A/N: This one is going to be short, but I needed to get a new chapter up. Not much was planned for this chapter in my story outline, so bear with me here kids. And everything I "reveal" about Phoebe is my own interpretation of how I see her, and has nothing to do with the writers of Friends.

A/N2: By far not my best writing. Worst chapter yet. That's what writers block and a determination to get through it gets you. Bad writing.

Rating: R

Paring: Chandler / Phoebe, Ross / Rachel

Disclaimer:  I can't stress this point to strongly… this story isn't real.

Chapter Four – Do You Still Love Me?

Chandler collapsed against Phoebe's mattress, breathing harder than he ever had in his life. One thing he had learned about Phoebe after their initial encounter on her couch was that in bed, she knew what she was doing – and she did it well. Her hands were trained and experienced, her sense of control overwhelming at times, but in the best of ways.

And now he was lying next to her, arms wrapped around her, inhaling her scent. She smelled like an array of aromatherapy candles and fruit-scented lotion. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he thought that she smelled like pineapple. Or was it apple…?

"You know," her voice interrupted, "you're much better at that then I thought you'd be."

Had anyone other than Phoebe said that, Chandler would question whether or not to take that as a compliment. "Thank you," he answered smugly, "I have had sex with over four women."

Phoebe rolled over, draped her arm over his nude stomach. "Is it just me, or should we totally do that again?"

Chandler perked an eyebrow. "Now? I may have amazing stamina, but five times in a row?"

She laughed. "No, not now. Just, you know, sometime… again, in the future."

He smiled and turned to his side so he could see her better. "You really want to?"

"Sure, it's not like I have anyone better to do."

They laid there for the next hour talking. At one point, Chandler noted how it felt just like sitting in the coffee shop with one of his best friends, only they were naked and in each others arms. And in his opinion, that was the best way to be.

The conversation eventually swayed where it never really had before – at least, not to the extent it was about to. Chandler asked Phoebe about her life on the streets, and listened with pained regret for her as she told her story. She didn't think much of it – it was almost as if she didn't take it seriously, but Chandler knew there was so much more to it than that. He could see it in her eyes when she talked about mugging for food money. He could hear it in her voice when she talked about her mother's funeral. He could sense it in the way she had to stop talking at one point to keep composure, because it was painful. Chandler had always thought he had had a bad childhood, but now he was starting to understand that it was nothing compared to Phoebe's.

And he figured out that Phoebe's innate weirdness and, yes, innocence, was how she fought back the cruel hand the cards had dealt her.

"You know, I admire you. For not being a victim."

Phoebe looked at him, surprised. "No one has ever said that to me before. Thank you, Chandler." She offered a wide smile, her lips curling to one side as they always did, and for the first time since he'd known her, he found that smile completely irresistible.

"Welcome."

"You're not serious very often. You were about to cry, weren't you?" She smirked at him and lifted herself onto one elbow so she could look down at his face.

"No!" She rolled her eyes and propped her chin on his chest.

"You know something?" She asked, after a long moment of silence. She didn't wait for an answer to continue. "It's weird, like… everybody in the six of us have, like, these incredible connections that go way back and I don't have any of that. Sometimes…" She trailed off and he nudged her, encouraging her to keep going. "Well, sometimes I wonder if I'm, just… if I'll, just, fall out of the group and nobody will really notice that I'm gone. Well, you might notice now cause you know how great the sex is."

He smiled. "You know, I have no sarcastic comment to that. You've stumped me, Pheebs."

She shrugged. "I do do that sometimes."

"That would never happen, Phoebe. I wouldn't let it."

She lifted her eyes to his face – wide, innocent eyes that were begging him to confirm his words - and that same perfect smile found her mouth. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She leaned up and kissed him again, her tongue dangerously independent and hungry for a taste of Chandler's mouth. It didn't take much of her lips, and her body pressed into his, for Chandler to realize that a fifth time would seal the deal.

She slid down his nude body and rested between his legs. Her hands slid his legs apart, rested on his thighs, and she trailed kisses around his bellybutton. She nuzzled his stomach with her nose before she took him in her hand and without warning, pulled him into her mouth.

He writhed against the bed, bunching and unbunching the soft cotton sheets between his fingers. He moaned her name, lifted his head off the bed to watch himself disappear between her perfect lips – cock sucking lips, he thought, wonderful, perfect, fucking perfect, and he fought to keep himself from coming immediately in her mouth.

He held back as long as he could and she never missed a moment. Never grew tired of wrapping her lips around him, never grew tired of the head bobbing or the cheek-hollowing suction of her mouth. And she certainly never grew tired of his taste.

She put her hand on his balls, rolled them around between nimble fingers, and felt them tightening in her hand. She brought her eyes to his face and noted the look of pure ecstasy that converted his otherwise boyishly handsome features. All she could think about was tasting him, and that didn't take long. Moments later, he arched his back and his entire body stiffened, a loud and guttural moan from deep in his throat filling the air in the form of her name, and he came hard inside of her mouth.

Best goddamn blowjob ever. And fuck, she swallowed.

She smiled and pulled herself up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He wanted to thank her, but she didn't want him to. She bent down and pushed her lips hard to his, distributing the taste of his hot seed into his own mouth. Some guys got off on the taste of themselves in a girls mouth, and Chandler seemed to be one of them. He moaned and returned her kiss with ardor, hands dropping to her hips. He turned her over and pushed her hard into the bed, grinding his hips into her thigh. His penis was already growing hard again – with her, it didn't take long.

The next few minutes were an ecstatic blur, his erection inside of her, his thrusts hard and meaningful, until both of their bodies ached for orgasm. Nipples were pinched; hair was grabbed, until Chandler's body finally stopped and he came inside her, collapsed on top of her, and let out a long, satisfied groan.

[…]

Ross had been standing outside of Rachel's door for twenty minutes. He just stared at the wood, and on the rare occasion that his hand would lift to knock, it would drop once again to his side. It was on one of these occasions that Rachel had opened the door to take out the garbage, and rammed her forehead into his waiting fist.

"Oh, my god! Rachel! I'm so sorry!"

She waved him off and dropped the bag, and stumbled back towards a kitchen chair. She took a seat and began laughing for no apparent reason as she held her wounded head in her hand.

"What, what, um, Rachel, what is funny?" Ross eyed her skeptically as he knelt in front of her and attempted to pry her hand from her head.

"Just, what are the odds?"

"I don't really see the humor here, Rach."

She glared at him and allowed her hand to be pulled away from her head, which was now bright red. It would be much more colorful tomorrow – she'd be sporting a fleshy blue, black, and purple bruise to work the next day. Perhaps she could try to sell it to Bloomingdales. Make her first major impact in design and she would have Ross's fist to thank for it.

"Lighten up, I'm fine."

He steadied himself on one knee and lightly blew on her forehead. He was close now, and the thought flashed through his mind that this was as close as they'd been since the breakup. It felt so good to have her right there, right next to him again, without the fighting and the anger and…

"I… it feels… it feels better, now." Her voice was only barely above a whisper. She felt it too. Felt the heat and the energy that still hung between them and it was making her uncomfortable. Maybe this is when he should ask her… maybe this was his moment to question if she still loved him… "Ross, I'm really… really okay now."

His eyes kept hers for a longer moment and he slowly nodded. He should pull away, pull himself away from her, let all of this go… but he couldn't. He had to know.

"Rachel…" He found himself whispering just as she had. He cleared his throat, attempted to look and sound more confident, but it wasn't working. He only looked more vulnerable… and somehow, he managed to look scared. "Rachel, there's… something I have to ask you. I don't… I can't… I have…"

She put her fingertips to his lips. "Shh. Just ask."

He nodded and took a deep breath, mentally prepping himself just as he had since high school. Be cool. Just… be cool. He closed his eyes for a split second and when he opened them again, he seemed closer to Rachel than ever. She could feel his breath on her neck, and he could smell the aroma of her perfume, burning his nostrils with how Rachel it smelled. It was so perfectly her…

Just ask. Just ask, just ask, just ask. Her voice rang in his ear and he nodded to her voice inside his head. He took another deep breath – probably the millionth he'd taken since he first stopped outside her front door – and finally, he spoke.

"Rachel… do you… still love me?"