I knock on the hotel room door a little nervously, wondering what this is all about.

When I got to work today, I found a note pinned to the inside of my chef's jacket, asking me for a clandestine meeting. Everyone said they saw nothing, heard nothing, know nothing.

…It actually said "clandestine."

I'm still trying to figure out how Chandler got a note in my jacket at work.

I glance around the hallway as I wait—it's a nice place, at any rate.

Not that Chandler would want me to meet him someplace seedy.

I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if I've forgotten some sort of anniversary or event. Definitely not our anniversary—we won't hit eight months for another couple of weeks.

That almost knocks me off my feet. Eight months. I've been with this man for eight months: my longest and definitely my healthiest relationship ever, even if we are still in hiding.

I tap on the door again and it finally creaks open, Chandler filling the gap, smiling at me, blocking my view of the room behind him. "Hey."

"Hi," I answer, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. I stand in silence, waiting for an explanation while he grins at me. "So…you gonna invite me in or what?"

He takes my hand, opening the door a bit more to pull me through, his arms going around me as soon as I cross the threshold. He kisses me slowly, deeply; I hear the door click shut behind me as I wrap my arms around his waist. I don't know what this is about, but I don't hate it.

We come up for air, but he keeps me close, smiling down at me. I still can't see the room behind him. "Seriously, Chandler—what's going on? You have something you need to tell me?" I gasp dramatically. "Are you pregnant?"

He chuckles, kissing my nose. "No, but I'm over twenty years late—I should probably get that checked. Anyway, we haven't been able to get a lot of time alone together lately, and I thought it'd be nice to sort of get away for the night. Or at least a few hours; whatever you can swing. And if we're here, we don't have to worry about roommates or brothers or anything but us."

"Sounds great," I answer, kissing his throat. "But why won't you let me see the room?"

"Ah, that. Well, I guess I needed to preface all of this by saying that I'm good with just hanging out for a while—if you're not in the mood for sex, that's totally fine."

"And if I am in the mood for sex?"

"Well…there's a couple of things we've talked about doing…"

"Such as?"

"Well, you know, there was the mirror thing you suggested."

My body tingles at the thought of it, my heart rate jumping, both turned on and a little nervous.

"And there was the video camera thing that got interrupted…"

"So…you're proposing we videotape ourselves having sex in front of a mirror?"

"It's too much, isn't it?"

I pause for a moment, actually considering his question, before I shake my head. "I could be persuaded."

He pulls back a bit, staring at me. "Really?"

I shrug a little. "We could at least try."

"Okay, well…come on in." He lets go of my waist so I can walk into the room a little farther—he's kind of gone all out. Candles are scattered across the room, casting everything in a soft, dreamy light. On the floor in front of the bed is a pile of pillows and a couple of blankets, ones that I recognize from our apartments. A camera is aimed at the general bed area; another one is facing the opposite direction, pointed at a large mirror on the wall, a mirror that's pretty standard in hotels across the country.

I feel his hands on my shoulders, pulling off my heavy winter coat. A moment later, he hands me a glass of wine, bending down to kiss my cheek. "You okay?"

I nod, even though I suddenly feel a little nervous. I don't know why—I certainly wasn't nervous the last time we tried to make a home movie. I haven't really been nervous in bed with Chandler since maybe our first couple of nights together; I don't know why that would happen now.

"I know what you're thinking," Chandler says, an arm sliding around my waist. "We haven't always had the most luck with hotel rooms. That's why I got here early. I got one of the ladies in housekeeping to help me out—we made sure the place was spotless. The carpet has been vacuumed several times, I put new linens on myself, all of the water glasses have been removed, and the fluffy robes hanging up in the bathroom were fresh out of the dryer."

I feel myself relax, my nerves instantly gone. This man is too much. He went through all of that trouble just for me. Instead of risking another meltdown like the first time we tried to go away together, he came and cleaned the room himself.

I grin as I turn to face him, clinking our glasses together. "Thank you," I whisper.

He gives me a peck on the lips, smiling back. "You're welcome."

I take a sip of my wine, reaching out to stroke his stomach. "Are the cameras already running?"

He grins at me crookedly, nodding. "Yeah. That's what took me so long to answer the door."

"So…we're sort of making our own porno?"

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

I slide my fingers up his chest slowly. "So, who am I? Am I a college student and you're my professor, and I need this to get a good grade? Are we—"

He takes my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the palm before holding it against his chest. "How about we're just Monica and Chandler? Two people who have the most mind-blowing sex in the world and just can't get enough of each other."

My heart takes off at a gallop; this isn't about fantasy. Sure, it's adventurous and a little kinky, but it's not about being someone else for the night. He wants us to be us, and makes me feel more…everything than anything else could. I stand on tiptoe once more, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his.

I love this man so much.

He shifts us back a little, and I hear his wine glass land on the bedside table. He takes mine from me, putting it next to his, both of his arms going around me; his hand fists in my sweater, bunching it up around my ribcage, and I moan softly into his mouth. I grab the hem of his shirt and tug it up. He pulls his mouth from mine for a moment, yanking it over his head. He gives me a quick kiss before pulling off my sweater, and I have a brief moment of panic as I try to remember what underwear I'm wearing. Does it even match?

My sweater drops to the floor, his hands coming to rest high up on my sides, his thumbs gently stroking the sides of my breasts through my bra and I give myself a quick glance—the blue one. Underwear indeed matches. Not that it matters a whole lot, but if it's going to be on camera, I'd prefer it looked a little cute.

Though, lately, all of my undergarments have been, at the very least, cute. It's a lot more fun to wear stuff like that when you know that someone's going to be around to appreciate it.

He gently sits me on the bed, kneeling in front of me, his hands sliding up one pant leg, then the other, pulling off my boots and socks. I put my hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, and he climbs on top of me, smiling at me as his lips meet mine.

He seems especially happy tonight.

We kiss for a long time, our hands gently roaming over each other, soft moans and whispers filling the room. We never get to do this; even with Joey knowing about us and covering for us, our time to just lie around and kiss has always been severely limited. It's like our friends have a sixth sense for when Chandler and I want to spend time together.

Slowly, I move my hands down to the button of his jeans, fiddling with it for a moment. "This must be getting uncomfortable," I whisper, sliding my hand over his erection a couple of times, feeling his body jerk against me.

He presses his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. "Monica," he gasps, his hands framing my face for a minute before he hauls himself to his knees, deftly unzipping his pants, pushing them down his legs. He stands for a moment, pants disappearing completely, and I prop myself up on my elbows.

His fingers gently dance across the skin of my stomach, trace the edge of my belly button, before the fly of my own jeans pops open and he's sliding them down my legs, tossing them on top of his. He climbs back on top of me, settling his weight against me once more, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. He slides a hand into my hair, finding the clip that's holding it up and pulling it free. I give my head a little shake, making sure all the hair is loose, his fingers massaging my scalp.

"Curly," he says softly. "I like it like this."

Why does that seem more inmate than so many other things?

Maybe it's because it means he notices the little things about me.

He presses his lips to mine again, our bodies moving slowly against each other.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispers to me, and I feel my breath catch in my throat for a second. His hands slide around my back, unclasping my bra, lifting his body off of me just enough to remove the article, adding it to the pile on the floor.

My body starts to shake just a little; he's looking at me so seriously, so longingly. I stroke his cheek gently, trying to control my reaction to him, my heart still pounding.

He smiles a little, kissing his way down my neck, my chest, my stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down my legs as his lips trail down my legs. My chest constricts for a moment, the rest of my body tensing, wondering what his next move will be. He kisses back up to my knee, pausing, and I take a peek at his face. He looks like he's thinking hard.

I give his arm a nudge with my foot. "I can smell your brain cells burning."

He reaches up and flicks my hip. "Just weighing my options."

"Well, as much fun as you have down there, and as much fun as I have when you're down there, it won't offer much in the way of visuals as far the mirror-thing goes."

He slides back onto the bed, pulling me against him, my back pressed against his front. "You're smart," he whispers.

I look up and can see us—mostly me—reflected in the mirror. I shudder for a moment, closing my eyes. I like the idea of it, but I don't think I'm ready to see it just yet.

I feel his lips on my neck, nipping at me gently; his hand slides across my body, his fingers grazing me, making me jump. He caresses me gently for a few minutes, his hand on my stomach, my hips, my thighs, nudging my legs apart, draping one of them over his, before I feel his fingers slide into me. I gasp at the contact, pushing my hips against his hand.

His other arm slides underneath me, wraps around me, his hand finding its way to my breasts, squeezing in time with the motions of his other hand. My back arches away from him a little, my hips pressing into him, undulating gently. I hook my foot around his calf, getting a bit more leverage.

"You should see this, Mon," Chandler breathes.

I open my eyes, looking up at his face, bypassing the mirror. A shiver passes through his body, his erection pushing into my back insistently, his hand moving against me more firmly. I slide an arm under his, grabbing onto his shoulder. "What do you see?" I whisper, and he presses his forehead against my temple for a moment as he breathes into my ear. I can feel his heart pounding against my back.

"You," he answers. "You're so amazing."

I moan a little, propping myself up on one arm, my lips seeking his, his head tilting to meet mine. I break away a few moments later, gasping, and dare to look at the mirror. I avoid my face, but follow Chandler's arm, down to his hand, watching his fingers massaging me, disappearing into me over and over and…

It turns out that I'm a very visual person.

My body goes taut as I gasp a few times before my hips rock against his hand; my fingers dig into his shoulder, my other hand clutches at the blanket beneath us. His grip around me tightens as I moan into his arm, his fingers within me keeping their steady rhythm, my hips doing the work for us.

I take a few shuddery breaths as my body starts to slow down; he strokes me gently a few more times before withdrawing his hand and I sigh, slumping against him for a moment. He shifts his weight back a little and I fall against the bed. A moment later his body is covering mine, his lips on mine, his arms cradling me. I bend a knee, and he rests more fully against me, only his boxers separating us.

I drag my fingers up and down his spine a few times as he pushes the hair off my forehead, his hands framing my face. We stare at each other for a few moments, breathing heavily, before our lips fuse together.

I push him onto his back and sit up, bracing my hands on his chest, tracing tiny patterns with my fingers. "What do you want to do?"

His hands hold my hips gently, his fingers kneed my flesh. I watch his throat move as he swallows, his pupils dilated as he watches me.

I bend down and kiss him for a moment before sliding off him, tugging his boxers off his legs. My heart flutters as he lays there, his eyes still on me.

"Sit up," I tell him, and he does, scooting to the edge of the bed, his hands reaching out for me, pulling me to him. I stand in between his legs, kissing him, leaning into him, and I can feel his erection twitching against me. I rest my forehead against his for a second before I crawl onto the bed next to him. He leans back a little as I straddle his thighs, facing out, his hands going to my hips to help guide me.

I turn my focus back to the mirror; I watch as I take him in my hand and slowly sink down onto him.

It's almost too much.

For both of us, from the sound of it. My head drops back against his shoulder as I groan; I feel his hands slide across my stomach, his hips moving frantically for a few moments before I feel his lips on my neck, his breath heavy against me. I keep my knees braced on the bed, knowing that I'll get no leverage from the floor.

"You okay?" I whisper, my voice sounding strangled.

His hands go back to my hips and he nods. "Yeah." He shifts against me a little and I push back against him. I put my hands on the bed as I tilt back, keeping myself upright as we move against each other slowly.

I realize my eyes are shut, lost in sensation; I open them slowly, daring to look back to the mirror, completely fascinated by what I see.

I've never really been into porn. I know that's a terribly female thing to say, but it's the truth. I don't care that guys like it—hell, I don't care that Chandler watches it, but watching thirty-year-old women try to pass themselves off as "barely legal" does absolutely nothing for me. Watching women act like airheads while they fake-moan isn't exciting. Like Chandler's said, though; guys are visual creatures. It works for them.

But watching this, watching the two of us…it does things to me I never imagined. Watching him disappear into me as I feel it happen, the way his fingers dig into my skin, the look of concentration and desire on his face…this act that always feels so spectacular with him feels even more amazing as I watch it happen. Part of me keeps screaming that this is dirty—I shouldn't be watching this, and I certainly shouldn't be this turned on while watching it, but it's us. He makes me feel things that I didn't know were possible.

His head disappears as he falls against the bed, still gripping my waist, holding me steady as he moves against me faster, harder, and I have to close my eyes again, the visual stimulation too much.

His hips slow as he sits up, his lips against my shoulder blade. "God, Mon…I need…I…"

I stop moving against him, regulating my breathing as best I can. "What?"

"I need to lean against something," he breathes.

I chuckle a little, turning my head to kiss him. "Is that all?" I shift off him, and he whimpers as the cool air of the hotel room hits him. He looks at me for a moment, waiting, and I can tell that all of his blood has been redirected south, leaving nothing for his poor brain. "Floor," I whisper, gesturing to the little makeshift bed he created before I got there.

He slides down onto the floor and I kneel next to him, placing a hand on his cheek as I kiss him gently. He moans against my mouth, one of his hands going to the back of my head, keeping my lips in place. I crawl back onto him, making sure to watch this part again, my entire body tingling with anticipation. I glance up as I start to sink onto him, our eyes locking in the mirror, and I feel like I'm about to combust. I force myself to keep the contact—my entire body starts to tremble. It's so intense, and I don't know why.

His hands slide up my body, cupping my beasts, and I feel like I'm going to fall over; his hands on me are the only things keeping me upright. I lean back against him, grabbing onto his hands, and start to move again. My eyes roll back into my head for a minute as I moan; I swallow heavily and force my eyes open, watching him again, watching us.

I seriously have never seen anything so perfect in my entire life.

He keeps his motions slow; I can tell by the look on his face that he's completely fascinated, and that's probably the only thing keeping his body in check.

"This is incredible," he breathes.

"Yeah," I moan, my voice high-pitched. I move against him a little faster, rocking my hips back and forth, feeling his hands tense on me, his own body shaking.

My eyes shift, focusing on my own face for just a few seconds, and I let out a yell, falling forward, catching myself on my hands. I rest my head against the floor for a minute before I look back up, letting out an, "ohhhhhhhh," as I see him looking at me, completely rapt.

I dare to look at my face again, a shudder running down my spine; I can only maintain that for a few seconds before it's too much. The look on my face, the face reflecting back at me…it scares the hell out of me. I'm hiding nothing from him. Everything I feel for him is written there, plain as day.

How can he not know? Just by looking at my face right now, how can he not know that I love him? That I love him so much that I can't see straight half the time? That he's everything to me?

How can he not know?

How is it possible that everyone doesn't know?

That's the face of a woman in love; it's like nothing I've ever seen before.

I don't even look like me, at least not the "me" that I'm used to seeing.

I look different.

Maybe it's because I am different, at least I am now.

I glance up again; he's staring at me, watching me intensely. I stretch out my arms, my fingers grasping at the edge of the blanket, my head falling forward again. "Ohhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhh Goooooood." I push myself against him harder.

"Look at me, Monica." His voice is gentle, but demanding, and I return my gaze to his, thrusting against him faster.

Suddenly, his grip on me tightens, holding me still, and he pulls out of me, moves away from me, and I groan in protest. "Where are you going?"

"Turn over," he whispers. I groan again, unable to get my body to cooperate.

"Please, Chandler. Please."

He gently grabs my thigh and gives me a little push, and I roll onto my back, knees bent, my hands automatically reaching out for him. He leans over me, kissing me softly, his lips trailing down my chest, suckling at my breasts only briefly before he rests his weight on top of me, taking my face in his hands, kissing me again. He shifts his hips and a moment later he pushes inside of me, and even though I've felt it hundreds of times by this point, it still makes me gasp out. I will never get tired of this feeling, of being one person for just a little while.

"You won't be able to see anything in the mirror," I whisper, running a hand through his hair.

He just shakes his head, smiling at me. "I don't need a mirror for this." He starts to move against me, pushing into me, and I arch into him, moaning. This how I like us best—face to face, chest to chest. All those other positions feel great and I'm never opposed to them, but this…

Oh, my God, this.

Nothing else in the world can compare to this.

We started in a hotel room almost eight months ago, and I remember telling myself not to fall in love with him. I repeated it like a mantra to myself.

I failed miserably.

I could feel it then, though. I knew after one night that falling in love with Chandler would be the easiest thing in the world. I fought it for as long as I could, I tried to push it back, but he was already there. He's been in my heart for a long time. He's such a part of me that I can't imagine my life without him and now…hell, I don't know where he ends and I begin half the time. It's not that just he's a part of me—he is me. He's the part of me that's been missing my whole life.

I wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize it.

Everything has been so much better since Chandler and I became "us."

I feel tears welling up in my eyes and mentally curse myself. It feels like every time we have sex lately I start to cry. It's just that I feel so much for him, and I'm so afraid to tell him that I love him, it has to come out somewhere. Unfortunately, it's usually in tears.

Happy tears—the happiest tears in the world—but tears nonetheless.

I bury my face in his neck as we rock back and forth, my moans muffled by his throat. His arms tighten around me, he moves against me faster, and I'm suddenly on the verge, my orgasm right there, waiting for just a little push.

"Monica," he half whispers, half moans, and I lift my head to look at him; I gasp. I swear there are tears in the corners of his eyes, too. Maybe it's sweat; maybe it's my imagination. But it's enough.

My hips start to jerk unsteadily; I feel a like a thread instead of me snaps, and I'm falling apart. I'm suddenly completely overwhelmed by sensations. "I—I…" I start to say; it almost comes out without me even noticing, but at the last second I reign it in. I don't want to tell him that I love him like this. My head falls back as my mouth drops open, my nails digging into his back. "AHHHHHHHHHH. OH MY GOD! OH, YESYESYES!"

He pounds his hips into me for a few moments, gasping, before he groans out his release, burying his face in my neck, moving against me urgently.

I press my face against his arm, turning away from him just a little. "I love you," I whisper so softly I can't even hear it. But I need say it; I need to put it out there; I need to say it to him, even if he doesn't know I'm saying it. I open my eyes for a second; I realize one of the cameras is pointed directly at me and probably caught that. I shut my eyes again, pulling him closer.

I push my hips against his a few more times, milking his orgasm, my orgasm for as long as I can, jolts of electricity still coursing through me. I can hear him breathing, tiny moans escaping him occasionally as his body slows down. I kiss his neck, cradling his head in my hand. I feel his lips on my shoulder, behind my ear, on my cheek, before finding my lips, kissing me slowly, thoroughly.

I feel him smile into my mouth, and I can't help but grin back. "That was amazing," I whisper, and it really was.

"I think I died," he groans softly.

"La petite mort," I answer quietly and he chuckles.

He grabs my hand off the back of his neck, linking our fingers together; he kisses my knuckles, bracing himself on his elbow with his other arm, looking down at me. He leans down and kisses me again, our joined hands nestled in between our chests.

"How long can you stay?" he whispers against my lips, and all I can do is sigh.

Forever.

"All night."

"What're you gonna tell Rachel?"

I shrug lazily, leaning up to kiss him again. "I'll…tell her I went out with some coworkers."

"Think she'll buy it?"

"I'll just say it was someone's birthday and that I had to." He kisses me again. "I'll call her in a little while so she won't worry."

"Okay," he whispers, his lips on mine again. "We'll have to turn the cameras off at some point."

"Mmmm," I answer, noncommittally, not caring at that moment. I still have to recover a bit before I can trust myself to do anything but lie here in his arms.

I don't think he's in a rush, either.

He kisses me again, grinning at me. "Stop being so kissable."

I laugh a little, shifting my legs to accommodate him more comfortably against me. "I'll work on it."

He strokes my cheek gently, his expression changing a little as he looks into my eyes. "On second thought, maybe you should always be this kissable."

"I can work on that, too."

He grabs the edge of a blanket, pulling it over our sweaty bodies. He finds a pillow and I lift my head as he slides it underneath me, resting his head beside mine. I turn my neck so I can face him, take him in. He just smiles at me softly.

"We could relocate to the bed," he whispers, and I just shake my head.

"I'm good here."

He smiles, and we lean in, kissing each other softly.