A/N:  I'm baaa-aaaack!  Sorry for the delay on this chapter…holidays and family circumstances got in the way but have no fear!  Chapter three has arrived!  *listens for applause, hears only crickets chirping*  Ah, well…

This chapter has a teeny, tiny bit of…naughtiness.  I don't think it's strong enough for an R rating, but if you think I'm wrong, let me know and I'll be glad to change it.  Also, if naughtiness offends you, then…well, that sucks.  What's wrong with you?  Naughtiness rocks! ;)  By the way, I've never written naughtiness before, so it may be terrible.  Prepare yourself.

I've read and re-read this chapter, revised, revised, revised some more, and still, I'm not entirely happy with it.  But unfortunately, there's only so many times you can read your own work before it starts to really blow, and I think I'm dangerously close to reaching that point, so I'm posting it now before I trash the whole thing and disappear into a cave somewhere, never to resurface.

Thanks again for the kind reviews.  You guys are the best! 

By the way, as you can likely see, I'm having trouble with my italics text changing back into regular text when I upload my chapters onto FF.net.  It only affects the first and last text in the document, but it's really annoying and I can't figure out how to fix it.  If anyone can help, I'd really appreciate it if you would email me with any tips!  Thanks!

Some dialogue from this chapter taken directly from Episodes 423-424: TOW Ross' Wedding.

Disclaimer:  *sigh*

And now, after the longest A/N ever, I give you…

Chapter 3:

Aged to Perfection

Rachel pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear as she browsed through a rack of designer handbags marked "HALF PRICE OR LESS!".  No, no, no…no.  Damn.  Not finding anything that suited her, she turned towards the blindingly sunny exit.  Pushing her sunglasses down over her eyes, she looked to her left, and then to her right, trying to decide whether she wanted to keep looking or head back to the hotel.  Having had no luck after two hours of wandering through the London shops, she conceded defeat, chalking it up to distraction, and opted to grab something small for lunch and then return to her room for a nap before the rehearsal dinner.  She turned to her left, vaguely remembering passing a café sometime during her travels from that direction.

Keeping an eye out for anything resembling an eating establishment, she reflected on the morning's discovery and her conversation with Phoebe.  "You can't go messing with the universe…"  Despite Phoebe's confidence, Rachel felt certain that a hookup between Joey and Monica couldn't possibly be anything short of disastrous; still, she resolved to let it be.  Monica's a big girl; she can take care of herself.  Besides, she scolded herself, you don't have any proof that anything has or will happen.  She paused to inspect a multi-colored sundress in a storefront she'd missed before.  The fashionista in her examined the garment critically.  Nice lines, flattering cut….  She wandered inside, rifled through the rack until she found her size and searched the shop for a dressing room.  Several moments later she was inspecting her reflection in the full-length mirror.  The colors really suit me….  She flipped over the price tag and nearly choked at the number on the back.  Her rational mind was warning her not to make such an extravagant purchase, but the ghost of the Rachel she had been years before – the one who had survived solely on Daddy's credit – whispered encouragement into her ear.  Buy it, buy it!  It's perfect for the dinner tonight!  Rachel shook her head resolutely, remembering the little black sleeveless number she had brought along just for the rehearsal.  She had managed to take the sundress off and climb back into her own clothes when, unbidden, Chandler's harsh words floated through her mind.  "I look at her like I'd look at a sister…"  She felt her cheeks burn at the memory and before she knew it, she was handing the saleslady her credit card and contemplating whether or not she needed to buy new shoes as well.  Now you're just being silly, her logical self chided.

Right, smirked the Old Rachel.  Because buying a dress that costs more than a month's rent in order to impress a man you've known since high school just because you heard him say that he doesn't find you particularly attractive is perfectly *normal*, just as long as you don't bother to buy special *shoes* to go with it.

Rachel thanked the clerk and headed for the exit, pressing her lips together in a thin line.  Out in the sunshine, she proceeded back in the direction of the hotel, searching the strip of shops for a shoe store.

***

Chandler checked his appearance one last time, straightening his tie and brushing an errant piece of lint from his lapel.  Not too bad.  He unsuccessfully attempted one last time to smooth down the piece of hair at the back of his head that stubbornly refused to lie down, scowled and turned away from the mirror.  "You almost ready, Joe?"

He heard Joey's reply from the bathroom.  "Yeah, dude.  Just two more minutes."

Chandler checked his watch to make sure that they weren't running late and, sighing, sat down on the edge of his freshly made bed.  He had spent the day sightseeing with Joey, who had been so obvious about his tourist status that he had nearly driven Chandler to ditch him and return to the room on his own.  Every time he had considered the prospect of being alone in the hotel room, however, he'd remembered Rachel's behavior from earlier and had become so distracted by the confusing memory that his irritation had momentarily passed.  Although he had replayed the scenario over and over in his mind all day, he was no closer to deciphering whatever it was that she had been trying to say than he had been that morning.  Surrendering himself to the thought that it was just one more thing about women that he'd never understand, he stood and smoothed the rear of his pants down, making sure he hadn't created any wrinkles by sitting, however briefly, just as Joey stepped out into the room and announced that he was ready.  "Let's go, man."

Chandler dropped his key card into his breast pocket and made his way out into the hallway, noticing that the door to the girls' room stood open.  From inside the room, he could hear Monica rushing Rachel along.  Chuckling, he stuck his head into the room and found himself face-to-face with an impatient Monica.  "Whoa, there, Sergeant Geller, is everything ok, sir?"

"It's not funny, Chandler!  She's going to make me late to my own brother's rehearsal dinner!" 

"I'm going as fast as I can, Monica!  It's not like we're going to miss anything important if we're five minutes late!"  Rachel called from the bathroom.  "I told you to go ahead, anyway!  I don't even know why you're still here waiting!"

Seeing that Monica was mere seconds from losing her temper, Chandler stepped into the room and urged her towards the door.  "It's fine, I'll stay and catch a cab with Rachel, you go ahead with Joey.  We'll be right behind you."

Without waiting for further encouragement, Monica grabbed her purse and practically sprinted past Chandler and into the hallway.  He watched, amused, as she prodded Joey between the shoulder blades and hurried him in the direction of the elevator, where she punched the button repeatedly in an effort to make the doors open faster.  Biting back a sarcastic comment, Chandler closed the door to the girls' room and shoved his hands into his pockets.  "After all these years, you still haven't learned not to keep her waiting, huh, Rach?"

"You know as well as I do that even if I had been ready half an hour early, it still wouldn't have been early enough for her."  He heard the snap of a compact and saw the light go off in the bathroom.  Rachel stepped into the bedroom and he felt himself gasp, involuntarily.  She was wearing what amounted to little more than a slip, with nearly non-existent spaghetti straps grazing her lightly tanned shoulders.  The hints of blue in the fabric made her eyes seem even more brilliant than usual, and she'd pulled her hair up in a loose knot, emphasizing her long, slender neck.  The dress fell only inches below the slight curve of her hips, flaring ever so slightly at mid-thigh and resting there, teasing him with the maddening thought of what lay beneath….

"What is it?  Is it all wrong?"  Her brow was furrowed; Chandler felt his mouth go dry as he realized he had been caught staring and struggled unsuccessfully to form coherent words.

"Uh…no, no…it's fine, you look…amazing.  I just – I just remembered that I left the, uh…the television on in our room.  I'll, uh, I'll be right back."  He backed away towards the door as he spoke, fumbling around behind him for the knob.  Finding it, he wrenched the door open and dashed across the hall to the safety of his own room.  He forced his card into the lock and stood, panting, on the other side.  The television?  Really?  Was that the best you could come up with?  Not a good start, Bing.  Not good at all.

He flipped the television on and then off again, just in case she could hear it from the hallway, and took several calming breaths before stepping back outside to meet her.  Willing himself not to let his eyes slip anywhere below her chin, he gestured towards the elevator.  "Sh – Shall we?"  He fell in step behind her as she made her way down the hall.  Don't look at her ass, don't look at her ass!

His eyes dropped, unbidden.  Too late.  The hem of the dress danced against the backs of her thighs as she walked, tantalizing him, and he groaned inwardly at the prospect of the long night ahead. 

In front of him, Rachel grinned at the elevator doors.  I told you the shoes were a good idea, boasted her younger self.

I got news for you, sister, came the more mature voice.  He wasn't looking at the shoes.

***

When their cab stopped in front of the hall, Chandler knew he had never been so happy to get out of a taxi in his life.  The trip had only lasted ten minutes or so, but it had seemed like hours.  Rachel's perfume had lingered in the vehicle, fogging his mind and making it impossible for him to formulate coherent thoughts, much less make intelligent conversation.  As a result, Rachel had done most of the talking, and when she was talking, she was gesturing - with her hands, with her arms, with her entire body.  Their close proximity hadn't left her much room to move around, and several times her knee had nudged his own, sending shockwaves through his body, muddling his thoughts further and causing him to question his own sanity.  Stupid small British cars!!

As soon as they stepped into the dining room, he could see that things weren't going to improve any time soon.  London seemed to have magnified all of his friends into caricatures of themselves:  Joey was already flirting mercilessly with no less than three women, Monica was sitting morosely beside her mother, and Ross seemed to be diplomatically mediating a heated argument between Emily's father and his own.  Yeah, and you…you're so hard up that you're lusting after a woman you've known forever, just because she put her hand on your back this morning! 

"What the hell is up with everyone?"  Rachel echoed his thoughts.

"That is the question of the day…"  He requested two glasses of wine from the bartender and offered one to Rachel.  He raised his glass to hers, feigning normality.  "To the ability to fly across the Atlantic without losing our minds."

Rachel grinned.  "Cheers, 'mate'…"  She clinked his glass and turned back to survey the action.

With her attention elsewhere, Chandler downed his entire glass in one long drink and signaled for a second.  "What's wrong with Monica?"

"Oh, you know.  The usual.  She doesn't have a boyfriend; she doesn't have any babies.  I'm sure Judy isn't making her feel any better about it."  Rachel sipped her wine, Chandler nodding in understanding.  "I talked to her a little about it last night, but I'm not sure if I did any good or not."  She paused, toying with the idea of telling Chandler about Joey and Monica's possible hookup.  No, no, no.  Drink your wine.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching, bemused, as a fight nearly broke out between Jack Geller and Mr. Waltham.  After the commotion died down, they made their way over to their seats.  "Hey, you guys," Monica mumbled, as Joey sauntered over to the table as well.  "You made it."

"Yep," replied Rachel.  "And we were even delayed by at least thirty more seconds because Chandler had to turn the TV off in the guys' room."

Joey's brow wrinkled.  "That's weird, I don't remember – "

Chandler cleared his throat loudly, missing Rachel's amused expression.  "So, Mr. Geller, Mrs. Geller, how does it feel to see your only son getting married…again?"

Jack looked cross, his face nearly purple as he sneered across the room at Emily's father, who appeared to be very deep in discussion with his future son-in-law.  "Well, it would feel a hell of a lot better if I knew he wasn't marrying into a family of greedy, manipulative sons of bitches."  Grumbling, he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes shooting daggers at Mr. Waltham.

Judy patted him on the arm, smoothing her hair down with her other hand.  "Now, Jack, don't make such a big deal out of this.  You know Ross will take care of it.  He's always been so responsible, so conscientious."  She sipped her wine, smiling insolently at Monica.  "At least we know we don't have to worry about Ross taking care of himself."

Monica chugged her wine, her nails digging into Rachel's arm.  "Ouch!"

Ross approached the table, smiling widely.  "OK, we're all set.  I talked him out of the lawn decorations, the gazebo and the barbecue pit.  There's just the tiny matter of a new lawn, but we can take care of that after he's had a few more drinks."  Patting his father on the shoulder, Ross took a seat as Emily joined the group.

"I think we're ready to start with the toasts, Ross."  She addressed the room.  "If you could all just take your seats…Chandler, do you want to start?"

Chandler blanched.  The toast!  You forgot your toast!  He watched, panicked, as everyone around him settled themselves at their respective tables.  Telling himself to remain calm, he tilted his head to one side and smiled with false enthusiasm at all the unfamiliar faces.  "Um, uh… I'd like to toast Ross and Emily.  Of course, my big toast will be tomorrow at the wedding, so this is kind of my little toast, or Melba toast, if you will."  Chuckling uncomfortably at the lack of amusement from the group, he continued.  "Okay.  I've known Ross for a long time.  In fact, I knew him when he was going out with his first girlfriend.  And I thought things were going to work out for them…until the day he over-inflated her!"  Still receiving no response from any of the guests, he glanced around at his friends, mentally begging for help.  Jack and Judy exchanged an uneasy look.  "Oh, dear God…."

"Chandler!"  Rachel hissed.  "Are you OK!?"

He mouthed wordlessly at her, eyes wide with panic, flailing his wine glass in the air.  Turning back to his audience, he pasted another, even brighter smile on his face and pressed on, dreading what might come out of his unrehearsed mouth next.  "And I'm sure we're all very excited that Ross and Emily are getting married at Montgomery Hall.  I mean, to think, my friend getting married in Monty Hall!"  Frustrated by the closing silence, he thumped his glass down onto the table in irritation.  "Oh, come on!! Monty Hall!?!  Lets make a Deal!!?  Come on, people!!"  He slumped his shoulders in defeat. "All right, forget it!!  Congratulations, Ross and Emily."  Throwing himself down into his seat between Rachel and Joey, he tossed back the last of his wine.

Joey stood, visibly uncomfortable with having to follow Chandler's display.  "Hey, best man number two, Joey Tribbiani.  Now I'm not good with the jokes like Chandler here."  He gestured towards his roommate.  "Boy...but, ah, I just want to say congratulations to the happy couple.  I first met Ross…."

After a moment, Rachel patted Chandler's arm in sympathy.  "It's OK, you know," she whispered.  "You'll never see ninety percent of these people again, anyway."

Covering his face with his hands, Chandler moaned, "Yeah, but what about the other ten percent?  What about Ross?!"

"Oh, sweetie, Ross isn't going to remember your speech!  Joey just ended his toast with, 'Go Knicks!'"  Grinning, she nodded and gave Joey a discreet thumbs-up.  "I promise, by the time this thing's over, Ross will have forgotten that you even…spoke…toni – " 

Ross came around the table, a grim look painted across his face.  "Dude, what the hell was that about??  I mean, I expected as much from Joey, but I was counting on you!"

Chandler seemed to shrink down to a tenth of his normal size.  "I am so, so sorry, man, I guess…I guess I just got nervous." 

"Nervous?  Nervous?!" Ross bellowed, a vein pulsing in his forehead.  "You're my best man, Chandler, and you're rambling on about…about game show hosts… and, and blow up dolls?!"

"Ross?"  Emily called from across the room, apparently unconcerned with Chandler's inappropriate toast.  "Come here!  I want you to meet my favorite aunt and uncle!"

Ross glared menacingly at Chandler one last time before turning to smile graciously at Emily's relatives.  "So nice to meet you," he sang, spreading his arms in welcome.

Rachel snickered as Chandler exhaled in relief.  "Gosh, and people wonder why I'm not with him anymore."  At Chandler's abused expression, she tugged at his sleeve, pulling him up to his feet.  "Come on, Bing, let's go get us some more alcohol."

***

Several glasses of wine later, Chandler and Rachel stood on the terrace outside, giggling merrily, trading high school stories about the Gellers while Chandler puffed happily away on a cigarette.  "An' so, an' then, so I tol' Monica, I sai', 'Mon!  You gotta ack sessy!  Like, like you gotta ack like ererrythin' around you turnsh you on!'  So she di', an' I guess that's how she assidentally cut your toe off!"  Rachel slapped Chandler's shoulder with glee as he gaped at her in drunkenly exaggerated surprise.

"So, wait.  So…wait.  So that's why she acted so weird tha' night?  And that's why I on'y have nine toes?!"  Rachel swayed, suddenly nervous that Chandler would be upset about the revelation, but the nervousness vanished when he said merely, "Meh," and turned his empty glass upside down over his open mouth.  "S'empty.  D'ya wan' some more wine, Raysh?"

"More wine?"  Rachel inspected her glass closely.  "Well…I still have haf' a glass, shooo…yesh!  Of course!"  She started to hand her glass over to him for a refill, but then jerked it back, sloshing alcohol all over herself in the process.  "Aw…damn it!  My new dressh!"

"Oh no!!  Not the dressh!!"  Chandler cast his cigarette aside, pulled his jacket sleeve down over his hand and began swiping at the wet spot now covering Rachel's entire chest region.  "Which, by the way, I haf' been meanin' to tell you, looksh very, very nice on you, by the way.  I've been meanin' to tell you that.  All night.  By the way."

Rachel looked up quickly from overseeing Chandler's attempts to clean up her mess and wrinkled her forehead.  "Awwww…Chan'ler, that ish so shweet!  You look very nice, too, y'know, I always liked thish tie on you…."

Chandler turned his attention away from her nearly ruined dress and gazed mutely down to meet her slightly unfocused stare, rather unsteady in his intoxicated state.  My God, she is so beautiful; just look at her.  At some point during the evening, she had taken her hair down from its position atop her head, and several strands of it had fallen in front of her eyes, eyes that seemed now to be asking a silent question; unbidden, he felt his left hand floating upward, watched as it rested ever so lightly on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder.  With his right hand, he brushed the silken waves away from her face and watched, awed, as it gently settled against her bare skin.  His fingers drifted, feather light, from the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck and downward, gliding weightlessly between her shoulder blades, gaining confidence as he watched her eyes flutter closed in breathless contentment.  He felt her lightly grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him slightly closer, and he let his free hand wander, unhurried, languidly, up the length of her arm, ceasing only to cup her flushed cheek.  Tilting her face upward towards his own, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, listened as her breathing became ragged – or was it his own? – and struggled without success to form a single intelligent thought.  His mind was a jumble of conflicting feelings, except for the hypnotic cadence of one phrase: Kiss her.  Kiss her.  Kiss her.  Unable to resist any longer, he lowered his mouth to hers…

"Chan'ler?!  Rashel?!  Thank God!  Normal people!  Sane people!"

Chandler felt himself yanked brutally back into reality as Rachel stepped reflexively away from him at the sound of Monica's panicked words.  "Mon?"  He heard the hoarseness in her voice, and was indescribably glad she had chosen to reply; he didn't know if he was capable of producing anything that even remotely resembled an audible sound. 

"My parents are driving me crazy!  Crazy!  And – and this man, this horrible, snotty British man thought I was Ross' mother!  I swear, if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill someone!"

"Ross' mother?  That's – " Chandler croaked, stopping to clear his raspy throat.  "That's ridiculous!"  His heart racing wildly, he locked eyes with Rachel, who looked as disconcerted – and disappointed – as he felt.  She frowned slightly, motioning with her head towards the dinner hall.  He turned his gaze in that direction and noticed Joey, standing with his back facing the open doorway.  Understanding, he placed his hand at the small of Monica's back and swung her back towards the entrance.  "That's absolutely ridiculous!  You don't look anything like Ross' mother!  Your mother!  *Any* mother!"  Rachel close on his heels, he hurried Monica across the terrace and squeezed back into the hall, stopping to stand beside Joey, who was balking at the unfamiliar hors d'oeuvres that had just been offered to him by a passing waiter.

" – how many times do I have to tell you people!?  That – " he gestured towards the appetizers, " – is not food!  Now go!  GO!!"  Joey shook his head in disdain and turned to Chandler.  "I'm telling you, everything is weird here!  I want – "

"Joey, can you believe that some old, gross, rude man thought that Monica was Ross' mother?  Isn't that just the most awful, disrespectful thing you have ever heard?!"  Chandler prayed furtively that Joey would take the bait.

"He thought what?  That's it!  I've had it with this country, with their stupid non-food and snotty waiters who don't listen!  Monica, where is this man?  I'm gonna give that son of a bitch a piece of my mind!"  He took Monica by the elbow and dragged her away, raving violently about all things non-American.

Chandler and Rachel watched them go, in silence, before turning to each other simultaneously.  "Do you think that was insensitive of us?" Chandler inquired.

"No, no.  Noooo.  Ok, yes.  A little.  But we can always blame it on the alcohol later, if she even remembers."  She took a step in Chandler's direction.  "So, uh, so…what now?"

Chandler looked down at her, suddenly sober, a nervous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  "You wanna get the hell out of here, before she comes back?"

Rachel smiled shakily.  "Yes.  Hell, yes."

***

Later, Rachel wouldn't remember taking the cab back to the hotel; her mind, muddled with so many thoughts, seemed to have temporarily lost the ability to function.  The cramped quarters of the backseat were suddenly magnified, practically demanding that she and Chandler sit closely.  Fingers entwined, barely breathing, both avoided the gaze of the other, each worrying that any sort of eye contact would destroy the thin veil of impulsiveness that had brought them to this point.  She lightly stroked the inside of his wrist with her thumb, waiting nervously for the hotel to come into view.  When it finally did, they stumbled out of the vehicle and through the front doors.  Chandler gently urged her into the waiting elevator, anxiously anticipating what might happen once they reached their floor, but fully aware that he was racing against the theoretical clock, knowing that any second it was possible that she would decide they were making a mistake; He had a sneaking suspicion that, despite the growing feeling of fear in his stomach about what might come to be, he would be infinitely more disappointed if nothing happened at all.

As the elevator doors closed, he felt Rachel's eyes upon him.  "Chandler?"  Her voice was soft, tremulous.

He turned to face her, fear of rejection lining his face.  "Yes?"

She stared up at him, her eyes searching his.  "Are you sure…?"

He exhaled slowly, edging closer to her, resisting the urge to hit the Stop button and press her up against the elevator wall with his entire body.  Instead, he settled one hand against the wall beside her head and leaned into her.  "Are you sure?"

She bit her lower lip, taking far too long to answer for Chandler's liking.  "I don't…is this crazy?" she whispered.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, willing her to stay calm and give him a chance. "Yeah, maybe, a little crazy.  But…"

"…I don't want to stop."  The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth, and he felt the warmth of relief wash over him, only realizing at that very moment just how terrified he had been that she would change her mind.  He traced the outline of her jaw and drew a long, shaky breath.  "Rach, I…" 

She pushed her mouth up into his and all hope for intelligent thought evaporated.  He felt her soft moan vibrate against his lips and he collapsed into her, tasting her, savoring the intoxicating vanilla of her shampoo, the glossy feel of her hair between his fingers.  When the elevator doors opened onto their floor, he pulled back reluctantly. 

Rachel let him lead her towards the rooms, pressing the back of her hand against her swollen lips.  Her cheeks were aflame with desire and surprise – surprise at her visceral reaction to Chandler's kiss.  She had a vivid memory of her first real kiss with Ross, of laughing as his hands grazed her bottom.  Somehow, right now, despite the similarities in the situation, she didn't think she had ever felt less amused.  All she could think about was Chandler, Chandler's hands in her hair, Chandler's breath on her face…

They paused between their respective doors.  "Uh…your place or mine?"  His feeble attempt at a joke sounded forced, even to his own ears.

"Yours," Rachel breathed.  "Joey is definitely more likely to be late coming back than Monica is."

Seeing her logic, Chandler keyed into his room and ushered her inside.  He locked the door securely behind them and turned to find Rachel standing beside his bed, looking somewhat uncertain as to how to continue.  He approached her slowly, stepping out of his shoes along the way.  When finally he stood in front of her, she reached up to tentatively stroke his jaw with her right hand, enjoying the sandpapery scratchiness of his five o'clock shadow.  He visibly relaxed into her feather-soft touch, smiling crookedly, watching her through half-closed eyelids.  With his pupils dilated so fully, his normally sparkling blue eyes were now a dark cobalt, thickly hazed with desire.  He lowered his mouth to hers, hesitantly at first, his tongue teasing her lower lip, tracing it gently, provocatively.  He groaned when her lips parted, his heart pounding in his throat; he took her top lip between his teeth, gently, and the stark contrast between animal desire and heartbreaking tenderness nearly sent her careening over the edge.

Rachel felt her legs weakening, and raised one knee, and then the other, wrapping them around his thighs, pressing him down onto the bed, draping her arms around his neck.  His hands roamed her back freely, tracing torturously slow invisible circles between her shoulder blades, until finally he hooked his thumb under the spaghetti strap on her shoulder.  Panting, he grudgingly tore his mouth away from hers and dragged the fabric downward, following it with his mouth, leaving a burning trail of kisses behind.  Rachel made a noise deep in her throat, threading her fingers through his hair and urging him onward.  She marveled at the new knowledge before her: She knew, somehow, that if all women could see this Chandler, this highly desirable, sexually-charged side of him, that there was no possible way he would still be single; some incredibly lucky woman would have snatched him up years ago.

Then her hands were tearing at his jacket, impatiently relieving him of the coarse boundary between her skin and his; his tie quickly followed.  Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white shirt, she slid her hands against the heated skin of his chest.  He moaned deeply as her hands explored him, gliding over his shoulders, stretching the garment so cruelly denying her full access to his body.  His mouth moved back up over her shoulder, his breath hot against the pulse point in her neck.  His slight beard tickled her jaw line as he whispered erotic promises into her ear, causing her stomach to tingle and her fingernails to dig into his shoulders. 

He eased her over onto her back, supporting himself on one arm, his free hand never leaving her body.  His fingers danced along her thigh, inching closer and closer to the raised hem of her dress.  She arched her hips, unable to restrain herself.  He smiled teasingly, one corner of his mouth lifting at her evident excitement.  "What's the matter, Rach?" he rasped.  "Is there something I can do for you?"  He skimmed his palm slowly toward her skirt, the heat of it making her gasp with surprise.  Tauntingly, he came within mere millimeters of her hemline and then skipped over to the other leg, moving farther away, toward her knee.

"Chand – leeerrr…" she whined.  "Please…" 

"What is it?" he whispered, slowing his fingers further, torturing her inner thigh.  "What do you want?"

"Please," she gasped.

Chandler chuckled softly in disbelief, not entirely convinced that he wasn't dreaming; he was sure he had never seen anyone so beautiful, so sexy, in his entire life, and here she was, right in front of him, breathless with desire.   Lowering his face to hers, he covered her mouth with his once more, swallowing her moans, stroking the velvety softness of her tongue with his own.  His hand trailed upward, slipping underneath her skirt, searching –

Knock knock knock.

Rachel tensed, but Chandler pretended not to have heard.  His fingers found the waistband of her panties, grasped it, started to pull –

Knock knock knock.  "Chandler?  Are you in there?"  Monica's voice was pleading.

Chandler broke his kiss with Rachel to swear.  "God damnit, do you think she plans this shit?!"

Rachel whimpered, clearly as unhappy with the interruption as he.  "What – how – we, we have to open the door.  She'll find out that we're here, she'll wonder why we didn't answer…"

"But maybe – maybe we were just passed out!  I mean, you saw us at dinner – we were really wasted!  So why couldn't we just have passed out?"

Rachel ran her fingers through his hair, trying to steady her breathing.  "Chandler.  When was the last time you and a female friend got so drunk that you passed out together in your hotel room, after not having done anything out of the ordinary, and you were both so passed out that you couldn't hear someone knocking on the door??"

He bit his lip.  "Tonight?"

Her semi-amused expression told him that his logic wouldn't work.  Cursing, he sat up, pulling her along with him.   Buttoning his shirt hastily, he motioned towards the remote control with his head.  Rachel grabbed it and hit the power button, willing her breathing to slow down.  Calm down, girl.  Be cool.  She smoothed her dress and plopped down into one of the club chairs by the window, faking deep interest in the rerun of The Simpsons playing on television.

Chandler drew several calming breaths before opening the door.  Trying to mask his irritation, he turned the knob and raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise.  "Monica!  Wh – what's up?"

"Chan'ler!  I wash just abou' to leave…what took you sho long?"   She peered around him, trying to see into the room.

"Sorry…we – we barely heard you knocking…"

"We?  Ish Joey here??!"

Exhaling, Chandler opened the door to let her into the room.  "No, no, Joey's not here.  It's just me and Rachel.  I thought he was with you?"

"No…I lost him somewhere at th' party…though' maybe he ha' come back here…"

Chandler turned back into the room, headed towards the other chair by the window.  "Nope, I haven't seen him since we left the hall.  He probably just met some girl and went home with her.  I wouldn't worry about him."

Rachel watched Monica closely, noting the small frown that appeared on her face at Chandler's words.  "Mon, are you OK?"

Monica laughed, a little too loudly.  "Me?  Yeah!  I'm fine, I'm great!  Ross ish getting married tomorrow!  I'm thrilled!  I'm uh, I'm jus' a li'l tired.  Too mush wine, whoooo!  I think I'm jus' gonna go to bed…I'll, uh, I'll see you guys tomorrow…" As she closed the door, Rachel distinctly heard a sniffle.

She exchanged a worried glance with Chandler.  "I think I'd better go after her.  She was really upset last night…I just don't think she should be alone."

Chandler nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.  "Of course.  Go."  He followed her to the door, leaning down to turn the knob for her.  He pressed a kiss into her hair.  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

Rachel avoided his gaze as she stepped into the hallway, knowing that if she looked up into those beautiful blue eyes, she wouldn't be able to leave.  "Yes.  Of course.  The wedding."  Staring at the floor, she squeezed his hand.  "See you there.  Good night."

Chandler watched her slip into her own room, never once looking him in the eye.  Sighing, he closed the door.  Well, that has to be a record, he thought.  Usually they at least wait until *after* we've had sex to start ignoring me.  Angrily, he tore at the buttons on his shirt, threw himself down onto the bed in frustration.  You should have known better than to think she'd really want you, if she had any time to think about it.  She was probably just using you as a way to get Ross off of her mind.

He wriggled out of his pants and yanked the covers back on the bed.  He willed himself not to think about the look on her face when he'd touched her leg.  "Chandler…please!!" He groaned at the memory of her voice and buried his face in the pillow.  It's gonna be a long night.

***

Oh, hi!  Yeah, no, I'm just sitting here, listening to Ben Folds, waiting for you to finish reading this and leave me a review.  You're gonna leave a review, right?  RIGHT??!?