OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Rachel checked herself once more in the full-length mirror in the bedroom of their suite and smiled mischievously. She was glad she'd finally decided on the most sexy and scanty of outfits. Initially, she hadn't been quite bold enough for this one, thinking she might instead settle on the less-revealing red satin one. 'No," she'd told herself. 'If you're going to do this, do it right.' She wasn't quite sure she would have been gutsy enough to wear something like this even ten years ago, when she was TWENTY-three, but she didn't think Ross would mind.
The lingerie was hardly a nighty. It barely even constituted as underwear. It consisted of a black, lacy push-up bra, a matching crotch-less thong (she hadn't even known they'd made those), and a contrastingly white garter with black trim. To set it off, she wore a simple black choker he'd given her a few months ago. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. 'I look like a French main who REALLY wants the job,' she mused.
She was sexy and gorgeous and flawless, really. And she was all his. And in about 10 minutes, when he came back from dropping Emma off at the resort's daycare center for the evening, she'd remind him of it.
For a moment, she allowed her memory to cast her back.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO June 17, 1996 9 Years Ago...
The thin, cool sheets cascaded down her back and landed around her as she sat up to kneel on the bed. Her hair was sticking to her neck. Sweat slid over her skin. Her chest heaved. She smiled devilishly down at him.
"Jesus Christ, it's hot," he murmured, pulling himself up to sit with her.
"Maybe that's because the air conditioner's broken," she sassed, leaning forward and running her tongue around the edge of his ear. She rested her hands on his thighs and squeezed teasingly. He closed his eyes and the corners of his lips twisted up into a smile.
"Don't talk back to me, woman," he joked, suddenly grabbing her by the waist and throwing her down atop the sheets, her head now at the foot of the bed. She squealed as he jumped on top of her, caging her in with his knees and hands on both sides of her body. He was poised over her like a lion over its prey. His assured gaze into her eyes, which was everything loving and tender and awe-struck, made her smile. He couldn't even pretend to be rough with her. She knew he was as tame as a kitten.
Almost as if he'd read her thoughts, he bent his neck and licked the side of her face, the way a mother cat might clean its young. He turned his head and spit when he got some of her hair in his mouth. She giggled.
"You've got so much of it," he reminded her, pulling a strand off his tongue.
IN THE PRESENT, RACHEL SMILED. HE'D ALWAYS LOVED HER HAIR. HE'D RUN HIS FINGERS THROUGH IT PLAYFULLY AND SWEETLY WHEN THEY KISSED, AND THEN HE'D CLENCH IT IN HIS FISTS WHEN THEY MADE LOVE. ONCE, THEY'D SPENT AN EVENING STYLING IT IN THE MIRROR, BUT HE'D MADE HER PROMISE NEVER TO TELL CHANDLER OR JOEY.
It was much too muggy and hot within the closed-off confines of Rachel's bedroom for him to lay on top of her, so he instead collapsed onto the cushiony mattress beside her, propping his head up on a bent elbow and tracing circles over her lower stomach with his free hand.
RACHEL'S STOMACH KNOTTED WHEN SHE THOUGHT OF THE CONVERSATION THAT HAD ENSUED.
"Baby..." he'd trailed off, looking down at where his fingers drew their circles, lost in concentration.
"Mmmm?" she breathed, closing her eyes and letting herself let go of everything but the feeling of his fingers tickling her.
"I want to grow old with you," he blurted. Well, he'd whispered it, but it was blunt and sudden enough to count as blurting. Rachel's eyes flung wide open. She gulped. Oh God, what was he doing?
UPON REFLECTION, SHE'D NEVER FELT SUCH AN INTENSE FEELING OF DUALITY IN HER LIFE. SHE'D NEVER BEEN AS WORRIED AND EXCITED, SIMULTANEOUSLY, AS THAT BRIEF MOMENT WHEN TIME HAD STOOD STILL.
"What?" she'd opted for, hoping that covered all the bases. Instead, she was stung by the look of pain on his face. "No, no," she began again, placing her hand over his on her stomach and looking lovingly into his eyes. "I mean...where did that come from?"
"I don't know," he shook his head slightly, not tearing his eyes from hers. Silence. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Rachel," he cleared up. She sighed in relief. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone-- more than she thought she ever COULD love anyone-- but they'd only been dating 4 months.
"I know..." she lied. He smiled knowingly and rolled his eyes, but let it go. "Well where did that come from, then?"
"I don't know," he restated. "I was just watching you, and..." He sat up and reached for something on the night stand at the top of the bed. Coming back to where he'd been laying, Rachel saw that he was holding a mirror. She looked confused.
"You're not going to ask me to 'get to know myself more intimately' with this thing, are you?" she joked. He chuckled.
"Another day," he played along. He laid down on his back, signaling her to do the same. Holding the mirror up and out, he framed it around the two of them. Reflecting back at them was a perfectly centered shot of two naked lovers. He saw her smile in the reflection and lay her head against his shoulder.
"We are cute, aren't we?" she ruminated.
"The cutest," he agreed. However, he proceeded to move the mirror over more to the left until only her face reflected off the glass. This seemed to be the end of his demonstration. She furrowed her brow.
"I don't get it," she admitted, looking over at him.
"Look," he commanded, smiling and gesturing towards the mirror. Hesitantly and confusedly, she turned her head and gazed up at her reflection. 'Pretty unexciting," she thought, wondering what he could possibly be getting at. They both saw her face for hours every day. What was the big deal? When she didn't say anything, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Look how beautiful you are."
Her heart stopped momentarily in her chest. This moment was surreal, to say the least. She'd been told she was beautiful a hundred times before-- a thousand-- but this time was so much different. It was original. It was preconceived. It was like one of those seemingly random moments that, ultimately, are probably anything but, and force you to believe that maybe there's some higher order that you're walking around oblivious to. It was pivotal. She'd never had a moment quite like it in all her 25 years. She knew she never would again. It was a secret moment between them that made her wish no man would ever say those words to another woman again-- that they'd die on his lips, and exist only between them, from now on.
"Ross..." she'd whimpered, on the verge of tears but so wrapped up in the moment that she was totally unaware of it. He'd never said anything so blunt to her. Even their first 'I love you' hadn't hit her this hard. She'd never been more sure of anything he'd ever said to her.
"Stop it, Ross, you're embarrassing me," she insisted, tugging on his arm for him to take the mirror away. She blushed. He found it adorable.
"You don't know you're beautiful?" he pushed. He honestly didn't know if she did, but he wasn't fishing for a real answer. It was rhetorical. He wanted to challenge her. He wanted to make his point.
"No one thinks they're beautiful, Ross," she stated monotonously, sighing. She didn't know why, but she wanted to hear him say it again. It was a strange compulsion, and one she'd never had before, but she was dying to hear the words 'beautiful' spill from his mouth again. She knew he thought so-- he wore every emotion he felt for her right on his sleeve-- but she wanted to hear it. It'd never been important before, but it was now.
"You should," he insisted, nodding. He sat the mirror down beside him. Their hands were at their sides and they were still laying on their backs. They were both looking straight up at the ceiling, not at each other. The position would normally have been awkward, but it fit this moment. He grazed her thigh with the backs of his knuckles where his hand rested on the sheets between them.
"What was the point of that?" she finally asked.
"Something like this doesn't just end, Rachel," he stated. He was practically speaking on riddles. He was so smart and elegant when he wanted to be, but sometimes she wished he'd just come right out and say what he meant. "What we have, I mean...it doesn't just fade away."
"I know that," she whispered back, suddenly very aware of the sun setting behind the skyline outside the window. Dusk was setting in. The room was getting dark. They'd been laying there talking all day-- since they'd woken up there that Saturday morning, literally. No, something like that doesn't just fade away.
"Sometimes..." he began, gulping and trying to find the right words. "Sometimes, I imagine my life 10 years from now. I think about being 36, and living in some bigger place...maybe even on the Upper East Side," he mused, smiling and knowing this would catch Rachel's attention. She was taken by that place and that glamorous lifestyle. That type of thing wasn't for him, but he thought about being that way, sometimes...being wealthy and powerful...older and wiser.
"Go on..." she smiled, pushing her thigh back firmly against his in retaliation for his tickling. She still didn't know exactly where this was going, but she had faith he'd get there eventually.
"I always kind of have this same vision..." Pause. Gulp. "I wake up, and I'm laying next to my wife in bed..." He stopped momentarily. He knew how the rest of it went, but he was waiting for a reaction from Rachel. Secretly, she was dying to ask if the wife was her. She didn't know if she wanted it to be or not. Either way, she said nothing. He continued.
"The sun's shining in through the window and everything's so tranquil...I feel so peaceful. A little kid always runs into the room and jumps up on the bed, and we all hug and read the paper together and laugh..." He trailed off.
"That's beautiful," she offered. "It sounds like a great future."
"The woman's you," he finally stated. Silence.
"Every time?" she asked. She knew what the answer would be. She was really just trying to fill the silence. It probably had been her in every dream and fantasy he'd had since he was 15.
"Yes," he answered. Silence again. It was obvious she didn't know what to say.
NINE-YEARS-LATER-RACHEL HELD BACK HER TEARS AT THE THOUGHT OF HIS NEXT WORDS. THEY WERE THE WORDS THAT HAD BEEN HAUNTING HER FOR DAYS, NOW.
"I'm afraid of getting older, Rachel..." he'd revealed, "but not with you." Silence. "You make me feel young. You make me feel alive."
"Sweety..." she whispered, turning over onto her side and draping her limbs across him. She didn't know what to say. He made her feel the same way, but unlike him, she couldn't stop being terrified of her future and of getting older. Even if it was with him. Not even he could stop what seemed to be the scariest thing for her right now-- the unknown.
"I look at you sometimes, and you're just so goddamn beautiful, Rach," he continued. "I just...it's like you immortalize me. I feel like I would never stop being young if I stayed with you."
Ross' perpetual romanticism somehow always managed to floor Rachel. It even scared her, at times. As flighty as she could be, and as serious and intellectual as Ross was...when it came to love, ironically enough, Rachel had always been the realist in the relationship. She burrowed up next to him and listened to his heart beating and kissed his salty skin, watching the sun burn out until the sky was nothing but wasted cigar ash and black crushed velvet. She fell asleep that night with his dream on her mind and a smile on her face. But it still scared her.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
In the present, Rachel contemplated all that had changed since that night so many years ago. Now, she was the more confident about their future (which was actually the present, depending on how one looked at it). And she was apparently no longer all he needed to stay immortalized.
She'd revert him back to his old ways of thinking, tonight, though. When he held that mirror up to her now, almost a decade removed from the first time, he'd find his confidence in them again-- in their ability to endure and keep each other honest. They'd be allowed the luxury of romanticism, once again. All it was going to take was a leap of faith and his trust in her.
She heard the key in the lock and closed her eyes, smiling widely and holding her breath. It was probably a good sign that she felt 16 again already.
"Rach?" she heard him call inquisitively from the front door. Her skin tingled. She could detect just a hint of anxiousness in his voice, like he was worried about her. She didn't feel too bad for him, considering what he was about to get.
"Rach?" she heard again, this time a little lower and closer. He was leading towards the bedroom. She felt her stomach sink, but in a very good way-- a way she hadn't felt in a long time.
The bedroom door was open, but the lights were off; even the lights in the living room. She saw his silhouette appear at the entrance and she could tell he sensed her there, even if he didn't see her. He stopped dead in his tracks and was starring straight ahead, obviously waiting for his eyes to adjust to he could see if she was actually there or not.
"Rachel?" he whispered. He got his answer in the form of a small pressure on his chest. A woman's hand. His woman's hand.
She leaned in close to him and nibbled his ear, pressing her body firmly up against his. Instinctively, his hands went to her waist, and he grabbed at her there as her tongue traced a line down his neck. Both of their breathing became strained, but neither said a word.
She felt his hands slide over her ass-- not groping, but more like claiming and examining his territory. She reached up on her tiptoes and began kissing his face and hair, gliding her hands over his back and feelings his pull her more tightly towards him.
"I want to see you," he finally spoke, only daring to murmur it timidly into her ear between two deep, long, drawn-out kisses. Instead of breaking their haven by turning on a light, she merely walked them backwards to the foot of the bed where smothered hints of faded light were creeping in between the window shades. Their bodies could just barely be made out now. For the first time since they'd begun, he really got a good look at her.
"Jesus Christ," he deadpanned, as if he were in disbelief that she could possibly be wearing that outfit and looking that gorgeous. Like he was in disbelief that she was his, even after this long. She smiled at the sentiment and sauntered towards him again, preparing to reinitiate their tryst.
Wrapping her arms slowly and seductively over his shoulders, she leaned her forehead against his. They stood that way for a long while, as if she were providing him time to catch his breath and consider what all of this meant. He was using the time, too-- attempting to sort all the cluttered, rampaging thoughts in his mind. It was considerably harder than usual to do that, however, with a raging hard-on pressing against your jeans and your dangerously sexy girlfriend, clad in lingerie, poised to pounce on you at any moment. He knew she had to mean SOMETHING by it, though. This wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence.
"Something on your mind?" she asked, surprised at herself when she wasn't hopeful for an answer. When she was planning this charade designed for him, she'd forgotten to account for her own hormones and needs. She was becoming inpatient, and her initial intentions were getting hazy. Maybe it would be better to analyze afterwards. After all, with them, their emotions and instincts always spoke more clearly than their words.
"About a million somethings, but they can all wait," he assured, robbing her of any chance to respond by immeditaly assaulting her lips with his in a bruising kiss. She wouldn't have challenged him on that motion, anyway.
It only took one clumsy step backwards for the backs of her knees to hit the edge of the bed and for them to go tumbling, him landing on top of her, neither ever breaking the kiss. Once he was on top of her, he went frenzied with passion, power, and lust. His hands were everywhere, ripping at her underwear with reckless abandon and biting at every new inch of skin revealed. It didn't take long for her to be laying completely naked beneath him, her thighs pressing into his sides and her pelvis thrusting up into his groin.
"Holy shit," he mumbled into her mouth, wedging his hands between her and the mattress to grab her ass and pull her closer. He hadn't been this afraid of 'losing it' before he could get inside the girl since his first time.
It had never been this passionate. Never. No even when they'd first been together, and back then, he hadn't thought it possible to get better. He'd obviously been wrong. Maybe that was the point, he considered. There was no time for consideration, though. He'd wonder later.
Somehow, he gauchely managed to rotate their bodies and move up the bed so that her head was pressed against the headboard. He knew he'd need it for leverage. He planned on doing things to her now that were probably technically illegal in most states. He couldn't ever remember wanting her this badly, and that was saying a lot. There had been times when they'd first gotten together that he'd thought he could cry from how beautiful and perfect and desirable she was. Back then, he'd coveted her for years and had finally won her over. Now, the thought of other men coveting her was what drove him, and he looked down at her with the utmost paradoxical combination of craving and possession. He knew she was his, but he could still feel his heart melting from when they were 25 and he'd finally attained her.
There was no time to even remove all of his clothing. He couldn't want that long. There were forces far stronger than his will power threatening to leave his body within seconds, and it was taking all of himself to restrain them until he could at least be inside her. She unzipped his pants for him and he kissed her vigorously, bracing himself atop her with one hand on each side of her head on the headboard. He was only in her hand for as long as it took her to guide him to her, but he silently counted his blessings for not losing it when he caught the image of her reaching inside his pants out of the corner of his eye. That sight alone was probably enough.
The first time he pushed into her was as deep and hard as most last thrusts, and she felt it somewhere deep inside her that ached in a thrilling, exciting way. She moaned his name, drawn-out and throaty, and he grunted in acknowledgement. 'Never stop making noises,' he thought as he drove repeatedly into her, losing all connection with the tangible world and retreating physically and spiritually inside her. Something about the noises she made were so goddamn sexy and...primal. He'd always loved it. He could still remember how aroused and pleasantly surprised he'd been that first night at the museaum when she'd made those first soft moans and his heart had leapt.
She pulled at his back and wrapped her legs tightly around him and hit the headboard each time with force, feeling the incredible pressure of him all around her. A man had never smelled or tasted or felt so good. It was impossible.
She vaguely recalled thinking that their first night together.
"Dont...stop...please..." she irrationally begged between thrusts, feeling her back, now, against the cold wood of the headboard and suddenly realizing that she had practically been forced into a sitting-up position from the force he was using. As he zeroed in on a particular spot, she felt heartbreak rise steadily and her breathing become thready and forced.
"Go," she instructed. "Go now." Knowing exactly what she meant, he stopped holding in what had been forcing its way out of him for at least 30 minutes now, yelling out and collapsing heavily on top of her, almost sure that she'd gone, too.
They laid there like that for what seemed like hours, her rubbing his back and him kissing her neck and stroking her sides. Rather oddly, but appropriately for them, he removed his clothes now, in the aftermath, just to be naked with her for the sake and intimacy of it. They both knew they'd have to pick up Emma soon, but relished the feeling of being together this way, so uninhibitedly and connected so deeply and sincerely.
"Do you feel young again, now?" she asked, refusing to beat around the bush.
"I had a feeling that's what all of this was about," he confessed.
"Did it work?" she persisted, her voice hopeful but almost doubtful.
"A little too well, probably," he joked, lifing his head to look up into her eyes. He suddenly became serious. "I've never wanted you more or felt more alive," he deadpanned, purging every last ounce of honesty in his body into that one sentence. She smiled and kissed him tenderly. They laid in silence for a bit longer.
"Ross, you do remember what you told me that night the air conditioning was broken?" she asked, knowing instictively he would.
"I do," he assured.
"Do you still feel that way?" This was the real question, after all.
"Yes," he nodded.
"Could have fooled me," she joked, just glad that all of this was apparently over. He tucked some hair behind her ear.
"Call it a premature midnife crisis," he offered, only half-joking. "But I've found it again."
She nodded he laid his head back down against her breast. They both closed their eyes and countd down the moments until they'd have to leave.
"Oh, and Rachel?" he added.
"Yes?"
"You're still every bit as beautiful, too."