The One With The President
Chapter Five
By: Jana~
*****~*****
--Monica hadn't been able to say two words to Chandler, it seemed, what with everyone at their table engaging him in polite conversation. She accepted it as par for the course, and quietly kept to herself as she listened to opinions being shared on topics of little interest to her.
Chandler was a courteous host, involved in the discussions around him, helping to keep tensions down when the topics became too heated. Monica found herself chuckling on more than one occasion as he would make a quip to help lighten the mood, and he would always smile warmly at her when she did.
--Chandler leaned towards Monica when Ross had the floor, everyone's attention away from him and on his advisor. "Sorry this is so boring for you," he stated quietly.
She smiled at his concern. "I'm fine," she assured him.
"You know what this party needs?" he asked.
She shook her head only slightly. "No, what?"
"Dancing," he replied, then stood. "Will you dance with me?"
She felt herself blush for what had to have been the umpteenth time that night, then stood and accepted his outstretched hand. "Yes, I will."
He smiled as he led her out onto the dance floor, and immediately, all eyes were on them.
As he placed one hand carefully on her waist, the other grasped her hand gently, extended outward as she placed her other hand on his shoulder. A very proper position for dancing in, in such a proper setting. Then, they began to dance.
She felt self-conscious knowing so many people were watching her, murmuring about her, curious about her. If it hadn't been such an awkward situation, she would have enjoyed herself more. Maybe even moved in closer and placed her head on his chest, but she didn't dare attempt that. Not while so many watched her and scrutinized her. Not while persons from the press snapped pictures.
Phoebe said there would be media present at the event, Monica remembered.
"I don't know how you do it," she told him through her strained smile, trying to keep up appearances for the sake of all around her.
"Do what?" he asked, a similar smile plastered across his face.
"There are about 200 pairs of eyes staring at you right now," she near-whispered, "All probably asking themselves 2 questions. One, who is this woman, and two, why is she dancing with the President?"
"Well, for starters," he said in a tone as quiet as hers, "The 200 pairs of eyes are on you, not me." He gave her hand a tiny squeeze of support. "And the answers to their questions are: Monica Geller, and because she said yes."
*****
--"Nightcap?" he asked as they entered his private rec room.
"Sure. Scotch on the rocks with a twist, please."
He smiled and nodded as he began to fill her order, then poured himself the same, minus the twist.
She accepted the drink from him as he gestured for her to sit on the couch nearest her, he then taking a seat across from her once she was comfortable.
She took a sip of the hard liquor, exhaling sharply at its strength.
"I hope the night wasn't too unbearable for you," he said after taking a drink of his own.
She shook her head. "Not at all. It was… fun."
He laughed at the pause before the word fun. "You lie, but thank you for that. I felt bad," he added, "Seeing how uncomfortable you were amongst all those people."
"Oh, it wasn't the amount of people," she informed. "I cater parties for as big a crowd as that all the time!"
He smiled, "Then, what was it?"
She shrugged. "I just felt, out of place. Politics aren't really my thing."
"Mine either," he said in all seriousness.
She looked stunned. "How can that be? You're the president!"
"I know," he chuckled. "It's just not where my passion lies."
"So, where does your passion lie?" she asked.
He looked down at his glass, then took a drink before responding. "Writing."
"Writing? Creative writing? Journalism?"
"Creative writing. Comedy writing. I love to make people laugh."
"I've noticed," she said with a smile. "You have a wonderful sense of humor."
He nodded as a thank you. "You have a beautiful smile."
She blushed. "Thank you, Mr. President."
"Please," he insisted, "Call me Chandler."
Her only response was to avoid eye contact and take another sip of her drink. She was already starting to feel a little warm from the affects of the alcohol.
"Do you think there will ever be a time where you can be in a room with me and not be this nervous? Not think of me as the president?"
She shrugged. "You are the president."
He sighed. "When we were playing foosball, you dropped your guard with me. You played the game, and who I was, my title, didn't matter."
"When competing, I get sorta, in a zone. My mind was on winning."
"And that's fine! It was a fun game!" He grinned. "Even though you did beat me unmercifully!"
She chuckled at his joke, her smile returning.
"I want you to be comfortable around me," he told her, placing his drink on the coffee table that sat between them, separating them.
"I think that's going to take some time," she replied.
He nodded. "Fair enough." He stood, and she followed him with her eyes. "Dance with me?"
"Here?"
"Well," he grinned, "We could go find 200 people to dance in front of, if you'd rather."
She grinned in return as she accepted his extended hand. "No, no. That's ok."
He took her hand in his, reaching for the nearby remote to the stereo, clicking on a CD that was already in the player from before. Eric Clapton's 'You Look Wonderful Tonight' filled the room, and Monica smiled as he led her to a more open space in the room.
"I love this song," she admitted, taking a stance with him that was not unlike the position they had danced in earlier.
"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face as he started to sway with her.
"You knew that somehow," she asked. "Didn't you?"
"A little birdy might've told me," he replied, his smile growing wider.
Monica remained silent, her brain trying to remember any recent conversation where she might have told someone, anyone, what her favorite song was.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face. "Does this little birdy by any chance have blonde hair?"
He chuckled. "Maybe."
She shook her head as she moved closer into him. "I wondered at the time what was up with all the questions," she murmured.
"I didn't ask her to," he informed. "If that helps."
"Oh, I'm not upset," she told him softly, then stiffened slightly. He could feel her grow tense. "This is just all really new to me," she added hesitantly.
He nodded, pulling her just a little closer to him. She instinctively placed her head against his chest, and he gently took his left hand and wrapped it around her waist in response. Once free from his gentle grasp, her right hand slid up his arm to rest on his shoulder.
It was like a hug set in motion, and he brought his face in closer to her, nuzzling his head against hers, his lips inches from the hollow of her shoulder.
The feel of his breath on her neck sent shivers up her spine, the soft sigh and slight shudder that followed, Chandler's only cue that she was enjoying the closeness as much as he was.
The song was almost over, and Monica feared that with the end of the song would come the end of the closeness.
"Chandler?" she whispered, and he smiled at the sound of his name on her lips.
"Yes?"
"This is nice."
The urge to kiss her shot through him like a bolt of electricity, and he tilted in just enough so that his lips made contact with her soft skin.
A slight gasp escaped her, but she made no attempt to pull away from him. Her reaction was surprise, not disgust, and he felt his heart begin to race, leaving his lips on her for a few more seconds before pulling back to look into her eyes.
The music stopped, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the look shared between them. He slowly moved his hand to her face, brushing her hair back and away from her face as he raked his fingers through.
As he inched closer, her eyes fluttered shut, awaiting his lips on hers. It seemed to take forever before he reached her, and when she felt his soft lips brush hers, she grasped firmly, but not at all painfully at his shoulder.
And the kiss grew, starting tentatively, then turning passionate, then finally, it slowed and they parted, breathless.
They stared at each other for several moments before Monica finally spoke up.
"It's getting late," she muttered as she looked away and for her purse. "I have work tomorrow--"
"Don't," he said simply, and she stopped what she was doing and looked to him.
"What?"
"Don't distance yourself from me," he nearly whispered, sounding almost pained.
She smiled. "I thought for a second you meant don't leave."
He smiled in return. "I don't want you to leave."
She nodded. "I have to though. If I'm late tomorrow-" she hesitated, then chuckled. "I just don't want to give Kathy any ammunition. She bitches at me without just cause," she added. "Think of what she'll do with just cause!"
A courteous smile crossed his face as he looked down at his shoes, scuffing one across the floor as he leaned against the foosball table.
Misunderstanding her abrupt need for retreat, he assumed the worst. The kiss was bad, or she didn't feel the same way. Or he was just simply moving too fast. She had hang-ups because he was the president… he should have waited to kiss her. When she was more comfortable around him. He'd blown it.
Monica could tell by the expression on his face what he was thinking. His eyes were downcast, but as she started to approach him, he looked up at her. She tossed her purse onto the foosball table behind him, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He immediately snaked his arms around her waist, a smile taking the place of his worry lines.
"I don't see much distance between us at the moment," she purred, then kissed his lips softly. "Do you?"
He smiled. "Not anymore."
"Good." She reached past him and grabbed her purse.
"When can I see you again?" he asked, his hand on her hip, that simple contact keeping her from turning away to leave.
"I'll have to check my schedule tomorrow when I get in," she told him. "Call me tomorrow evening?"
He nodded. "Absolutely."
"K." She smiled before moving to leave, but he stopped her by placing both hands on her hips. "I really do have to leave," she smirked, her hands traveling up his arms till they passed his shoulders to meet behind his neck.
"I know," he breathed, "But I wanted to kiss you goodbye."
"Kiss me goodbye?" she asked with a grin, "Or kiss me in an attempt to get me to stay?"
He only smiled in response as he leaned in and met her lips with his. It was a soft and tender kiss, demanding nothing, yet expressing everything.
"Now," he asked as he pulled back just slightly, his face still inches from hers, "Do you want to stay or leave?"
"I have to leave," she stated seriously. "I'm sorry."
"It's ok," he assured her, releasing the gentle hold he had on her hips. "Another time perhaps."
She grinned. "Absolutely."
He walked her to the door, then reached for the knob to open it, stopping short of doing so. "Goodnight, Monica."
"Goodnight, Mr.--" she stopped abrupt, smiling. "Chandler," she corrected herself.
"Mr. Chandler," he said with a laugh. "Last time I was called that was by my family's gay houseboy."
"Ok," she grimaced, "I think that story is best left for another time."
"Yeah," he agreed, then opened the door, a security agent immediately standing at attention. "Ms. Geller needs an escort to her car please," he told the guard, getting a nod from him in response. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, and Monica nodded.
She turned towards the agent, following as he gestured for her to do so.
"Monica?" Chandler called out, and she turned back around, as did the agent. "You look wonderful tonight."
An embarrassed smile crept across her face. "Thank you."
He smiled and nodded, watching as she continued down the hall and out of his line of vision.
He walked towards his private residence, softly humming to himself…
"Darling, you were wonderful tonight…"
TBC
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