That Damned Cliché

Chandler, not knowing what else to do with himself after that disastrous wedding ceremony, decided to wander around the lower levels of the Waltham's home. It was either that or meander about in the foyer like all the other guests. Everyone seemingly afraid to trespass further than the front door due to the delicate situation they found themselves in. Caught between the formal celebratory décor of the parlor and the awkward, deafening silence that made it seem more like a wake and less like a party. There was this uncomfortable stillness that filled the house and paralyzed everyone. With Emily now disappeared from sight, it left Ross to stammer and stutter his way through some half-reasoned explanation as to why the bride and groom were not together to greet everyone at their own wedding reception.

Painstakingly, Ross was finally able to cajole the guests to enter the room where the reception was taking place as the band started to play some quiet chamber music. Soft jazz that was soothing and forgettable. Chandler was about to make his way inside, but hesitated when Emily's parents and the Gellers started to argue loudly about lawn ornaments. He spun around and decided it was time to hightail it out of there and make himself scarce until everything seemed to return back to some semblance of normal.

He peered over his shoulder and scanned the room before he left, looking to see where Monica was. At first, it was just an instinct. Something he always did when faced with an event like this. It was a chance to connect with her and share a knowing glance. To have one of their wordless conversations about the absurdity of the situation they found themselves in. At times, it felt as if they were the two last sane people left in the world. But once he caught sight of her, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to see her naked again. How he wanted to taste the saltiness of her skin. Feel her lips on his. It made his temperature rise. He could almost feel the beads of sweat returning to the crown of his head as he let all the memories from last night flood back into his head.

Realizing there was no way he could have a normal conversation with her while this was happening, he opted to slip out unnoticed. Which was fairly easy since everyone had their attention focused more on the slammed doors and tension brewing between both families thanks to Ross's ill-timed faux pas when reciting his vows.

Chandler ducked into the hallway and spied a staircase leading downstairs. It seemed to be the perfect distraction. Anyway, what could he offer Ross besides some ill-timed jokes. Jokes, that no doubt, would have been ill received. He scurried down the hall before he could be overcome by guilt for abandoning his friend in a time of need and slipped past the door, closing it behind him as he started his descent. Embarking on an adventure that was half-hiding and half-procrastination.

For a moment he fantasized that there would be a tunnel under the Waltham's home waiting for him that led straight to Manhattan. His own version of the Underground Railroad that he could escape through and avoid having to deal with another one of Ross's relationship disasters. Lesbian ex-wives, on-again off-again girlfriends and a new wife whose name he did not seem to know. Ross made commitment seem like a minefield.

He scanned the walls as he walked down the small corridor at the bottom of the stairs. Hoping to distract himself with his impromptu, self-directed tour. He stood and studied a framed family crest that was on the wall. He could not tell if it the two animals on it were lions or eagles, and why they were looking in opposite directions, but after some deliberation, he realized he did not care.

He moved on to find an old photo of Emily's father wearing a soccer uniform. Emily herself playing the clarinet. There were framed newspaper clippings of what must have been very important soccer matches. At least important enough to Mr. Waltham to ensure he hung them up. There was even a display case of ornate, decorated beer steins that led Chandler to a room off to the side. He stepped in and found what looked to be a newly constructed wine cellar. There was the smell of fresh wood, cork and dampness. Behind him, a closet filled with skis and heavy winter coats.

Chandler smirked to himself and spoke aloud with a poor imitation of an English accent. "I guess I found the old chaps cavern."

He then shook his head, feeling his joke about what the British might call a man cave had been told in vain. He silently admonished himself for wasting it on an empty room.

It was all almost enough to hold at bay the thoughts that had been creeping into his mind ever since Ross stared at his bride to be and called her by the wrong name. The sickly little doubt that was born in that moment and was now attempting to become a permanent resident in his brain. The one that told him sleeping with Monica, sleeping with one of his best friends, might have been a big mistake.

He stood there, mindlessly staring at the wall, and thought about Ross and Rachel. About how they could not seem to untangle themselves when it came to love, sex and friendship. They were like a pair of birds that twirled around each other as they plummeted to the Earth. Circling and performing this instinctive mating dance with one another, oblivious to the ground below as they dove further and further down, threatening to crash on the pavement.

Destined for tragedy.

From what Chandler could see, it did not matter how hard they tried; they would never be "just friends" again. Not in any way that truly captured the meaning of that word. They would always be two people who slept together. Two people who complicated and ruined something that was solid. Real. Tangible. Integral to who they were. Now, they would always have their courtship buried in the back of their minds. Any platonic reconciliation would be doomed.

The damned cliché was true. You cannot mix sex and friendship.

And yet, knowing all of this long before tonight, he ignored his better instincts. He crossed that line. They both did. He and Monica caught up in the heat of the moment, and casually joking about ruining their friendship. But seeing what was happening right now, with Ross, Rachel and Emily, the joke might have been closer to the bone than either he or Monica bargained for. What if they were now on a path to mutually assured destruction. One that would burn up the friendship they had, screwing with their emotions and expectations. Throwing a flaming brick into everything they were now and everything they could have been. All because of one thing.

Sex.

Well. Really great sex.

But even great sex had a cost.

Now, he did not know what the rules were anymore. Were they going to keep hooking up? What was going to happen when they get home? Would they go back to the way things were? Would they date? Would they date other people? Would they get jealous, possessive, and irrational?

He had no idea. But all of this proved to him that they might need to pump the breaks and think long and hard about what it was they were doing. They needed to seriously consider what this could do to their friendship. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to turn out like Ross and Rachel.

Monica stared at Chandler for a moment, stunned by his sober reasoning, when in contrast, all she could think about was falling back into bed with him. Overcome by lust and desire, even now as she piled some food she did not want to eat on her plate. There was only one thing she needed for sustenance tonight. Only one thing she wanted to devour. And it wasn't a rice pilaf and a green leaf salad. It was him.

She kept her composure though, and looked back down at the table; knowing if she stared into his eyes, she might lick her lips, sending him a signal he might not be as responsive to as he was last night. Despite the flush of heat she felt as he stood next to her, she begrudgingly agreed with him, even if a part of her could not believe the words coming out of his mouth.

But another part of her felt indignant. Cheated. Frustrated. Thwarted by the two people in her life that always seem to get in the way of what Monica wanted. The two people who sucked all the oxygen out of the room, leaving little enough left for her as she scratched and clawed her way through life to find the most meager of crumbs of what some would call satisfaction. And now here they were again. Taking center stage and pushing her into the wings of the theater.

So what were she and Chandler going to do? Not have sex because Ross and Rachel couldn't keep it together and act like a pair of normal human beings for one lousy weekend? Was she to be deprived of a few more mind-blowing orgasms because her best friend and her brother swallowed everyone and everything whole with their incessant drama? Drama, that she had to admit, she was losing patience with.

Why did she have to ensure that the spotlight was squarely focused on Ross and Rachel? Why couldn't someone else hold that light steady on them for a change? She didn't want the spotlight anyway. She preferred sneaking off into the shadows to have sex away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths. Besides, it wasn't her job to put her life on hold so she could act as a sympathetic ear to both parties of a break-up that happened over a year ago. It wasn't her responsibility to piece the two of them back together and put off having the best sex of her life. She was done performing that job. She was done making sacrifices for them. She was clocking out.

But, she had to admit, what Chandler was saying made a lot of sense. They were playing a dangerous game. Gambling their friendship this way. And she found herself agreeing that perhaps they were being irrational by jumping back into bed again so fast. Perhaps they did need to take pause and consider the repercussions of what they were doing. Seeing what it did to Ross and Rachel should be enough to make anyone second guess sleeping with a friend.

But then he slapped that tray of meat with the serving spoon and all Monica could think about was having him do that to her. Feel his palm strike her backside a few times before he cupped her ass and let his hands roam about her body. Feel his breath on her skin as he came close to that tender spot on her throat and placed a soft, wet kiss there that made her tremble with desire. The way his body felt on top of her. trapping her under his weight. How her legs seemed to open for him as he settled inside her and suddenly all she could think was "screw Ross and Rachel". She did not care anymore. She was not going to be denied this.

They were not going to take away this one thing she found here on this trip, hell, the one thing she found throughout this entire, crappy year that has made her happy.

They were not going to stop her from having sex with Chandler.

And that was when it hit her. All they needed to protect their friendship were rules. Rules to control the fun. Rules to keep them from becoming Ross and Rachel.

"There is a no kissing rule…but I think that is for prostitutes. And also, we already kissed, and I love the way he kisses me."

But then, Chandler's words rang through her head.

"Bad London."

London. That was the rule.

Before she knew it, Chandler had already made a dramatic turnabout. Wholly on board with this new London rule. Which only made her want him more. Great sex and following rules? That was almost enticing enough for her to wipe the buffet table clean and mount him here in front of everyone.

She felt her heart race as she watched Chandler jog away with the urgency and excitement that let her know he wanted her, now. Just as much as she wanted him. Maybe even more, considering how he almost ran over Emily's grandmother to get out of the room.

She couldn't help but get swept away by the thrill of what they were about to do. Sex, here, under everyone's nose.

"This was going to be the best weekend ever. Okay, now what did he do last night that I thought was crazy but turned out so good. Yes! He kissed my armpit. Wait, but he was also holding my wrists tightly together over my head with one hand, and I liked that too..."

Monica, thought about applying a quick dose of perfume, but opted instead to hit her mouth with some breath spray. She barely registered what she was saying to Rachel, who now only represented a body she had to knock down on her way to the endzone. Someone she needed to push out of the way to get to that wine cellar, where she imagined she would put her hands against the wall and lean over. Arching her back as she slid her dress up enticing Chandler to take her from behind.

But, frustratingly, Rachel would not be deterred, and despite Monica's sex addled brain, she was able to hook onto a thought. Ross was married, and Rachel needed to understand what that meant. But it fell on deaf ears. Normally, Monica would chase after her, bludgeon her with the harsh truth until Rachel finally relented, but she simply did not have the patience or the inclination to do that now.

Tonight was not going to be about Ross and Rachel.

Tonight was going to be about her.

Her and Chandler.

And sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

And nothing was going to get in the way of that.

A/N: I usually don't add a note in the middle of the story, but this is probably the last chapter that takes place in a scene from the show where I showcase what is going on in their heads as the moments we are all familiar with are taking place. The next chapter will allow me some fun as they run around the hotel looking for somewhere to have sex and I answer the question "why didn't they just get another room?"

I took some liberties with how much time Monica had to think at the buffet table, but I really feel like she was more driven than Chandler at this point, and it was fun to write a woman being the sexual catalyst for a change, where she is the one pushing for sex, and I feel like that goes in line with how she is at that table and later on with Rachel.