(A/N: I haven't been as communicative as I should be throughout this story, so it's only fitting that my first note is a chapter is a little more explicit,and has a few more orders in than the others, but it is consensual. NSFW, if the previous chapters even were.)
The line between doing what he tells me to do and doing something that I want to do grows thin between 9pm and 11pm. I'm not watching the time, just guessing by the light streaming through the corners of the smashed window that we (Dick and Roger) eventually boarded up. We've been for two rounds already, and Kilgrave is spewing some kind of justification story about his life. I haven't been asked to listen, or to even hold him, but I lay with my face in his chest, an arm around his side, breathing him in, barely paying attention. I wish I had a cigarette to calm my nerves, or if he at least did so I could feel it in the room. Although from what I've seen, Kilgrave hates smoking almost as much as he hates binge drinking.
"I bet you do it all the time – asking people what to do, as if it were a demand." He goes on, and I'm content with listening. "Well, who can blame them for not obeying, but even if it was something as simple as 'put the kettle on' or 'sit down', I don't even have that option of someone defying that." My buzz is starting to wear off, but I can't do much about it now. "Would you like some wine, Hart?" He's looking down at me with those eyes, at it may has well have been a demand as I nodded, eager and childlike. "All this time and I haven't offered you a drink..."
I reluctantly let him go, making sure to press my lips across his skin before he stands, whilst he orders someone – I don't recognize them – to go fix us a drink. I personally prefer cocktails and beer, but wine is great. I'm thirsty, and all that's been down my throat since that coffee... Well, I'd rather not say. I suddenly have a great urge to dress myself, but that isn't necessary. I'm sure most of the 'staff' has seen me naked anyway. I wonder when he'll dismiss me, and if I even know if I want to stay any longer. I feel like being here is permeating my privacy and the time I spend with myself. I want to be alone, but I also want to be alone here with him. He's boring me a little, and that was mind-blowing sex, but this feels too much like being prisoner for me to be comfortable.
He comes back to bed, and we resume our position. I wonder if he notices my lack of eagerness, and when or if he will tell me to continue my previous wanton behavior before we fucked. Or maybe we'll just keep on talking. It seems so domesticated for him, to be able to hold someone and talk after sex. Or maybe I'm just listening to him because nobody else will. Yeah, that's it. I sit up, Kilgrave with me. Purple sheets protect our modesty.
The boy I don't recognize brings us wine on a silver platter, with two glasses. His arms and hands are shaking, but he doesn't smash or spill anything. He lays the tray down on a bedside table and pours us two glasses, handing them to us in sync. Unfortunately, I don't drink in sync with him, rather down the glass and pass it back to the boy, who pours me another. Kilgrave only sighs. "You drink like her..."
"Sorry I disappoint." I look over my shoulder and after downing another glass. The taste is cool and spiced, of blackcurrants and ginger. I flash a grin from my wine-stained teeth and a wink. Even though my temperament has dulled, I still know and act like the last few hours haven't been anything of a disappointment. He knows this as well. I down the next glass, barely catching the drops that spill from the corners of my mouth. I'm not even trying for manners anymore, or maybe that's because he told me to tell the truth; therefore my body language and demeanour has also got to be candid. Well shit.
"She always used to drink herself into oblivion with me, and I wouldn't always stop her. To make love to her drunk was always so sweet and lucid – she was more malleable that way, believe it or not." And now listening to him doesn't sound like such a bad idea, because he's talking about Jones. "You didn't know her when she was with me, but I made her beautiful." He continues, and maybe just this once I can see his perspective. He would have made her lavish – materialistic, but angelic in every way, even when carrying out unmentionable deeds. "I took the attitude, and all the clumsiness out of her, and replaced it with grace and finery."
His head is tipped high, proud of the deed he has done. He swallows the rest of his wine, and I watch his bottom lip curl just slightly – a quirk of his – as he sets the glass down. I down another that is handed to me, in knowing that he doesn't want me to. All I can taste is the wine, and I'm awfully happy for the fuzziness around my edges that is newly forming. The alcohol blurs right and wrong, and I'm more thankful for that than anyone will ever know. If I had a clear definition of what they both were, I'm scared of what I'd do to us both right now, in this bed. I'm beyond caring about what he did to her, but I'm not beyond how he feels about it.
"And was she yours?" I ask, trying not to stammer. Fear doesn't become me, and neither does uncertainty. I let the emotions go, and give into the lack of sensation that comes with the combination of wearing-off prescription drugs and drink. Kilgrave fills his glass with the rest of the bottle, and lays mine down on the platter.
"For the fleeting time she was with me, yes." He dismisses the shaking boy with the empty bottle and when the door is closed, he turns, and faces me again. "What I'd do to have her with me now." If it's supposed to hurt, it doesn't. His eyes are solemn however, and maybe it's a case of not knowing what you had until it isn't there, or maybe it's what he thinks is love. "Lie back down, Jane." He says, setting a half-empty glass down behind him on the bedside table. I follow the command, making sure I have the will to do it so I'm not magnetized to the spot. I put my head on the bottom of the pillows, settling beneath his gaze. I'm eye-level with his navel, and I can tell the muscles in his torso are held taught in the position he is in.
My breasts are still beneath the coverlet, but even that re-assurance seems temporary. His eyes are on me like a hawks, and no matter how often he looks at me like that, I fear that's the one thing I will never tire of. "Overlap your wrists, and put them above your head. Keep them there until I say." And I do.
He pulls the sheet off us both with a lazy hand, and lowers his body to kiss between the bottom bones of my ribs. His knees dip the bed either side of my ankles, and I close my eyes. I know my arms will stay where they are, but I'm not worried - I needn't use them for anything. I no longer want to leave. I know what I want, and right now I want more copious amounts of the sensation he can only give me before I even step foot out of this room. My heart stays steady while his kisses linger at my stomach, although picks up when he cups the underside of one of my breasts with a thumb and forefinger. His hands are so large, and maybe I should have gotten over that the first time we fucked. "I'm not going to be as gentle with you this time around, Jane." Good. "You can take it."
"I can take it." I respond, and if I didn't think I could before, I know I can be as strong as her now.
"Keep your head clear, my sweet. I know you think too much. Just focus on me, and how this is making you feel." And so I find out I can't even think past his actions. My mind is clear, and for the first time I do have a taste of what it would be like for everyone else – a blank canvas, a dreamless sleep, of sorts. He works his tongue around my nipple, and I gasp. I'm so hypersensitive now I can't re-direct my mind. "Doesn't it feel amazing to live in the moment?"
"Yes..." I draw out the s, back arching into his mouth which is once again attached to my breast, eyes slitting closed. The hand on my breast moves and darts down to rub my between my folds – he's impressed with how wet I already am. He bites down, playfully, extracting a sharp whine from me. When he parts from my breast, he crawls up my body to kiss me harshly, unyielding. When he pulls away, I faintly taste blood in my mouth. But it doesn't matter, because not only can I take it, but it feels amazing. I buck into his hand, and his fingertips brush over my clit.
"Control, Jessica. You don't want to disappoint me." He calls me her name again, and I want to make him as proud as I can. I can be what he needs. He lifts his hands and mouth from me, and my whole body rocks forward, rooted only by my crossed wrists. I don't let myself beg or moan. "Now turn over, on all fours, and arch your back. I'm going to punish you for being so impatient."If I could have my inner monologue back, I don't even know what I'd be thinking right now. "You love it when I spank you."
And, oh yeah, maybe I do moan a little at that.