Certain lines/plots taken from the actual show, where appropriate.
Reviews are crunchy and nutritious! That's right, I'm talking to you, the
499 people who read this yesterday and didn't review! Naughty, naughty
monkeys!
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Rachel re-piled her hair on top of her head, sliding the clip back into place and heaving an airpot up to the side of the sink. She plunged her hands into a dubious mixture of black water and floating Equal packets, her lip curling in distaste.
Normally, she hated being on dish station, but today, it was a mercy. She'd started out on floor, until Evil Breve Lady had arrived and made her cry, again. Gunther had, glaring daggers at Breve Lady, switched her to drinks, where she'd managed to burn herself on the steam wand not once, not twice, but seven times, Gunther practically cooing over her before sending her back here.
Verbally assaulted, multiply burned, and now stuck scrubbing long-wear lipstick off the espresso cups... she should be having a terrible day.
And yet, she couldn't wipe the grin off her face.
You're killing me.
Do you mind?
Hell, no.
Her stomach flipped out from under her, her knees went weak, and she nearly dropped the plastic glass she'd been scrubbing. This had been happening to her all day, these random... Chandler-attacks. She'd remember a look on his face, or a sound he'd made, or something he said, and these... waves would crash through her. No wonder she kept burning herself.
It was remembering his voice that was really doing it. She'd heard Chandler quip, and rant, and joke... she'd never heard him moan, or whisper in her ear, or speak in that husky, desire-roughened, growl he had before. It was... so different, so... intriguing, like she'd found a hidden panel in a room she'd known forever. The secret Chandler Bing... a secret she was now in on.
She gazed into a stack of dirty muffin plates and saw his face instead, felt his skin against hers, heard his voice in her head. She let her hands drop to the sink, keeping herself still, just enjoying the shivers that ran all over her, her lips parting under the weight of invisible kisses.
She shook her head, clearing it, laughing at herself under her breath, attacking a cup with the dish rinser.
"Rachel?"
She turned, smiled. "Hey, Gunther."
"It's seven. You wanna clock out? One of your friends is already here."
Her heart lurched. "Which one?"
Gunther shrugged. "One of the two I can't tell apart. The taller one, I think."
She dunked her cup back in the sink, scurrying for the doorway.
Chandler sat on the end of the orange couch, immersed in a novel, his long, tapered fingers trailing down the pages, turning them slowly.
She'd never been so jealous of paper before.
How had she never noticed the elegant arch his wrist made, the curve of his jaw, the easy, nimble, precise grace with which he moved? How had she never been struck down before by the sight of him? Had she never really seen him before?
She drank in his profile with her eyes, reaching behind herself to untie her apron.
"Hey, I'll get that," Gunther said, nearly leaping over to work the knot for her. "You, uh, you going to hang out here a while?"
"Yeah, I... think I'll see what Chandler's up to," she said casually. "Thanks, Gunther."
She clocked out, hanging up her apron, and crossed behind him... letting her fingers drag along the back of the couch, brushing his shoulders.
He looked up, face lighting in a grin. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." She sat down next to him. "Whatcha readin'?"
He flashed her the title of the book. "I was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something."
"Yeah, sure, I... should probably shower first, I bet I smell like dishwater."
He leaned in to smell her neck, his breath cinnamony and hot against her collarbone. Her spine melted again, and she tried to remember to breathe.
"Actually, you smell like chocolate and coffee. Both good." He grinned. "But I wouldn't turn down another shower..."
They shared a grin. Chandler touched her hand lightly. "What were you doing on dish detail, anyway?"
"Oh, I was useless today. I guess I was... distracted..." she bit her lip. "I kept, y'know. Remembering stuff. Going all jell-o knees."
Chandler laughed. "See this book?"
"Yeah..."
"I've been reading it for two hours." He showed her where his finger held his place. "I'm on page five."
"You too, huh."
"Oh, yeah. Very, very much, me too."
He searched her face. "Have you been crying?"
"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Just Evil Breve Lady. She does it every day."
"Evil Breve Lady?" Chandler repeated curiously, moving a lock of her hair away from her eyes.
Rachel grinned. "I shouldn't talk about it here."
"You, uh... wanna go out to dinner and talk about it?"
"That would be..." she looked out the window, face falling. "... probably not a good idea."
Chandler whipped around, following her eyes. "Oh."
Monica, Phoebe, and Joey spilled into the coffeeshop. Rachel's eyes widened. "Oh my god, Mon -- what happened to your hair?"
"Now, is that 'never mentioning it again'?" Phoebe snapped.
"She wasn't there, Pheebs," Monica sighed, glaring at Phoebe. "'Vidal Buffay' apparently doesn't know the difference between Dudley and Demi Moore."
She crossed her arms. "Go ahead, Chandler."
He blinked. "Go ahead... what?"
"Mock. Poke fun. I know you want to. I'm prepared."
"I dunno," Chandler said, regarding her completely seriously. "The length's okay, Mon, but you might wanna get it evened up a bit." He opened his book again.
"Okay... that I was not prepared for," Monica blurted, plopping into the chair.
"S'no fun when you're prepared for it," Chandler smiled, turning a page.
Monica turned her attention to Rachel. "Where were you last night, anyway?"
"She stayed with us," Joey said. Rachel's heart stopped. "Hey Chandler, you gonna finish that muffin?"
"Nah, man, take it."
Monica's brow wrinkled. "She stayed with you guys?"
"Well, yeah," Joey peeled the wrapper off the muffin. "She hit her head yesterday -- somebody had to wake her up every two hours. Y'know, in case she had a confusion."
"Concussion," Chandler corrected quietly.
"Concussion, yeah. So Chandler did it. I wasn't there, I had a date."
Rachel's eyes flashed between Joey and Chandler. Joey shoved his muffin into his mouth, brushing crumbs off his hands; Chandler tipped her the very smallest of winks.
"Oh, sweetie!" Monica cried. "I would have done that for you!"
"Well, you were already asleep when I got back from the bar," Rachel said. "Chandler was up watching cartoons."
Man, lying was easy when you didn't actually have to.
"You went to a bar?" Phoebe said.
"Had some sorrows to drown," Rachel laughed. "And believe me, I drowned 'em deep."
"Only Chandler would spend Friday night with a hot drunk girl, watchin' cartoons," Joey laughed.
"Yep, I'm a big loser," Chandler agreed affably, turning a page.
"Okay, you are -- you are in way too good of a mood," Phoebe said, turning a suspicious eye on Chandler. "Your aura's all... pinky-red. What's going on?"
"Why wouldn't I be in a good mood?" Chandler laughed. "Got a good book, good coffee, good friends, free hand job from Joey's psychotic tailor..."
"What?" Joey gasped. "Frankie??"
"That's right!" Chandler laughed. "Thanks a hell of a lot for the referral to Chester the Molester, man."
Rachel watched Chandler and Joey bicker, sliding closer to Phoebe. "Hey, Pheebs... what's pinky-red mean?"
"Well, the pink is, uhm, kinda friendship, y'know? Feeling comfortable with people, secure, it's a love thing... and the red is, well, passion, sexual energy... anger too, but not so much with the pink..."
"So he's horny but happy to be with us? Sounds... Chandler-y..."
"Yeah, but usually, Chandler's more greeny -- self-doubt, y'know? I mean, he's got a little bit of that, he always does -- oooh, oh, yeah, bunch more now that Ross just walked in."
Rachel whirled. Ross and Julie waved, crossing to the counter for drinks.
"That's... interesting," Phoebe said, looking between Rachel and Chandler suspiciously.
"You want some coffee? I'm gonna get some," Rachel said quickly.
"Sure," Phoebe said, still staring at a space over Rachel's head. Rachel felt the bizarre compulsion to wrap her hands around her aura and shield it from prying, psychic, Phoebe eyes.
Chandler jumped up. "I'll get it, you get coffee all day." He headed over in Ross' direction.
"Green, green, green," Phoebe muttered.
"Hey, you guys," Ross said happily, joining them on the couch. "Julie, tell Rachel."
"I've, uh... I've got this friend who's quitting Bloomingdale's Monday, and he wants to abuse his discount this weekend. Any of you guys up for shopping tomorrow?"
"I have to take my grandmother to the vet," Phoebe said, shooting an anxious look at Rachel.
"Sure, Julie... I'd love to go," Rachel said.
Phoebe and Monica exchanged a shocked glance.
"Um, yeah... I could shop," Monica said slowly.
"I guess Grandma could drive herself for once..."
"So we're all in? Great!" Julie smiled. "You wanna say... two p.m.? Pick you up at the apartment?"
"Sounds great," Rachel smiled.
***
"What the hell was that?" Monica hissed the moment she'd left the coffeeshop. "You want to go shopping with Julie? Yesterday, you wanted to strangle her!"
"Well... you guys said I should get over it... I'm trying to get over it..."
"Aww, honey." Monica gave Rachel a hug. "Tell you what. Tonight, we'll have a big girl thing, okay? You, me, Phoebe, margaritas, sappy movies in our PJ's, okay? Chandler and Joey... banned!"
"Actually, Chandler was really sweet to me last night," Rachel said carefully, biting her lip. It felt so weird not telling Monica, and god, how she wanted to... wanted to tell Monica everything, wanted to get her reactions, wanted to run everything Chandler had said past her for analysis.
"He can be sweet," Monica said, looking over her shoulder at the receding coffeeshop. "He looked nice today, too. Phoebe gave him a really good haircut, at least."
"Yeah," Rachel said, thinking about how his hair had felt as she'd woven her fingers through it, pulling his lips down on hers.
"Remember that first Thanksgiving he came to my house?" Monica said suddenly.
"Oh, yeah...!"
"God, I had the biggest crush on him. Well, before he called me fat."
Unease crept into Rachel's stomach. Where was this going?
"Never really forgave him for that," Monica said, a strange smile on her face. "But y'know, Rach, on days like this, when he actually acts like a human being instead of a joke machine..."
Oh no, no, Monica, no...
"I kinda remember, y'know. Why I liked him so much when I met him."
Monica stared off into space, and the butterflies in Rachel's stomach did swooping loops.
"Anyway -- I'm sorry," Monica stammered. "I'm all blabbery about my stuff when you're so upset about Ross..."
Rachel made a non-committal noise and examined her shoes closely.
"But, uh... can I ask you a question?" Monica pulled at the shaggy remains of her hair nervously. "You hung out with Chandler alone for a long time last night, right?"
Rachel tried not to wince. "Uh-huh..."
"Did he... did he mention me at all? Say anything about me?"
"Not really, Mon... sorry."
"Well, uh... maybe if you get a chance like that again, you could kinda... bring me up?"
"Yeah, sure! Sure, I could do that."
"Thanks, sweetie." Monica slung her arm around Rachel and hugged her. "You are such a good friend to me. You know that, right?"
Rachel smiled painfully, returning the hug.
***
"Schmelly caaaaaat... schmellycat," Phoebe mumbled into a sofa pillow. "Y'know, I can't 'member the resht of the wordsht."
"What are they feeding you," Rachel said, rescuing Phoebe's margarita glass from the edge of the table.
"Oh, riiiiiiiiight." Phoebe turned an eye and an accusing, unsteady finger on Rachel. "You're n'drunk!"
"No-no, I'm hammered," Rachel said, pulling a blanket over Monica's passed out form. "I'm just... maintaining, y'know?"
"You drank s'mush as'a resht of us."
No, I just made you think that I did. "Seriously, Pheebs. I'm gonna pass out any minute." She let out an exaggerated yawn.
"Metoooo..." Phoebe curled into the fetal position, and Rachel put another blanket around her.
She gathered up glasses and pitchers, straightened videos into tidy stacks. She already felt guilty enough where Monica was concerned without leaving a mess.
When Phoebe's soft snores joined Monica's, Rachel slipped out the door.
***
"Joey?" Rachel asked as she clicked the door shut. Chandler looked up from the foosball table, eyes lighting up.
"On a date." He moved towards her, arms outstretched. "I didn't think you'd make it over."
She stopped his approach, both palms on his chest. "Hey, wait. Isn't that the sweatshirt I had on last night?"
"Yeah, it... I was gonna put it in the laundry tonight, but it... well, it smelled like you, so." He grinned adorably, and a pang went through her. God, this... this sucked.
"Chandler, we... we can't do this."
His face crashed down. "Sobered up, huh," he said bitterly.
"No, no, nothing like that, it's..."
"It's Ross. It's okay." Chandler walked towards the television, keeping his back to her. "That's cool, Rach, that's fine. I mean, I've been kinda waiting for this, you've liked him for a while now, and I'm just..."
"It's not Ross."
"Well, if it's Joey, no offense, but... you don't have to collect the entire matching set, y'know."
"Chandler, dammit, stop!"
He froze, hands in pockets, his face turned towards her. What she saw on it made her feel like a professional puppy-kicker.
"It's not Ross, or Joey, or anybody. It's... I didn't realize how many people we could hurt with this."
The ice melted an inch. "Explain?"
"Somebody... likes you. And they've liked you a lot longer than I have. And it's somebody close to me, that I can't hurt, I just can't."
He processed that a moment, shock in his eyes. "Phoebe or Monica? You do realize being vague here is just not that useful."
Rachel groaned. "Monica."
"That's... very surprising..."
"Yeah, I was surprised, too. Chandler, she's my best friend. I've known her since I could walk!"
"Yeah, well, Ross is one of my best friends, okay? I've known him since college." Chandler took a step forward. "And you, Rach, you were the one who gave me the speech, y'know, about the consenting adults, and this being nobody's business but ours..."
"I know." Rachel collapsed in the captain's chair. "I know I did. But it's Monica. It's not like Ross... he has a girlfriend! And the thing is, she just gave me this little speech today about it. And if I hook up with you after the little speech... and she's not gonna know I hooked up with you before it... she's gonna feel so betrayed... like I knew how she felt and went after you anyway."
"Ouch," Chandler sighed, leaning against a stool.
"And Monica... well, Chandler... you know! She took me in when I had nowhere to go, she's helped me out so much, she's stood by me through all this crap and I... I just can't do this to her."
"It's worse than you know," Chandler sighed.
"How could it be worse?"
"Okay, I... I sort of... lied to you about something. But it's 'cause I thought you would hit me."
"When did you lie to me?"
"Um, remember that conversation? About the silver cloud lining, and Ross making the decision to get over you all by himself?"
"Uh-huh..."
"Well, uh... Ross personally credits me with convincing him to get over you."
"Oh, Chandler," Rachel said in horror.
"Well, you didn't seem interested! You had Paolo, and Ross was hurting, and I..."
"No-no, not that! I'm not mad! I'm just... god, he's gonna think you talked him out of it so that..."
"... I could have you," Chandler finished glumly. "Especially if he finds out from Mon, Joey, or Pheebs that you like him back."
She wasn't sure how she felt about his use of the present tense in that sentence.
"Maybe this was a stupid idea," Chandler sighed. "Too complicated, too many feelings involved."
"It wasn't an idea at all, Chandler," Rachel said. "How much thinking were you doing?"
"Um... depends on which brain you're talking about..."
"So, uh... is this over?"
"I guess... I guess it is." Chandler stuck his hands in his pockets.
"So, well. I guess I have a pajama party to get back to. Woo-hoo." She grasped the doorhandle, trying to ignore the stinging behind her eyes. "So, um... bye."
"Stay," Chandler said simply.
She turned. "What?"
"Stay." He stood awkwardly, pain on his face. "Please."
"Do you... you really want me to?"
"Look... if I'm gonna be sleeping alone and kicking myself, I at least want this sweatshirt recharged."
"I don't know if I should do that."
"I don't know if you should do that, either. But I want you to."
She reached for the doorhandle again. Her hand hesitated... shook... and turned the door lock instead.
The tumblers fastened with a thump almost as loud as the sound of her own heart in her ears.
She couldn't feel her feet, but they were carrying her towards him... and his hands reached out for her, surrounding her face as he kissed her.
"You taste like margaritas," he grinned, running his thumb along her cheekbone.
"You taste like heaven," she whispered.
Chandler looked up at her, struck. "God, Rach. This is... too sad."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is."
He looked into her eyes, an expression on his face she couldn't define... and then he reached down, unbuttoning her pajama top slowly, button by button... mournfully, reverently... like he was lighting church candles.
"Chandler... what are you doing?"
He folded her shirt, laying it on the counter behind her... then grasped the hem of his own, pulling it over his head. "I'm putting this on you."
And he did, with the same slow formality, gently pulling her hair out from the neckband, running his palms down her fleece-covered arms, taking her hands. "There."
"Now it smells like you," she said, and was surprised to hear her voice crack.
"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "You should fix that for me."
"It'll just smell like us together."
"That's good, too."
She reached out, placing her hands on the flat of his stomach, feeling the warmth of him travel up her. "What are we doing now?"
"Going to sleep?"
"Is that what you want to do?"
"No."
And his mouth came down on hers, demanding, desperate. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, her fingers in his hair, clawing him closer. They sank to the floor, his hand cushioning her head, the chill of the linoleum a shock against the heat of his body.
She had to remember this. Had to remember every second of this. Had to memorize each taste, each kiss, each inch of him, his heartbeat against hers.
She wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself against him as they kissed feverishly, her whole body begging, sliding her hands on his bare skin, feeling the muscles beneath roll as their bodies writhed, his hand sliding up inside her sweatshirt, every pore of her body aching for his touch.
"Too many pants," she whispered, and they both burst into giggles, rolling from the kitchen to the carpet. She landed on top, the laughter still making her ribs ache.
"You're the boss," Chandler grinned.
"Then I'm declaring it No Pants Saturday," she laughed, pulling his sweatpants off and tossing them aside.
"What, management doesn't have to follow the rules?"
"Management always wants to set a good example," she teased, leaning down to nibble at his neck. "But we prefer hands-on, take-charge employees."
"So noted," Chandler grinned, sliding his thumbs underneath her waistband. Her pajamas joined the growing pile in the kitchen floor, and Rachel yanked the sweatshirt up over her head, throwing it after.
"But..." Chandler protested.
"I want you to see me. All of me." She leaned down, teasing his chest with her own. "And I wanted to feel this."
She tossed her head. "Besides -- I'm the boss."
"You are the boss," he agreed, eyes twinkling. "Although, this... this might qualify as sexual harassment..."
"Then this is really bad," she laughed, raising her hips and sliding down onto him, gratified to hear him suck in air, his eyes rolling back.
She rolled her hips, taking him deeper, beginning a slow, swirling rhythm.
"Help, help, I'm being harassed," Chandler chuckled, running his hands up her back, raising his hips to meet hers.
"Just think of this as our comprehensive corporate benefits package," she teased.
He burst out laughing and grabbed her, hugging her to him. "God, I lo--"
He stopped short, eyes bulging as he realized what he'd almost said.
She brought her lips down on his, hard, cutting off whatever he was going to say, pounding herself against him as hard as she could, raking her fingernails down his chest, feeling him moan against her mouth.
"Too... you're gonna... you're gonna make..." he whispered.
"I know," she growled. "I want to watch."
His eyes flew wide, then closed as his neck arched, his fingers digging into her back, whispering her name.
"Look at me," she commanded.
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing sane in them, and a thrill of power filled her. She beat down on him, grinding herself against him, memorizing his body with her hands.
And he cried out, bucking beneath her, only the whites of his eyes showing... and suddenly, with an angry roar, he was lifting her off of him, pressing her to the floor, burying his face in her, teeth and tongue moving with maddening fury, suddenly joined by fingers.
She cried out, thrashing against him, spine arching. "Wha... whaddya..."
"Getting you back for that," he snarled into her.
The world exploded and she screamed, shoving her fist into her mouth, biting down on her knuckles. Chandler slowed but didn't stop, slow circles building to faster ones, his fingers torturing her, unrelenting, the pressure building up again, her hands flying into his hair, caressing every part of him she could reach.
"Chandler, Chandler I..."
And everything went red again, her breath stopping, her hands clawing into his shoulders, the carpet burning her back as she trembled all over.
And still he didn't stop, taking her thighs in his hands, burying deeper into her. Rachel gasped for breath, tried to remember her name, her whole body on fire, her muscles no longer under her control as spasm after spasm ripped through her, shaking her against the floor.
"I'm gonna pass out," she whimpered.
"No, you're not," he laughed.
And the fingers again, pressing against places she didn't know she had, new sets of nerves taking over her brain, and she screamed again as her whole body clenched, trembling, her head thrashing, stars behind her closed eyelids.
"You got me back," she moaned. "You got me back, okay?"
"Not... quite..."
He turned her over, her useless, jellied muscles putting up no protest, a limp rag in his arms... and then he drove into her, her hips in his hands, pounding furiously, so deep pain mixed with the pleasure and became pleasure again.
She cried out, finding the strength to rock back against him, welcoming the onslaught, moaning his name into the floor, begging him for more and unsure if she could take it, her breasts dragging the carpet with every thrust, even more sensation swirling up into her overwhelmed brain, the force of him sending her close to the edge...
And finally over it, as Chandler cried out and they both collapsed to the floor, his forehead pressed to her shoulderblades, both drenched in sweat, slippery skin sliding against each other as he rolled up on an elbow, running his fingertips over her back, tracing loops and spirals.
"I can't move," she finally moaned.
"Good."
"I think you broke my brain."
"Good."
"And maybe some other stuff."
"You mind?"
"Hell, no." She rolled over, staring up at him. "Do you have any idea how amazing that was?"
"Thought you couldn't move."
"I can flop. Do you know?"
"How many?" he asked, mouth twitching in a grin.
Rachel held up four fingers, then let her wrist collapse back to the carpet.
"That'll do," Chandler laughed.
"That'll... do? Jesus, Chandler. I have never... never, ever..."
"That was the general plan." He brushed a piece of hair from her forehead. "Don't forget me, okay?"
"Oh, god...! I would never... could never... god, now I definitely can't, I'll think of you every time I see my carpet burn scars."
"Oh my god, did I hurt you?" he cried, hands running over her in concern.
"No-no, no, I'm fine, I was joking. I'm better than fine. I still can't move."
"Well, that was a dirty little trick you pulled on me," he laughed, his thumb tracing slow circles around her breast.
"I just wanted to see you," Rachel smiled.
"Did you get what you wanted?"
"Yes," she grinned. "Definitely, very much, yes."
"Still can't move?"
She tried to raise her arm off the floor. "Nope."
"Good... I've always wanted to do this."
He rolled up, leaning down and picking her up in his arms, carrying her into his bedroom and setting her down on the bed.
"Where... where are you going?"
"Gonna go brush my teeth."
"No, no, no way. More you, right now." She thumped the mattress next to her.
He laughed, crawling in beside her. "You're gonna regret that in the morning."
She wound herself through him, leg curling over his thigh, head on his chest. "I'm not gonna regret anything in the morning."
He tightened his arms around her. She listened to the comforting thump of his heart beneath her ear, drifting off to sleep, her breath becoming regular and deep.
"I do, though," she heard him whisper, so soft she could barely understand the words. She forced her breath to remain in rhythm, willed her body not to move. He thought she was asleep; she wasn't going to convince him otherwise.
"That thing I didn't say? I do. I don't know how it happened, or why it happened so fast, but it did."
He hugged her closer. "That's all."
Tears stabbed her eyes, and Rachel hugged him close.
"You heard," he whispered in dread.
"Me too," she breathed into his chest. "Me too."
"Well, crap."
She laughed then, playing idly with his chest hair. "Yeah... that about sums it up."
"So... can I say it?"
"Maybe you shouldn't."
"Can I think it?"
"I can't think much else."
He crushed her to him, her hands sliding to wrap around his waist.
And this time when she slept, it was for real.
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Rachel re-piled her hair on top of her head, sliding the clip back into place and heaving an airpot up to the side of the sink. She plunged her hands into a dubious mixture of black water and floating Equal packets, her lip curling in distaste.
Normally, she hated being on dish station, but today, it was a mercy. She'd started out on floor, until Evil Breve Lady had arrived and made her cry, again. Gunther had, glaring daggers at Breve Lady, switched her to drinks, where she'd managed to burn herself on the steam wand not once, not twice, but seven times, Gunther practically cooing over her before sending her back here.
Verbally assaulted, multiply burned, and now stuck scrubbing long-wear lipstick off the espresso cups... she should be having a terrible day.
And yet, she couldn't wipe the grin off her face.
You're killing me.
Do you mind?
Hell, no.
Her stomach flipped out from under her, her knees went weak, and she nearly dropped the plastic glass she'd been scrubbing. This had been happening to her all day, these random... Chandler-attacks. She'd remember a look on his face, or a sound he'd made, or something he said, and these... waves would crash through her. No wonder she kept burning herself.
It was remembering his voice that was really doing it. She'd heard Chandler quip, and rant, and joke... she'd never heard him moan, or whisper in her ear, or speak in that husky, desire-roughened, growl he had before. It was... so different, so... intriguing, like she'd found a hidden panel in a room she'd known forever. The secret Chandler Bing... a secret she was now in on.
She gazed into a stack of dirty muffin plates and saw his face instead, felt his skin against hers, heard his voice in her head. She let her hands drop to the sink, keeping herself still, just enjoying the shivers that ran all over her, her lips parting under the weight of invisible kisses.
She shook her head, clearing it, laughing at herself under her breath, attacking a cup with the dish rinser.
"Rachel?"
She turned, smiled. "Hey, Gunther."
"It's seven. You wanna clock out? One of your friends is already here."
Her heart lurched. "Which one?"
Gunther shrugged. "One of the two I can't tell apart. The taller one, I think."
She dunked her cup back in the sink, scurrying for the doorway.
Chandler sat on the end of the orange couch, immersed in a novel, his long, tapered fingers trailing down the pages, turning them slowly.
She'd never been so jealous of paper before.
How had she never noticed the elegant arch his wrist made, the curve of his jaw, the easy, nimble, precise grace with which he moved? How had she never been struck down before by the sight of him? Had she never really seen him before?
She drank in his profile with her eyes, reaching behind herself to untie her apron.
"Hey, I'll get that," Gunther said, nearly leaping over to work the knot for her. "You, uh, you going to hang out here a while?"
"Yeah, I... think I'll see what Chandler's up to," she said casually. "Thanks, Gunther."
She clocked out, hanging up her apron, and crossed behind him... letting her fingers drag along the back of the couch, brushing his shoulders.
He looked up, face lighting in a grin. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." She sat down next to him. "Whatcha readin'?"
He flashed her the title of the book. "I was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something."
"Yeah, sure, I... should probably shower first, I bet I smell like dishwater."
He leaned in to smell her neck, his breath cinnamony and hot against her collarbone. Her spine melted again, and she tried to remember to breathe.
"Actually, you smell like chocolate and coffee. Both good." He grinned. "But I wouldn't turn down another shower..."
They shared a grin. Chandler touched her hand lightly. "What were you doing on dish detail, anyway?"
"Oh, I was useless today. I guess I was... distracted..." she bit her lip. "I kept, y'know. Remembering stuff. Going all jell-o knees."
Chandler laughed. "See this book?"
"Yeah..."
"I've been reading it for two hours." He showed her where his finger held his place. "I'm on page five."
"You too, huh."
"Oh, yeah. Very, very much, me too."
He searched her face. "Have you been crying?"
"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Just Evil Breve Lady. She does it every day."
"Evil Breve Lady?" Chandler repeated curiously, moving a lock of her hair away from her eyes.
Rachel grinned. "I shouldn't talk about it here."
"You, uh... wanna go out to dinner and talk about it?"
"That would be..." she looked out the window, face falling. "... probably not a good idea."
Chandler whipped around, following her eyes. "Oh."
Monica, Phoebe, and Joey spilled into the coffeeshop. Rachel's eyes widened. "Oh my god, Mon -- what happened to your hair?"
"Now, is that 'never mentioning it again'?" Phoebe snapped.
"She wasn't there, Pheebs," Monica sighed, glaring at Phoebe. "'Vidal Buffay' apparently doesn't know the difference between Dudley and Demi Moore."
She crossed her arms. "Go ahead, Chandler."
He blinked. "Go ahead... what?"
"Mock. Poke fun. I know you want to. I'm prepared."
"I dunno," Chandler said, regarding her completely seriously. "The length's okay, Mon, but you might wanna get it evened up a bit." He opened his book again.
"Okay... that I was not prepared for," Monica blurted, plopping into the chair.
"S'no fun when you're prepared for it," Chandler smiled, turning a page.
Monica turned her attention to Rachel. "Where were you last night, anyway?"
"She stayed with us," Joey said. Rachel's heart stopped. "Hey Chandler, you gonna finish that muffin?"
"Nah, man, take it."
Monica's brow wrinkled. "She stayed with you guys?"
"Well, yeah," Joey peeled the wrapper off the muffin. "She hit her head yesterday -- somebody had to wake her up every two hours. Y'know, in case she had a confusion."
"Concussion," Chandler corrected quietly.
"Concussion, yeah. So Chandler did it. I wasn't there, I had a date."
Rachel's eyes flashed between Joey and Chandler. Joey shoved his muffin into his mouth, brushing crumbs off his hands; Chandler tipped her the very smallest of winks.
"Oh, sweetie!" Monica cried. "I would have done that for you!"
"Well, you were already asleep when I got back from the bar," Rachel said. "Chandler was up watching cartoons."
Man, lying was easy when you didn't actually have to.
"You went to a bar?" Phoebe said.
"Had some sorrows to drown," Rachel laughed. "And believe me, I drowned 'em deep."
"Only Chandler would spend Friday night with a hot drunk girl, watchin' cartoons," Joey laughed.
"Yep, I'm a big loser," Chandler agreed affably, turning a page.
"Okay, you are -- you are in way too good of a mood," Phoebe said, turning a suspicious eye on Chandler. "Your aura's all... pinky-red. What's going on?"
"Why wouldn't I be in a good mood?" Chandler laughed. "Got a good book, good coffee, good friends, free hand job from Joey's psychotic tailor..."
"What?" Joey gasped. "Frankie??"
"That's right!" Chandler laughed. "Thanks a hell of a lot for the referral to Chester the Molester, man."
Rachel watched Chandler and Joey bicker, sliding closer to Phoebe. "Hey, Pheebs... what's pinky-red mean?"
"Well, the pink is, uhm, kinda friendship, y'know? Feeling comfortable with people, secure, it's a love thing... and the red is, well, passion, sexual energy... anger too, but not so much with the pink..."
"So he's horny but happy to be with us? Sounds... Chandler-y..."
"Yeah, but usually, Chandler's more greeny -- self-doubt, y'know? I mean, he's got a little bit of that, he always does -- oooh, oh, yeah, bunch more now that Ross just walked in."
Rachel whirled. Ross and Julie waved, crossing to the counter for drinks.
"That's... interesting," Phoebe said, looking between Rachel and Chandler suspiciously.
"You want some coffee? I'm gonna get some," Rachel said quickly.
"Sure," Phoebe said, still staring at a space over Rachel's head. Rachel felt the bizarre compulsion to wrap her hands around her aura and shield it from prying, psychic, Phoebe eyes.
Chandler jumped up. "I'll get it, you get coffee all day." He headed over in Ross' direction.
"Green, green, green," Phoebe muttered.
"Hey, you guys," Ross said happily, joining them on the couch. "Julie, tell Rachel."
"I've, uh... I've got this friend who's quitting Bloomingdale's Monday, and he wants to abuse his discount this weekend. Any of you guys up for shopping tomorrow?"
"I have to take my grandmother to the vet," Phoebe said, shooting an anxious look at Rachel.
"Sure, Julie... I'd love to go," Rachel said.
Phoebe and Monica exchanged a shocked glance.
"Um, yeah... I could shop," Monica said slowly.
"I guess Grandma could drive herself for once..."
"So we're all in? Great!" Julie smiled. "You wanna say... two p.m.? Pick you up at the apartment?"
"Sounds great," Rachel smiled.
***
"What the hell was that?" Monica hissed the moment she'd left the coffeeshop. "You want to go shopping with Julie? Yesterday, you wanted to strangle her!"
"Well... you guys said I should get over it... I'm trying to get over it..."
"Aww, honey." Monica gave Rachel a hug. "Tell you what. Tonight, we'll have a big girl thing, okay? You, me, Phoebe, margaritas, sappy movies in our PJ's, okay? Chandler and Joey... banned!"
"Actually, Chandler was really sweet to me last night," Rachel said carefully, biting her lip. It felt so weird not telling Monica, and god, how she wanted to... wanted to tell Monica everything, wanted to get her reactions, wanted to run everything Chandler had said past her for analysis.
"He can be sweet," Monica said, looking over her shoulder at the receding coffeeshop. "He looked nice today, too. Phoebe gave him a really good haircut, at least."
"Yeah," Rachel said, thinking about how his hair had felt as she'd woven her fingers through it, pulling his lips down on hers.
"Remember that first Thanksgiving he came to my house?" Monica said suddenly.
"Oh, yeah...!"
"God, I had the biggest crush on him. Well, before he called me fat."
Unease crept into Rachel's stomach. Where was this going?
"Never really forgave him for that," Monica said, a strange smile on her face. "But y'know, Rach, on days like this, when he actually acts like a human being instead of a joke machine..."
Oh no, no, Monica, no...
"I kinda remember, y'know. Why I liked him so much when I met him."
Monica stared off into space, and the butterflies in Rachel's stomach did swooping loops.
"Anyway -- I'm sorry," Monica stammered. "I'm all blabbery about my stuff when you're so upset about Ross..."
Rachel made a non-committal noise and examined her shoes closely.
"But, uh... can I ask you a question?" Monica pulled at the shaggy remains of her hair nervously. "You hung out with Chandler alone for a long time last night, right?"
Rachel tried not to wince. "Uh-huh..."
"Did he... did he mention me at all? Say anything about me?"
"Not really, Mon... sorry."
"Well, uh... maybe if you get a chance like that again, you could kinda... bring me up?"
"Yeah, sure! Sure, I could do that."
"Thanks, sweetie." Monica slung her arm around Rachel and hugged her. "You are such a good friend to me. You know that, right?"
Rachel smiled painfully, returning the hug.
***
"Schmelly caaaaaat... schmellycat," Phoebe mumbled into a sofa pillow. "Y'know, I can't 'member the resht of the wordsht."
"What are they feeding you," Rachel said, rescuing Phoebe's margarita glass from the edge of the table.
"Oh, riiiiiiiiight." Phoebe turned an eye and an accusing, unsteady finger on Rachel. "You're n'drunk!"
"No-no, I'm hammered," Rachel said, pulling a blanket over Monica's passed out form. "I'm just... maintaining, y'know?"
"You drank s'mush as'a resht of us."
No, I just made you think that I did. "Seriously, Pheebs. I'm gonna pass out any minute." She let out an exaggerated yawn.
"Metoooo..." Phoebe curled into the fetal position, and Rachel put another blanket around her.
She gathered up glasses and pitchers, straightened videos into tidy stacks. She already felt guilty enough where Monica was concerned without leaving a mess.
When Phoebe's soft snores joined Monica's, Rachel slipped out the door.
***
"Joey?" Rachel asked as she clicked the door shut. Chandler looked up from the foosball table, eyes lighting up.
"On a date." He moved towards her, arms outstretched. "I didn't think you'd make it over."
She stopped his approach, both palms on his chest. "Hey, wait. Isn't that the sweatshirt I had on last night?"
"Yeah, it... I was gonna put it in the laundry tonight, but it... well, it smelled like you, so." He grinned adorably, and a pang went through her. God, this... this sucked.
"Chandler, we... we can't do this."
His face crashed down. "Sobered up, huh," he said bitterly.
"No, no, nothing like that, it's..."
"It's Ross. It's okay." Chandler walked towards the television, keeping his back to her. "That's cool, Rach, that's fine. I mean, I've been kinda waiting for this, you've liked him for a while now, and I'm just..."
"It's not Ross."
"Well, if it's Joey, no offense, but... you don't have to collect the entire matching set, y'know."
"Chandler, dammit, stop!"
He froze, hands in pockets, his face turned towards her. What she saw on it made her feel like a professional puppy-kicker.
"It's not Ross, or Joey, or anybody. It's... I didn't realize how many people we could hurt with this."
The ice melted an inch. "Explain?"
"Somebody... likes you. And they've liked you a lot longer than I have. And it's somebody close to me, that I can't hurt, I just can't."
He processed that a moment, shock in his eyes. "Phoebe or Monica? You do realize being vague here is just not that useful."
Rachel groaned. "Monica."
"That's... very surprising..."
"Yeah, I was surprised, too. Chandler, she's my best friend. I've known her since I could walk!"
"Yeah, well, Ross is one of my best friends, okay? I've known him since college." Chandler took a step forward. "And you, Rach, you were the one who gave me the speech, y'know, about the consenting adults, and this being nobody's business but ours..."
"I know." Rachel collapsed in the captain's chair. "I know I did. But it's Monica. It's not like Ross... he has a girlfriend! And the thing is, she just gave me this little speech today about it. And if I hook up with you after the little speech... and she's not gonna know I hooked up with you before it... she's gonna feel so betrayed... like I knew how she felt and went after you anyway."
"Ouch," Chandler sighed, leaning against a stool.
"And Monica... well, Chandler... you know! She took me in when I had nowhere to go, she's helped me out so much, she's stood by me through all this crap and I... I just can't do this to her."
"It's worse than you know," Chandler sighed.
"How could it be worse?"
"Okay, I... I sort of... lied to you about something. But it's 'cause I thought you would hit me."
"When did you lie to me?"
"Um, remember that conversation? About the silver cloud lining, and Ross making the decision to get over you all by himself?"
"Uh-huh..."
"Well, uh... Ross personally credits me with convincing him to get over you."
"Oh, Chandler," Rachel said in horror.
"Well, you didn't seem interested! You had Paolo, and Ross was hurting, and I..."
"No-no, not that! I'm not mad! I'm just... god, he's gonna think you talked him out of it so that..."
"... I could have you," Chandler finished glumly. "Especially if he finds out from Mon, Joey, or Pheebs that you like him back."
She wasn't sure how she felt about his use of the present tense in that sentence.
"Maybe this was a stupid idea," Chandler sighed. "Too complicated, too many feelings involved."
"It wasn't an idea at all, Chandler," Rachel said. "How much thinking were you doing?"
"Um... depends on which brain you're talking about..."
"So, uh... is this over?"
"I guess... I guess it is." Chandler stuck his hands in his pockets.
"So, well. I guess I have a pajama party to get back to. Woo-hoo." She grasped the doorhandle, trying to ignore the stinging behind her eyes. "So, um... bye."
"Stay," Chandler said simply.
She turned. "What?"
"Stay." He stood awkwardly, pain on his face. "Please."
"Do you... you really want me to?"
"Look... if I'm gonna be sleeping alone and kicking myself, I at least want this sweatshirt recharged."
"I don't know if I should do that."
"I don't know if you should do that, either. But I want you to."
She reached for the doorhandle again. Her hand hesitated... shook... and turned the door lock instead.
The tumblers fastened with a thump almost as loud as the sound of her own heart in her ears.
She couldn't feel her feet, but they were carrying her towards him... and his hands reached out for her, surrounding her face as he kissed her.
"You taste like margaritas," he grinned, running his thumb along her cheekbone.
"You taste like heaven," she whispered.
Chandler looked up at her, struck. "God, Rach. This is... too sad."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is."
He looked into her eyes, an expression on his face she couldn't define... and then he reached down, unbuttoning her pajama top slowly, button by button... mournfully, reverently... like he was lighting church candles.
"Chandler... what are you doing?"
He folded her shirt, laying it on the counter behind her... then grasped the hem of his own, pulling it over his head. "I'm putting this on you."
And he did, with the same slow formality, gently pulling her hair out from the neckband, running his palms down her fleece-covered arms, taking her hands. "There."
"Now it smells like you," she said, and was surprised to hear her voice crack.
"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "You should fix that for me."
"It'll just smell like us together."
"That's good, too."
She reached out, placing her hands on the flat of his stomach, feeling the warmth of him travel up her. "What are we doing now?"
"Going to sleep?"
"Is that what you want to do?"
"No."
And his mouth came down on hers, demanding, desperate. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, her fingers in his hair, clawing him closer. They sank to the floor, his hand cushioning her head, the chill of the linoleum a shock against the heat of his body.
She had to remember this. Had to remember every second of this. Had to memorize each taste, each kiss, each inch of him, his heartbeat against hers.
She wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself against him as they kissed feverishly, her whole body begging, sliding her hands on his bare skin, feeling the muscles beneath roll as their bodies writhed, his hand sliding up inside her sweatshirt, every pore of her body aching for his touch.
"Too many pants," she whispered, and they both burst into giggles, rolling from the kitchen to the carpet. She landed on top, the laughter still making her ribs ache.
"You're the boss," Chandler grinned.
"Then I'm declaring it No Pants Saturday," she laughed, pulling his sweatpants off and tossing them aside.
"What, management doesn't have to follow the rules?"
"Management always wants to set a good example," she teased, leaning down to nibble at his neck. "But we prefer hands-on, take-charge employees."
"So noted," Chandler grinned, sliding his thumbs underneath her waistband. Her pajamas joined the growing pile in the kitchen floor, and Rachel yanked the sweatshirt up over her head, throwing it after.
"But..." Chandler protested.
"I want you to see me. All of me." She leaned down, teasing his chest with her own. "And I wanted to feel this."
She tossed her head. "Besides -- I'm the boss."
"You are the boss," he agreed, eyes twinkling. "Although, this... this might qualify as sexual harassment..."
"Then this is really bad," she laughed, raising her hips and sliding down onto him, gratified to hear him suck in air, his eyes rolling back.
She rolled her hips, taking him deeper, beginning a slow, swirling rhythm.
"Help, help, I'm being harassed," Chandler chuckled, running his hands up her back, raising his hips to meet hers.
"Just think of this as our comprehensive corporate benefits package," she teased.
He burst out laughing and grabbed her, hugging her to him. "God, I lo--"
He stopped short, eyes bulging as he realized what he'd almost said.
She brought her lips down on his, hard, cutting off whatever he was going to say, pounding herself against him as hard as she could, raking her fingernails down his chest, feeling him moan against her mouth.
"Too... you're gonna... you're gonna make..." he whispered.
"I know," she growled. "I want to watch."
His eyes flew wide, then closed as his neck arched, his fingers digging into her back, whispering her name.
"Look at me," she commanded.
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing sane in them, and a thrill of power filled her. She beat down on him, grinding herself against him, memorizing his body with her hands.
And he cried out, bucking beneath her, only the whites of his eyes showing... and suddenly, with an angry roar, he was lifting her off of him, pressing her to the floor, burying his face in her, teeth and tongue moving with maddening fury, suddenly joined by fingers.
She cried out, thrashing against him, spine arching. "Wha... whaddya..."
"Getting you back for that," he snarled into her.
The world exploded and she screamed, shoving her fist into her mouth, biting down on her knuckles. Chandler slowed but didn't stop, slow circles building to faster ones, his fingers torturing her, unrelenting, the pressure building up again, her hands flying into his hair, caressing every part of him she could reach.
"Chandler, Chandler I..."
And everything went red again, her breath stopping, her hands clawing into his shoulders, the carpet burning her back as she trembled all over.
And still he didn't stop, taking her thighs in his hands, burying deeper into her. Rachel gasped for breath, tried to remember her name, her whole body on fire, her muscles no longer under her control as spasm after spasm ripped through her, shaking her against the floor.
"I'm gonna pass out," she whimpered.
"No, you're not," he laughed.
And the fingers again, pressing against places she didn't know she had, new sets of nerves taking over her brain, and she screamed again as her whole body clenched, trembling, her head thrashing, stars behind her closed eyelids.
"You got me back," she moaned. "You got me back, okay?"
"Not... quite..."
He turned her over, her useless, jellied muscles putting up no protest, a limp rag in his arms... and then he drove into her, her hips in his hands, pounding furiously, so deep pain mixed with the pleasure and became pleasure again.
She cried out, finding the strength to rock back against him, welcoming the onslaught, moaning his name into the floor, begging him for more and unsure if she could take it, her breasts dragging the carpet with every thrust, even more sensation swirling up into her overwhelmed brain, the force of him sending her close to the edge...
And finally over it, as Chandler cried out and they both collapsed to the floor, his forehead pressed to her shoulderblades, both drenched in sweat, slippery skin sliding against each other as he rolled up on an elbow, running his fingertips over her back, tracing loops and spirals.
"I can't move," she finally moaned.
"Good."
"I think you broke my brain."
"Good."
"And maybe some other stuff."
"You mind?"
"Hell, no." She rolled over, staring up at him. "Do you have any idea how amazing that was?"
"Thought you couldn't move."
"I can flop. Do you know?"
"How many?" he asked, mouth twitching in a grin.
Rachel held up four fingers, then let her wrist collapse back to the carpet.
"That'll do," Chandler laughed.
"That'll... do? Jesus, Chandler. I have never... never, ever..."
"That was the general plan." He brushed a piece of hair from her forehead. "Don't forget me, okay?"
"Oh, god...! I would never... could never... god, now I definitely can't, I'll think of you every time I see my carpet burn scars."
"Oh my god, did I hurt you?" he cried, hands running over her in concern.
"No-no, no, I'm fine, I was joking. I'm better than fine. I still can't move."
"Well, that was a dirty little trick you pulled on me," he laughed, his thumb tracing slow circles around her breast.
"I just wanted to see you," Rachel smiled.
"Did you get what you wanted?"
"Yes," she grinned. "Definitely, very much, yes."
"Still can't move?"
She tried to raise her arm off the floor. "Nope."
"Good... I've always wanted to do this."
He rolled up, leaning down and picking her up in his arms, carrying her into his bedroom and setting her down on the bed.
"Where... where are you going?"
"Gonna go brush my teeth."
"No, no, no way. More you, right now." She thumped the mattress next to her.
He laughed, crawling in beside her. "You're gonna regret that in the morning."
She wound herself through him, leg curling over his thigh, head on his chest. "I'm not gonna regret anything in the morning."
He tightened his arms around her. She listened to the comforting thump of his heart beneath her ear, drifting off to sleep, her breath becoming regular and deep.
"I do, though," she heard him whisper, so soft she could barely understand the words. She forced her breath to remain in rhythm, willed her body not to move. He thought she was asleep; she wasn't going to convince him otherwise.
"That thing I didn't say? I do. I don't know how it happened, or why it happened so fast, but it did."
He hugged her closer. "That's all."
Tears stabbed her eyes, and Rachel hugged him close.
"You heard," he whispered in dread.
"Me too," she breathed into his chest. "Me too."
"Well, crap."
She laughed then, playing idly with his chest hair. "Yeah... that about sums it up."
"So... can I say it?"
"Maybe you shouldn't."
"Can I think it?"
"I can't think much else."
He crushed her to him, her hands sliding to wrap around his waist.
And this time when she slept, it was for real.
-------------
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