A/N: Prompt by heartlesslywhumping on Tumblr: "Every so often the whumper makes the whumpee roll dice. The number on the dice is how long they will go next without a necessity."
WARNING: This fic contains mentions of rape, and non-consensual themes.
The die rolled around enigmatically in Kilgrave's pale palm. His slender fingers teased at it. Jessica watched, smiling, while feeling sick inside. And there was nothing she could say. He had told her to stay quiet until he indicated otherwise.
"You know what this is, Jessica?" her rapist asked from where he sat across from her on the leather couch in the hotel room, holding up the die. Ironically it was purple, with black numbering. His question made it seem as if she was stupid. There was anger in her… somewhere, but she couldn't find it, couldn't use it. She just smiled. "This is a ten-sided die. And I want to play a little game with it."
He leaned forward, capturing her soft, black hair in his fingers. Jessica showed him her teeth.
"Good, Jessica. You're enjoying this."
It wasn't an observation. It was a command.
Jessica reached out for the hand that was so close to touching her face, and pressed it flush against her skin. She shivered at feeling his warmth, but also his strength. He wasn't strong like her, but he held power. She tilted her head and kissed his knuckles, and then he was rising, going to her. Jessica giggled as he pulled her into his lap, pulled her hair back and licked her cheek. He did so with a fierce hunger, and fire flared in between her legs. Enjoying this, she went to kiss him, wanting the lips that could speak words of power, but he held her back with a hand against her collarbones.
Kilgrave held up the die.
"You forgot this. So, Jessica, here's how this works. I'm bored, and you know I don't like being bored. Yes, I could take you lingerie shopping again, take you out for a nice dinner, roll around in bed fulfilling all your wildest dreams. But that's so us," he drawled. "We do it all the time, now, don't we?" Jessica nodded. His hand trailed up her neck, thumb brushing against her throat. She nearly moaned at the sensation, but just arched her back slightly, wanting to get him to pay more attention to her curves. Inside, she wanted to throw up. He began playing with her hair again. "So here's how the game goes, I roll this, and it tells us how many days you'll go without something. What should it be?" he asked, looking deep into her eyes.
Jessica wanted to avert her gaze, not liking the fervent lust she saw in him, but earlier he had ordered her to cooperate with him, anticipate his needs, and do everything he would want. She had thought it'd been vague as far as commands went, but still she found herself being played like a fine instrument that he had been the sole creator of. Jessica tried to remind herself through the haze of Him that he hadn't created her. But he knew her, he played her, he commanded power and received sex and adoration. It was his game.
So Jessica couldn't avert her gaze, and she couldn't not answer his question. But by this point his hold on her was so complete, while also widespread and lax, so she didn't have to respond in the way he'd maybe hoped. But still, she was dancing and swaying to his tune.
His hand went and gripped the back of her neck, and she asked, "What did you have in mind?"
He shrugged, tossed the die in the air and caught it, looking away from her for a quick second. Still there was no reprieve, and Jessica felt as if all her air, all her life, had been stolen from her. Kilgrave hadn't yet seen it fit to give it back to her.
"I had a few clever ideas, but they'd all hurt you, my darling, and that's the last thing I want. So let's make this fun. Clothes. I roll this, and whatever number comes up is how many days you go without clothes."
Jessica's grin widened, and she grinded against him. His face lifted in a smirk, eyes dark and hungry.
"Oh, so you like that?"
"Yes."
No.
Yes.
"Would you like to do it?" he asked, holding the die out to her.
Jessica took it from him, the purple so dark even when cast with the light of the lamp nearby. It was like Kilgrave, though at the moment, his purple tie was a brighter shade. Jessica leaned out towards the coffee table, flipped her hand in the air and let the die fall and roll. It stumbled back and forth over a groove, seeming as if it couldn't make its mind up between the two numbers. Well, if it had been sentient.
Jessica felt like the die as she watched it. Thoughtless, not real, always getting rolled to someone else's whim, and only coming up with the options they'd given her. She was encased in ten walls, tossed about, held, used. Kilgrave was the hand that controlled her, even though his tongue gave him that power.
7.
The number came up as 7. Seven days. Kilgrave cheered, ecstatic laughter in his voice.
"Yes! A week!"
He pulled Jessica close, grabbing her face, turning her gaze from the die on the coffee table, though she had become so fixated with it. In a heated rush, his mouth met hers, and somewhere deep down she thought maybe she was crying. Either that or swearing. That was more her. But she wasn't doing any of that.
No, Jessica was just kissing back, and opening her mouth for him. It was how he'd commanded her to act.
His deft fingers playing along the bare skin of the back of her neck, and her arm, exposed by her sleeveless dress. Kilgrave licked her lips, breathing heavy, but then pulled away, seemingly satisfied with herself.
"A week," he said. "One week. No clothes."
Jessica nodded, and was itching to do as he asked, body struggling against him, but still he held her, watching her. Finally, he released her, letting her get off his lap and said, "Take off your dress."