30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON FOURTEEN-

June 20th,  1979.

One, two, three...

"Happy birthday, Rosie."

Roger came to the bed with a small white cake and a candle burning on top to the sleeping beauty in bed, which to his dismay, was still sleeping. Blanket up to her shoulders, arms sprawled out and tangled hair in a mess all surrounding the little Croatian woman that just turned twenty-eight.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open, lips cracking a smile as she saw Roger standing before her with a small birthday cake. She sat up. "For me?"

"I would sing happy birthday, but I think the neighbours have had enough considering what happened last night, huh?"

She punched his arm. "We weren't even that loud."

Yes, they were.

Mainly, it was Rosie and the occasional grunts from Roger, but there was no way in hell the people next door must have slept last night after what happened. After they were done and he was busy getting a shirt for her, she kept going on and on about how they were going to get kicked out if the neighbours reported them. But luckily for her, Roger quickly shut her up by going in for yet another round.

It was nine o'clock—the earliest Rosie's ever woken up—the curtains were opened to show the white buildings and blue rooftops of the neighbouring houses, and the sun held up high in the sky. To make things better, Roger was only walking around in just boxers (God knows when and how he got the cake).

And it was her birthday.

Oh God, she was twenty-eight already! It seemed just yesterday she was twenty-two!

"Blow out the candles, ljubav." Roger held the cake in front of her, wax flowing the down the candle. "Make a wish."

Jesus Christ, oh my God, oh my God, oh my fucking God. Rosie was practically panicking over the most simplest of things, but then again, she was Rosie. The same person that threw a tantrum of the fact that Roger misplaced her bag of gummy worms.

She closed her eyes and blew out the candles.

I know I haven't behaved my best this past year, but please accept this. Please watch over my mom wherever she may be, the entire band, give Brian what he rightfully deserves, and I hope that Roger and I—

"Are you done?" She opened her eyes to find Roger smiling, chuckling as he ruffled her hair and placed the cake on the nightstand. He climbed into bed with her, his thumb tilting her head up and kissing her square on the lips. "So, how does it feel to be twenty-eight?"

"You're making it seem like I'm a thousand years old."

"So what? I'm, like, a million years old—I'm thirty! Now, that's old," he exclaimed, resting his chin on her clothed stomach.

She giggled. "I would get up and conquer the world right now, but I'm way too sore to do anything." By the end of last night, Rosie was trembling from the intense pleasure he had given her—twice, waking up with her body aching. Still worth it, though...if you asked her.

"Was I that good?" He wiggled his eyebrows, earning a punch to the shoulder.

"I'm only sore because we went one or two months without sex, Rog." She lied. He really was that good. "And since it's my birthday, would you mind getting me breakfast?"

Did Rosie really think Roger was going to go downstairs and get breakfast when she's laying in front of him like that? In his shirt, the outline of her breasts showing through the fabric as her leg draped over his body. She was getting him worked up without even trying.