Chandler/Kent.

Adult Themes, although not explicit.

I own nothing what so ever.

...

The harsh and offensive morning sun leeks through a gap in unfamiliar curtains lighting the room in a golden glow which Kent, in this moment, is far too tired to appreciate. He runs his hand through his hair and lazily down his face pondering what god forsaken time it must be and pushes himself further into the pillow. Memories from the night before slowly begin to to take shape in his mind and his brows furrow as he tries to make sense of them.

Mansell wearing his tie around his head.

Riley falling from a chair.

Miles quietly slipping away to see Judy.

Standing alone on a street then "Kent, perhaps we could share a taxi".

Were he at home there would be a bottle of water by his bedside in preparation for emergencies such as this, when he feels as though his brains may have actually shrunken during the night and his teeth seem 'sticky', when every drop of moisture appears to have escaped from his mouth and he's left with a dry taste he can only describe as 'batteries' mixed with something possibly dead. He opens one eye trying his best to take in his surroundings and spots his suit jacket on a chair in a corner.

Fingers slip over waistcoat buttons, not a word being spoken.

A crisp white shirt falls to the ground.

Broad shoulders and a smooth chest.

His own small hands struggling with a belt buckle.

He closes his eyes not just to give them peace from the bright sunlight but in the hope that the darkness will stop his head from hurting quite so much. He feels a little better as the fog of sleep begins to leave him and he pulls up the bed sheets as he remembers he is naked, and he hasn't slept naked in a long long time.

A hand makes its way down the back of his underwear.

"Wait..."

"Shhhh..."

He's turned around slowly.

A chest against his back. An arm around his waist. Soft kisses on his neck.

He needs to get up, needs to brush his teeth and he really really needs a shower. He's covered in a sheen of sweat which isn't all his own and he knows all too well to who it belongs.

Lips crashing with frantic kisses.

Pinned to the mattress beneath a long hard body.

Eager hands on hot skin.

Fingers grasping hips hard enough to leave marks.

Pain gives way to pleasure.

Pants and moans and the sound of slapping flesh.

Feverish thrusts and guttural moans.

Fingers clenching pillows and headboard banging obscenely.

A 'fuck' and a 'yes' and an explosion of ecstasy.

.

He runs his hands through his tangled curls once more smiling at the memory and then suddenly and as if from nowhere the realisation hits him, sobering him instantly, those three little words that had somehow accidentally fallen from his mouth.

He rolls over, body still aching and tingling from exertion, to find a pair of blue eyes watching him intently and a smile he's only ever seen once before, last night, when Joe had repeated those three little words back.

.

.