This is just a disclaimer. I no longer agree with this story I wrote a long time ago. The real Roger/Rhoda Rabbit would know better than believe a bunch of photos. I just wrote this story as a coping fic. Then a sequel in an attempt to make this right.
But I can't just delete it too. My past self have worked hard for all these chapters.
So enjoy this story if you can. And remember, this is just a possibility of bad decisions (coupled by a faulty portrayal). Let's all be critically aware of the fiction that we consume.
With lots of Agape,
Levels of Intimacy
Summary: When it comes to romantic tension, Roger tends to veer to disaster. Might become M-rated later on.
Chapter 1: Hands
Her friend Roger, Jessica observed, has no concept of personal space.
Baby Herman got thrown back by a white blur just as he was entering the set.
Outside the set, Jessica could hear curses, grunts and finally-
A white blur was suddenly thrown back into the set, crashing into a pile of unused props.
A disgruntled Baby Herman dusted off his hands, entering the set again.
"Morning to you too, idiot."
But that concept suddenly exists when…
The photographer peeked out behind his camera.
"Roger, can you put your arm around Jessica?"
"Sure," the rabbit said with ease that she didn't believe. He turned to her with a smile. "May I?"
With the new season, new posters are needed. Especially now that Jessica has become part of the cast. Baby Herman was sitting on her lap while she perched coyly to where Roger was standing.
She nodded. His hand reached over her back and landed lightly on her bare shoulder. But as she smiled at the camera-
The photographer gave an impatient "tsk". "Roger, your fingers don't look natural," he complained.
"Wha-?!" He suddenly yanked back his hand to check for any deformities. But Jessica knew what the photographer mean. The tips of his fingers was entirely straight instead of cupped over her shoulder.
Is Roger too disgusted to touch her?
Maybe she's jumping to conclusions too fast.
Maybe Roger just respects her. But seeing him hug Cinderella around the knees, affectionately squeeze Snow White's hand and clap a hand on Petunia Pig's shoulder… tells her something else is going on.
They were all his friends. She was a friend of his. So what's with the treatment? Was it the way she dresses?
Her world turned a shade darker. Does Roger like her less that he lets on?
He hummed as he swings his legs in the chair. They're in the set's makeup room. But since none of the cast really needs makeup, it's more like a waiting room while the set is being prepared.
Roger glanced at his friend who was quieter than usual. "Hey, wanna hear a joke?"
"I've always wondered how your hands look like without gloves."
"Ahahaha! That's a good one- wait…" He cocked his head to the side, rabbit ears curling to question marks. "What?"
But Jessica was staring at his bright yellow gloves. "They're always covered. Even when we're not filming."
He looked down on his hands, turning them this way and that. "Well, they're so comfy, it's like they're barely there."
She tilted her head, her bangs brushing further over her shadowed eye. It was kind of endearing. "May I?"
He shrugged, "Sure," tugging off the yellow band. But Jessica stopped him, staring at him fully. "May I?" she asked, her hands now enclosing around his wrist band.
He froze, feeling like her eyes have X-rays. "Um… sure."
Her fingers slid over the garter of his glove, sending jolts up his arm at the intrusion. His fur prickled when air rushed in when she widened the gap between band and wrist. Slowly, she tugged it down.
Roger tried not to gulp as he watched, feeling the weight of her glance.
He flexed his freed fingers, feeling cool air around each hair of his painted fur. "Jeepers, it sure feels breezy! What are you doing?"
But Jessica calmly pulled off her purple opera gloves. "I want to know how it feels like," she simply said, casual and nonchalant.
Roger nodded, trying to ease his confusion. Maybe her hands are getting hot too.
But then her now bare palms took his other gloved hand. Behind him, his tail stiffened in surprise.
He remained perfectly still at the affectionate rub one of her thumbs gave his palm while she gently, slowly pulled down his glove.
"Thanks," he breathed, willing to relax. He flexed and stretched his fingers, free from the constrictions. "This actually feels ni-"
Her bare palms cupped his furred hand.
This time his bunny tail fluffed, unsure what was really going on.
She looked up from their joined hands. "I'm curious how your hands would feel like."
"Oh." His voice sounded small. "Okay."
Her fingers looked slim and delicate compared to his thick, round ones. Much like sausages, as an artist once said.
She held his hand and blew on it, fur spreading at the wind. Every inch of his fur decided to stand to its end for some reason. A soft laugh escaped her at the reaction and he smiled. He always liked to hear her laugh.
Her thumbs explored the expanse of his palm, pooling a warm feeling at the pit of his stomach. His knees began to feel weak when they smooth over to rub circles. But then she paused and his fingers curled fleetingly.
"Would you like me to stop?" she murmured.
He could feel her gaze on him, but still he couldn't meet it. Unsure what…
Roger pulled away his hand, stretching his fingers. "Ummm... it's fine," he mumbled, laying down his palm again.
She continued with her hand massage, his other hand flexing.
"Your fur feels smooth," she commented.
He made a humming noise that sounded so much like a purr.
With a thankful gesture, his thumb glided down her bare hand, paying back the favor. She paused and he saw a little smile tug her lips, making his tail swish.
"Your hands feel good too," he sighed in reply.
But then her thumbs slowly swept down his fingers before intertwining hers with his own, palm to palm.
Roger looked at their laced fingers, heart thrumming. Her palm felt warm, intermingling with his. She looked at their hands curiously at their mismatched features.
Then she looked at him and he looked down to their hands again, unable to match her gaze. Unsure what would happen if he-
"Roger," she spoke in that soft voice.
That made her look up.
"Are you disgusted of me?"
His jaw fell past his chair and to the floor. "What? No!" he exclaimed, his interlaced fingers gripper hers closer.
That's when static electricity happened.
"Yowch!" With a burst of speed, he flew up the ceiling's lamp in a burst of harrowing sparks.
Filming was cut later at the power outage of unknown causes.
Fur standing up at all directions, Roger was sent home early due to affecting anyone with hair, wearing cotton or wool within 3 meter radius.
But as Roger lay down on his bed, finally static free, he wondered what was that about.
He was pretty sure the laws of electricity doesn't work that way.
Author's Note: Just wanted to write something sensual. A week of overtime and I freaking missed writing stories. My aim is to write up to sexually suggestive. I'm open to headcannons and suggestions although I may not post immediately.