Drowse: Part 2 (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Summary: You had needed a quiet space to work, so you went to your best friend Rogers. You were exhausted and Roger took it upon himself to take care of you and get you the rest you so desperately needed. Now, you’ve woken up the next morning and the rest of your day pans out still at his flat…

Setting: Current year but London, England when Smile was still together and Brian and Rog were still studying together at Ealing Art College. Imagine whichever Roger Taylor version you fancy, I just chose the Ben!Roger gif to prime you with that look!

Word Count: 5.7k sister snapped, but lots of little things happen, and I have big plans for part 3...

Requested? ✔

Warnings/Content: Swearing, fluff, lil bit of smut *gasp* i was saving it for part 3 and i might regret it later because i knew how i wanted to end this one but I couldn’t help myself- I wanted to move things along...

A/N: Hello beautiful human beings, loves of my life, adoring supporters and lovers of Rogahhh Taylahhh - it took me a while to figure out how I wanted to end it off and I don’t know how much I like this but... Sending you hugs, I hope you enjoy :)

Ahem... and don’t forget, FEEDBACK ;)

You woke up at about noon to the smell of smoke. Your eyes still closed in a half asleep drowse you just groaned until you processed the scent. You jolted your eyes open and, to your surprise, Roger wasn’t on his side of the bed anymore. You reached out to feel the mattress and the sheet wasn’t warm; it hadn’t been occupied in awhile.

Taking a moment to think, your eyebrows furrowed as you aimlessly looked around the room, but you couldn’t remember if he had said he was going somewhere or anything.

The last thing you remembered was a brief content moment you shared a while ago between dreams. The shower wasn’t running, and you would have heard the TV if it was on. The bitter scent permeated even stronger now. Christ, what the ~hell~ was that?

“Rog?” You called out, loud enough that, had he been in the bathroom closeby, he would have heard.

“Rog!” You yelled a bit louder, urgency wrapping your voice.

You groaned in worried frustration and flipped back the duvet to free yourself from the trapped warmth. Instantly you were overcome by the cold air of the London flat as you scurried over to Roger’s wardrobe to grab something to wear over the band tshirt he had lent you.

When you opened it, the wooden doors released a fresh cedar scent mixed with a musky cologne as you bent down to pluck a folded sweater from the heaps of top garments. How many shirts does he need… There was something of every fabric, thickness, and colour, and he even had a section dedicated to denim.

You pulled a grey hoodie over your head and down your torso as you threw the bedroom door open and pursued down the hall towards the kitchen.

The smell was stifling, and it was much warmer in here. Your eyes were drawn to the gas stove, hissing a flame like a dragon underneath a pan that was sizzling and spitting oil around a pancake… or whatever that round charred thing was now. Found the smell.

Within the same matter of seconds your next hunt was to locate Roger. Glancing over to the island counter as you entered the room, you could now see an unkempt blonde. Putting the pieces together, you rushed to turn off the element, picked up the pan, and didn’t bother inspecting the contents before shuffling the pancake off into the garbage under the sink.

You looked up across from you to see Rogers head limp on his forearm, the other dangling from his torso, his long hair splayed over his arm and onto the counter. You sighed and walked around to him.

“You know,” rubbing a gentle palm in circles on his back, “there are easier ways to burn the house down.” You grinned, shaking your head, bringing your hand to lightly squeeze his shoulder. He groaned, scrunching his face and rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light filling the room. You reached into a cupboard for a glass and held a button on the fridge door to pour yourself some water, beginning to chug it facing away from Roger.

“What’s the fun in that? Slow and steady. Like sex-” he pinched your ass, both the comment and gesture instantly causing you to choke on the water you were gulping down, your shoulders contracting into a hunch as he continued, “-conflict is more entertaining when it’s implied.”