A/N: First things first, thank you SO much if you'd read/reviewed/favorited That Counts. I was apprehensive when I posted it because it's been ages since I'd updated anything, and I was terrified of it not getting any hits. Thanks for the reviews of this fic, too. I truly appreciate your readership. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
So now, this chapter takes place just before TOW Ross's Sandwich and was not meant to be covered in a T-rated fic. S5 Mondler was not meant to be covered in a T-rated fic. I'm by no means talented enough to write an M-rated series, but having to cover couch-sex, phone-sex (Doin' it, doin' it, phone doin' it!), video-camera-sex, and nude selfies in a T-rated fic is incredibly hard. There is no point to this rant, just wanted to lament to you guys for some sympathy.
If you squint hard, we can all pretend this is a high-T chapter, but I feel like I deserve an award for keeping it that way.
That Thing Called Love
Chapter 16
"So what I'm trying to explain is how, when you apply all your mental focus to..." Ross was droning on and on about something. Hyper-aware state? Hyper-aware slate? Anyway, who the hell cared? "Your mind elevates itself to-"
"Is Rachel working late tonight?" Chandler asked Monica, interrupting the spiel.
Ross gave him a look of annoyance, but his brows climbed high when he glanced at his watch. "It's almost nine?! How long have I been talking?" he chuckled, oblivious to the unamused stares that his statement had garnered.
"She said she will be late," Monica replied to Chandler's question, ignoring her brother's. "Some month-end, emergency shipment. Won't be home at least until ten," she added with a meaningful linger of her gaze.
"Wow, wasn't she delayed yesterday as well?" Ross asked. "Poor Rach."
"Yeah, poor Rach," Joey nodded. "And poor you," he leaned across Ross from his position on the chair to pat Monica's knee with faux sympathy. "Spending all this time alone at nights. Aren't you getting lonely, Mon?" As far as he was concerned, $200 was far too less a price for what he had to put up with when it came to these two. He should at least be allowed to have some fun with the secret that he was unwillingly keeping to himself.
Chandler shot him a filthy look as Monica replied in a monotone, "Not particularly."
"Monica, if you want, we really can hang around for a bit," Ross offered with genuine concern. "In fact, there's this great documentary about the 1996 Everest disaster on Discovery at half past. Why don't I go make some popcorn and we all settle in?" he asked unironically. "I think it's about an hour long."
Chandler directed another look at Joey, this time with so much vitriol that Joey withered visibly. Not that getting Ross-blocked was anything new to him and Monica, but did Joey have to actively contribute to the situation?
Faced with such palpable scorn, Joey quickly scampered to action. "Uh... Why don't you watch that at our place, Ross? I think Mon's had a long day. I'm sure she'd like some peace and quiet. Right, Mon?" He nodded at her vigorously behind Ross's head, urging her to agree.
"Yeah," Monica yawned theatrically. "I'm exhausted."
"Oh... Okay." Ross looked disappointed but nodded. "All right then, will leave you to it," he moved to stand up and looked at the other two men. "You guys coming?"
Joey started to follow Ross out as Chandler considered a variety of possible responses to that question to explain why he'd rather stay back with Monica, especially after she'd explicitly told her brother that she was tired and would like to be left alone.
"Although, I do have some laundry to do," Monica said, looking at all three of them. "One of you boys wanna keep me company? It starts to get boring after a while..." And now, her look turned to Chandler like a laser beam.
As excuses went, this one was quite weak since Monica would never be bored with doing laundry, but it still seemed to work. Chandler counted to five while Ross exchanged a mildly panicked look with Joey at the undesirable request.
"Uh... I- I could do that." His tone sounded high and false even to himself. Ross's sigh of relief was audible, though.
"You would? Thank you, Chandler," Monica told him so sweetly that it made him wonder if he'd misread his girlfriend and if she'd meant doing the real laundry all along.
"Have fun!" Ross said, clueless, and was already out the door, waving one final goodbye. Joey stopped briefly. "How many loads you guys planning on doing tonight?" he asked with a lewd grin and a wink before shutting the door closed.
The voices faded. Silence expanded, filling the room. Chandler kept his eyes on her, the space between them crackling with ravenous, pent-up energy.
"Come here," she said softly, leaning her back against the couch's armrest. So he did. He dug his fingers into the couch to brace himself over her, the tension in his digits practically gouging holes into the fabric. Her lips curved into a smile, a smile so happy and luminescent that as corny as it made him sound, it lit up his whole world.
Nope, she hadn't meant the real laundry at all.
They always rushed to each other the instant they were left alone — every time, without fail — like they were a part of one another that had miraculously survived without being together up until then but just wouldn't be able to anymore. It was akin to gravity, and she was the home that he'd been long denied. But this time, he waited, and then moved slowly, tentatively, hovering over her like he was going to kiss her for the first time ever.
She wore a pale blue, ribbed tank top; a well-worn one that she'd had for years and one that he was quite familiar with. Her posture on the couch had rendered the strap loose on one side and made it slip down her shoulder.
He had seen her in lingerie before, in garments that brought whole new meaning to the word "skimpy". But for some reason, the sight of her lying there with bare, freckle-kissed shoulder and her dark hair fanning over it, it made him... Well, maybe he was the guy that dress codes warned girls about.
He leaned in to kiss that shoulder first and heard her sigh his name as he moved to her lips. When his arms began to ache from the restrain, she looped her own around his neck and he was only too happy to give in. His thighs hugging her hips, he sunk his knees into the cushion and then himself onto her.
One hand moving through her hair, the other against her abdomen, he kissed her again — over and over and over — feeling every breath that she took.
Just as she began to marvel at how impossibly, achingly tender this moment was, at how perfect it felt, he drew back and uttered the words that would ruin it so wholly in the way only Chandler could.
"Hey there, Sugar Lips."
The goosebumps that erupted all over her body were definitely not from any sort of carnal desire. She shuddered and pulled away when he moved to kiss her again. "Why? Just- Why?"
"What?" He looked affronted. "I just thought it'd be nice to expand our list of endearments!"
"With 'Sugar Lips?!'"
"What's wrong with Sugar Lips? I can't pull off Sugar Lips?"
"Honey," she shook her head gravely, "no one can pull off Sugar Lips." And certainly not him.
He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before shrugging. "Okay, all right. What else do you propose we add to the list then?"
"I like whatever we already have on the list so far, Chandler," she smiled, coaxing him back to her once more. "No need for amendments."
"Are you sure?" he asked, descending back onto her and kissing her again. She nodded. "Okay... So that's 'Babe'," he kissed her on the chin. "Honey." A kiss on the cheek. "Sweetie." Two on her closed eyelids. He paused for several seconds until she opened her eyes, curious. "I think that's all we got. We ran out. Are you sure we can't add Sugar Lips to the list?"
"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered as she pushed him onto his back with that enormous strength of hers and hauled herself over him. "It's time we quit the chitchat and got down to business, don't you think?" she queried and proceeded to do just that without waiting for his response. Not that he was going to argue.
The best thing about Monica was that she always meant business. The moment she was on top, their kisses changed tempo from his light, almost playful ones to her breath-stealing, soul-deep ones; the kind that led to swift undressing.
He accomplished getting her naked with well-practiced ease and ran his hands all over her body, marveling at how she sunk where he rose, how she curved where he flared, at how they just fit together; like they were each other's perfect counterparts.
She tried to get his pants off unsuccessfully twice. On the third attempt, she growled impatiently, and he knew it was best to stop his exploration of her remarkable topography and aid her in her effort. He moved back on top and ditched his pants within seconds.
She started to get rid of the final obstacle — his underwear — but stopped when she caught sight of the brief that he was wearing. "What happened to all your boxers?" she asked, looking a little amused.
"Why, what's wrong with briefs?" he countered self-consciously.
"Nothing," she shrugged. "I've just never seen you wear these before..." she trailed off, tracing a finger along the 'Fruit of the Loom' printed along the elastic.
"I had a two-pack lying around unopened, so I thought why not." He didn't prefer boxers or briefs, one way or the other, but he surely did not understand the derision that the latter seemed to be garnering these days. Was a man not allowed to enjoy some snug-fitting comfort from time to time? "Why, do you not like these?"
"No... No, it's just-" She stopped herself because her concern was entirely something else. These aren't good for your sperm is what she wanted to say. But that would only open up a can of freaked-out, commitment-phobic worms. "Just a preference, I guess."
"Ohhkay Miss Underpants Police," he sighed with mock resignation as he tugged his briefs down to his knees. "Happy?"
"Very," she nodded with a wide grin, pushing it off of him completely and shoving it beneath one of the cushions with her foot for good measure. "Very happy."
"Okay then," his cadence dropped and deepened. He threaded his fingers through her hair, feeling the slight indentation at the base of her head. He could already see how tonight was going to be. Sometimes it was serious; solemn and fervent. Then there were times that were more playful and teasing and fun. Tonight was going to be the latter. She made a pleasured hum in her throat. "Hi," he said and felt her breath on his chin as she whispered her own 'hi'. Moving one hand to stroke her jaw with his thumb, he dropped his lips back to hers once more. The kiss, given their already heightened state of arousal, swiftly devolved into roving hands and teasing tongues.
These were the moments when he felt untethered, when he felt as if he was least in-control of himself. These were the moments that tested his resolve to not blurt out I love you once again. Over and over again.
Would it be the end of the world though, even if he were to? It was the truth, after all. And he knew with 99% certainty that she was well aware of his feelings and that she 100% reciprocated them, too.
Good Lord, just the thought of her saying it back to him... He pictured it in his mind so many, many times these days. How she'd say it, how she'd smile at him as she uttered those words. What would he do then, when faced with such consummate happiness — happiness that in all likelihood he'd never peak in his life again?
And then he burst into flames, would be one of his mother's suggestions. As much as he would mock her corniness, he now suspected that he just might implode with uncontainable joy if Monica ever said 'I love you' to him. Well, when, not if.
He indulged in that fantasy once more, and his brain, swimming somewhere in this swirling vortex of desire and lust and want, was edging him toward the next logical progression of their foreplay, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest.
"We need to move to my bedroom," she said breathlessly.
Moving was the very last thing he wanted to do now. "Why?" he protested against the column of her throat.
"We don't have any condoms here."
Oh.
He forced himself to reality and moved away a little to look at her. "Do you have your diaphragm in?" he asked hopefully.
"No," she gave him a half-smile and caressed his cheek apologetically. "Sorry."
Blood was barreling through his veins at what felt like light-speed, and it made his sense take a backseat. His mind was now all about her, filled only with her. Before he could respond, she tugged him to her once again to kiss him, and he could sense her own reluctance to further delay what they'd both been waiting for since the previous night.
He nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settled himself onto her completely, and broke the kiss with as much restraint as he could muster. She was still writhing beneath him, her fingernails scratching into his scalp. She opened her eyes slowly, heavily and the look that she gave him made him give in to unfettered temptation and ask her consent for something that he'd never even dreamed of with another woman before. "Do you maybe want to...?" he trailed off as he rocked against her, simulating what he desperately wanted them to be doing at present.
The incomplete question didn't leave much for deciphering, but it did seem to bring to her some lucidity. She suddenly looked more alert as she considered his proposition. Her fingers jerked one by one against the back of his skull, while she mouthed inaudible numbers. He understood that he was witnessing some feminine wisdom that he wasn't quite privy to.
As he waited patiently for her, he wondered how she remembered her dates and cycles so well, off the top of her head. But then, this was a woman who had a timetable for the Thanksgiving oven schedule taped to the refrigerator, and it shouldn't really surprise him all that much.
She eventually shook her head. "Not unless you're comfortable with the idea of becoming a secret dad in nine months."
He shot off of her like he'd been scalded. "Condom it is then," he replied, businesslike, and helped her from the couch.
She laughed before draping the blanket from the couch around herself. The picture window's curtain, as always, was wide open. It offered an unobstructed view of the living room from across the street. Providing a free show to her neighbors was not on her list tonight. She then gathered their clothes from the floor with characteristic grace and followed him to her bedroom.
He shut the door behind them and moved to stand behind her. Brushing the hair away from her nape, he pressed a kiss there while she laid their clothes down on her nightstand and dropped the blanket. He extended a finger toward her jaw and turned her gently to look at him. "Please tell me we have condoms here."
She laughed at how forlorn he sounded. "I'm sure there is." She pulled the nightstand's drawer open, only to see that there were none there. Her smile dropping, she rushed over to the drawer on the other side, which surprisingly didn't seem to have any either. She looked at him, panicked, and just as he was about to suggest that they consider some other form of birth control, her face lit up. "Wait, wait, wait, I got it!" Her tone hushed but excited, she rushed back to his side and bent down to retrieve something from under the bed.
He had no clue what she was up to, but he still didn't complain. He just stood there, admiring the view. Which straight man in his right mind would complain when blessed with the privilege of getting to watch Monica Geller bend over buck-naked? He was positive that in all his nine and twenty years in this world that this was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
She drew herself up after a long moment, holding tight onto the box of Trojan Ultra Thins that Joey had generously left behind in the Ross-Rachel-Brawl emergency stash. He'd never felt as much gratitude towards his buddy as he did at that moment. She shook the unopened box a little, and the condoms rattled inside. She raised a mischievous eyebrow, her eyes glinting. "Wanna repopulate the Earth?"
"Don't mind if I do," he murmured, taking the box from her willing fingers. The plastic casing came off easily with the help of his teeth. Then off came the foil. Within seconds, he held the precious condom in hand. And within a minute, it was being put to good use.
The door to the apartment clicked open and slammed shut in quick succession. Then they heard Rachel mutter Shit!, probably on realizing that her taking out her work frustrations on the door would most likely have disturbed Monica, who should have been in bed by now. Alone. They could hear Rachel consciously trying to be quieter as she walked toward her room before gently closing her door.
He stopped moving because Monica, tensing in his arms, had turned to look at her own door when she'd heard Rachel enter the apartment. Rachel would never come into Monica's bedroom at this time of the night, but getting caught by their friends was an inexplicable, primal fear, despite the fact that they were two grown and consenting adults.
"Is Non-Threatening-Ray-Liotta still in the picture?" he whispered, kissing her jawline and slowly starting to move again. She shook her head. That lie had run its course a few weeks ago. "I'll help you figure out a new excuse tomorrow," he said and then picked up the urgent pace that they'd set before the interruption.
He left her room fifteen minutes later since Ross would still be up and would start to wonder what the hell his best friend and sister were doing for that long. Pulling on his clothes shoddily, Chandler pecked her lips with a silent promise to return to her bed later that night.
He entered the living room and paused when he came near the couch. Frowning, he looked around to see if he'd missed something because a voice inside was telling him that he indeed had. He just couldn't remember what it was. But he heard some shuffling noises from behind Rachel's door, followed by the unmistakable sound of slippers on carpet. She was coming out to use the bathroom, he realized.
There was no time to think or even breathe. He jumped over the couch, shot toward the apartment door, and let himself out, barely managing to close the door before Rachel exited her room.
When he re-entered the girls' apartment the next morning for breakfast, the feeling that he'd left something important there returned once more. He'd been too sleepy for that thought when he'd snuck out of Apartment 20 the second time in the early hours that day, but the strong, eerie suspicion came in full-force as his brain awoke further with the first sips of coffee.
Monica was looking at him, well, 'lovingly' was the only way to put it. Her hand moved under the table to squeeze his, and she gave him an adoring smile. Joey rolled his eyes at their not-so-covert display of affection and continued to butter his toast. Chandler decided to ignore his feeling of ill-ease and concentrate instead on Monica and the warmth that her smile brought to his heart. She retracted her hand just as Phoebe began to grouse about not being comfortable on the couch.
"Ugh," She groaned, starting to pull out the cushions from underneath her. "What am I sitting on?"
Chandler didn't think much of her complaint as he quipped, "Top of the world? Dock of the bay...?" He thought for more for a moment before giving up. "I'm out."
And that was until she shouted in disgust, "Oh, ew, ewww! Undies! Oh!" The said undies came flying from her direction toward the kitchen, landing near Rachel, who shrieked loudly. Joey glared at him and Monica, accusative.
Ohhhh fuck, his brain muttered, finally remembering just what he'd forgotten to retrieve the previous night.
To Chandler's absolute horror, Rachel grabbed a wooden spatula from the utensil holder and gingerly got hold of the brief at the very edge of the spatula. "All right, whose are they?" she demanded, brandishing the underwear at the guys' faces. "Whoooose are they?"
Monica returned his panicked look, the color draining from her face.
Of all the ways their relationship could've potentially been outed, Chandler had never once thought that a renegade Fruit of the Loom would be their undoing.
He had to think quick and think quick he did. "Joey's! They gotta be Joey's!" he exclaimed, ruthlessly throwing his best friend under the bus.
~.~.~
A/N: I know it's been aaaages since this fic was updated. I hope at least some of you guys are still interested in the story.
Apologies if you'd received multiple email notifications for this chapter. I posted it yesterday and did not receive any New Chapter notification to my own email, so I assumed none of you would have received the notification either and deleted it to try my luck again. Posting it now, once and for all, and leaving it up to the Gods (and FFN).
And just a PSA - FFN has made changes to its email notification system. You will not receive email alerts to reviews/updates/PMs unless you opt-in for the email settings in the Accounts tab. I did not know this until recently, so please check your account settings if you'd like to receive emails from FFN. Hope you're all having a lovely weekend! :)
