Pinochle (Male!Jessica Rabbit/Reader)
You found yourself enormously worried about Jessie. Lately, he was unusually morose, and there were more wrinkles between his arched red browns. His signing, usually bright and foamy and intoxicating just like the best of champagne, became low, cold and dry in emotions. What was worse that nobody noticed it beside you. But, after all, Jessie Rabbit was your best friend since high school.
Sitting on the couch now you were sharing a dinner on a Jessie’s veranda outside the city. Evening was advancing towards your windows; the sounds of bright summers’ crickets and the creeks of accidental birds were in the air, but you were as anxious as never before. Allowing his feet moving without noticing, Jessie muttered something about a tomorrow’s show and broke into silence. He became absorbed beyond mere moodiness as he was biting his plump feminine lips.
Driving by the feeling of uneasiness of wrong-happening, your mind formed the uncertain line of excuse to start a conversation:
‘Let’s never order the take-away from this restaurant again.’
‘Why?’ perplexedly he turned away from his thoughts.
‘I hate the taste of a brownie. It’s too sharp,’ you clicked your tongue.
‘Shame there ain’t nothing we can do now.’
Then you were busy munching your food again. The ticking of the clock on a wall began to get on your nerves and you heard a fly buzzing outside; it was charcoal black and emerald green. Your hands were cold without any sufficient movements and with knee-deep concern. And boredom ate you inside out. You finally stared back at Jessie: he was perfect as always, with his long hair being messy, but just enough, and with his crimson shirt richly flowing down his fair muscles, and with his ears pointing in the cutest way ever. But the thing you loved the most about him was that his beauty that never made you feel insignificant, insecure.
But you definitely were not in love with him.
‘Honest, Jessie, we’d better do something,’ you started again.
‘Sorry, honey, I’m not in the mood. If it were another day –’
‘– but I need you to cheer up just now. Tomorrow is a busy day for you; I want you to have some fun today.’
If it were lighter, you would notice a slight reddish shame swapped across Jessie’s face. But the evening was dark enough. You felt a gale of sympathy as you saw Jessie drumming his fingers impatiently on his lap. It seemed like he wanted to say something. Something high-risky and not on the topic.
‘Do you have cards?’ you asked first. The first rule of defense: attack.
‘I do,’ Jessie sneered. ‘Want me to bring them?’
You smiled back steadily.
‘Pinochle sounds like a great idea actually; what do you think?’
‘Good. Give me a minute.’
Asking Jessie to play cards was dangerous. Not that you didn’t know how to play, on the contrary, you knew and knew fairly well since you had got embroiled in some youthful hijinks, but Jessie was a genius. One could not expect less from a man who’d make drunken women swoon while hustling them in a card room. His smile made anyone lose sight of themselves and their wallets. You thought that, frankly, Jessie just loved leaving people high and dry.
The nasty food was gone, and there were only two pairs of hands on the table.
‘Jessie,’ you said carefully. ‘If I win, you will tell me what’s bothering you.’
Jessie skillfully reshuffled the deck, a sardonic expression on his face.
‘Spades are trumps,’ he declared, bending to put the ten of spades in the middle of varnished wood surface. ‘You won’t win, but I will. And when I will, you will do something for me.’
The game was heated. Rush of adrenaline never leaving your veins, arteries, and your throbbing temples, you caught yourself on trembling hands. On the other hand, Jessie was tranquil. With his sullen spirits gone, he looked especially boyish and young. Just like a dog with two tails, you thought. You made another reckless move. The game started to resemble more and more not a fight, but a dance, and if your game were actually a dance, it would be indeed nothing but a tango, with feelings hovering in mid-air and tension on the tips of tongues.
Jessie raised his eyebrow at you when you lost.
‘Please don’t worry,’ he purred, scooping up the deck and putting it inside of a box.
‘Don’t comfort me, Jessie,’ you pretended to be pouting and got on your legs.
‘I do not. Well, I do. But my wish won’t be easy for you.’
Jessie stood up alongside you and clapped you close to his side; you watched him with a great interest and a slight surrender, and your lashes were fluttering. You had never seen such face on him before. You resisted temptation to make a joke. Your heart was pumping heavily. Everything was natural and simple, his palms on the small of your back, his warm, calm cheek near your right ear.
‘I want you to close your eyes,’ he smirked.
And you closed them. Without objections and questions.
And suddenly it was like you were being kissed for the first time. His lips smoldered on yours. You shifted yourself up and put your hands around his neck. Then, turning his head, he licked slowly along the edge of your jaw line, his expression gentle and highly erotic.
No, you were definitely in love with Jessie Rabbit.
But you sincerely hated the taste of that awful brownie.
