I Do
"I do. I do. I do."
"Oh yeah. You're right. The second one."
Chandler thought he could be nonchalant. He thought he could play it cool and pretend that last night never happened. Chalk it up to a one-night stand between two friends that they would no doubt laugh about one day. Pointing at each other with amused embarrassment when they got home and playfully cringing as they wondered aloud, "Can you believe we did that?" And much to his surprise, as he fell into a comfortable rapport with Ross about which version of "I do" he should use today at the ceremony, he found that, for the most part, it was working. Everything seemed normal.
It didn't start out that way. Nothing was normal this morning. Not after waking up with Monica in his bed. Even his shower after she had left did not help. He still felt tense as he wrapped a robe around himself and stepped out into the room. He was panicking. Which led to a flustered dance of denial with Joey. A brief verbal sparring session where he sounded like an idiot as he tried to throw his friend off the scent in hopes that Joey would not uncover any evidence from the wild tryst that had just occurred in their room the night before. And while Joey did not seem suspicious, Chandler knew if he continued acting this way, his secret would not survive the day.
Thankfully, soon after Joey had left their hotel room in search of more allies to help intercept Rachel before she could ruin Ross's wedding, Chandler began to relax. The time he had alone before the ceremony gave him some much-needed space to collect himself properly and adjust his demeanor before he faced anyone else who might suspect that he slept with Monica last night.
With this newfound sense of calm, he took his time getting ready, and even watched a bit of British television in the room before he put on in his tux and left the hotel. He leisurely walked the streets of London on the way to the wedding venue. Looking around and comparing everything he saw to the more familiar sights and sounds of Manhattan. He watched people on the street and chuckled to himself whenever he heard someone say a word or a turn of phrase that he didn't quite understand.
"Knackered. That doesn't even sound like a real word!"
When he got to the hall, he decided to walk through the hole in the wall of the building, finding it a more comical entrance than using the door. When he realized no one else was amused or even paying attention to him as he entered, he resigned himself to waiting quietly until the ceremony began. He approached Ross with a sense of extraordinary, if misguided, confidence. He was in the clear. No one had any idea what happened last night. Not Joey. Not Ross. Not the Gellers. Not the Walthams. No one. And, as long as he kept his composure, it would stay that way. Especially since he knew Monica would never tell a soul about jumping his bones. She would be mortified to admit something like that to anyone here. And without some uncharacteristic outburst from her, it appeared their secret would be safe. Soon enough, they would all be back home, and last night would be in his rearview mirror.
But then, it happened. Without warning his temperature rose and his pulse quickened. His tongue felt as if it were doubling in size, becoming too large to aid him in forming words. His palms were sweaty and suddenly, his tie felt constrictive as he tugged on it to try and catch his breath. Everything he had done to avoid all of this gone in a fleeting moment. And all it took was a flash of red that he caught in the corner of his eye. A bright, seductive color that darted past him, followed by an alluring scent that lifted through the air. One he found all too familiar. The one that had engulfed all of his senses the night before. The smell that was on his sheets and his pillow and imbedded into the pores of his skin when he woke up this morning. The one that now drove him wild with barely a hint of it in the air. The one that belonged to her.
He was determined not to react. He could feel his eyes bulge as he concentrated on Ross's mouth. Doing all he could not to turn his head and look at Monica across the room.
Ross stared back at Chandler, taken aback by his odd behavior. "What?"
"What?" Chandler looked back with his best nonplussed expression and weakly shrugged his shoulders.
Ross inspected himself and then eyed Chandler defensively. "You're looking at me all weird. Is there something wrong with my tux?"
"I'm not looking at you weird. I'm looking at you regular." Chandler tried to regain his composure, but it only made him look more strained as he focused all of his unblinking attention on Ross.
Ross pointed at Chandler with an accusatory finger. "There. You're doing it right now." He then slumped his shoulders and adopted a more contrite tone as he brought his hands together. "Please don't be weird about this. I know how you are with all this marriage stuff, but I don't want anything to go wrong today. Okay, everything needs to be perfect. Nothing can ruin this. It's too important."
"Oh, uh…."
Chandler stammered as the right words eluded him. What was he going to say? That it took all his willpower not to stare at Monica? That just from the fleeting image of her through his peripheral vision, he knew exactly how that bridesmaid dress fell about her slender frame. How her elegant neck and alabaster skin that had been kissed with the color of honey was on full display as she wore her hair up? How he could still taste her on his lips? His tongue? How the way her flesh felt on his skin, and the heat from her body, and the tension in her muscles as they both reached climax were now indelibly imprinted on his soul? How her thighs felt wrapped around his...
"Uh, dude? You are kind of freaking me out now."
Chandler stared back at Ross, almost frozen still like some perverted version of the Tin Man. Stiff and rigid in body and soul and he felt the only thing that could lubricate his immobile limbs would be more of her sweat that clung to her throat and made his lips salty as he kissed her while she straddled him.
"Jet lag?" Chandler offered his ridiculous excuse with an unconvincing smile.
Ross stared at him nonplussed, and Chandler found he could no longer resist and let his eyes dart over to the other side of the room. Even though it was only for a moment, he ensured that he took all of her in before returning his gaze to her brother. A split-second snapshot was all he could allow himself as he felt like a heel, ogling the little sister right in front of the unknowing big brother. Like some banal plot of a sitcom or a romantic comedy come to life.
"Jet lag? We landed here two days ago."
"See, to me it feels like it's been four."
Ross eyed Chandler suspiciously, but then suddenly became distracted as he watched his and Emily's parents confront each other close to the alter with familiar looking contracts and invoices being waved about in their tightly coiled hands. It looked like they were about to come to blows, prompting Ross to abandon his conversation with Chandler and confront them immediately. It was as if the god of troublesome parents came down and rewarded Chandler with a reprieve as he was able to slip away before Ross could return and press him further about his odd behavior.
Chandler gave one last look over his shoulder at Monica. He drank her in and then scurried towards the exit, and figured to wait in the vestibule for the guests to arrive. Hoping to busy himself by helping friends and family members of the bride and groom to their seats as he made uncomfortable small talk with people he would never see again. It did not matter how excruciatingly dull he would find this all to be, as long as he kept himself far away from Ross and Monica. And, as long as he did anything he could to get the image of how she looked right now out of his mind.
But he could not ignore how perfectly her dress wrapped itself around the curve of her hips and clung to her toned backside, displaying its nearly flawless shape, imploring him to slide a hand down the small of her back and along her waist. Keep moving it until he could cup her soft, supple ass, and then give it a playful slap, just like he had done several times the night before. Or how her exposed shoulders looked practically regal, begging for him to wrap his hands around them as he gently kneaded his fingers into her silky skin. Or her freckles, which were on full display and danced down her chest, begging him to chase them with kisses until he reached her breasts.
He roughly shook his head as he tried to erase these images that were now burned in his brain. As if he were a human etch-a-sketch or magna-doodle that could be wiped clean in an instant. But it was to no avail. He could not get how amazing last night was out of his mind. And he knew that he would be a fool to toss that away and not take a chance that perhaps she felt the same way. That she may also want to sleep together again, at least one more time. And what better time than tonight. After all, they were at a wedding. He was a groomsman. She was a bridesmaid. There'd be a mirthful party, filled with drinks, dancing, and romance in the air. It was the perfect backdrop to another ill-conceived, impulsive, irrational, and wonderful romp in the sack.
He just had to ask himself. Did he want this? Did he want to initiate and take the chance she may turn him down? Did he want to put himself out there? Did he want to see her naked again? Did he want to know one more time how her body felt as they fused into one?
He stood there at the back of the room and looked at her once more.
"Do you really want to see if she wants you to go to her room tonight?"
There was really only one answer to all of these questions, and he let it escape his lips quietly, almost as if he were whispering a secret.
"I do."
"You know, sometimes I don't even like Chandler."
"Okay."
Monica watched for a moment as a thoroughly befuddled Joey stumbled away from her, no doubt stymied by her sudden and unsolicited confession about her intermittent disdain for Chandler Bing. She shook her head at her own hyper-defensiveness and turned around quickly, only to see the man who was the source of her nervous and guarded state of mind standing there, at the altar, next to her brother. She noted to herself how using the term "man" to describe her often juvenile friend did not feel forced or contrived. He definitely looked more like a man in that tux than he had ever before. Although if she were being honest, she would confess that she was not quite sure if it was the suit he was wearing, or the incredible sex they had just a few hours ago. The kind of sex that left her exhausted, weak, and completely satisfied.
She let her eyes dart around the room and scampered over to the row of chairs where her mother had gone after Monica dismissed her latest barb about whether or not she would ever get married. To tempt fate again, and be on the receiving end of another one of her mother's passive-aggressive musings or pointed remarks about all the ways her daughter was a disappointment had to be a sure sign she was not thinking clearly. Judy Geller was probably the only person she did not want to come face-to-face with right now more than Chandler. Yet, there she was, slouched down behind her mother and father, in hopes to avoid any eye contact with Chandler before they had to link arms and walk down the aisle together.
Even then, hiding like a child, she found that she could not help herself as she took one more look at him, and as she drank him in, she felt a prideful smile start to stretch across her lips. The kind of smile she usually reserved for those times she felt particularly pleased with herself when it came to sex. The self-congratulatory smile that she reserved for when she felt as if her latest conquest was someone to appreciate. Someone to savor. That this man she allowed into her bed was one of the special ones.
Monica had only a few special ones. Those who were fantastic in bed and made her forget everything around her as she gave in to her passions. Those were the men, that in truth, she did not really even like, or get along with, but they were just so damn good, that she did not care. Then there were the ones that she did have feelings for, men she loved, men she thought loved her. And that emotional bond made sex with them richer and more rewarding. True love-making as it were. Then there were the handsome ones that were perhaps not so great in bed, and there may have been no real emotional attachment, but they were just so damn pretty that they deserved to be included among her favorites.
There were also a lot of bad ones. Men who weren't at all who she thought they were when she let them into her bed. Men who tricked her with manipulative and sympathetic stories. Men who were lackluster lovers. Men who used her for one-night and said whatever they had to in order to get her into bed. They were the regretfuls. The ones she could not wait to leave so she could lose their number and never think about them again. Turn them into a nameless, faceless footnote in the story of her love life.
And then it dawned on her why, if even up to this point it was just on a subconscious level, she had already decided Chandler was one of those special few.
She looked at him again, this time not with the eyes of someone who usually saw this man as a stunted, immature, crass friend, but as someone she wanted to have sex with. He was clean shaven. His hair styled in such a way that it looked almost like he did not care. Soft smile. Gorgeous blue eyes. Perfect height. Surprisingly great butt. He was most definitely handsome. More handsome than she usually gave him credit for.
But her satisfied smile was about more than that. He was also her friend. Not just any friend, one of her best. Someone who has been in her life for so many years that they practically lived symbiotically. Able to have complete conversations with just their eyes. Inside jokes that no one else in their group were privy to. Shared secrets, that as far as she knew, were still well guarded. Countless meals together when he listened to her go on about her day at work, her ambitions, her dreams, her fears.
He was her best friend. And there was love between them. The kind of love that a deep, rich, rewarding, and true friendship bestows upon you. Where you were not required to earn it, and you did not have to be at your best to receive it. You did not owe each other anything. The people who shared this kind of love, were almost like a second family. They were the people that you were sometimes more honest with than you were with your own blood relatives. They saw the real you. Not the one you put on display at work, or on a date, or with your mother.
And now. She slept with someone like that. She slept with her best friend.
She knew already that last night was an amazing night. They had sex so many times that she still felt stiff and sore. But in the best way, like after a great workout or one of those long runs in the summer sun where she felt the tingling of every nerve and every muscle throbbed as she tried desperately to cool down. The kind that left you exhausted, but also invigorated. The kind that had you feeling invincible. The kind that left you hungry for more.
And it made her wonder, if perhaps she would have been better off if it was Joey who was there in the room when she came calling for some no strings attached sex. Because Joey was not Chandler. And maybe the sex with him would have been okay, but that's all it would have been. Okay sex. The kind of sex that would no doubt have found its way onto the list with the rest of the regretfuls as she dealt with the fallout from sleeping with their most boastful of friends. The kind of sex that was satisfying, but ultimately a mistake. The kind of sex that left her feeling uncomfortable with a knot of tension in her stomach that told her it was a huge mistake.
And while Joey was just cocky enough to make her feel fairly confident that he was good in bed, sex with him would not have been the kind of sex that left this smile on her face the day after. The smile that tried to convince her, that she wanted more than just one night. That this man she slept with, was one of the good ones. One of special ones. Because he was handsome. And he was a great lay. And because he was her best friend.
And suddenly it made sense why Kathy wound up choosing Chandler over Joey. When he spoke to her, it did not feel like a tired, overused line. It did not feel inauthentic. It did not feel weird, or strange or like a one-night stand. And she knew, there was no way sex with Joey would ever be able to feel like that. Sex with Joey would have felt false, and like a lie. Sex with Joey would have been all style and no substance. Shallow. With Joey, it would have been one-and-done. With Chandler, she kept wanting more. Even now, a day later, this satisfied and proud smile told her everything she needed to know about how she felt when it came to sex with Chandler.
She got up from her seat and decided to leave the hall and wait in the bridal suite for the ceremony to start, and she wondered to herself if she really had the conviction to do this with him again. If she wanted to feel everything she felt last night once more. If she wanted to keep feeling the way she feels right now and feed this smile that told her that last night was special. That he was special. And she silently asked herself if she really wanted to sleep with Chandler again.
There was really only one answer to all of these questions, and she let it escape her lips quietly, almost as if she were whispering a secret.
"I do."
A/N - okay, so this was not supposed to work out this way. I originally started this as a chapter for "The One Where They're in a Secret Relationship". I wanted to write a chapter covering how they felt in London the day after, but suddenly I was at 2000 words and I hadn't even gotten past the scene where Ross says "I Do" three times and I realized this was more than one chapter. Also, covering this time doesn't really feel like the secret relationship phase to me. It is too early for that.
So now it is something else.
I am not sure how many chapters this will be, but this is telling me it is a separate story about how these two feel between the first night they sleep together and when they get home to New York and not some arc in a different fic or a couple of one-shots.
I really want to explore the infatuation phase of their time together, where they aren't in love, or even feeling like they are in anything that could turn into a relationship, they just really want to have sex, and yet, both realize how different that is than any other person they slept with before. Somewhere between that drunken night and the two of them deciding they were going to stay on London Time.