I was going to update TOI Atlantic City, TOW All the Practicing, Five Like Us, and Love, That Fickle Friend (in that order), but I've had a hectic week back at school and today is the first time I've had time to sit down and write since Monday (right now it's 7:20 Eastern time on Saturday the 10th).
So, I'm doing a Ficathon. These are some oneshots I've written half of and threw away (mentally, that is- I keep all my fics on my comp, crappy or not). So, I've finished them and I'm gonna share them with you for two reasons: 1) I've survived Week 1 of eighth grade 2) So you won't all kill me if I have to put some fics on hold if it comes to that, it'll be Love, That Fickle Friend and Five Like Us and 3) because I love you all so much, and you brighten my day.
The Ficathon will be going on until I've posted all the oneshots I want up, so probably Sunday mostly.
AN: This takes place some time soon after "TOW The Jellyfish". And Leondra, you're only allowed to read this if you promise to update the Christmas present story ASAP!
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Dedicated to the victims of 9/11- may you rest in heaven. Also to the survivors of 9/11- may you (and all of us) appreciate the life you have been able to keep.
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"A Game of Scrabble"
Monica squinted down at the Scrabble board, propped up on her elbow, "I don't think 'franwa' is a word, Chandler."
"It is at three in the morning," he replied, his eyes half-closed.
They sat in the living room area of his and Joey's apartment, spread out in their pajamas, an air of annoyance coming from both. Bottles of beer and wine were flung in every direction; a bottle of almost pure vodka sat next to Chandler, half-empty (mostly the work of Monica). Monica wore a pair of plaid cotton shorts and one of Chandler's own shirts that read 'With Stupid'. It fell slightly down her right shoulder as she threw his letters back into his lap. Chandler's eyes opened and he picked up the pieces, sending her an aggravated look.
"I let you get away with 'fope'," he complained, straightening his grey T-shirt.
"Well, I didn't have an 'm'!" she said defensively. Her eyes narrowed as she saw that Chandler's head had drooped down to his chest, "Chandler!"
He groaned and forced his head up, "What!"
"You're supposed to be keeping me company!" Her words were slightly slurred.
"I did it last night! Get Joey to do it for once!"
"Joey's at some girl's house! He probably had sex… which I can't do, because I don't have a boyfriend, and that keeps me up all night, thus the need for company," she hinted, trying to educe sympathy from Chandler.
He crossed his arms, "The only reason you're up all night is the fact that you had ten lattes. And don't complain to me about not having a boyfriend- I offered to be yours, if you don't remember."
She sighed in frustration as he glared at her, the hurt still shining in his eyes, "Look, I'm sorry I laughed at you."
"And?"
"And I'm sorry I told you I wouldn't go out with you, even if you had canned goods."
"And?"
"And I'm sorry I slammed the door on 'Dwarf on Dating' when you started singing 'High Ho'."
"Thank you."
Monica rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers on the Scrabble board. When she looked up again, Chandler's eyes were closed, "Chandler, what can I do to keep you awake!"
"Sleep with me," he replied, grinning sleepily at his rather bad pun.
Monica groaned and stood, walking to his side and collapsing down again, leaning her back on Joey's barcalounger. With a feeling that it simply wasn't worth it, she laid her left leg across Chandler's lap and, with a great deal of contorting, slipped the other on slightly up his pant leg. Suddenly, his head jerked up as he felt her foot creeping up towards his knee, "Get out of my pants!"
"Well, I had to use desperate measures, you wouldn't stay awake!" she hissed, noticing that he made no actual attempt to force her smooth leg out of his pants.
"Well, I-" Chandler stopped mid-sentence as he attempted to put his hand on his knee- but then realized he was actually gripping her left thigh, which was flung across his lap. His face burning as she grinned him, he quickly removed his hand from her leg, "Anyway."
"Yes, anyway," she said, surprised that there was a hint of a flirtatious tone in her voice. "Pass me that vodka… Mr. Bing," she added with a giggle, suddenly finding it funny that her foot was now past his kneecap.
He snorted in disbelief, "Give you the vodka? You're already hammered… in fact, you're so hammered that your leg his half way up my thigh!" he exclaimed, grabbing the foot inside his own pants before it went any further, "No more, and by that I mean alcohol and inches up my pants!"
She giggled some more at his comment, "Well, you could just take off the pants and then the only inches we'll have to worry about will have to do with your-"
"Hey hey hey hey hey!" he cut her off, bypassing red and turning maroon from embarrassment, "I think you need to go back to bed, Mon… and no, I won't come with you, so don't even think about asking."
She gave him a lopsided smile and attempted to reach the vodka, but he quickly put it out of reach, "We won't remember it in the morning…"
He shook his head, "You might not, but I would… now, let's get your leg out of my pants, please-"
"Not yet," she whined, and made eye contact with him. Her eyes were strangely bright and behind the drunken tinge lay a great sadness. "It's warm."
He sighed, "Alright."
Monica grinned at him and leaned forward, fingering his sleeve. He could smell the alcohol on her breath as she said, "You know what?"
"What?" he whispered back, softly touching her knee. A dull, logical voice in the back of his head told him he shouldn't be touching her, that they were far too close already. But the wild, partying voice of the beers he'd downed was urging him to do what she wanted him to do, no matter how insane it was…
But the Spock voice won out as he struggled against his blurred judgment; no matter how completely drunk she was, he wasn't about to cross the line, and he knew she didn't really want to. If she had been sober, this would have been an entirely different story- for one, they might actually be playing Scrabble instead of being closer to each other than they had ever been before.
"This wouldn't be that bad," she murmured, her hand slipping under his shirt and touching his chest.
His heart pounded a little faster, but he allowed the drunken feeling to stay for a moment more, "What wouldn't?"
"Us. You… me…" her voice drifted off as she grinned at him once again. Her hands slowly slid out of his shirt and cupped his stunned face, "You're not that bad."
Chandler smiled back and took his hand off her knee, carefully pulling her other leg out of his pants. She continued to look into his eyes, though he avoided hers. He made to stand up, but her body was like a deadweight.
"C'mon, Mon, you've got to get into bed," he said huskily.
She looked at him for a moment more and then shrugged, "I'm not tired."
"Doesn't matter." He stood up and she leaned against the chair once again. With a sigh, he picked her up and stepped over the Scrabble board and the many bottles, while her hands wrapped around his neck. He crossed the room and opened the door with difficulty, striding across the hall in walking noiselessly into apartment 20, as not to wake Rachel.
Feeling Monica's fingers playing with the hairs on the back of his neck, he rushed into her room and flicked on the light with his shoulder, placing her on the bed.
"But I'm not tired," she pouted.
"I am! Just… try to get some sleep, 'k? You're upset about Pete still… and inside… you are tired. If that makes sense," he said quickly, making a motion to leave the room as soon as possible.
"It doesn't."
"Oh well…" he drifted off, shot her a smile, and left, his mind going in circles.
----
Chandler entered Monica and Rachel's apartment the next day, his head pounding from the massive headache that seemed to be attacking him from all sides with giant hammers, "Uhg."
Rachel looked up from the kitchen table and made a sympathetic noise, "Monica's got a hangover too… Then again, Monica's been getting a lot of things lately, Chandler…"
Chandler's head snapped up and the hammers pounded a little harder, "What?"
"Well, apparently," Rachel said with a smile as she stood up and placed her empty bowl of cereal in the sink, "Monica had a dream that you and her had sex."
"She what?"
Rachel nodded, a grin spreading across her face, "Well, she had this whole 'dream' that you and her got drunk last night, and all these crazy things happened, and then you carried her back to her room, and then you two had sex. Crazy dream, huh?"
He smiled weakly, knowing perfectly well (though the memory was slightly blurry) what the 'crazy things' were, "Yeah. Crazy… but that didn't happen."
"I know… can you imagine? You and Monica having sex?" she burst into a fit of giggles.
"It was just a game of Scrabble," he assured her- and himself.
"Well, in her dream, you were scrabbling more than letters," Rachel commented, and then fell into a seizure of silent laughter once again.
"That doesn't make sense," Chandler muttered, dully reminding himself never to give Monica vodka again.
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And that's it. Some fun… some vodka… crazy insanity… review if you want… and support the victims of Hurricane Katrina…