Chapter 1: The One With the Handjobs
Chandler and Joey end up stumbling back to their apartment around two in the morning after the party has died a slow, painful death. Two a.m. is practically early on New Year's Eve...or technically New Year's Day. This is actually kind of pathetic; Chandler's not even that tired, but after a miserable shit-show of an evening things just sort of fizzle out.
Also, he might be a little bit drunk. Okay, stupidly drunk. But he's not going to feel too bad about that, because Joey's drunk too—he has to be, because it's the only explanation for why he would ever kiss Chandler.
The taste of it lingers in the back of Chandler's throat like the warm tingle of whiskey. He's tried to wash it down, flush it out, but the foreign heat won't leave his lips.
Joey's sliding out of his jacket like he has no idea that Chandler's thinking about kissing him again. Of course he has no idea; these aren't the kind of thoughts Chandler just blurts out loud because he likes to hear himself talk. So instead he blurts out something else, because Chandler is nothing if not skilled at making things humiliating and awkward: "Why did you kiss me?"
Joey lifts an eyebrow. "'Cause you wouldn't stop whining about gettin' kissed at midnight." He sort of shrugs, sees that Chandler's waiting for him to elaborate. "Did you see any other volunteers?"
Chandler can't help but feel offended that he was kissed not only under the influence of alcohol, but also as an act of charity. With minimal swaying, he sulks to the kitchen counter and plops down onto a barstool. The carpet looks like it's moving.
"Hey, don't worry about it," Joey says, clapping a hand on Chandler's shoulder. "This doesn't mean you're gonna have bad luck datin' for the rest of the year."
"That's what you got from that?" Chandler just stares at him. Joey's pretty dense, but...really? It feels like the inappropriate thoughts swirling in Chandler's head have formed some sort of radioactive barrier around him that's visible from space.
Joey narrows his eyes in that way of his when he's thinking really hard. "Wait, did it make you uncomfortable or somethin'?"
"No!" Chandler yells out a little too quickly. "No, no, the kiss was fine." He slides off of the barstool and finds his legs without too much levering. He takes a couple of steps toward Joey, who's watching him with confused interest. "That's actually what I wanted to—" He stumbles forward into Joey's chest, but Joey catches him and holds him upright before Chandler ends up with his face in Joey's crotch.
The insecure, neurotic part of his brain is passed out drunk right now, so Chandler decides he's going to take advantage of this fleeting confidence while it lasts. "I want you to kiss me again."
Joey stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion. It's an expression that Chandler is very familiar with; he's seen Joey look at particularly challenging crossword puzzles the same way. "Chandler, you're drunk."
"You're not wrong, but"—Chandler takes a deep breath through his nose—"oh my God, you smell amazing."
Joey gives him a proud, grateful smile. "Thanks! But it's nothin' special. Just the same aftershave I always use." Then he frowns, like he's angry at himself for being distracted by the compliment. "Wait, how come you want me to kiss you again?"
"Because I liked it, okay?" he answers a little too defensively. "Because I liked it and it's New Year's Eve and our dates bailed on us and we're alone and you're really attractive and why not?" It comes out in a flood of words that Joey doesn't seem to be following.
There's a long moment of silence where Chandler gets to enjoy the echoes of his stupid words as if they haven't just ruined his entire life. Why does he let his brain talk him into things? He's never drinking again.
"Actually, I think it's New Year's Day," Joey says, sounding blankly unmoved by Chandler's word-vomit.
He curls his fingers in Joey's shirt, which only draws his attention to the fact that he can see ridges and curves and muscle through the material. Damn it, this is not helping.
"Never mind. I'm an idiot. Forget I said anything. I should've stopped talking five minutes ago." Chandler shoves himself away from Joey and starts moving toward the first door he sees. "I'm just—I'm just gonna go to bed now, and we can forget this ever happened and get on with our lives."
He's in the middle of turning the doorknob on the front door when a warm hand eclipses his own. "Your bedroom's that way," Joey reminds him, tipping his head in the opposite direction that Chandler's going.
"I knew that. I was just—" Chandler turns his body around, and Joey's right there, watching him with appraising eyes—then he's pushing his mouth over Chandler's. Chandler sort of gasps around the kiss, making Joey nudge him back against the door, their mouths still latched. Chandler feels a surge of panic, because there's definitely something hard against his thigh, and he's fairly sure it's not Joey's wallet. He's trying not to think about that, but through the boozy haze the realization hits him that he's kissing his ridiculously attractive roommate who might just be fully hard.
Joey reaches out and palms the sides of Chandler's face, pulling him forward to deepen the kiss. Chandler hums a moan. "This is really good," he murmurs around Joey's mouth, because that's something he has to say out loud. The words make Joey pull away, and Chandler has no idea what he did wrong. "And you're stopping. Why are you stopping? Was it because I started talking? 'Cause I can...not do that."
Joey shrugs in a way that's self-conscious and lost, and it makes Chandler's chest hurt. "I didn't think I'd wanna do it again, y'know? It's like I was kissin' a woman—"
"I'm going to let that one slide," Chandler warns.
"But I was kissin' you, too!" Joey squirms, his gaze flickering back to Chandler. "Okay, I liked it a lot, alright? 'Cause it's you, y'know, and that's pretty great, but it's you and that's also sorta weird!" He's gesturing in a way that Chandler guesses is supposed to mean something.
"So, what, do you just wanna pretend this never happened, or..." It's a wonder he manages to say that much before his throat swells.
Joey hesitates for what feels like the longest five seconds of Chandler's life before kissing him again, and this time there's a rougher edge to it. Chandler shuts up and lets it happen, his mouth occupied in the best way. He raises a hand to tug Joey closer, then he feels Joey's tongue in his mouth, which shorts his brain a little and sends a shiver of confusion up his spine.
Joey eases forward, slides his knee between Chandler's legs and Chandler has no idea how he's not supposed to grind into Joey's thigh when it's right is the hottest thing Chandler's ever been a part squirms, shifting his hips, and, oh God, the friction feels so good. Joey grunts a little when their hips come together in a mutual nudge that makes Chandler's insides clench. Chandler is very aware of his own erection right now, even though Joey's is shoved against him like they're in an over-crowded elevator.
Chandler sucks in a startled gasp when Joey's fingers shove at the edge of his pants. Holyshitholyshitholyshit. Joey is undressing him—or trying to. Chandler reaches down to help him.
Joey interprets this as resistance and immediately backs away. "Whoa, sorry, sorry, I thought—I thought you were cool with it."
Chandler wets his lips, realizes that Joey's not kissing them. "I—I am. I was trying to help you."
"Oh." Joey looks humiliated for a second before chuckling to himself. "Well, in that case..." He closes the distance between them again and covers Chandler's mouth with his own. Chandler thinks his heart might burst free from his chest, like something out of a bad sci-fi movie, because Joey's fingertips are moving and flexing over his skin in a way that slams right through him. He can still feel the engorged line of Joey's dick. Chandler reaches down and brushes his hand over it, wrenching a moan out of Joey and making his hips jerk forward.
Chandler realizes with a start that Joey wants him to touch his dick. But he has to ask, just to make sure, because it's the polite thing to do, and he really wants to hear it from Joey's mouth. "Is this—this is okay, right?"
Joey makes a noise in the back of his throat and croaks, "Yeah, of course." They're staring at each other's hands, their foreheads pressed together in this mutual moment of confusion before Chandler reaches into Joey's underwear and curves his fingers around his cock. It's weird from this angle, but Chandler's a fast learner, stroking slow and easy.
His gaze jumps between the thick jut of Joey's dick and the way Joey's face is reacting to the shift of his hand. Joey groans through his teeth as Chandler's fist closes around him, and the sound travels down Chandler's spine and bursts in a hot flare of arousal in his groin. He can't remember ever being this close to a sex noise that's made his insides go all twisty and funny.
Joey's rolling his hips into Chandler's hand, making cracked little moans in his throat. Amidst his gasps and panted breaths Joey gets his hand around the length of Chandler's cock. Chandler makes a choked noise of arousal, because Joey is touching him and it's good all the way through him. "Oh my God—"
"Do you want me to"—Joey bites his lip and makes a pleading noise when his hips collide with Chandler's fist—"I mean, I can touch you, right?"
"Yes, yes, touching is good!" Chandler sort of shouts, his voice too high and panicky and already in shambles. "Keep doing the touching." On a normal day he might feel self-conscious about that, but Joey's hand is warm and tight and perfect around him, and this is absolutely not a normal day.
Joey's breathing the filthiest fucking noises into Chandler's ear while his hips pound into his fist, rhythm gone out the window; Chandler's only ever heard him like this through the bedroom wall before now. His mouth drops open when he realizes that Joey's going to come, and he gets to watch it.
"Are you gonna—"
Joey answers that by shoving himself forward and slotting their bodies together. Chandler doesn't have any words left, just watches Joey's hips push into his hand until it all shakes out of him and Joey's coming in jerky, messy thrusts over Chandler's fingers and his body slackens like the bones have been pulled out of him. Everything about Joey in this moment is just perfect and so fucking good.
Chandler takes a moment to remember how to inhale properly while Joey's ghosting shuddery breaths against his ear. He strokes his fingers over Joey's softening dick, and Joey jerks him hard and fast in appreciation. "Oh God," Chandler gasps out, because everything is hard and wet and he's too close to the edge right now. He can feel his orgasm pressing at the base of his spine, waiting to erupt like a firecracker.
"Go ahead." Joey's voice is low and thick with lust, and Chandler doesn't even bother wondering why that turns him on. He moves his hand to cover Joey's and tips his head back against the door. He's whining embarrassing, pleading noises that he hopes Joey won't hold against him later, because all he can do right now is beg and grasp his hands in Joey's shirt for something to hold on to. "C'mon," Joey murmurs with no trace of impatience, his thumb dragging over the swollen head of Chandler's dick, and Chandler can feel the dizzying pull of orgasm hurtling toward him. "Give it up for me."
That's when the dam breaks and Chandler's coming harder than he ever has in his entire life.
He licks his lips and drops his head down, his entire body broken and weary. His muscles are loose and shuddery-good. Everything's pretty good right now, if he's honest. He wants to do this all the time. He takes a moment to focus on how Joey's breathing wetly over the curve of his neck. It feels nice, like something he could get used to.
"So, uh, so that was a thing that—that happened," Chandler manages to say, still blissed out from his orgasm.
"Yeah, that happened," Joey agrees in a way that tells Chandler nothing. There's a long moment of silence in which they retract their hands from each other's dicks and adjust their pants. This isn't even the most awkward post-sex experience Chandler's had. But he doesn't want this to end on a "let's pretend this never happened" note.
He's about to say something stupid when Joey looks down, frowns, and draws his shirt over his head. Chandler might just be the luckiest man alive today. He can't help but gape in awe at how Joey just curls out of his clothes; Chandler barely manages to keep his tongue in the vicinity of his mouth.
Joey slings the shirt over his shoulder before walking into the kitchen. "Damn, I'm thirsty," he says in a way that doesn't sound like uncomfortable silence-filler. He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice. Chandler's gaze is still snagged on the tense muscles of Joey's stomach and the naked slope of his chest. Joey takes a long swig from the carton, asks, "Want some?"
Chandler's almost certainly going to get hard again if he keeps ogling him. He manages to shake his head in response and tear his gaze away from Joey's body. "I should, uh, I should go—get a shower," he says, fleeing down the hallway. "I mean, it's late. Long day tomorrow, y'know. Some of us work for a living."
Joey doesn't say anything for a moment, then: "Chandler, you don't work tomorrow!"
Chandler shuts the bathroom door.
#
Later that morning, Chandler's sprawled out dramatically on the couch at Monica and Rachel's, wondering what it all means. Joey's still sleeping back at their apartment, probably hung over from last night. No, Joey's definitely hung over, because there's no way he would have touched Chandler's dick without every cell in his body soaked in alcohol.
"How come you're not hung over like the rest of the guys?" Monica asks him from the kitchen table.
"Well, I, uh, I didn't really have time to drink that much. I sort of...hooked up with someone after the party."
Monica frowns. "Oh God, honey, tell me it wasn't Janice."
"No, it wasn't Janice," Chandler groans. He really wishes people would let him live that whole relationship down, but he knows it's never going to happen. "It was good, but...I don't know what to say now."
"What did you say when it was over?"
"There was a lot of standing around awkwardly, stilted good nights, and I might have taken refuge in the shower until they left." He's not proud of any of this.
Monica snorts a laugh. "Only you, Chandler."
"So just tell her it was a one-time thing and let her down easy," Rachel says. She studies his distressed expression for a moment. "You've never been on the other side of this conversation before, have you?"
Chandler sort of squirms under her stare. "That's the thing, though. I don't exactly...mind that it happened. I really want it to happen again."
"And you don't know if she wants it to happen again?"
"Exactly!" Chandler sits up and tucks his legs underneath him. "Okay, so imagine you're at a party and this guy kisses you." Rachel sits on the arm of the couch, puts on her best "I'm listening" face. "You end up going back to his place and kissing some more, then one thing leads to another but it's not like 'sex' sex, you just sorta fool around and there's an orgasm or two in there. It seems like they're focused on making you feel good, making sure you're okay with it, y'know, but you had no idea this guy even knew you existed. Then they act sorta casual when it's over, like it wasn't even a thing. Would you think the guy was into you or not?"
"Not if he hid in the shower," Monica says when Chandler's finished.
Chandler glares at her over the top of the couch before he has a lightbulb moment in his head. Did he fail so hard that he gave Joey the absolute worst impression? Because that sounds exactly like something he would do. Knowing his luck, Joey might've been into him but gotten scared off because Chandler has the interpersonal skills of a swamp creature.
"Oh my God," Chandler realizes. "I'm an idiot!"
"They're always the last to know," Monica says to Rachel.
Chandler rushes out of the apartment and goes across the hall. He needs to tell Joey that he's just a social disaster before Joey assumes Chandler flat-out doesn't like him. Because the truth is absolutely the opposite of that, and it's kind of absurd how bad Chandler is at life.
He gets the door open to see Joey in the kitchen pouring himself a bowl of cereal, like he's not hung over and nothing out of the ordinary happened last night. Chandler swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry as his courage drops out of him. Well, that was an empowering five seconds.
"Hey, Chandler," Joey says around a spoonful of Cap'n Crunch.
Chandler manages a "hey." This whole unattainable crush thing was so much easier when Joey didn't have his hand in Chandler's pants about nine hours ago. If Joey remembers that little detail, he doesn't seem to care. Chandler wonders what life must be like when you're not constantly worrying about something. It must be nice.
"Great party last night, huh?"
Chandler thinks Joey's just making fun of him now. "Yeah, actually, about that..." Joey stares at him, waiting for elaboration and shoveling in spoonfuls of cereal. "I, um, I really, uh..." Chandler feels his heartbeat pounding in his throat. "I really enjoyed last night." Crunch. Crunch. "And, uh, if you wanted it to happen again sometime, I would be—I would be okay with that."
Joey gives him the weirdest look. "The party? Well, yeah, it was fun, but I don't think it's gonna happen again for a while. You can't have two New Years' in one year!"
Chandler drops his gaze to the countertop and says, "No, I—I mean the afterparty."
Joey lifts his eyebrows in realization, then he's putting on his seductive face. "Oh, yeah, that. Yeah, that was great too."
He called it great—that's gotta count for something, Chandler figures. "So, you wouldn't mind doing it again sometime?"
Joey smiles and carries his bowl to the couch, clapping Chandler on the shoulder as he passes by. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
And now it's been downgraded to nice in record time. Chandler's getting worse at this somehow.
"Okay, great, 'cause, y'know, we gotta live together, so let's get this out in the open and make sure nothing's weird." He's pretty sure jerking off your roommate counts as weird, but, whatever, he's just going to go with it.
"You're makin' it weird, Chandler," Joey says with his mouth full. "Just relax."
"Relax?" Chandler enunciates, gesturing wildly to the benefit of no one, since Joey's seated in the armchair not looking at him. "I don't know what that word means!"
Joey looks back at him in surprise. "Really? That's a shame, even I know that one."
Chandler just groans and searches the kitchen for suitable breakfast food.