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Mac thinks Roper could be painted in sunrises, and he would still outshine the pinks and blues.
He’s gorgeous, is the thing. He’s full of anomalies of space and time, freckles like starbursts on his skin. His smile - god his smile - holds more beauty than that of a painting. His eyelashes fan across his cheekbones when he blinks and hurricanes stir up in the Gulf. Eyes like copper pennies glistening in a pool. Half crooked little smile that makes Mac swoon.
And fuck, when he lets his beard grow out? An absolute smoke show of a man.
Beyond his looks, because Mac isn’t that shallow, Roper is a special kind of person. He’s someone that should be completely out of Mac’s league.
Roper is selfless in his life, giving himself to others wholeheartedly before he even thinks about himself. He teaches a full day, but still manages to find time to bring Mac lunch. Weekends are full of grading and planning, and yet he’ll whip something up for dinner before Mac can protest. Students can be harsh and impatient, but Roper will take an extra hour out of his day to help them with their homework.
Where Mac is impulsive and emotional, Roper is a slow-rising sun.
They balance each other out. They’re a yin and yang type of relationship, and Mac is forever grateful for the decade they’ve spent together.
This morning, Mac rouses first. He gathers his bearings as he stretches, legs and toes and arms extending well past his body. A deep groan falls from his lips when his back pops, and he has to relax before he gets a cramp. Tch - old age.
Beside him, Roper is still asleep. He’s curled up against one of Mac’s pillows, hugging it close to his chest. His lips are pushed out with a pout, something he does subconsciously since their time in college. The bedsheets pool around his waist, and Mac just barely keeps himself from pulling it back up to cover his bare skin. There’s a mirage of freckles that cover his back, constellations here and there that stand out against his olive skin tone.
The clock on their wall reads a little after five o’clock, still dark outside. Mac curses his internal body clock - it’s their day off, the first one in months, and he’s already awake.
Well. Fuck it.
Today is special. He can sacrifice a few hours for the greater good. If anything, he can catnap later.
Mac climbs out of bed as quietly as he can, eyeing Roper’s sleeping form warily. When he’s finally at a safe distance away from the bed, he pulls a clean pair of sweats from the dresser and heads for the bathroom first. There, he goes about his morning routine: toilet, shower, skincare.
It doesn’t take long for him to shower. He figures Roper will want to keep him in bed for most of the day, but he takes a few extra minutes lathering his skin with the vanilla body wash Roper’s obsessed with. Mac is squeaky clean by the time he steps out of the shower, rubbing in some unscented lotion before he’s completely dry. He towels off the rest of the water and starts on his skincare, opting to apply a toner and moisturizer. As a finishing touch, he brushes his teeth and pulls on his sweats.
Downstairs, their bloodhound, Toast, lifts his wrinkly head from the couch cushion. Mac reaches over to pat the top of his head. “Let’s be quick so we don’t wake up your dad,” he whispers, tugging the dog’s collar gently. Toast grumbles a huff and sticks his front legs out in a dramatic stretch.
Mac rolls his eyes fondly and walks to the back door, Toast’s toenails pitter-pattering behind him.
Once Toast has gone outside and taken care of business, Mac gives him his breakfast before starting on Roper’s meal.
It’s a special day, so it should be a special breakfast.
Technically, ‘special’ in their household could mean anything from banana waffles to a full southern layout. Today, though, Mac’s going for something simple and easy.
Omelets and maple sausage.
Mac pulls all of the ingredients out of the fridge, followed by a pan from the cabinet. The omelets won’t take very long to make, and the sausage just needs to be heated with the leftover oil.
It’s nearing 5:30 when the meal is finished. Mac fixes two plates and two cups of coffee before setting it all up on a tray to carry. He’s careful, sidestepping Toast on the way to the staircase, and even more so on his way up.
Roper is still sleeping, but he’s stretched out like a starfish, half on his side and half on Mac’s. He’s sporting a little grimace like he was trying to find Mac in bed, and he got whiny when he couldn’t. The sheet is draped across his abdomen, and he’s got an arm thrown across the side of his face. The scene brings a smile to Mac’s lips no matter how hard he tries to bite it back.
Mac sets the tray down on top of the dresser, shutting the door behind him. (It’s best if Toast stays out of the bedroom for right now.)
“Ken,” Mac whispers, trailing a hand up to his husband’s thigh. He doesn’t budge. “Baby, wake up,” he tries again.
This time, he flicks one of Roper’s nipples and gets a garbled response. Roper’s eyes peek open for just a moment, but then he’s turning over and burying his head in his pillow with a pointed groan.
Mac snorts and swats his asscheek, watching it bounce with an amused grin. “We can go back to sleep after breakfast.”
“Fuck you,” Roper hisses, his voice sleep-ridden and scratchy. Mac laughs to himself and climbs in bed again, straddling the back of Roper’s thighs.
“Love you too, shnookums,” he teases, leaning down to kiss a cluster of freckles. “I made you a special breakfast.”
Roper shivers but resolutely keeps his head down. “If it’s not waffles, I don’t want it.”
“Well then,” Mac grins, rubbing circles into Roper’s lower back with his thumbs, “I’ll just eat by myself.”
There’s a brief pause. He shifts.
“What kind of breakfast? Do I smell sausage?”
Hah. Gotcha.
Mac hums, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “The special sausage.”
“Momma’s sausage?”
“God,” he snickers. Mac stretches out horizontally along Roper’s body, arms looping under his chest. “Do you have to be so stubborn? Does it smell like your mother’s cooking?”
Roper pretends to think for a minute. He sniffs the air dramatically, making Mac laugh. “It doesn’t smell burnt, but --”
Mac swats at him playfully, “You’re such an asshole.” He worms his fingers around before finding a nipple and pinching, earning a squawk. “Guess again.”
“Why are you like this?” he asks on an exhale. “The one day we get to sleep in, and here you are, trying to lure me into consciousness with food.”
Yeah, well. Mac isn’t exactly original, but he is consistent. Speaking of -
“You do realize the only reason you woke up on time for our wedding was that Finn stuck a piece of steak under your nose, right?” he retorts.
Roper makes a noise that rivals that of a moose. “I was hungover and exhausted.”
“Point still stands,” says Mac. “Now, would you like to eat breakfast with me?”
Again, there’s a pause where Roper pretends to consider. Mac knows he’s got him; Roper never turns down food, especially breakfast food.
“Maple sausage?” he says after a long moment.
“And omelets.”
The sound he makes next is nothing short of pornographic, but it makes them both laugh all the same.
When Roper finally begins to move, Mac shuffles to the side to let him flop onto his back. He looks sleep rumpled and irritated, but his pout is just too cute to take seriously. His hair is sticking up in the back, and there’s a red mark on his cheek near a patch of dried drool.
Mac’s never been more in love. God, he makes himself gag a little bit.
“Happy anniversary,” he says, leaning in for a sweet, slow smooch.
Roper sighs against him, melting back into the sheets with a pitiful groan. “Happy anniversary, you absolute menace.”