Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.
"Babe, everything okay?" Monica asked after Chandler announced himself on the other end of the line. "I just hung up and you have that big meeting tomorrow. You need your sleep."
Chandler shook his head into the receiver, sitting up in bed. He'd only been on the phone with her half an hour ago, lamenting the distance between them before they got ready for bed in separate states. He's showered and dressed in an old blue tee. Monica was right, as always. He had a big meeting in the morning that he was nervous about, that he knew he needed sleep for. And yet, the queen-sized bed in the hotel room had been so empty, the sheets so cold, the room so quiet, that Chandler knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep.
Not until he heard her voice.
For half a minute, Chandler had turned the television on. They didn't have a television in their bedroom, of which he was mostly glad (it meant they got naked instead of getting a migraine from accidentally binge-watching that sitcom that everybody in the office seemed to like). It also meant that curling up under warm covers and stretching out longways wasn't a treat he often got to experience. And eating chips in bed? Forget about it.
Except Chandler hated it.
There was no one to kiss his cheek or for him to carry to bed. The night could be filled with coloured lights and friendly voices, but he'd have no one to turn to and smirk at, making funny quips that were better than the ones on the screen. There'd be laughter, but it wouldn't be hers. All flicking the television on did was prove how utterly alone he was here in Tulsa.
So, he called her. Again.
"All good. A little nervous," he told her. "I just can't sleep. I figured I could talk to you and the company could pay for the call. Talking to you always helps."
"I put you to sleep, do I?"
God, he loved her.
"Don't flatter yourself," he grinned. "All guys fall asleep after; it's got nothing to do with you."
There it was. Her gorgeous trilling laugh. Easily one of his favourite sounds. "Really? Nothing to do with me?"
"It could have something to do with you," he corrected. Chandler could hear her purse her lips on the other end of the line. "It might have something to do."
She actually harrumphed. He felt his lips pull into a wide smile.
"It has everything to do with you," he nodded as he said it, even though he knew she couldn't see him. He wished he could kiss her temple just to make sure she understood that he meant it.
"And don't you forget it."
"You should probably remind me when I get back home," he suggested.
Monica hummed, "I think so."
Chandler re-gripped the phone, pulling his sheets higher up his waist. A lot of the time, he found himself thinking about the irony of their Tulsa arrangement. He had fallen asleep in the office and made a commitment he shouldn't have been asked to keep, and as a result, he hardly ever slept. The hotel was clinical, the bed lonely, the plane turbulent - it felt like exhaustion was the only reason he caught any sleep at all. He'd try for an hour on the plane so he could be himself in front of their group of friends, but sometimes he couldn't help but be grumpy and tired in the New York office. Monica understood, she always did, holding his back tight to her chest, slowing her breathing so he would, lulling him to sleep with her company. She let him cradle her body to his as they lay together and they would both fall into a deep, restful slumber. And for three nights, the world would be right again.
"Have you tried reading or turning on the TV?" Monica asked. He could hear her flip off the lamp in their bedroom and hunker down under the covers. "Re-reading things normally puts you right to sleep."
Chandler hummed and told her he had already tried turning on the television, but it hadn't worked.
"What were you watching?"
Chandler chuckled. "You mean, what have I just turned the TV on to so that you can plan hot sex based on a completely arbitrary coincidence?"
He could hear her blush through the phone line.
"I'm looking at a painting of a kettle hanging on the wall," he laughed. "That could work for us, right? A kitchen fantasy?"
His wife made that weird little snort sound in the back of her throat. "Honey, you married a chef. There's no roleplay in kitchen sex. We have it all the time."
Chandler crossed his ankles. "That is the fantasy. I'm married to you. I get to have sex with you."
Chandler didn't wait to hear her pause. He hated those pauses. They'd be on the phone, two days into a four-day stint in another state, both of them having big important shifts on the upcoming days and Monica would hold her breath on the other end of the line. He'd say something that couldn't be more quirky, or he'd tell her about how he'd set out the pens on his desk or that he missed her and she'd inhale slightly, sharply. And then there would be a moment where neither of them said anything.
He'd be thinking about taking her in his arms, her hips in his hands. He would wonder if she was thinking about clasping her forearms tight around his neck. He'd think about kissing her hard, her soft lips pressed against his. Chandler missed Monica the most in those moments, moments where he'd be deprived of little things he used to take for granted.
Instead of letting them torture each other with dreams of what could be, what should be, happening in that pause, Chandler continued talking. "What made you jump to that conclusion, anyway?"
She answered breezily: "You don't have any quirks."
Chandler snorted.
"You don't! Not about sex," Monica explained. "You don't have any kinks. I want costumes and you in a fireman's uniform and candles and bathtubs. You just want me."
Chandler blushed.
She was right, of course. He didn't particularly care about the details so long as he got to be with her, but there was nothing better than to be complimented by his wife. He slid down the headboard so he was lying down with the phone in his hand so he could relax more as they spoke.
"You do tend to like me dressed up, don't you?"
"See!" she cried. "And you've never wanted anything crazy like that."
"I wanted you in whipped cream, that was fun," he grinned at the memory, but doubly because it worked to placate her. "And you in those expensive boots. Now that was a great night. And I've wanted balcony sex for as long as you've known me."
Monica chuckled at that, her voice lowering. "You should have suggested it that night you snuck up the fire escape before anyone knew about us, before Ross lived across the way."
"Oh. Don't tell me that," he whined. "We'd only been dating a couple of weeks and I didn't want to scare you off."
He also hadn't wanted to pressure her into anything she didn't want to do. She'd told him about sex on the balcony as something she'd done to try and keep an ex-lover in a relationship with her. He hadn't wanted Monica to think he only wanted the sex and definitely didn't want her feeling like she couldn't reject the idea because she'd told him she'd done it on the balcony before. Besides, they hadn't really needed elaborate settings to be hot together. Still didn't.
"You wouldn't have," she promised. "You did that twisting thing by then. I wasn't going to give that up."
"Good to know it was just about the sex," he laughed.
"Still is."
He laughed out loud at that. How their relationship had completely evolved and yet hadn't changed one iota. Over the years, they had become a tightly woven tapestry, adding new designs like sex and marriage to their relationship, but at their core, they hadn't changed from that private, wordless unit they had always been. The physical distance hardly strained their relationship at all. They managed to talk all the time and spent their time attached to each other when they were together, every issue they had they discussed together, their attraction never diminishing. The physical chemistry that existed between them had never been the foundation of their relationship, but every so often had become an important part of it, especially after London and again now. After London, after they moved in together, after they married; making love had been exactly that, a way of showing the other how they felt. Now it was more purposeful, all the things it used to be and should communicate, but with the specific intent of expanding their family together.
"You know, of all those things we've experimented with, I was looking forward to never needing to have phone sex again," he complained.
"I know," she cried. He loved her voice. It was strict and soft, and all the things their friends thought about her. But it was gentle and generous and kind. When she was tired her words would slow right down until she stopped talking and in the mornings it was the same in reverse, taking a long time for her brain to catch up that she was awake. She could be talking about post-it notes and she could successfully turn him one with the way she intoned 'sticky'. And, in moments just like this, she was his lighthouse beam in the stormy dark that was Tulsa. "I love it, but I wish it wasn't such a necessity."
"And more just an option that we could do it if we wanted to." Not for the first time, Chandler wanted to suggest he quit his job, but Monica would remind him that they needed the money, especially if they wanted to move to the suburbs when they had a baby. Despite what their friends had thought when Monica had announced she wasn't moving with him, they had talked the situation through quite a bit. It had been a joint decision for her not to come along with him. Monica argued that it was a highly paid job and double her current salary, which would help them save for that future they both wanted. But, Chandler thought self-indulgently, his side of the debate had been better. Javu was Monica's dream job. At least one of them should get to work in the career they'd always wanted. Plus, he wanted her to have that for as long as she could before she fell pregnant and took maternity leave. They had dreams for a big family, so who knew what would happen after that first maternity leave, whether Monica would even go back to working in the restaurant or they'd get pregnant again.
"I mean," Monica offered with a yawn. "We could go two nights . . ."
"Speak for yourself," he retorted and then realised exactly what she had said. "I was going to say that you're hot and desirable, but if you're really just going to sit there and lie that you could keep your hands off me two nights in a row, I don't think I will."
She laughed again. He felt a little guilty that Monica was staying up late to talk to him again, that she'd fall asleep with the phone on her pillow again just so he could hear her slow breathing, or she'd roll onto it and hurt herself again.
She playfully took umbrage at his words. "What happened to being an awesome wife?"
Chandler nodded. He could feel tiredness wash over him, bringing with it a wave of cheekiness. "Exactly what I was going to ask."
And then he added with a laugh, "I still can't believe you thought that."
He laughed every time he thought about it. Monica didn't. Not yet. She was far more embarrassed about it than he was, most of that guilt for saying anything to Rachel without first discussing it with him. Luckily for him, he was away from the group for most of the week and he had made the most of the mishap by watching Rachel splutter and cry out when he bought a plush shark toy home from an outing with Joey. That had been a good day.
"I just can't believe you didn't freak out about it," he told her. "Actually, it is a little weird that you didn't. How come it took you so long to say anything?"
"You distracted me that night," Monica admitted. Another yawn slowing her speech. Her voice was soft and detached. He really should let her sleep, Chandler thought.
"Dinner was awesome."
"Dessert was better."
Chandler hummed his agreement but didn't say anything. He let the pause hang in the air between them and hoped she knew he wanted to bury his nose in the divot at the back of her head, pressing his lips to the top of her neck.
Neither of them said anything more and Chandler listened as Monica's breathing got deeper. He pressed his ear against the receiver tightly so he could hear every sound she made as his wife's breathing got heavier. Chandler smiled as they turned into soft snores and a wet little exhale between almost silent inhales. Only one more day until he could be with her again.