A.N.: If you're of a sensitive constitution, don't read the last half of this chapter. WARNING: Contains the good stuff! The stuff you've all—nygirl4eva—been waiting for! I mean, more so than the last chapter!


Rose Amongst Thorns

Chapter Thirty-One

Decisions


The party wasn't quite like Christian Todd's. In some ways, it was a lot better; there were a lot fewer people, and the people who were there were friends with the McGowan boys, so the atmosphere was a lot more casual and fun. The best-room was devoted to a Twister-mat and a Jenga tournament, a movie playing, competing with the stereo; John's office had been locked; the kitchen was the location of the beer-pong tournament, the kegs and the food. The stairs had all been blocked by stair-gates too complicated to open after the third beer.

There was loud music playing, cheers punctuated the air periodically from the best-room, and laughter made the house ring; Rose sipped her beer and observed everyone around her. There were cheerleader-types and victorious football players basking in their glory and whining to Evan about the stairs being blocked; Evan laughed, claiming that even though he loved him, he didn't want Darnell having sex in his bed.

Some of Sean's friends were over; they were down in the den, which was where the Wii championship was being held, and Doug and Evan had seemingly reached an unspoken agreement not to make another scene. It seemed like everyone in the house was expecting it, but it was Finn who regulated what music was put on.

Finn was surrounded by admirers and pretty girls whose faces Rose wanted to claw at with her fingernails. Doug was with his friends; Miller had started the night downstairs, but when Aimee hadn't shown up, he had stealthily retreated upstairs; Rose had taken him up some snacks an hour ago and had chatted with him a little bit; was he disappointed Aimee wasn't at the party? He'd answered, a little bit; Rose had suggested she'd been caught up, probably as let-down by Aimee not being here as Miller was.

It was a quiet night for her; she didn't drink much, and nobody really seemed to want to talk to her; Finn was busy networking and laughing at the pretty girls' jokes; she watched them touching his arms and back and leaning into him, giggling, as they drank. Those same girls all whispered and giggled, and after a few drinks didn't so much giggle as tell everyone what they thought of 'that blonde girl who lives with the McGowans,' and laughing shrilly and obviously, glancing at her.

Rose topped off her cup and sipped her beer, meandering into the best-room to watch the game of Twister. The first thing she saw was Finn and Evan's backsides. Denim was made for their tushes. She was smiling and watching them try to do gymnastics whilst drinking, tangled up with Darnell, another guy and three exceptionally tipsy girls who were appreciating with loud giggles Darnell getting touchy-feely. The girls, too, were getting grabby as they wobbled for 'balance.'

"Hey, slut!" Rose glanced around when someone half-shouted not three feet from her, and jumped back, spluttering, when they threw a full cup of beer into her face.

Everyone looked around at what had happened, and half of them laughed; Finn's eyes crackled with concern and dislike and he rose from his awkward position over the Twister mat.

Dripping wet, stunned, Rose blinked and pushed her now-sopping hair from her face, gasping a little bit in shock. The girl who'd done it—one of the girls who had harassed her at the football game—laughed openly in her face.

Rose punched her square on the nose.

She'd done it before she'd even realised her arm had recoiled and snapped back, nailing the girl right in the middle of her face, so that her head whipped back. She stumbled back, caught by her friends; Rose set her beer down as the girl's expression turned murderous.

Rose had never been in a catfight before. She knew it involved a lot of scratching and hair-grabbing, and so she was prepared when the venomous excuse for a girl launched at her, intent of scratching her face of. A crowd gathered around them as the girl narrowed her eyes, looking for weak spots. She dived at Rose.

They were a tangle of limbs and nails; Rose dug her fingernails in and tried not to scream too loudly when the girl grabbed a lock of hair and pulled viciously; Rose retaliated by nearly scalping the girl, and whipping her head back to get the girl right in the mouth with the back of her head, giving her a bloody lip; the girl kneed her in the back and Rose elbowed her in the stomach, reaching back to scratch the girl in the face and neck, surging away from the girl, her leg crippled from having been kneed there only moments before. She whirled around, ready to take anything that came next; the girl launched at her and knocked them both over again; Rose wrapped her legs around the girl's waist and dug her fingernails into her forearms; then Rose felt someone's strong arm band around her waist, and, knocking the breath from her lungs, suddenly found herself acting like a lifeless Raggedy-Anne doll, held like a sack of potatoes under someone's muscled arm.

Panting, she looked up, and saw Sean. He was blinking at her as if he had never actually seen her before. She wriggled out of his grip and stalked out of the room, hopped the stair-gate halfway up the stairs and latched it behind her, went into her room, closed and locked the door, and burst into tears after putting AC/DC 'Back in Black' on—loud.

She didn't know what the hell that had been. All she knew was she had been defending herself against some psychotic, drunk girl who thought Rose was some kind of Jezebel intent on bedding the most popular guy at school.

She hadn't been having a very good time at the party. Having a beer thrown in her face for no reason hadn't helped matters. A full on catfight? She cried until she had calmed down, wishing she had some Kleenex in her room.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, and in pain, Rose picked out her comfiest pair of pyjamas, the ones reserved for wearing after breaking up with boyfriends and going to bed after a failed date, grabbed her towel and slipped out of her bedroom, latching the door after her, then going into the bathroom.

She had another hot shower, which helped a little with the exhaustion brought on by shock at being assaulted and crying over it. Using her flowery Philosophy shampoo, she washed her hair and stood under the jet for a few minutes, silently crying, rinsed her hair, climbed out of the tub, and, still blistering hot from her shower, changed into her pyjamas, towelled her hair and slipped back out of the bathroom.

Finn was waiting for her outside the bathroom door, propped against the wall, his ankles crossed. He appeared to be wearing a pair of long navy pyjama bottoms and a relaxed white v-neck t-shirt; a more conservative form of his pyjamas. Rose caught sight of his expression and fought not to burst into tears again.

"Are you okay?" he asked solemnly. Rose just stared at him, forcing herself not to cry. She managed a teary nod. He wasn't fooled; he enveloped her in a loose hug. Letting out a shaky breath, Rose wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"You going to bed?" he murmured against her neck; tingles spread despite herself at the most tender brush of his lips against her skin.

"Mm," Rose nodded against his shoulder.

"With all this noise?" Finn murmured, his tongue darting out as he pressed a kiss to her throat. Her knees trembled.

"Why're you in pyjamas?" Rose mumbled. Finn pressed a kiss to her throat, working up to her jaw-line, and nibbled her ear.

"I'm ready to go to bed," he said softly. He pressed a kiss against her lips, then drew back and smiled softly. "Wanna watch Supernatural?"

"What?" she asked, her eyes, throat, nose and cheeks burning. Finn took her hand and led her into her room.

His television had been brought in from his room, set up on the bench at the foot of her bed, and his DVD-player had been set up, with stacks of Supernatural box-sets. On her dresser, a ton of snack-food had been arranged in bowls and bags; a Thermos of what smelt like hot-cocoa had been brought up and two mugs had already been filled and topped with marshmallows from Regina's secret-stash and whipped-cream. Some of her candles had been lit, and it was a very sweet and very romantic thing for him to have done. Rose folded her towel and Finn handed her the hairbrush and blow-dryer on the dresser, and Rose quickly dried her hair, keeping her face turned from his so he couldn't see the tears welled in her eyes. She tucked her hair-dryer out of the way and sat down on the edge of the bed, curtains of her hair blocking Finn from view, and blocking his view of her.

Being a McGowan, he didn't let that slide. She felt the mattress dip and his arm slid around her waist; he tugged her against his front, and pulled her up to lie against him as he lay back against her pillows. Rose wouldn't let herself cry again; not over that strange, not over having a beer thrown in her face. But over being assaulted? For a little while, Finn's arms banded around her as she cried. He had brought Kleenex, and kept her in regular supply. When she had calmed again, Finn hit play on a Supernatural disc and, knowing there was no way to avoid it, Rose just let herself relax against him, nestling her cheek against his chest, resting her fingertips on his arms. She licked her lips and nuzzled his chest with her nose. They didn't talk; Finn was just…just here, with her, while the party turned into a rager downstairs, watching a TV-show they'd both seen a dozen times. They drank contraband secret-stash hot-cocoa and ate snacks and pizza. The sweetness and sacrifice of it made her fall a little bit in love with him, while feeling a little ashamed of herself for keeping him here.

"You don't have to stay up here with me," she said hoarsely, a little while later; she turned onto her stomach on top of him, propping herself up on her elbows. He looked drowsy and strangely happy.

"I'd rather be here with you any day," Finn said softly, looking down at her.

"But your friends are downstairs," Rose protested meekly.

"I've been hanging out with them since kindergarten," Finn smiled. "But you're my girl, and when you're sad and upset, you come first."

"Your girl?" Rose whispered. The way he had said it…Mm, she sighed, the most blissful wave of contentment lulling her.

"Would you prefer angel, my pearl, sweetheart, honey, precious, or darling?" Finn murmured; Rose laughed softly, peeking up at him.

In that instant, she knew…knew that no matter what happened to her, if Finn came to her with kisses and a few warm, kind smiles, that there was nothing she couldn't get through. If he kissed her like a star-crossed lover from some epic romance again, she knew that if he asked her to leave this house today, now, and elope…she would. If he asked her to buy a backpack and a tent and go camping all over Europe with him, she wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor in a sleeping-bag, as long as she could share it with him. She could imagine them old, grey-haired, and wrinkly, surrounded by their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, their kids talking and laughing, in the backyard of some great house with a back-porch, drinking sweet-tea and sitting in rocking-chairs, lulling their littlest great-grandchildren.

She could spend her entire life with Finn. And she knew that, because she knew that two seconds ago she had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Finn Greyer McGowan.

She let out a great sigh at that earth-shattering realisation, and felt her heart swell to overflow her chest's capacity. Seemingly unaware of what had happened to Rose, Finn just gently stroked patterns onto her lower-back, tracing her scar, her dimples; Rose fought a smile, her eyes widening, when he slipped his hands beneath the band of her pyjama-bottoms and gently squeezed. He gave soft, warm chuckle and his eyes glittered; Rose smiled and gently tugged the hem of his t-shirt up, revealing a strip of smooth, muscled tummy. She pressed a kiss to the V-shaped definition of his hipbones, stopping just short of the band of his pyjama-bottoms. She smiled, listening to his breathing hitch every time she got close, and then worked her way back up; she pushed his t-shirt up his chest, feeling how his muscles tensed with every kiss, hearing how he was struggling to breathe normally. She bit his nipples, and smiled at his choked gasp of disbelief that she had actually done that. She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and quirked on eyebrow at what she felt when she nestled herself in his lap. He blushed, but his expression was almost deadly serious, his eyes crackling with intensity.

They were so far over their heads.

And Rose wouldn't have had it any other way. Grinding her hips slowly against his lap, she leaned over and grazed tiny kisses all over his face, taking in the wings of his nose, the dimple at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows, nipping his earlobes with tiny bites. His eyes were glittering when she hovered over his face, smiling gently.

"Hi," he breathed; she smiled slowly and leaned down for a kiss. It was slow and decadent and completely wonderful; when Finn's hands found her hips, they were trembling slightly. She leaned back a little bit, a thrill going through her when she felt him pressing between her legs, and stared down at him. For a moment, he stared up at her, their chests rising and falling, unified, their heartbeats hammering, hands trembling.

Then, Finn reached up and looped his arms around her, gently rolling her onto her side, then her back, his weight pressing on top of her, hot and persistent and wholly wonderful, exciting and nerve-racking and exhilarating and petrifying all at the same time. She licked her lips and tried to control her breathing and her heartbeat as it thumped erratically against her chest, trying to stop the tingles that made her shiver as they swept over her body with Finn's slightest touch, with that persistent pressure between her legs from both her own body and from his. Then he was kissing her, and the candles and the duvet and the atmosphere in the room made the air thicken so she could barely breathe as they kissed, hot and greedy and selfless at the same time, completely tender and utterly reassuring and sweet, decadent; their bodies worked it out for themselves; still clothed, their flimsy pyjama bottoms did little to disguise the other's reactions to them; Rose moaned every time Finn gave a prolonged thrust of his hips against her, gave a throaty little gasp every time his hands or lips brushed against her breasts through her t-shirt.

Then his top came off; she was dropping it on the floor, and Finn quickly flipped them so she sat astraddle his hips again, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt; his muscles tensed and did the most marvellous things as he took the hem of her pyjama top and lifted it over her head; her hair tumbled around her shoulders as she lowered her arms, watching Finn lick his lips at the sight of her bared breasts, eyeing them as if they were little pieces of cake or candy that he couldn't decide which he wanted to try first. In a compromise, he pressed a tiny kiss between them, then pressed his cheek to her chest and hugged her closet to him; Rose looped her arms delicately around him, feeling him hot and insistent against her, trailing her fingertips through his hair. She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his hair, then his forehead.

They didn't need to say anything. It was written clearly on the charged air between them; it was written in the way Rose's entire body was thrumming with electricity, every time he touched her jolting through her body and making her at once giddy and lethargic.

"Do you…" Finn murmured; he blushed, and licked his lips, and panted a little bit. "…have one?"

Rose leaned down, capturing his face tenderly in her hands, and laced her lips over his, capturing them, teasing and tasting them, then slowly slid out of his lap, to her dresser, to the tiny bag she kept her secret stash in, the one Pogue had given her 'just in case'. Standing at the dresser, unzipping the innocuous little bag, Rose felt a prickle of excitement and expectation shiver through her, and then hot breath dusted her back, and Finn's arms were snaking around her, cupping her breasts, smoothing down, resting on the flat of her stomach. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, then tucked her hair out of the way so he could kiss her neck, behind her ear; she turned into him, holding a little foil square tucked into her hand, shivering and hot with anticipation. He captured her lips in a kiss that was everything it should be for what they were doing, together, for the first time ever.

Kissing, Rose wrapped her arms around Finn's neck, almost tiptoeing into their kiss, as his hands smoothed down her back, to the band of her pyjama-bottoms; she felt the fabric cinch as it pulled over her slim hips, then fell into a pool of cool cotton at her feet; she stood in only a little pair of panties, kissing Finn, and wouldn't hold with that, not until he was in an equal state of undress; she carefully undid the tie of his pyjama-bottoms and let them fall to the floor. But she didn't stop there; she smoothed her hands under his boxer-briefs and pushed the fabric off him, till they fell to the floor; he pulled her in for a hot, electric kiss that knocked the breath from her, and she put her hands on his shoulders, still holding the condom, when he smoothed his hands down again to her hips, taking his time to pull her panties off.

For a moment, they both stood, naked, in each other's arms, panting, staring into each other's eyes, looking for that last-minute panic or confirmation; Finn's eyes were warm and glittering; Rose wasn't going to turn back now, not with him, not without knowing him, knowing every part of him, down to the last detail. She reached up and cupped his face in her hand, leaning in for another hot, trembling kiss that knocked the breath from her; she slipped onto the bed, under the covers, gently pressing the condom packet into Finn's palm as he followed her onto the bed, kneeling between her legs, back arched as he kissed her relentlessly. For a tense minute, Finn fumbled with the condom; perhaps it would have been easier if they'd stopped kissing, or it would have been more awkward; either way, when it was secure, he lay gently on top of her.

Rose snacked her arms gently around his torso, holding him against her; he propped himself up on his elbows and started tracing her face with kisses, tiny butterfly kisses that tickled and sent shivers down to her toes; he traced her eyes, her nose, her jaw, her cheekbones, finally her lips, all the while gently stroking her hair with one hand, down there with the other, until she was panting and straining against him, wanting nothing more than for him to sink into her and get rid of that void, that aching hole inside her that she knew he could fill.

When she came, trembling and clinging to him, biting her lip so she didn't scream, as hot as if she was lying in the Sahara naked at noon, she peeked open her eyes and gazed up at him, he leaned down and gave her a kiss; she reached up and draped her arms around his neck, kissing him ferociously for what he had just given her. Her entire body relaxed and yet still yearning, he hooked her knee and twined their fingers together, rising a little over her, and when he positioned himself, Rose looked up right into his eyes, and held them, when he gently rocked into her.

Her breath was knocked from her as pain blistered and tore her, uncomfortable and agonising; she panted, her back arching, away from him, digging her heels into the mattress, her toes curled from pain instead of ecstasy now. It hurt; he was too big and awkward inside her. But he stilled, and waited, gently kissing her, tiny little butterfly kisses of reassurance and solace. When the pain started to lessen, she gave him a tiny kiss, and he started to move; she knew it had been difficult for him to remain still; he pressed her thighs further apart, and they started to work together, now just one body instead of two uncertain, awkward bodies trying to figure out what to do; with his kisses, his constant, comforting touches, the tiny whispers of her name and other, pretty little names no one had ever called her before in her ear when he went to nip at her earlobe and trace another line of kisses from her cheekbone to the tip of her nose, his finger gently tracing and stroking her, it worked; they found their rhythm, a pace that gave him tightness and the ability to thrust deep, and her delicious friction and heat that made her writhe and grind against him, him hitting somewhere right at the back of her that she didn't know existed, that made fireworks explode before her eyes, waves crashing over her, her toes curling; he continued to stroke as she laved his shoulders, back, arms and bottom with attention, taking in every inch of his body with her fingertips; as she neared the brink again, she hugged him close, reaching between them to find that little place on him, to use her special trick, and as she came, she teased her fingertips over the special spot, and Finn hid his face in her neck and bit back a shout as he came.

Panting, disoriented and discovering what pleasure-pain meant, Rose collapsed onto the bed; Finn managed to roll half-off her before collapsing against the pillows, panting, his body straining, both of them sweating and flushed and hot.

Rose drifted off into a drowsy sleep, somehow aware that Finn still lay beside her, one hand intertwined with hers, the covers half pulled up over them.


A.N.: I'll update another chapter with this one, I promise!