(set after 2x19, TOW Eddie Won't Go)
Chandler wakes up to the soft, warm flare of Joey's breath over the back of his neck. Joey's got an arm looped around Chandler, holding him close to his chest while he sleeps; his other hand dangles limply over the side of the bed. Chandler loves their little moments like this where he gets to bask in the mid-morning glow seeping through the windows behind his bed and listen to the quiet sounds of Joey breathing over his skin and into his hair. Joey's body is always so solid and warm against his own, like a second home he never really knew he had until two weeks ago.
Slowly, Chandler slides out from Joey's sleepy embrace, taking extra care not to wake him. Joey makes a low, grunty noise in his throat but remains totally zonked out. Chandler grabs a pair of boxer shorts off of the floor that he hopes are his own and steps into them. Joey's Rangers jersey lies slung over the chair in the corner, discarded last night after some pithy quip by Chandler made Joey disrobe like it was an Olympic sport. He pulls the jersey over his head, grins at how it hangs loose and roomy over him. And, okay, maybe he likes the way the sleeves are floppy and engulf his hands. Maybe. But it's not like he's going to tell another living soul about that.
Chandler sneaks out of his bedroom and inches the door closed before padding into the kitchen to make breakfast. He's almost done with the first batch of pancakes when his bedroom door opens and Joey steps out.
"I thought I smelled somethin' good," Joey says, clad in Chandler's robe with his hair askew and messy. Chandler tries not to stare at the teasing glimpse of Joey's chest as he sits at the bar. Instead, Chandler busies himself with the stovetop, flipping two perfectly round pancakes onto Joey's plate and squirting a thick dollop of whipped cream on top. Joey grins up at him and reaches for the syrup bottle on the kitchen counter. "Don't tell Monica, but you make the best pancakes."
Chandler smiles back; it's hard not to when Joey looks at him with such unfettered exuberance. "Well, I would hope so. I've had a lot of practice." If only Chandler had a dollar for every time he's had to make consolation pancakes for some girl Joey wanted to let down easily; he'd have a lot of dollars.
Joey sections off a piece and stuffs it into his mouth. Then he's moaning around the fork, and, Jesus Christ, Chandler's brain can't help but conjure up images of last night when Joey was between his legs, his mouth and tongue working in absolutely obscene ways. Chandler feels a shiver of want along his spine and turns back to the stove. "So, Joe, uh, I notice you're wearing my robe."
"'Cause you're wearin' my clothes," Joey shoots back, his mouth half full.
Chandler immediately looks down at what he's wearing, as if in some sort of shock. "Even your underwear?" He frowns. "That does explain why they're a little roomy."
Joey chuckles and takes another bite.
"Does it bother you?" Chandler has to ask, because everything about them now is new and fresh and so breakable.
Joey's brow creases. "What? No way! You look..." He searches for the word.
"Appealing? Handsome? Dashing?"
"Hot!" Joey's grinning, all proud of himself, and Chandler can't help but smile in return.
"Well, that's a start."
#
They continue on this way for the next couple of mornings, with Chandler throwing on whatever shirt Joey discarded the night before and cooking him breakfast. Joey doesn't seem to mind at all, so on his days off work Chandler stays in Joey's shirts. The familiar smell of cologne and aftershave that used to fill Chandler with longing still clings to the fabric. And Joey's gaze always drags over his body, like he's trying to undress him with his eyes. Joey used to give that look to plenty of women before, but with Chandler it's different, like now that he knows what lies beneath the layers of fabric he wants it more.
Chandler kicks his feet up on the coffee table at Central Perk and flips through last month's GameWeek. Monica makes a noise of disgust. "What?"
"We get it; you two are perfect together. You don't have to rub it in our faces."
Chandler lets out a small chuckle. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Isn't that Joey's shirt?" she asks, tugging at the sleeve of his dark t-shirt.
"When did you turn into Ms. I-Know-Everything-In-Joey's-Closet?" Monica just gives him a look. "'Cause you don't."
"But I bet you do," she teases. Chandler glares at her. "Oh, c'mon, I think you guys make a cute couple." Monica tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I'm a little jealous, actually."
"Trouble in paradise?"
"No, Richard's wonderful, I just... I just wish we were where you guys are, y'know?"
Chandler gives that a moment of thought. "I dunno, Mon', Richard probably wouldn't look too great in a backless dress." Monica thwacks him playfully on the arm.
Rachel joins their conversation and hands Chandler his cup of coffee. "So, does Joey wear your clothes too?"
Chandler takes a sip, shakes his head. "Nah, you know how everything he wears has to be either one size too big or too small."
"Either that or he thinks your clothes suck."
Chandler gives Rachel flat eyes. "That's another possibility. Thank you for that."
She smiles at him in smug superiority.
"Rach, what about that t-shirt of Ross' you sleep in?" Monica asks, the question making Rachel blush.
"Ross hasn't worn that since he was fifteen!" Rachel argues. "It doesn't even fit him anymore!"
Chandler simply smiles and basks in the faint scent of Joey that lingers in the fabric of his t-shirt.
#
One week later, Chandler's sitting in his leather recliner, scrolling mindlessly through the channels on their ridiculously large television set. Joey emerges from the bathroom looking wet and flustered, his knuckles white as he holds the towel around his waist. "Don't you have any clothes of your own?" Joey asks with way more frustration in his voice than is necessary.
Chandler spins in the chair to face him, crossing one leg over the other to expose as much bare thigh as possible; his inner thighs are still sore from last night when he straddled Joey's hips and rode him for all he's worth, but making Joey noticeably flush a darker shade of red is so worth the twinge of pain. "But this color really brings out my eyes, don't you think?" Chandler asks coyly, motioning to the blue, floppy sweater of Joey's that he's wearing.
Joey can't seem to stop staring at Chandler's legs. "I'm not really payin' attention to your eyes when you're not wearin' underwear."
"I am, see?" Chandler lifts up the hem of the sweater to illustrate his point. Joey makes a sound that might be a gulp. Chandler smiles, mischievous. "You totally jerked off in there, didn't you?" Joey opens his mouth to argue but doesn't say anything, just frowns like he's been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "You know I could've helped you with that, right?"
"I know," Joey grits out, sort of stomping across the floor to his bedroom. Chandler spins the chair to follow him with his eyes. "But I got an audition today. I can't be late 'cause I couldn't keep my hands off you."
"Not just your hands," Chandler adds, because getting Joey worked up like this gives him an inordinate amount of pleasure.
Joey scowls at him and swings open the door to his bedroom. Chandler can hear him grumbling something about the dangers of having a hot roommate; he laughs, gets up from his chair and leans against the doorframe of Joey's bedroom like Sinatra against a lamppost. Joey digs through his dresser drawers like his clothes have personally offended him. "It's bad enough you steal the covers; why you gotta steal my clothes too?"
"If it bothers you that much—" Chandler starts to pull the sweatshirt over his head, but Joey shouts "No!" and puts his hands up as if warding off an attacker. The towel falls to the floor, and Chandler's covering his mouth and trying his hardest not to laugh at the way Joey's just standing there in stunned confusion, naked and afraid of Chandler's lecherous gaze. "It's a little late to be shy now, Joe," Chandler says around a mirthful chuckle. He lifts an eyebrow. "Want me to take care of that?"
"Chandler, I need this audition!" Joey whines, snatching the first pair of jeans he sees out of the drawer. "I'm not on Days of Our Lives anymore, man!"
Chandler moves closer and stops Joey's hands from tugging the jeans over his hips. "What time's the audition?" He drags his fingers through the trail of dark hair leading to Joey's dick.
Joey swallows thickly, swells under the heat of Chandler's hand. "Two-thirty."
"Good." Chandler slides a knee between Joey's legs and nudges him back until he falls against the mattress. "We've got plenty of time."
#
Chandler wakes up the next morning in Joey's bed, naked and confused, because his clothes are missing. Joey's thin, threadbare pajama pants lie on the floor, and there's a t-shirt that Chandler vaguely remembers watching Joey pull over his head last night draped over the far corner of the mattress. Chandler hopes and prays that there's at least one pair of underwear here, because he doesn't share Joey's fondness for going commando. He finds his briefs and gets dressed before stumbling out into the living room.
Chandler immediately slaps himself to make sure that he's not dreaming this, because Joey's standing in the kitchen, cooking breakfast in Chandler's grey sweatshirt and quite possibly nothing else. He swallows thickly, opens his mouth to find that eloquence has escaped him. All he can focus on is the hard muscle of Joey's naked thighs. He babbles out something like, "Uh—what—this is—what?"
Joey turns away from the stove to face him, grinning and holding a pancake turner in his hand. "Good morning, Sleepin' Beauty."
Chandler finds his mouth impossibly dry when the sweatshirt rides up a little on Joey's hips and shows off a tease of underwear. "Isn't Sleeping Beauty supposed to only wake up from a kiss?"
Joey gives that some thought. "Well, come get your kiss, then."
Chandler doesn't have to be told twice. He sighs happily as Joey's mouth moves over his own. His hand curls in Joey's shirt, making Chandler freeze, because it's not Joey's shirt, it's Chandler's. Something about Joey wearing his clothes makes Chandler's loins twist and knot in confused need. "You're wearing my shirt," Chandler hears himself say around the kiss.
"Yeah, I figured why should you be the only one, y'know?" Joey says as he goes back to the stove and flips eggs onto a plate. "Here ya go: eggs a la Joey. Just how you like 'em."
Chandler tugs his shirt down to hide his arousal as he sits at the bar. "Thanks, Joe." He licks his lips at the way his sweatshirt hangs over Joey's sturdy frame instead of at the food in front of him. "Is this what I've been doing to you?" Chandler asks in horror. "Because if I have, I am so sorry. That's actually inhumane."
Joey laughs an angel's laugh. "No way, don't apologize! I love seein' you in my clothes! It's hot!"
"Yes, I—I think you mentioned that before." He scratches the back of his neck. "Is this some sort of payback for yesterday? I thought you cooked naked!"
Joey turns to face him again. "You want me to get naked?"
Chandler isn't sure that would improve this situation. He squirms in his seat and tries to focus on eating. Joey makes himself a plate and sits across from Chandler. They dine in comfortable silence for a moment before Joey glances up at him. "Hey, Chan'?" he asks around a mouthful of eggs and bread.
"Yeah?"
"I got another audition today, and I was wonderin' if maybe I could"—he shrugs, pushes his food around on his plate with his fork—"I dunno, wear this?" Joey plucks at the sweatshirt he's wearing, his gaze everywhere but Chandler.
Chandler can't help but smile. "Are you trying out for the role of someone with questionable fashion sense?"
Joey pouts at him. "I like the way it smells, y'know? It's like you're there with me."
Chandler bites back a sarcastic quip, because this kind of emotional intimacy means a lot after their brief but trying separation only weeks ago. He just nods and says, "I know what you mean."