Dopheld must have picked up the order that Kylo placed, and brought it to you before leaving, making you scowl and ask, “Since when does your assistant have a key to my apartment?”

“I made a copy when you gave me one, figured you wouldn’t mind.” He’s quick to reply, which has you sighing in exasperation.

“Maybe I do mind.”

“Do you?”

The two of you stare are one another, and when Kylo raises his eyebrow, he knows he’s won.

“No.” You admit, more annoyed on behalf of the principle of the thing than the thing itself, but, “I’m too hungry to really care.”

And you don’t really care, you’re just slightly embarrassed again at the idea that Dopheld heard you calling out Kylo’s name, in the brief moments that he was in the apartment. You knew your walls weren’t that thick.

“Want breakfast in bed?” Kylo doesn’t seem to be phased at all by the idea that you’ve been overheard, so much like the towel, you let that go too. There were too many battles to pick with Kylo, the key didn’t need to be one of them.

“No we are going to sit at the table like civilized people so that someone doesn’t get crumbs in my sheets like a messy college boy.” What you won’t compromise on though, was sitting at the dining table, shooting him a dirty look.

“I resent that.” He jabs a finger in your direction, the intensity of the gesture undercut by the towel that is barely hanging onto his wide hips.

“Good.” You snort out a chuckle, before he chases you into the dining room where your breakfast awaits.

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Sitting in your robe and towel, you and Kylo dig in to the deli takeout while it’s still nice and hot. You got your usual order, and Kylo got his, and the two of you even indulge in hot steaming cups of coffee that Dopheld must have picked up on his way back to your apartment.

Eating in companionable silence, you get nearly halfway your food before letting out a sigh. Kylo wasn’t just here to be annoying, he was here because he is your client. The trial is a month away, and that seems both like the most time in the world, and tomorrow at the same time.

“You’re going to have to tell me everything you know, you know.” You bring it up finally, now that it’s after eight-o’clock in the morning and you should really be in the office dealing with this very thing.

“Can it wait until after breakfast at least? I don’t want to spoil our appetite.” Kylo waves it off, not too keen on getting down to business yet. You can’t really blame him, the man isn’t even dressed after all.

“Fine.” You amend to after breakfast, “I’m going to arrange a meeting with the prosecutor in the next couple of days to figure out what their angle is, and if you’re being framed like you say you are, I’m going to need every single scrap of proof you can give me before I go digging.”

“I’ll tell you everything, including my suspects for who actually did it.” He sips his coffee.

“This isn’t about who actually did it, this is about convincing the jury that it wasn’t you.” You remind him, and he chews carefully, thoughtfully.

“I’ve seen you, on the stand. I know that we could get them to confess.” The way he so easily switches from charming to serious gives you whiplash, the smoldering of his eyes boring into yours has you reminded of the way he moves through the courtroom.

The implications of that wording have you internally wincing, and you have to be sure you know what he means, so you clarify, “Plural?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?” You can already feel a headache coming on, and you’d like to preserve the good mood that he put you in from the shower for a little longer. “Eat your breakfast, tell me exactly what you were doing, and we’ll go from there.”

You dig back into your breakfast, mind already reeling about the facts of the case. You don’t really know anything yet, the paperwork for the case is sitting on your desk and you haven’t gone into the office to read through it. You’re curious who the prosecutor assigned is going to be, you wonder which judge you’ll have. You’re already thinking about juries and evidence and alibis and and and, that you almost miss the way Kylo seems to be staring at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You have to ask, unable to place the expression he wears.

He seems to debate his answer in his head, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes and it only makes you more curious when he eventually blinks and shrugs, wiping at his chin with a gentle, “You have schmutz on your face.”

Frowning, you wipe at your own chin with the back of your hand, and lo and behold he’s right. You wonder how long that’s been there, before a sound from the street calls your attention.

“Do you hear that?” You turn your head towards the window, training your ear to try and figure out what going be going on.

“Hear what?” Kylo doesn’t seem to notice, and because he’s never any help, you get up and go to the window yourself.

“…Oh for fuck’s sake.” You groan, quickly ducking away from the window the second you realize what’s going on.

“What is it?” Now curious for himself, Kylo does the exact same thing, leaving the both of you on the floor, crouched underneath the window of the dining room.

Down the several stories below, standing outside your apartment building is what can only be described as a swarm of paparazzi. It looked like dozens of photographers, at least four news trucks, reporters and journalists all clamoring to try and catch a glimpse of someone. And you seriously doubted that the someone was anyone other than your own Mr. Ren.

“Guess the news is out.” You sigh, aggravation bubbling up in your chest.

“Good thing we’re up here and they’re down there, huh?” He doesn’t seem too ruffled, which only aggravates you further, since he’s the reason they’re all there.

“No, it’s not a good thing! We aren’t going to be able to leave now unless we want to get fucking swamped.” You groan, shuffling away from the window with Kylo close behind, the two of you crawling around like idiots so that the photographers don’t see you, “Someone must have followed us from the restaurant last night. Next time we go out we’re using aliases.”

“Yes ma’am.” He replies, and you give him a glare over your shoulder.

“Now’s not the time to be cheeky.” You stand up when you know that you’re out of sight, and immediately make a beeline for your closet.

Kylo follows suit, and begins to put on the clothes that he wore last night. They’re slightly rumpled from being thrown on the floor, and you know how much he hates that sort of thing. You briefly entertain the thought of keeping a stash of clothing here for him, but then dismiss the idea. That’s far too domestic for the no-strings-attached arrangement that you have both agreed on.

“It’s early, I’m sure in an hour they’ll get bored of crowding the streets or the cops will shoo them away.” He shakes his head, pausing as he does up the zipper and button on his trousers, “Or…”

“Or what, Kylo?” You’re almost afraid to ask, with the way he trails off like that. It’s usually never a good idea, when that happens.

“Want to sneak out and go to my apartment? I can show you documents and whatever else I have, things that will help our case.” He offers, confirming your fears.

“The building is surrounded by photographers and news trucks, how do you propose we slip past them?” You continue to dress yourself, putting on something smart yet comfortable. There was no reason to be in a suit today, a rare opportunity that you’re only secretly excited to indulge in.

“Dopheld can pick us up by the service exit in one of the cars I don’t use often.”

“And what makes you think that there aren’t vultures waiting at your apartment either?”

“Oh I’m sure there are, but my building is way fucking nicer, and I figure if we have to be stuck somewhere, why not there?” Kylo snorts, and you scowl at him.

“You’re such a dick, don’t insult my apartment.” You put your hands on your hips, halfway wanting to send him out into the public by himself, to brave the paparazzi and reporters on his own.

“You didn’t build it, did you?” Kylo only retorts sarcastically, quickly adding, “Besides, you won’t let me smoke here.”

He got you there, Kylo did. In all honesty, you’re surprised he’s managed to go this long without a cigarette, and you’ve seen how crabby he gets when he hasn’t had one. If you’re going to be stuck with him for the day and need him to be cooperative in giving you information, you’re going to want nicotine in his system.

“…Fair enough.” You acquiesce, and try to ignore how smug he must look as you grab your purse.

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Your apartment building is nice, far nicer than most. You had a doorman and elevators and that was more than most people could dare to dream of having in New York City. It was a pre-war building, one of those big beautiful testaments to architecture, filled with details that you just couldn’t find in the cookie-cutter-pre-fabricated high-rises that they keep building. One of those features, was an absolutely huge service elevator, that you were told was used to move big pieces of furniture like grand pianos, in and out units.

Despite it being a nice apartment, you didn’t quite have the space in your particular unit for a piano, but still, you took advantage of the service elevator and tried to ignore the anxiety of the possibility that the entire building was surrounded with people wanting to catch a glimpse of the accused.

“Your phone is blowing up.” You’re concentrating so hard on ignoring that possibility, that you don’t realize how many notifications you’re getting until Kylo points it out.

“Yeah it’s probably my fucking boss wondering why I’m ignoring her for the second day in a row.” Muttering under your breath, you pull your phone out of your purse and turn it on do not disturb, hoping that it’ll be out of sight and therefore out of mind.

“You’re busy.” Kylo shrugs.

“She’s not going to care.” You keep your eyes trained on the numbers of the elevator as they ding one by one, a steady descent to the ground floor.

“She’ll understand when you tell her what’s going on, if she hasn’t figured it out by now.” Kylo says in a strange attempt to keep you calm, but you can only chuckle dryly.

“Oh I’m sure everyone in the office has figured it out; gossip travels fast.” You sigh.

You got lucky that no one else needed to use the elevator for anything, but why should they? It was still too early for deliveries, and for that you’re grateful. You almost feel bad for anyone trying to get to work, leaving through the front doors.

The elevator finally slows to a stop, and Kylo nudges your elbow with his.

“You ready to make a run for it?” He asks, and you hate feeling like you’re sneaking around, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing. You simply nod, and when the elevator doors open, Kylo practically lights up, point out, “Look, there’s the car right there. No paparazzi in sight, just like I said.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, you make a beeline for the car. Kylo’s a gentleman enough to open the door for you, and the second that it’s closed, his assistant pulls onto a backstreet, away from the commotion entirely.

“Hello again Dopheld.” You greet the young man, wanting to at the very least be civil despite your mood.

“Morning Ms. (L/N), I’m sorry, I feel like this is all my fault – ”

“What? Don’t be silly, you aren’t the one accused of murder.” You interrupt him, shooting Kylo a glare.

“There’s no need to be a bitch about it.” Kylo lights up a cigarette and sucks down a few drags, cracking the window to blow the smoke out as he mutters, “I didn’t even do it.”

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Kylo’s penthouse apartment isn’t that far away from you, but the traffic always makes driving around Manhattan insufferable. Eventually though, you do arrive at his building, and are relieved to see that no one is out front crowding the block in the same way that they crowd yours. You were right, someone must have seen and told their peers that Kylo was at your place.

Still, to take every precaution, Dopheld drops you off around the side service entrance of his own building, bypassing his doorman and luxurious art-deco lobby. It takes two minutes in the elevator to get all the way up to the top floor that only Kylo’s key can unlock, but you don’t release the breath that you’ve been holding until you’re safely and securely in the foyer of his place, the door closed behind you.

You could spend time marveling at the penthouse, admiring all the windows. You could, but you have more important things to do, and Kylo knows it. So, without a word, he leads you through the penthouse, down a hallway and around a corner and then down another hallway, into his home office.

It’s dark in there, and kept nice and cool to preserve all his books in the antique bookshelves that line the walls, and when Kylo sits behind his desk, you can’t help but be impressed. He looks like a right and proper lawyer, a powerful lawyer – and that’s because he is.

He also, happens to be, for the first time in his life, a client.

“Alright, where do you want to start?” You sit down on the couch that’s in the room, another antique piece of furniture that’s nestled next to a coffee table, where you settle your purse and pull out a tape recorder.

“I think it only makes sense to start at the beginning.” Kylo shrugs, and you nod, turning the recorder on so that you can focus on simply listening now, and taking notes later. He clears his throat, and cracks his knuckles, and begins with: “It was a dark and stormy night…”

“Kylo.” You warn, and he chuckles to himself just a little, making you shake your head in mild exasperation.

“Okay okay, fine.” He combs a hand through his hair, and sighs himself.

Whatever this was, however this was going to go, if you were to win you needed him to be frank with you. No jokes, no teasing, just the facts. This was going to be a gnarly and nasty case, and you aren’t so sure how much help you’ll have to win it – if you’ll have any help at all.

He knows this, and after his initial little joke, a familiar scowl settles deep into the features of his face, reminding him of the formidable opponent and rival that you knew him to be – the unstoppable force to your immovable object.

Kylo takes another drag of his cigarette, holds the tar in his lungs for a moment or two before exhaling a big cloudy puff of blue-grey smoke, and runs his hand through his hair again, a nervous habit.

“It starts, with my grandfather, Anakin.”

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