a soft sunrise {Roger Taylor}
Summary: A lazy, early morning and a soft boyfriend.
A/N: 1130 words. somft. i looked at a picture of roger in a hoodie and almost started crying i love him. this wasn’t requested but like whatever this is a thing, i do have requests for soft roger but i can’t find the specific requests, if i find them i’ll link them here.
You blink awake, bleary-eyed, to the sound of the kettle boiling in the other room, and Roger’s quiet swearing followed by the closing of the fridge door. You’re still adjusting to being awake, the pink light peeking through the curtains letting you know that it couldn’t be long since sunrise.
Roger’s stifling a yawn as he comes in, frowning a little, just wearing a pair of jeans, to which you can’t help but hum, sleepy and approving at sight. There’s a moment, a beat in time where his eyes meet yours and his whole expression, the frustration he’s holding in his shoulders, it melts away.
“‘morning,” he grins from where he’s standing by a pile of clothes beside his cupboard, mostly clean, just not clean enough to go back into the wardrobe, and he doesn’t even bother touching the pile before he makes his way over to you.
“‘s early,” you grumble, voice rough with sleep, propping yourself up on your elbow to lay on your side as he joins you, half leaning on the bed beside you. “Everything alright?” Softer this time, your forehead creases with concern, the fingers of your free hand ghosting up his bare arm; he can’t help but laugh, however.
“Of course, just need to get milk, we’re out.” He assured quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He pulls away, smile gentle, but you can’t help the gently needy whine that escapes your lips as your grip on his shoulder becomes firmer and you lean up, chasing his lips. There’s something about that, about the way he says ‘we’, it’s technically hit flat, his home, but you’d been all but living there for the past few months, and every time he makes mention of it, it sets your soul alight, just a little.
He can’t help himself, leaning into you and pressing his lips to yours, before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your throat as you sink back into the mattress with a pleased hum.
“Stay,” and your hand comes to rest at his waist, nails grazing against his smooth skin, pausing for just a moment before hooking your fingers in his belt loop, “no-where’s open, stay.” His gaze is fondly amused as he looks down at you, succumbing to your touch and climbing onto the bed, sitting back on your thighs with a knee either side of your hips.
“Petrol station,” he counters with, smirking, and you groan, leaning up, but he’s got a hand gentle on your shoulder, keeping you flush against the mattress, “I won’t be long, love.” And he leans in again, pressing himself flush against you, his smile sharp and pleased, as you still still strain to meet his lips.
“Promise?” Voice teasing, you grin before he presses a quick kiss to his lips.
“Of course, what, you think I’m gonna head out for a pack of smokes and never return like some dad in a soap?” There’s a beat that follows as your face twists into an amused grin as you resist the urge to make some sort of comment involving the word ‘daddy’. Roger seemed to realise what he’d said as soon as the words left his mouth, and he watches the crass impulse as it passes through your mind, he turns an amusing shade of pink- “don’t.” You just grin wider.
“You didn’t have to,” he huffs, half smiling, and climbing off of you.
“No, come on, I didn’t-” you sit up, scrambling from the bed as he makes his way to the clothes pile again.
“Needy today, aren’t you?” He smirks, picking up a hoodie from the pile and pulling it on as you reach out for him, arm snaking around his hips.
“You really complaining?” You asked, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw. A thoughtful hum escapes him as he plays innocent, despite his wandering fingertips ghosting up beneath the oversized shirt you’re wearing as pyjamas.
“Never,” and he gives you a teasing squeeze before stepping back and making his way out of the room. Calling out after him, all you get is his airy response of, “I have to get milk!”
“Tease!” You call after him, and all he does is laugh as he closes the door to the flat.
The light streaming through the windows turns to gold where you watch if from the bed once you’ve crawled back under the covers, and sooner rather than later, Roger returns, humming to himself, and you hear the kettle click back on.
When he peeks into the room, carefully quiet as if he’s worried that you’re still asleep, he’s met by your warm, pleased grin.
“You want tea or coffee?” He asks, and you grin, nodding. Once he disappears again, you actually get to your feet, pulling on your sweatpants where you’d thrown them on the end of the bed the night before, and follow him out.
“I could have brought it in to you,” he offers, leaning back against the counter, his arms folded as he regards the way you sleepily shuffle over to him, you hum, shrugging as you stop a few feet from him. “What?” It’s not uncomfortable, the silence that stretched between you two, the way you look him over, assessing him without judgement, gaze settling on the soft, dark blue hoodie he was wearing.
“I like this,” your voice is soft as you say it, stepping up and toying with the hem just a little, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around you.
“I’ve had this for ages,” he muses, but all you can bring yourself to do is hum in response, tucking yourself closer to him as he tightens his embrace around you, “what’s gotten into you this morning?” And maybe he has a point, you’re not usually so cuddly; perhaps it’s the early hour, perhaps it’s how soft he looks in that hoodie, perhaps it’s something else entirely, or even just the faint smell of the coffee grounds sitting dry in the cup, waiting for the boiling water.
“Dunno?” He parrots back with a smirk, and you wrinkle your nose at him.
“Dunno.” You say it with an air of finality and he bursts out laughing, and you go to protest amid his laughter, but then he’s kissing you again, smiling against your lips. It’s warm and insistent, and you let yourself moan against his lips.
“I love you.” It’s soft, barely a whisper as you move away, your lips hovering barely inches from his, before you grin, pecking him quickly, “you muppet.”
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