In excitement for the upcoming season return of Fox's 9-1-1, because all my faves are coming back and it can't get any worse (I hope).
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.
"What is this?" Chandler asked, turning to face her over his shoulder.
Monica had followed him up the stairs, unable to control herself as her husband came home from work. She watched excitedly from the doorway of their bedroom. The kids were all out of the house for the night. One was at a college early entry weekend sleep away. Another staying the night at a sleepover with the whole tennis team before tomorrow's big game and the finals on Sunday. The youngest at a sleepover at Phoebe and Mike's.
"A gift," she shrugged, grinning.
"For me?"
Her husband was a sweetheart. She'd spent the last twenty years giving him things and praising him, genuinely. Even so, Chandler Bing acted like every gift was his first. Or his favourite. Or like he didn't deserve it.
He did just that now, turning around to face her fully and holding his hands out to her, his tie swaying at his waist.
Monica strode over to him and let his large hands come over the top of hers to engulf her fingers.
"You didn't have to do that," he told her, swinging their hands between them.
"You don't even know what it is?" Monica laughed, shaking her head. He was adorable, her Chandler.
He leant down and pecked her lips sweetly. "So, what's in it?"
"A gift." She repeated, remaining annoyingly vague in a way Monica knew would vex her husband.
He scrunched his nose, smiling widely down at her. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet, childlike in his excitement. That was one of her favourite things about her husband. While their children were fairly regular teenagers, none of them too angsty or antsy, they were still of an age where things weren't so exciting, or they were too young for them, Chandler did his level best to keep them young at heart and able to see the wonder in the world around them. And they seldom found him annoying. He bounced on his toes. "Can I open it?"
Monica nodded, squeezing his fingers.
Chandler chuckled happily and twirled around, Monica's hands trailing over his abdomen as he moved. He took three steps towards the corner of their bed where Monica had placed the gift box. It was red, and she'd used a yellow twill tape ribbon crossed over the lid.
She couldn't see around the broad shoulders under his brown suit jacket, but Monica happily watched the fabric ripple as Chandler lifted the lid off the box.
She heard the cardboard lid hit the bedclothes because Chandler had tried to be fancy about spinning the lid against his fingertips as he lifted it off and it knocked against the bottom half of the box.
"See," Monica explained as Chandler inspected the contents of the gift box. "It's actually more for me."
Chandler turned slowly to face her, a salacious expression on his face.
"I'd totally forgotten about it," Monica told her curious husband. "But then the kids started watching that show and I remembered there was something I always wanted to do. And we never got to, because Phoebe was living with us and life got in the way. And it worked out well because that show's so popular. All the costume shops are full of firefighter uniforms. And the kids are away, too."
"Monica," Chandler's tone was not the sexy one Monica had been expecting. Her name sounded like a warning.
"I'm over fifty. Do you really think this scenario is believable?"
"Honey," Monica took two steps forward and wound her arms around her husband's middle, laying her head against his covered spine. Her hands clasped at his belly, her fingers tickled by his tie until Chandler covered her hands with his own.
He was gorgeous, her husband. Monica was sure that Chandler didn't actually have body image issues. He played tennis once a week, sometimes twice, and had taken to walking their dog with her of a morning. He'd been thoroughly against getting the golden Maltese-Shih-Tzu-Poodle while the kids were young. But now that the twins were looking at colleges and throwing around that terrible phrase 'moving out' like they had a clue how difficult that would be, Chandler had given in. Not for the kids, but for Monica, so she could have someone to dote on. He was grey and wrinkled and the same Chandler Bing he had always been.
"My hot husband, all hot and sweaty and quick-thinking like always," Monica breathed against Chandler's back. "Throwing me over his shoulder and patiently reprimanding me. You're great at that. I don't need the abseiling or the insane heights and speeds. I just want you. And I think you would look good in that."
He nodded. "I know all that. Trust me, I've got that covered. I meant," his hand pat hers and he turned slightly, tucking his chin to his shoulder and eyeing her. "I just mean, I only have office stories, nothing that would get your pulse pounding, and anything I say will sound like bad porn."
Monica hummed against her husband's shoulder. "You're always pretty good at figuring out what to say."
Chandler chuckled. "But no hose jokes."
Monica snorted and slid her hands around Chandler's waist, pushing his back. "Get changed."
"Oh, you want me now?" Chandler asked, joking, but a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. He had a fair point. It was just past five, but Monica had spent two days planning this, getting a store that had costumes to hold a fireman's costume in Chandler's size until she could find a spare moment in her day to pick it up. It had been three days since she and Chandler had walked into the living room to find the kids watching Fox's 9-1-1. It was in that moment that Monica'd had a flash of memory from years past. It was something she definitely shouldn't have been thinking as her children squealed excitedly and set up the first episode for the family to binge over the week. Plus, it had been twenty years since she'd first had the idea. Monica couldn't believe she'd forgotten about it. All that time should have made her patient.
It didn't.
"Do you want dinner instead?" Monica bit her lips together and waited for him to scoff.
He didn't disappoint.
His watery blue eyes flashed with mirth when he looked at her. It should have sent a hot flash through her body, having her husband prepared to dress up for her, grinning at her. But it didn't. It might, in fact, he probably would cause exactly that reaction in less than ten minutes, but now his smile slowed her heart rate right down, her breathing too, completely relaxing her.
Which was great and all, but not what she needed. Monica needed to be alert and prepared and quick. She'd fluffed her hair and dabbed her lips with a peach gloss she knew fascinated her husband. She'd brushed her teeth and slipped into lacy black underwear beneath her jeans and blouse. Monica wasn't sold on the outfit. She could slip on a slinky dress, ensuring her husband's hands would be on her body much sooner than if she wore pants. Or she could keep the jeans. They did make her ass look great, according to her husband, and lose the underwear.
She also wanted to start the fire in the corner of their bedroom. It wasn't cold enough to have it on anymore, but it would add to the ambience of their roleplay. Might even make them sweat more.
Monica walked over towards the fire, deciding on organising that before anything else. Jeans or a dress wouldn't matter to her or Chandler one way or another, and they wouldn't remember that detail or focus on it. The fire setting the perfect mood, they would. She fiddled with the handle to open the flue and struck the tinder with a lighted match.
"I feel dumb," Chandler called from the en suite.
"Bet your wife feels dumb out here," Monica shouted back. "Laying naked out here waiting for her husband."
The bathroom door ripped open before she'd even finished her sentence.
"Ma'am," his voice was crisp and low. "Step away from the fire, please. Arson is a criminal offence."
Monica rolled her eyes but dropped the match into the fireplace with the other burning wood. Monica stood up slowly and turned around to face her husband.
She was right. He did look good in a firefighter's uniform.
It swallowed him the way a real uniform would, looking like the Nomex was two sizes too big for him. The black pants were reminiscent of the baggy style that had been all the rage in the early nineties that Monica was certain Chandler was infinitely glad he'd been too young to take part in and equally upset he couldn't tease Ross about wearing. His two long legs stuck out from beneath an overly wide coat that ballooned out over his chest because he was holding his arms tightly to his side. All of his joints were marked with reflective yellow tape that matched the helmet that sat low on Chandler's forehead, shading his eyes villainously. Monica hadn't bought the shoes to go with the outfit and she was quite glad about it. Chandler stood in his black socks and she was incredibly glad for it. A lack of shoes gave them far more options.
Still, Monica wasn't sure how this was going to turn out. She cocked her hip to one side. "But lighting fires is usually the quickest way to get one of New York's finest into my bedroom."
"Is that what this is?" Chandler asked, his voice husky and deep. "Your way of getting any one of us to come barging in?"
"I must say," Monica grinned. "I did like the way you ran in desperately. But not any of you. I'm looking for one of you in part-. I'm sorry. I can't take you seriously in that thing."
"Is it the gloves?" Chandler asked. "Because they are kind of scratchy and weird and I can take them off."
Monica shook her head. "The helmet."
Chandler shook his head. His eyes were rolled upwards as though he was looking at the low rim as the hat wobbled atop his head.
The pair of them laughed.
Chandler ducked his head, his clothes swooshing, and took the helmet off. The costume she'd bought, while brand new and expensive, wasn't of the highest quality. She wasn't sure if it was the foam from the inside of the helmet or the dye of the fabric of Chandler's sleeve as his hand wiped his forehead, but Chandler's forehead smudged with a charcoal stain as he lifted his helmet from his head and dropped it to the floor.
The smudge added something Monica couldn't define to the whole ensemble. She knew she liked him dishevelled. And cleaning and dressed up and in ties. She hadn't realised Chandler Bing being a little bit dirty would turn her on. Any more and she probably wouldn't be able to handle it, but a street of dirt across his temple made him appear rugged in a way that met the brief and fit the fireman roleplay.
His chin was still angled down towards his chest like he wasn't looking at her, and his hair was undeniably greying but curled over his forehead deliciously, his hair already dishevelled. Then Chandler still managed to give her the same hot look he always had.
"Now," Chandler approached her. "Where were we?"
Monica giggled, reaching for his chest and tugging him towards her with that excess fabric. "I think we were meant to figure out a scenario before we started."
"No," he disagreed, circling his arms around her so that his hands rested on the small of her back. Chandler kept his chin tilted upward, still looking at her, but with his lips just out of her reach. "You were doing great. About to go into that monologue where you beg for me."
"The one where I wax on about how I've realised I can't live without my best friend, but I haven't seen him since we parted ways. All I know is he became a firefighter, so I've been setting fires all across the state in the hopes of finding him. That monologue?"
"I've seen that movie," Chandler nodded. "It was terrible."
Monica shook her head at her husband. He always found new ways of telling the kids, and Joey, and her, that the ideas they had were convoluted and needlessly complex. "What if I said I was just a lonely girl desperate for a big, strong man to whisk me away?"
"And lighting fires is the way to do that?" Chandler's eyebrow quirked up into his hairline, his voice quirking in that same way it always did.
Monica smirked at her sarcastic husband, challenging him. "You tell me."
Chandler's teeth bared in a wicked grin, and then he dropped out of view as he bent over in a squat.
Monica felt his hands each circle her thighs, squeezing rough handfuls of her body. His cheek pressed into her lower belly and in one swift movement, Monica was airborne. Chandler had a tight grip on her legs, just above her knees, and the momentum of being hoisted up and gravity had her folding at the waist over his shoulder.
"Chandler!" Monica squealed. And called out again when he rubbed her rear and muttered the exact compliment Monica had thought he might.
He threw her against the mattress unceremoniously. Monica's lower back aligned with the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off it, and her hair fanned around her. She could feel the weight of Chandler's body leave hers as he pressed up onto his hands and hovered over her.
"I thought you wanted to be thoroughly ravished by a hose jockey?" he smirked as Monica tried to wind her arms around his neck and pull him down to her.
His statement left her such a perfect opening that Monica had to take it. "I thought I was going to be the hose jockey."
His smile was bright as it split his mouth open. Chandler then pressed his forehead against her navel as though he couldn't suppress his rumbling chuckle, and she felt the sound vibrate deliciously against her as he did so. "God, that was bad, Mon."
Her shirt had lifted from her waistband with her movement and Chandler's breath ghosted over her stomach, close to where she wanted him. A tremor shook her body, and her legs fell open for him to settle between. She needed to urge him on. "What are you going to do about it?"
She felt his touch burn up her denim covered legs, kneading up the back of her thighs before rough fingers stopped against the skin of her waist. Chandler was right. The fabric of the gloves was stiff and uncomfortable, like wool made of sandpaper. His fingers licked across her waist to rest at her hips, and then he yanked her jeans down her legs in one aggressive motion. Chandler managed to pull them all the way down to her knees, and Monica used her feet to kick them the rest of the way off.
She sat up on her elbows to look at her husband.
He sat on his haunches between her knees and had that same intense colouring in his eyes that he got whenever he looked at her. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
Monica raised one eyebrow at him curiously.
"Now," he grinned at her. "I do have to inspect you for any injury. It's protocol. It won't take a moment."
For a beat, Chandler did actually appear to follow through, lifting her small foot into the paw of his glove and kissing her instep before glancing down the line of her leg.
But it seemed he was distracted by her pale skin as it glowed in the firelight.
He kissed the bone of her ankle. Then her Achilles tendon. His gloved hand slid up the outside of her calf, painting fiery stripes against her skin. The scratch of his glove qualified by the tenderness of his touch. Meanwhile, his lips trailed kisses against her calf, all the way up to her knee before heading back downwards and giving the same attention to her other leg, kissing the top of her foot on his way back down her leg.
Monica could just brace her toes on the carpet when Chandler let her legs back down, and she used the leverage to rock her hips towards her husband, being his attention away from where he had gone back to kissing her knee and stroking the soft space behind it.
Chandler's shoulders were broad beneath the fireman's coat, his pupils dark with desire. His hair curled over his forehead, still fluffy and messy from the helmet, casting shade over his eyes. Monica tingled with excitement, the same as she always did when Chandler knelt between her legs. She hooked her legs over Chandler's shoulders and squeezed a little to encourage him to hurry him up.
Blue eyes blazed when he caught her looking at him. But he remained stoically kissing the inside of her knee.
Chandler sucked a hot circle on the sensitive inside of her knee and Monica felt her insides spike with interest and pulse excitedly. She succumbed to a shiver that tingled up her chest and shook her cheeks, her mouth falling open uncontrollably when she watched his tongue dart out to taste her skin.
He traced the tip of his tongue in swirls up her inner thigh, nipping the muscle sweetly in teasingly tiny bites. The pinch of his teeth had Monica quaking already, her hips bucking upwards and her spine becoming limp with need.
His hot breath fanned over her sensitive flesh and Monica made a conscious effort to lift her head to watch her husband as he kissed her body. He'd spent years perfecting the art, and the sight drove her as wild as his mouth did as his tongue zigzagged and spelt out words, punctuating with bites along the back of her hamstring. Under her knees, his shoulders were broad, his coat scratchy and pleasantly foreign. Chandler's gloved hand brushed her leg, holding her body to his mouth as Chandler massaged the outside of her thigh. The fabric was coarse and the feel of it was heady as he touched her softly with it. Something that hard and rough shouldn't be used so gently and the disparity of sensations had Monica exhaling breathily, already unable to form words at her husband's touch.
Chandler detached his hot mouth from her skin and blew a cold breath over the red patches that marked her body.
"This is very pretty," he commented, running his nose along the inside of her thigh. Meanwhile, his hand circled her thigh, working his way up to her hipbone. One of his covered fingers, amusingly enlarged by the fabric of his glove, traced the thin waistband of her lace thong towards her middle. Monica held her breath, her throat pulsing painfully as she gulped. That tantalisingly confusing touch of his ghosted a thick stripe down over her covered sex, and both of them licked their lips.
He bent his head and nipped the tendon that ran at the apex of her thighs along her waistband. Monica's body rocked towards him. His breath was hot as it promised to envelop her, but Chandler hummed and licked the seam of her underwear at her inner thigh before descending his lips down her other leg and leaving her covered entrance cold and untouched.
Chandler left his thumb stroking along the band of her underwear, teasing and just shy of where she needed him.
Monica whined aloud, and Chandler stopped sucking her thigh to bite his smile into her skin.
Monica grabbed the ends of his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp and pulling in the way she knew got him hard. He moaned against her, sending vibrations across her skin and shocks of electricity to her core. His lips left her with a wet pop and his tongue left a hot stripe up her thigh as Monica yanked her husband back towards the heat between her thighs.
Chandler's patrician nose nudged her first. Monica had pulled him so forcefully, overestimating how much she had to tug her husband. He laughed and Monica moaned as he didn't correct the tight push of the bridge of his nose against her core. Slowly, Chandler stroked his nose upward, the point of it resting against her clothed clitoris.
Monica's thighs pushed back against Chandler's shoulders as the broad expanse of him stretched her wide. His breath blew steadily from his mouth, making Monica shudder and her insides pulse expectantly.
Her head dropped back against the mattress, overwhelmed and frustrated simultaneously, as her husband pressed a lusty, open-mouthed kiss against her. Monica felt her muscles constrict in her abdomen, quivering wherever her husband touched his tongue to her.
He licked a hot stripe over her covered core.
Monica's hands gripped Chandler's ears to maintain the pressure of his mouth against her. Her lips tingled and her mouth fell open, her tongue laving against her bottom lip as her whole body wreathed with arousal.
She wanted to kiss Chandler, to have his weight settle on top of her, for his hips to pound against hers so that she ached in the morning.
As always, Chandler was going to move at his own incredibly torturous pace.
He ran his tongue against the waistband at her inner thigh, nipping the fabric with his teeth. Monica shivered as Chandler licked her skin and worked his tongue beneath her underwear, working towards her centre but never quite getting there and settling for teasing her happily. His teeth tugged the band of her panties away from her, letting it snap back against her so that she let out a high-pitched yelp of ecstasy.
She tried to pull him towards her, to squeeze him closer. She pressed her crown against the mattress and arched her back, pushing her feet into Chandler's back so she could angle her hips towards his mouth. When that didn't work, Monica attempted to arch the other way, sitting up to meet his eyes and glare at Chandler accordingly.
Chandler winked at her. Insufferable man that he was, his blue eyes twinkled with mirth and enjoyment as he licked her again, knowing exactly how she was reacting to his teasing.
He rolled the tip of his nose at the apex of her underwear, pressing it against her bundle of nerves. Monica shuddered and squeezed her legs around her husband. Then he swirled the point of his tongue in similar figure eights an inch or so lower, his fiery tongue pressing into her heat.
Her lower belly fluttered as Chandler kept squeezing her ass in his coarse hands. His mouth was hot and wet against her and not satisfying whatsoever.
Monica swore at her husband, begging him for more.
She made sure he was looking at her and let her hands drop downwards to stroke his neck, her fingers dipping beneath the high collar of his fireman's coat. She let her right-hand drop away from him and touched her own thigh with her fingertips, inching her fingers up to where her husband wasn't satisfying her.
He slapped her hand away with a ripple of exhaled air that made her tremble. And then he moved.
Not the way Monica wanted him to, but definitely promisingly.
Chandler leant away from her, easing her legs from over his shoulders and laying her feet flat on the floor. His gloved hands scratched over the top of her thighs and Monica wasn't sure what her husband was doing other than being incredibly unfair as he teased her. His forearms lay against her legs like he was using them for balance and Monica found it in herself to prop herself up on her elbows again.
He drew a couple of lazy circles over her thighs and then leaned to his left, balancing against her right leg. Chandler clasped his hands together and tugged the fingers of his right glove with his left hand, trying to get it off.
In the process of pulling his fingers free, Chandler whipped the glove off and accidentally snapped the fabric against the top of her thigh.
Monica moaned.
Her whole body clenched with pleasure and any skin that wasn't already electrified prickled with goose pimples.
He flicked the limp fingers of the empty glove between her legs, and Monica groaned again.
He might have said something, probably pornographic and deliciously filthy, if the fan of Chandler's hot breath against her inner thighs was any indication. But Monica couldn't hear his low baritone over the roar of her blood in her ears.
He only got the one glove off before Chandler reached impatiently for her underwear and, with her help, pulled the tiny waistband down her thighs.
Exposed to the cool air, Monica shuddered. And then shook again as Chandler traced his thumb over her outer labia.
He worked his thumb inwards to press against the button of her erect nerve endings, collecting her arousal in a hot swirl and pressing his fingerprint down on her pulsing opening.
Monica swallowed thickly, preparing herself for what was coming.
Chandler's thumbnail bit her hot flesh softly as he lowered his mouth to her body. He nibbled her teasingly and then pressed his tongue into her entrance.
Already on fire, Monica could hardly bare the sensation of tongue delving inside her, circling her entrance and then dipping inside again. She could feel his warm fingers pinch and caress the hollow of her spread legs, occasionally whispering closer to where his mouth kissed her heat.
Chandler kissed her the same way he would kiss her mouth, languid and exploring and taking his time to waste every part of her before he went for the main attraction.
He took his sweet time worshipping her, working them both breathless before he drove the blade of his tongue aggressively to fill her desperate emptiness.
As his tongue ravished her insides with the skill of a man who has spent more than twenty years practicing this with her and learning how she liked it, Chandler's still gloved hand stroked across her hipbone, holding her bucking hips steady while his touch teased her sybaritically.
Monica curled her hips up to meet him, her spine flat against the sheets to grant him better access and have his hot breath wash over her with his whole face buried between her thighs.
But then his middle and forefinger speared into her.
He sucked against her pearl, short pulls against her sensitive nerves and then a third, longer suckle on a heady rotation.
Meanwhile, his familiar fingers swirled and scissored, making Monica squirm. Chandler pushed against her quaking muscles, trying to draw out pleased whines from her parted lips while he kissed just above where his fingers delved into her. He coaxed and curled his digits, biting and nipping and tracing until she called out his name.
Monica's whole body was a guitar string pulled too tight. Her neck and feet were grounded in the bed and floor, but the rest of her was taut and arched upwards, ready to snap and overflow.
Fire burned in her belly, and Chandler sparked friction as he thrust his fingers into her.
Monica's toes curled against the carpet as Chandler rubbed that perfect spot inside her. She cried out as her whole body tensed further, her muscles vibrating. She was vaguely aware she was yanking her husband's hair a little too roughly, but she couldn't stop herself, needing to be grounded by holding something.
Then he added a third finger, and it was like the addition gave her an outlet to expel all her building emotions. Monica's body shook, and she released all of the extra electricity that coursed through her with a shout and a shudder.
Her mind was foggy and her heart pounding as Chandler continued to pump his fingers and kiss her softly. He didn't seem to be all that interested in stopping or all that phased by the face Monica's body had gone completely limp. That was so like Chandler, to get caught up in pleasing her and go in for a second round.
But that wasn't what Monica wanted.
She let her body pique with titillated interest as Chandler continued to finger her opening lazily. When she caught her breath sufficiently, Monica brought herself up, first to her elbows and then up to sit. She gripped Chandler's ears to steady herself, and she bent to kiss him.
Perched precariously as she was seated right on the edge of the bed with her feet on the floor and her head leaning down, Monica's butt slipped out from under her, but she caught herself on shaky legs and remained seated on the mattress.
Chandler's chin glistened licentiously, and he sent her a racy smile.
Monica couldn't stand for such an expression. Worse, she wouldn't be able to hold her sanity in place if he continued looking at her that way.
So Monica leaned forward and gripped the fireman's coat Chandler wore. In two sharp movements, she ripped open the metal buttons.
Her first tear exposed Chandler's chest. The buttons snapped open and the pair of them let out matching hisses, even though the jacket didn't expose him completely. Monica hadn't expected to be met with tan skin speckled with sweat, but Chandler had failed to leave his shirt on beneath the coat. Instead of a tight skivvy or his business shirt, Monica got an eyeful of the divot of Chandler's sternum almost down to his navel and the hard muscle and peaked nipples beneath the dusting of hair that covered his chest.
She was right. He looked damn good.
Monica jerked her arms outwards to pull the rest of the buttons apart and then she ducked her head to press a kiss to her husband's salty chest.
She tried to, anyway.
Monica's butt slipped off the edge of the mattress and she fell to her knees, gripping her husband's lapels.
Monica used her momentum and his surprise to shove Chandler to the floor.
She followed him down with her hands fisted in his jacket. One by one, Monica crawled her legs over him to cage Chandler's hips. Bucking at the sensation, Monica lay her naked slickness over her husband's clothed erection.
She swayed her his a few torturous times until the both of them groaned and bent forward to suck a kiss against Chandler's chest like she so desperately wanted to.
Beneath her, Chandler thrust his hips impatiently, the scratch of his costume almost undoing her with the delicious friction it provided.
Monica couldn't have that and she told him as much.
"Ah," her lips popped off his skin as she sat up. "So impatient."
"I haven't had you half-dressed in a long time," Chandler bit out an explanation, his voice breathy and hot. "I forgot how much it works for me."
She should have been insulted or flattered that her husband didn't want her naked or grew as large as he felt between her legs while she was still half-dressed, but Monica's mind was on her husband's chest.
With her last orgasm came a few moments of clarity while she was still oversensitive before she grew hazy with lust again. Which gave her just enough time to register what Chandler was wearing and appreciate it for what it was.
Braces.
As it was, his pale skin shone tan in the flicker of firelight. Against his chest ran parallel lines of reflective neon yellow crossed his skin. Travelling down in two thick stripes over his shoulders, the fabric lay just outside his nipples and then dipped down to where Monica's hips lay against his, fastened each to a little loop of fabric on the inside of his waistband that made a triangle against his skin where the braces were attached.
Monica fixed the straps, so they lay correctly across his skin, hiding his nipples, and Chandler groaned as the fabric rubbed against them. Grinning wickedly, Monica snapped the bands against his skin.
This time, he moaned but bucked his hips in retaliation and Monica's eyes rolled back as his pants scratched her wet opening.
Monica gripped each line of yellow, holding the bands with her knuckles pressed against her husband's skin. She let her hands slide down the braces, all the while kneading into her husband's abdomen until she reached his waistband at her thighs.
Monica slipped her hands down Chandler's pants, needing to lift her hips off his to allow for some movement. She tweaked his balls, squeezing and pinching as she watched his eyelids flutter closed and his throat bob with desire.
Avoiding the thick length of him, Monica removed her hand to fiddle with the fabric of his pants, leaving them on his hips but opening them and pulling them down - not much given she had no intention of taking off the braces - but just enough to free him from his confines.
Chandler gasped as he was released, her fist finally circling his throbbing organ. She didn't pump or twist, teasing him mercilessly with simply the soft pressure of her touch as she lined up his velvety skin with hers.
His body cleaved into the fire of her belly, stretching her open as she rocked her hips so she could accept his entirety. She rolled her body over his at the same torturous pace he had teased her with earlier. Much to her amusement, Chandler groaned impatiently and twisted his body beneath hers, to coax her to speed up. Monica tried to remain stoic and in charge, but Chandler knew exactly what he was doing.
His hips thrust up at such an angle that he clipped all her pleasure spots and when Monica swivelled hers, he drew a circle at the deepest point inside her. Her mouth hand open and her head fell backwards, her neck limp and her throat exposed, her body ignited with rapturous pleasure. A litany of low moans fell from her lips, just a vibration bubbling up from her belly and tingling their way up her chest and out of her mouth.
Chandler's right hand slipped beneath her blouse at her back and caressed the dimples at the base of her spine, pushing her to encourage a faster pace.
Monica sashayed her hips across her husband's, letting his thick length stretch her open. While she turned circles over him, her knuckles bit bruises into Chandler's belly, using his abdomen for leverage. She panted as her insides constricted. Chandler's blue eyes were navy as he smirked up at her before his face went slack. Monica watched, intrigued, as her husband's intense gaze turned far away and distant, his jaw clenching while he tried to hold himself off.
Monica chuckled evilly, recognising that he was closer than she was when his hand stopped snaking up her spine to just hold his palm against her body with a slight pressure. His other hand lifted ineffectually from the floor and touched her thigh, his fingers covered with the uncomfortable itch of his glove. Monica couldn't tell if the fabric touching her skin made her tingle pleasurably or if the scratch of it caused just the right amount of soft friction to prickle against her thigh to give her the illusion of pleasure. Whatever the case, Monica bucked against Chandler's pelvic bone.
His back arched beneath her when Monica leant forward, moving so that his length slid against her clit every time he thrust in and out of her. Then his hands gripped her roughly, stealing control from her to slow her down. The languid roll of their bodies began to drive Monica insane, just enough to keep her on edge, not enough to push her over.
She had no idea how two hands could control her so much, but it felt like she was at Chandler's mercy, moving at the pace he defined. Monica needed her husband to move. Faster. Harder. "Jesus, Chandler."
She gripped the neon bands over his chest and yanked him toward her, pulling Chandler up. He made no indication that he was surprised by her strength or oppositional to her idea. Instead, Chandler crushed his chest against hers and whined.
Monica almost asked him what the problem was. Almost grinned teasingly that she could dominate him this way, at last.
She flattened her palms against her husband's skin and trailed her fingers up his neck to angle his mouth up to meet hers. Her mouth mashed against his, open and hard, and she tried to kiss him with a little finesse but was too overwhelmed by the friction of his hips.
Their kiss was messy, a twirl of tongues with the tang of her pleasure on his lips. Monica opened her mouth to accept him and let Chandler thrust his tongue first against her cheek and then to the back of her throat, where he curled the muscle to coax Monica's moan out of her.
Monica rocked their bodies together while Chandler kissed her, picking up the pace when his hands circled her chest, squeezing her covered breasts and then ripped her shirt open. He grunted when he saw she was wearing a bra and Monica and his forehead dipped to press against her shoulder, his steamy breath panting against her collar. Despite how excited she had been about Chandler's reaction to her lingerie, Monica needed her tender glands to be free of their confines.
Reaching behind her blindly, a hand pulling against one of the elastic suspenders for a bit of balance. That changed the angles of their bodies, giving them a bit of space between their chests. Monica slung one arm around his neck, hanging off him while she slammed her hips over his. Grasping the opportunity, Chandler dropped his gloved hand, a rough padded finger, to the silky flesh where their bodies joined and it was too much for Monica. Her body melted around him, trying to push him out and suck him in simultaneously while all her bones went limp.
The sensation was too much and yet not enough, and Monica continued to rock her way through her orgasm, the two of them gasping into their kiss at how she fluttered and convulsed. If Chandler noticed more than the squeeze of her muscles around him, he didn't let on, continuing to thrust his hips as best as his seated position would allow.
Then Monica remembered what she had been doing and unsnapped the hooks of her bra, whipping it off her body.
Her breasts swayed free, her body feeling electrified everywhere Chandler touched her. His mouth left hers to wrap his lips around her peaked nipple, teeth grazing her sensitive bud. Then his hand left their joined bodies to squeeze her breast with that Nomex glove.
Her whole body was tingling and Monica's eyes rolled back behind their lids and she gave herself over to her husband. She hooked her arm back around his neck, digging her fingers into the meat of his shoulders to hold on to him as he moved.
His hips pumped upwards, and it was only muscle memory and subconscious desire that had her pushing back against him. His hips buffeted against hers as he sucked her chest desperately, pawing at her sensitive skin. Monica tried to control herself a little, gathering enough of her wits while her insides buzzed. Her body shook against her husband as his hot breath blew against her and his teeth nipped against her nipple.
He must have moved his legs, bracing his feet on the floor behind her, because Chandler snapped his hips against hers and Monica bounced against him, screaming at his brutal pace. Her mind was still foggy and her body still hummed, but she gathered enough of her wits to grind down against Chandler's stiff intrusion.
She wasn't sure what set him off in the end, if he bucked at the right angle or if her cries got to him. Maybe it was the way she convulsed around him, either a new orgasm or the same one still electrifying her. Whatever it was, Chandler exhaled shakily around her breast, groaning hotly against her skin.
They continued to rock together lazily, drawing out the sensation. Monica wrapped both her hands around Chandler's shoulders and they kissed sweetly while Monica felt him turn flaccid inside her. Trading kisses and soft pecks, the pair of them caught their breaths. Monica's chest met Chandler's sweaty one as his arms wrapped around her. Idly, she wondered how much of that sweat came from exertion and how much was from the fact he was still dressed and the balmy air of the lit fire in the corner of the room. She realised, then, that despite the evening hour and the open curtains, the room was warm. She would have liked to see if that had anything to do with the pair of them, turn around and see if they had fogged up the window, even though she knew, rightly, that the room was too big for that to have happened. It must have been the fire that burned the air, turning it warm and summery.
She shivered as he slipped out of her.
Misreading her sudden emptiness as his wife being cold, Chandler shrugged out of the firefighter coat. He draped it over Monica's shoulders, kissing her temple as he pulled the jacket around her. It left the middle of her body completely exposed, his skin returning to press against hers, but otherwise the jacket dwarfed her, covering her from shoulder to thigh. She shoved her arms through the sleeves and found that they, too, were giant.
Her fingers poked out of the end of the sleeve, tiny, and stroked a hand down his sweaty sternum. "Come have dinner. You're going to need your energy. And then you can rescue me properly."
"You're going to script the whole thing while we eat, aren't you?" Chandler did that thing, his signature move, where his voice sounded put out, but his eyes were excited and his smile was affectionate and fond.
"We've got to make the most of this," Monica shrugged.
"As long as you don't change out of this," Chandler ran his fingers over the collar of the fire retardant coat. "You look good in this costume, too."
