Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.

Monica vibrated at her husband's touch. It was entirely improbable and utterly unfair that his touch electrified her as though she was some hormonal teenager. It was only an hour or so ago that they'd been crushed together like this, his wide hips stretching hers deliciously, his weight pushing her into the soft mattress. She was a grown woman. She shouldn't be teetering on the edge again.

Her feet were pressed against his hips, her knees pressed against his sides to cradle Chandler between her thighs. He moved in shallow insistent strokes as though he didn't want to want to be apart from her. Monica shared the sentiment. She loved that she was married to the boss of a company, that sounded so adult and quite a bit pornographic. The paycheck was well worth her excitement, too, and it was helping them build up quite a nice nest egg for when they started looking for a house and needed to buy baby things simultaneously in the near future. But the distance was excruciating.

And the angle was amazing.

Chandler's hair was too short to thread her fingers through so Monica caressed his head instead, smoothing her fingers down the back of Chandler's neck and swirling them around the top of his spine. She wanted to keep him pressed as close to her as possible, sliding her right hand up and down his spine and clutching at the meat of Chandler's shoulder.

His hot mouth sipped at the sweat on her sternum and he teased her with his tongue. She shivered at his touch. Her body was putty for Chandler to manipulate, and he made her arch wantonly, crying out as his fingers coaxed pleasure from her tense muscles.

Monica couldn't even pinpoint what it was about her husband that excited her so, maybe it was the Kennedy line after all, but she'd needed to cross her legs tightly together in the back of the cab and it had taken Chandler entirely too long to step out of his shoes and pants and boxers for her liking.

For a moment, Monica wondered if she was already pregnant but only by a week or two, too early to show up on her home test, high libido was a symptom of that, wasn't it? Or maybe it was just her ovulation cycle that was gearing her up so much.

Whatever the causation, Monica had barely been able to refrain from jumping her husband the moment they walked into their apartment. In fact, the only thing that had stopped her had been the fact that she was ovulating and it had been a week since they'd been able to have sex without a ticking clock insisting they had to be somewhere else the moment it was over. Monica wanted Chander desperately, but she knew that if she got him in bed, then the pair of them would be comfortable enough that they could spend hours together. They could spend the night being lazy and warm and then resting before starting back up again without ever having to change settings like they would if she pushed him to the living room rug like her insisdes were screaming at her to do.

She'd whipped her blue dress over her head as she entered their bedroom, casting a look over her black bra strap and telling her husband to hurry up with his shirt buttons. Chandler ended up taking his shirt and jacket off in one shrug of his shoudlers and hung them over the doorknob of the inside of their bedroom door.

Monica rolled the covers down to the end of the bed in three neat folds and lay herself down in the centre of the mattress, bending one knee up and twirling her hair against the pillow in her left hand as she watched Chandler fold his clothes.

But Chandler was busy making sure his jacket didn't fall from the door handle before dropping his hands to his belt buckle. Monica propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch as Chandler folded his pants over the chair in the corner and Monica felt her chest tighten. That was so hot of him.

Curling her fingers a little, Monica flicked open her bra and then removed it from her chest, dropping it over the side of the bed.

Then Monica flopped back down and planted her feet on the mattress, tilting her hips up. Monica expected the position was quite a provocative one and if Chandler had looked at her while he was folding his pants over the back of the chair, then he'd be unable to resist her. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down her legs.

It probably wasn't the most romantic way to go about things, but Monica couldn't wait any longer. Except for an hour ago, it had been a week since she'd last been ravished by her husband. Besides, they'd been all feverish hands and tugging Chandler's tie undone and ripping her robe open earlier. Monica didn't need a repeat of that, she needed his sweaty skin against hers.

Pressing her legs back to the lump of sheets at the foot of the bed, Monica hooked her thong on her forefinger and pulled the waistband back with her other hand, flicking them like a slingshot over at her husband. They didn't quite hit him in the chest like Monica wanted them to, but sailed toward him and caught Chandler's attention anyway.

He chuckled attractively and dropped his boxers to the floor with an insufferable joke that made Monica roll her eyes and rub her thighs together at the same time.

She really had picked a good one to fall in love with, Monica couldn't help but swell with pride when she looked at her husband. She never would have dreamt her best friend Chandler Bing looked like that beneath his sweater vests and sarcastic facade.

Monica inhaled sharply when Chandler's warm body covered hers in the next moment, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs easily and chuckling lowly, smiling wide as he planted his hands on either side of her head.

That smile was infectious and Monica found herself grinning right back at her dimpled husband.

He rocked his hips against hers and Monica's smile disappeared. Her legs fell flat against the mattress, tingling with anticipation and when she inhaled deeply in an attempt to compose herself her body grazed his at the abdomen and whatever slivers of control Monica had thought she had melted away from her.

Chandller stepped his straight arms down one after the other, pressing his forearms against the mattress and pressing his deliciously rough chest against her sensitive one. His hips rolled against hers again and their chests slid together, her body bucked upwards unbidden. Chandler moved his arms so that they were beneath her shoulders, hugging her close and forcing her body to arch as he rested her upper body on his forearms.

His chuckle rumbled his chest and vibrated through hers.

Monica pucked her lips and leaned up so she could peck Chandler's smile. As always, their soft kiss turned heated without much effort.

Monica caressed the tip of her tongue against her husband's soft lips and laughed when they fell open easily. Monica wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer so she could properly taste his mouth. The action doubled as pulling Chandler off his knees and properly crushing his body to hers.

He shifted his weight, his fingertips barely ghosting the swell of her breast. He gently kneaded her breast, her nipple getting caught between fingers in a sharp pinch before he moved along, gently skating his fingers over the dip of her waist and grazing a hand over her hip to the apex of her thighs. Chandler sucked at her tongue as though he wanted her to kiss him deeper and Monica happily obliged, swirling her tongue against the roof of his mouth as she mimicked his finger, the both of them painting tantalising circles against sensitive, wet flesh.

She uttered his name, a quiet whisper on her lips. Breathless, she let their mouths part and let her body twitch with the sensations he gifted her.

He watched her with a sinful twinkle at the corner of his smile which made her heart melt. God, he was gorgeous. His blue eyes were adamant and wicked but there was something behind the dark lust, something that was always there when Chandler looked at her. Something Monica reciprocated completely.

Monica pulled her heels inwards and groaned at the way her body opened up for him and the way her husband didn't miss a beat. His fingers dipped and swirled. Monica shuddered, keening with interest. She arched her whole body with a sigh while Chandler's nimble fingers teased large circles around her, the movement sending waves of pleasure through her body.

His barely-there strokes of his fingers until she's whimpering and arching into him, wet and ready. He was pressed tightly against her thigh and Monica couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't being more insistent with her. She wished he would be and announced as much in a frustrated curse that made Chandler laugh again.

Chandler's touch only emphasised where he wasn't touching her. Although it didn't take him long to rectify the situation.

For a terrible teasing moment, Chandler's fingers moved wickedly fast against her swollen flesh, dipping and stroking with well-practised ease. He curled the fingers of his right hand inwards and stroked the textured wall that he knew would bring her close.

His left hand was still nestled beneath her neck and Monica felt Chandler's fingers caress the top of her spine sweetly. The left side of his chest was pushing against her breast like a deep-tissue massage, kneading her in all the ways she liked with the repercussions of his movements, and his other hand was devilish between her legs, But her husband couldn't help himself but handle her body with care and adoration.

An electric, overpowering wave seized her muscles and made her arch in a release of ecstasy.

It was only a little while ago that he had her here last, surely Monica could stave off this building orgasm, she was an adult woman, for goodness sake. But she was completely slave to his experienced touch and the sinful things he let her do to him and how they made her feel.

Her legs strained with control as she tried to stop her thighs from clamping against him, and when Chandler stroked that special place along her walls, she gave a loud, unrestrained moan.

As his fingers retreated, dragging along her clitoris, Chandler thrust himself into her weeping opening.

Monica choked.

Her body quivered around him as he stretched her at the perfect angle, her abdomen pulling him deeper as she squeezed her stomach, her hips bucking in tandem. Chandler massaged her insides with his length and Monica's eyes rolled back, blood buzzing in her veins.

He stoked the burning flames in her stomach in long, maddening strokes that grazed right where she needed him.

"Yes," Monica didn't mean to say anything aloud, but she couldn't help herself. Her voice was high-pitched and desperate. She worked her open jaw, her neck stretching as she arched further, pushing her chest against Chandler's when he picked up the pace.

God that was good.

The heat between them was familiar and guaranteed but the friction Changer teased her with reminded Monica of the distance and days between them. She couldn't tell if it was hotter than normal because of their time apart or if, despite the promise they both made to not put too much pressure on getting pregnant, they were both trying a little harder, on a mission. Whatever the reason, Monica spasmed beneath her husband, their passionate kiss turning sloppy and then non existent.

His breath panted against her neck feverishly as he curled his back upwards, pressing a kiss against her collarbone and licking a filthy stripe down over the swell of her breast to curl around her nipple.

"There," her moan trilled out of her. Her toes curled in the sheets and the blaze in her belly burned brightly, the only thing she could focus on.

She needed to pull him closer, clawing at his back to achieve that somewhat. Her knees were weak, her legs mostly limp with the humid electricity through her veins, Monica couldn't control herself enough to wrap her legs around her husband but she did bring them upwards, dragging her feet along the length is his taut thighs.

Chandler groaned and Monica's insides pulsed st the sound.

He moved in determined undulations, drawing out the sensations between them as he drove deeper.

Monica caressed his head instead, smoothing her fingers down the back of Chandler's neck and swirling them around the top of his spine, keeping him pressed as close to her as possible, sliding her right hand up and down his back.

His hot mouth sipped at the sweat on her sternum and he teased her with his tongue. She shivered at his touch, twitching upwards in offering, hoping Chandler would pinch her nipple between his teeth and pull her harshly, tightening his arms around her back like he normally did until there was no space between them and she could no longer feel the mattress.

Her body was putty for Chandler to manipulate, and he made her arch wantonly, crying out as he returned his fingers to where they were joined and coaxed pleasure from her tense muscles.

He must have been close himself, given the strain she could feel in his stomach and cheek where their skin touched.

He pulled his mouth from her chest, warm, moist breath painting her skin promisingly. Monica elongated her neck, presenting that pulse point beneath her ear for him. It was a staple of their repertoire. She was too short for him to keep kissing her chest when they were right against each other and roughly trying to find release. They were too breathless to kiss properly, or even sloppily.

Instead of fitting open lips and a desperate tongue against the tendon in her neck, hot breath and heady desperation panted against her throbbing pulse, Chandler dropped his head to the pillow beside hers with a grunt, his cheek a little stubbly against her ear.

His fingers and hips made slow swirls, her peaked nipples grazing his with every movement. It would have been lovely if Monica wasn't in her own head.

Her body was taut and tense, dangling over the precipice and thrumming with the anticipation of the fall but her mind was still anchored. Normally the overstimulation of hot breath and whispered words in her ear worked to untether her.

Monica curled forward, her neck and jaw straining with the sensation of being so close. So damn close.

Monica turned her head to look at Chandler's cheek and frowned. She stroked the sweat slicked hair at the base of his neck with her fingernails.

"Hon?"

She half-expected this. On the way home, she had explained to Chandler that her only thought was of making love to her husband for the first time in a week and increasing her chances of getting pregnant. As far as she'd been thinking, all she was doing was telling a little white lie that would ultimately benefit them both, like when she told Rachel the store didn't have the colour handbag she wanted even though they did which meant Rachel saved a hundred or so dollars.

But her words had been more than a minor manipulation in his eyes, Chandler had explained.

Although he hadn't needed to.

Monica had recognised that same flash of sadness in his eyes that used to appear when he talked about his parents. Chandler had always valued communication above all else and almost everyone else in his life had either intentionally or accidentally failed to communicate their truth to him over the years. It was a flash of betrayal in his eyes when he covered his chest with their sheets.

"You remember when I said I don't like you kissing my neck?"

Chandler lifted his head from the pillow to look at her. He pressed upwards and their abdomens pushed together tightly st the movement. It looked to her like Chandler was on his way to pulling out of her so they could have this discussion but Monica slid her feet inwards, massaging his ass with them and effectively trapping her husband.

"I believe the word you used was 'hate.'"

Monica bit her lips together, tracing her hands from Chandler's broad shoulders, down his strong arms. Had Chandler been working out in the Tulsa hotel?

She let her eyes follow the handsome line of his neck to his pale chest, ashamed. He was smiling at her softly, as though he'd forgiven her for it. But part of their vows as best friends, a couple, and marriage partners, was that they would never lie to each other. Monica, in her earlier claim, had effectively told him that their good communication wasn't as great as they thought, that their promise to talk about their wants and needs had been broken.

She had hoped he would understand her exaggeration and reverse psychology, after all, she used it all the time. The two of them were normally great at translating teasing and sarcasm and mild manipulations to find the nugget of truth. They were great at using reverse psychology to tease each other into, more often than not, sexy situations - mild jealousy and pride spawning brilliant passion between them.

The heat of their fight had put a kink in that trend.

Monica smoothed her fingers up and then back down his biceps, circling the ticklish notch at his elbow. She met his eyes.

"Do you remember what we were talking about in that moment?"

Chandler nodded solemnly at her, drowning disappointedly. An expression crossed his face that was akin to worry he would have to sleep on the couch. Probably mixed in with a little fear that he'd have to leave her now, the both of them so close but still unsatisfied.

"I'm sorry I smoked so much," his voice was soft and still husky.

Monica shook her head.

The smoking wasn't what she was mad at. Well, it was but not the real issue. It was all over the news that cigarettes would kill you, slowly but surely. Monica couldn't have that. She needed her husband, her best friend, in her life until they were old and grey and had forgotten who they were but not that they were madly in love. His smoking jeapordised that. According ti all the articles she'd been reading, smoking night hamper conception and would affect the health of his sperm and their baby, both the one they were trying for now and any they had in the future. His smoking jeopardised that too.

But the biggest problem with Chandler taking up his old addiction wasn't something they could hash out in the twenty minutes they had to leave before Phoebe's birthday, so Monica hadn't mentioned it, but filed it away for discussion in the morning.

Chandler, Monica knew, only ever smoked when he was overwhelmed. or stressed. or anxious it lonely or afraid. his job and coworkers and commute and limited time with his family and friends, and the fear and worry and self doubt about impending parenthood and the fact that Monica wasn't pregnant yet were all taking their time. but instead of talking to her about it, he smokes. instead of typing out an email or trying to talk it over on the phone, Chandler had picked suffering in silence.

"After that," she smiled up at him. "Right before the kissing comment?"

Chandler's brows furrowed and Monica tried not to laugh when he told her no, he was focusing on the tight, silky sway of her little night dress.

"We were limiting each other," she prompted. "Picking things we knew the other liked doing and disallowing it."

"And you said we couldn't cuddle after."

"We didn't have the time to cuddle," Monica informed him her real reasoning she picked that. "We were late to Phoebe's dinner. Besides, that was only in retaliation to you saying I had to be quiet. You know I love cuddling up to you all makes and sated."

"I knew we were late and how much that would freak you out. And you know how much trying to stay quiet turns you on, you get there so quickly when you have to control yourself like that." Chandler beamed down at her, blue eyes glinting.

Monica's body reacted viscerally to his expression, clenching around him. A shiver ran through Chandler's whole body.

He was right too. She went nuts when she couldn't articulate herself, more so when he insisted on tempering her words into whimpers and whines.

"And then you said you wouldn't kiss me," she exhaled lowly, trying to catch her breath. "You're instincts weren't wrong. I love it when you do that, flooding me with affection and stimulation. I didn't want you to take that from me too and I knew exactly how you'd react if I told you I didn't when we were having that fight and you were in that mood to be defiant and stubborn."

Chandler shook his head at her, his lips pulling into a fond smile. "You were right. I left a mark on your neck earlier."

"I figured you might have," Monica chuckled. "Is that what you were staring at in the cab?"

He hummed. "I don't think I've given you a hickey on your neck since Phoebe moved out of Hotel Monica and we could finally make out on the couch again."

"And in the kitchen."

"So you were counting on my bullheadedness."

Monica laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again and stroking the back of Chandler's neck. "Like I said, I got what I wanted."

"I aim to please," he said cockily, rolling his hips.

Monica snorted and Chandler's eyes flashed. "You were trying to be insufferable and self serving."

"Hey!" he laughed. "You just said-" Chandler sighed. "You're pretty insufferable too, you know?"

Monica hummed, amused, squeezing her thighs around her husband. "You should really get be back for it."

Chandler's eyebrows rose a little as he nodded, grinning as he leaned down, whispering, "Oh, believe me, I intend to."

His lips stopped, inches from hers. Monica could taste his breath. Their breath mingled in the gap between them and Chandler smirked, thrusting his hips as they looked at each other.

Then he diverted from his path to her waiting lips and pressed his hot mouth to her neck, her body bucking violently at the sensation.