Late 1998

They'd even tried to go for Ross and Emily's honeymoon suite in hopes of having sex there, but just like everything else that night, it hadn't worked out. Was it really that wrong if they had sex just one more time? Maybe two or three times, if they got lucky, just to make sure they could get it out of their system before getting home again?

As much as they'd been willing to take any chance to do that, they hadn't been able to.

After all the time she'd been alone, enduring that horrible dry spell that lasted a whole year, doing it with Chandler had been unexpected – but, more than anything, it had been unexpectedly good. It had been amazing, actually. She wondered if it had been the amount of pent up sexual tension plus the alcohol writing up her memories, but she knew she hadn't been that drunk the moment she'd thrown herself on him, and definitely not drunk at all when they'd done it time after time until they'd reached the impressive count of seven rounds.

Seven times in one night. How was that even possible?

No matter how good that had been though, it was now over, and she didn't even have the chance to properly say goodbye to that magic.

She just wanted to do it with him once more. Just one more time, really, so that she could enjoy it thoroughly before fully resigning.

To make things worse, they were sitting side by side in the airplane, and she could swear his scent was doing things to her stomach. Monica couldn't tell if that was due to how unbelievably horny she was or if he just smelled that good. She stole some discreet glances too – his hair looked so boyish, his face was so adorable, and his eyes were shining brightly; had he always looked that good? She'd always found him handsome, especially when wearing a suit, but somehow he looked amazing now even in a plain blue shirt.

She just wanted to touch him all over; to straddle him and to make love to him right there in that seat. Ugh, get a hold of yourself. Monica fanned her dirty thoughts out, finding them too inappropriate even if locked inside her brain.

Exasperated and embarrassed by her own thoughts at first, at the moment she was just numb with frustration, realizing that she couldn't have what she wanted so badly.

With a blank stare dominating her features, her lips moved on their own accord. "You know, maybe it's best that we never got to do it again." She didn't really mean to say that out loud.

Monica concluded that he was probably having similar thoughts since his reply came out too quickly. "Yeah, it kinda makes that one night special."

No, Chandler, you're not supposed to agree with me! Come up with something, please.

As if he'd heard her silent plead, he turned to her excitedly. "You know, technically, we still are over international waters."

Now we're talking!

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Maybe I'll see you there in a bit?"

"'Kay!"

And she left.

When Monica got into the bathroom, she was already overthinking everything; there were too many feelings leaving her in a state of turmoil. Faintly, almost at the back of her mind, she could feel some embarrassment for being that desperate to the point of offering to have sex in the bathroom of a plane. That train of thought derailed way too soon as she could tell Chandler was as desperate as she was. Then, she started getting anxious. Would they finally be able to do it one last time? What if that wasn't enough though? What if after doing it in that crazy way, they ended up wanting it even more? That second train of thought didn't succeed either; she was ready to throw all reason out the window to favor one last session of hot, passionate sex. She just wanted to feel his touch again, his fingertips on her bare skin. She wanted to touch him all over too, to lick him all over, to kiss him fervently. Oh, yeah, that was the most prominent thought inside her mind at the moment. Everything else was background noise. The bathroom felt tight and hot already, as her mind was filled with memories from the previous night.

Oh, dear lord, everything had felt so good.

She just wanted it all over again.

What's taking him so long? She wanted to prance around the space to relieve some anxiety, but there was no room for that. The bathroom was indeed very small. Oh, my god, Chandler, just get your ass here already before I get caught.

Monica took a seat at the closed toilet, rubbing her palms in expectation. She could predict how everything would go down. He would get in there, surreptitiously, and right at the moment he would lock the door, she would throw herself at him. His hands would then travel around her back, one of them resting on her hip, the other one going up to get a hold of her hair. Oh, yeah, he'd tugged at her hair so hard during their lovemaking – he would definitely do it again. Maybe, because of the confined space, he would turn her around and kiss her shoulders with her back glued to his chest. She could probably moan already just by picturing his teeth nibbling on her earlobes. His hands would caress her breasts over the fabric of her dress and she would feel the bulge forming inside his pants as her ass pressed against his groin. She was sure his hands would eventually go down her legs and start bunching her dress up until they were above her waist, then he would definitely push her panties down while unzipping his own pants and…

Okay, I need to stop that now. Monica cursed herself for letting her thoughts get the best of her like that. Seriously though, what's taking him so long? She totally lost track of time because of her own fantasies, but at least fifteen minutes had passed already, she was sure of that. Maybe even more than just fifteen minutes; she couldn't even guess how long she had been there, waiting for him. Things would get weird if she stayed there for much longer. Suddenly, all the desire became annoyance. Why didn't he come over? Did he regret the idea? Why didn't he warn her? Getting up and straightening her clothes, she braced herself to get out of there and face him.

When she got closer to their row, she noticed Joey sitting next to Chandler. The actor caught sight of her and immediately made a confused remark on her previous absence. "Wow, you've been in the bathroom for like a half-hour."

"I know", she replied through gritted teeth, pointedly eyeing Chandler.

"Had the beef-tips, huh?"

She wanted to smack both the men who were looking up at her – well, not really. The pained look on Chandler's face made it very clear that he was as upset as she was about not being able to follow her before.

"Joey, can I have my seat?"

"Actually, Monica, would you mind staying in mine for a while? I'm having a very serious discussion with Chandler right now. It's about my career."

What could she say to that? Chandler's eyes obviously begged her to say no and just kick Joey out of there, but she couldn't come up with any good excuse as to why she couldn't sit somewhere else.

She sighed. "Alright."

"Thank you. So, let's say I can get myself taller in the future…" Monica overheard that piece of conversation and wondered if Joey was actually saying those words; too frustrated to really care, she just moved on to his seat, plopping there, allowing sadness to wash all over her. Hopefully, she would make a good use of the remaining hours of the trip to make peace with the fact that there was no chance left for them to do it again.

"That night meant a lot to me too, and it wasn't because I was in a bad place or anything, it just… meant a lot to me 'cause… you're really hot." The suspense he used to announce that silly little sentence killed her. How did he do it? She had no idea, but he'd always managed to make her laugh, even if whatever he was saying was stupid. She'd been completely scared of things getting awkward, but here they were – she had been able to thank him for being there for her that night, and he had been able to say she was hot in a way that was both sweet and funny. Her laughter meant more than amusement – it meant relief. And that relief felt really good. They hadn't lost each other after all. "Is that okay?"

"That's okay." She answered through giggles.

"And I'm cute too?"

She looked at him incredulously. He's ridiculous, she thought, but in the sweetest way possible. If she were to be completely honest, yes, he was more than cute; he was the cutest ever. She wouldn't give that much away so soon though.

"And you're cute too." She once more answered through giggles.

"Thank you", he concluded as they wrapped their arms around each other. That was another thing not to worry about – she totally wanted to rip his clothes off and make love to him right there on the kitchen floor, but they were still able to hug in a sweet, friendly away, without it being awkward.

He said something about needing to unpack and left with a soft "bye" (with the most adorable face in the world, Monica added this piece of information to the scene before her eyes).

She was left alone in her living room.

Did things really need to end up like this? Couldn't they take this opportunity and do it again? She wanted that so much – she couldn't remember the last time she wanted something with this much intensity. And she was not a woman to give up on anything she wanted. That's what made her move forward. She wasn't really thinking; her movements came by instinct.

After some steps though, the seriousness of it all hit her like a truck. She remembered his little truthful joke about her being hot, his cheeky little grin when he asked her if he was cute too, and their comfortable, friendly hug. Those things might seem trivial to the untrained eye, but Monica knew better: they were actually huge, and much more meaningful than the sexual desire burning up inside her. What if she risked all of that by going after him? What if doing it in New York ruined their almost-ten-year-old friendship?

However, more importantly, what if she got over herself and had enough nerve to go after him only to get shut down? How would she ever be able to recover from that? Not only things would get awkward; it would all be her fault. She wouldn't admit it to herself (because that would mean admitting to losing the battle before it even started) but the truth was: she didn't have that much courage.

The reasonable conclusion was to back off. Let it go. It was killing her inside, but it was much better than risking what they had.

As she turned around, she heard the door open and close. She snapped back, knowing exactly who she would find there.

And, indeed, there he was. With furrowed brows and hitched breathing, he looked concerned – but above all, he looked unbelievably, wonderfully, extraordinarily attractive. She felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Those shiny eyes never looked that blue. His hands never looked that soft – it was like her skin already craved his touch. Before he said anything, she shivered with anticipation.

Monica was so ready to say yes, oh, god, yes, a hundred times yes, I don't care what you say, I don't care if you come up with a lame excuse, I don't care about the future, I don't care about being in control, I just want you so bad. She prayed they could allow themselves to feel whatever it was they were feeling – not acting on that feeling suddenly sounded like a horrible, stupid mistake.

All these thoughts bundled up inside her brain during the half second it took for him to say something.

"I'm still on London time – does that count?"

Her lips didn't waste any minute. "Oh, that counts."

"Oh, good." And they rushed to each other; their lips crashing, their hands going places, their bodies struggling to get closer – almost closer than physically possible.

They craddled each other's head in their hands as they stopped the kissing to register all the sensations – and also to breathe in some air. They looked at each other. Their eyes were glistening when they locked, and they smiled and moaned before resuming their first – of, hopefully, many – kisses in their own home.

Her head was spinning. Her ears were ringing. Everything felt new and risky and exciting and scary – but more than anything, everything felt right.