"Hey, Mon? You know we just missed our floor, right?"

I laugh a little, keeping my hands on Chandler's back, pushing him up the stairs. "I told you—I have a surprise for you."

"I know, but I thought it would involve you being naked."

"I don't know that me being naked is that much of a surprise anymore," I tell him, rolling my eyes even though he can't see it.

"Works for me."

"Shocking. But you know, not everything has to revolve around sex."

"I'm aware. It's just a nice bonus."

I tickle his sides for a second before I put my hands on his back again. "Don't worry—you'll get your bonus."

"Oooo, baby."

"Less talking, more walking."

He gives me his best put upon a sigh and continues up the stairs, pausing when we get to the door to the roof. "Uh, Monica?"

"Uh, Chandler?"

He throws me a look over his shoulder, his brow furrowing just a bit and I grin at him broadly—after all these months together, my capacity for sarcasm has increased exponentially. "You're lucky you're cute," he tells me, his tone teasing.

"I know," I answer cheekily, reaching around him to push open the door.

"Seriously, Monica, what's going on?"

"Would you just shut up and take a few more steps? I promise you I'm not leading you into a trap."

He shrugs casually, finally walking out onto the roof. "I never know with you."

I stop in the doorway, waiting, and he pauses mid-step. Slowly, he turns in a circle, taking in the little world I've created up here. "Well?"

"Oh, my God," he breathes, his eyes wide.

I twist my fingers in front of me, inexplicably nervous. "You like it?"

"Monica…" he whispers. "How did you do this? Why did you do this?"

"Tomorrow's our eleven month anniversary, so…" So, I transformed the roof of our apartment building. I strung up old twinkle lights and placed a few electric candles and tea lights, brought up a few old pillows and blankets, and I made more food than we can possibly eat in one night.

He turns and smiles at me, his face filled with wonder, and I instantly feel a bit relieved. "So you decided to do something incredible and amazing for me?"

"Well, for us, but yes. I assumed we'd go out to dinner or something tomorrow, but I wanted to do something special, and I kind of like when it's just us, without a bunch of people around. I mean, we didn't really talk about it…" I'm babbling. I don't know why I always get nervous with romantic gestures like this.

I suppose it's because I really want him to like it, and his opinion is the one that matters most to me.

He puts his hands on my waist, pulling me close, grinning as his head ducks down to kiss me. I feel a smile tug at my lips as my arms go around him.

"I'm glad you thought of something because I was coming up with a lot of nothing. We've spent a lot our anniversaries kind of horizontal, and I wanted to do something a little more than that." He looks over his shoulder for a moment at the little nest I've created. "Though it looks like you've planned for that, too."

I give his chest a pat and take his hand, leading him over the blankets. I sit down and give him a tug, and he follows me. "We're not having sex on the roof," I tell him.

"Damn it!"

"Did you really think that was going to be a thing?"

He doesn't look at all ashamed at his train of thought. "Not until I saw all this, but, yeah…I thought that might be the direction this was going in."

I feel exasperated even as I fight a smile. "Honey, there's public sex, and then there's public sex. If a neighbor or a low-flying news chopper could see us, it's too public."

He gives my hand a squeeze before propping himself up against the pillows. "I can live with that." He looks around again for a few moments, taking it all in, and even I'm a little impressed that I manage to transform this crappy roof into someplace romantic. It feels more intimate and special up here than in some overpriced restaurant. I shiver suddenly and he looks at me in concern. "You know, just because it's April doesn't mean it's not still cold."

"I know," I answer, scooting over next to him, grabbing his arm and pulling it around me. "That's why there are plenty of blankets. I figured we could…cuddle." I pause—sometimes guys are not a fan of cuddling, and though Chandler doesn't seem to mind it in the slightest when we're in bed, and it's something we've always sort of done anyway, we still haven't had tons of time to be a couple in public. I just don't know how he'll react to planned cuddling.

I'm saved from myself when his other arm wraps around me, pulling in close. "Sounds good to me." He kisses the side of my head and I turn into him a little, pressing myself into him. He strokes my back quietly for a few moments before he says, "So I see there's food."

"Of course."

"Made by you, I'm assuming."

"Naturally."

He actually bounces a little with excitement. "Nice!" It may be something small, but I love that he loves my cooking. It makes me feel ridiculously happy.

"If I'm not going to take you out for our anniversary, the least I can do is cater the affair, you know?"

"I'd rather eat your food any day of the week, Mon."

I tilt my head back and quirk any eyebrow at him. "You don't have to butter me up, you know."

"Is it so wrong that I like my girlfriend's cooking? I get to date a professional chef—you make good food."

"Well, that's true," I agree, and he gives me a nudge, pulling me a little closer.

"What'd you make me?"

I shrug a little. "Mostly just finger foods. Tiny sandwiches, cheeses, things wrapped in pastries, veggies, fruits, dips…"

"Wait a minute—you expect me to sit here and watch you eat food either by my hand or your own and I'm not supposed to think about sex?"

"I never said that you weren't supposed to think about sex. I never said sex wouldn't be a thing. I just said sex on the roof wasn't going to happen."

He snorts a little, grabbing one of the spare blankets and pulling it over us, tucking us in. "We'll see." Before I can react, his lips are on mine, kissing me slowly, deeply, and I whimper a little, melting into his embrace.

This man really is amazing. He's so caring and sweet, even if he is trying to feel me up right now. Even that, though, is fine by me. His hands on me do things I never expected, and never felt before. I come to life under his touch, and not just in a sexual way. I feel…I don't know what I feel. Complete. Strong. Weak.

Being with Chandler is turning me into the person I know I'm supposed to become, as sentimental as that may be. He is quite literally everything to me. The beginning and the end. The yin to my yang, and every other cliché in the world. I'm happier than I ever thought possible with him, and drunkenly stumbling into his hotel room almost a year ago was the best thing I ever could have done.

I know that I want to be with him forever, and even that won't be long enough.

I'm head over heels in love with Chandler Bing. I would laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn't make such perfect sense.

I slow down the kisses; I can feel us both getting too revved up too fast, and I want to spend some time up here with him.

"Almost a year," I finally whisper against his lips, and he gives me one more gentle kiss before tucking my head under his chin.

"It's kind of a big deal," he murmurs, and I tighten my arms around him, biting my lip; I will not cry right now, even if it is really a big deal.

"I've never been in a relationship for this long." I know he knows that; I know he hasn't, either. Before him, my longest relationship was about five months. I don't know why I couldn't make it work with anyone before now, or why it was always an uphill battle.

Well, maybe I do.

None of those guys were supposed to work out. They were all just primers for the ultimate boyfriend, the guy I didn't realize I'd been dreaming about my entire life.

I spent so much time growing up trying to picture the perfect guy, The One. Aside from a lot of qualities I wanted, many of which changed over the years, there was never a face to go with all of that. I just knew the sort of person I wanted in my life; I wanted him to be smart, funny, sweet, romantic, caring, sexy, someone I could talk to, someone I could count on, a shoulder I could lean on, and I wanted him to be my friend.

And he is. Chandler is all of those things and so many more. It was so obvious that I can't believe it took me so long to realize it. All these years that he's been there for me, that I've been there for him; all the late night talks and hours of television and movies, the endless amounts of coffee and food. He's always been the only person in the world that can talk me down from my proverbial ledges, who knows just what to say to calm me down and help me get my head on straight. Hell, more times than I like to admit, he's been the voice of reason.

Not that long ago, I went nuts trying to prove that we were still all over each other all the time and that we were "hot." But Chandler just told me how excited he was to be doing this with me, that this part—not being frantic to be near each other, but being comfortable with each other and still wanting to be around each other was pretty amazing.

Of course, he was right.

And now, I like that we're not frantic with each other. We're not desperate to get a moment alone with each other, not because our desire for each other now isn't as strong as strong as it as eleven months ago, but because all of this feels so much more real. We can relax now and just enjoy being an "us."

It's the best feeling in the world.

"I haven't, either." It takes me a few moments to pull myself out of my thoughts and realize what he's talking about. "But, you know…it only takes one successful long term relationship."

I think my heart skips a beat...or three. It's gotten easier to talk about a future together—I certainly don't see us ending things any time soon—but we still haven't exactly gotten to the "together forever" discussions. I know we should talk about it at some point, but if I'm being completely honest with myself, it still freaks me out just a little.

I mean, I know I want to be with him forever, but it scares me a little to know that. I don't think I'm completely ready to take that plunge just yet. I just like knowing that it's a possibility.

"You make me so happy," I whisper, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, tear filling my eyes despite my best efforts.

His fingers thread through my hair as he looks down at me, grinning from ear to ear. "Not nearly as happy as you make me."

Despite my teary eyes, my smile matches his. "I love you so much." He leans down and kisses me again, our lips moving slowly against each other.

This is definitely one of the best parts about being out with our relationship—kissing any time we want to, for as long as we want. No more rushing, no more hiding, just us together when we want to be.

He straightens once more, clearing his throat. "So, are you gonna feed me or what?"

"Yes, dear." I turn to the side, grabbing the picnic basket full of food and settling it between us. "I hope you're not expecting me to actually feed you." He looks so wounded that I actually laugh. "Fine. Maybe we can make some sort of arrangement." I open the basket and start pulling out containers.

He doesn't even wait for me to finish before he starts opening things, oohing and ahhing appropriately. He opens a container, bringing it to his face, sniffing. "What's this?"

"Baked brie in puff pastry. Simple but delicious."

"Baked cheese? My woman knows what I like."

I smack his arm and he winces a little, and I pull out another container for him. "You'll love this then."

He pops it open, peeking in, and his face lights up. "Tiny grilled cheese!"

I pluck one out, biting back my grin at his reaction. "Well, they're fancy grilled cheese. Nice breads, expensive cheeses—" I lose my voice when he grabs my wrist, taking the piece of sandwich into his mouth. He looks blissful for a moment before he grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

"Thank you, baby," he tells me a moment later, attention already back to the picnic basket.

"Wow. If that's the response I get for a grilled cheese, what on earth is chocolate covered fruit going to do to you?"

His entire body freezes for a moment, his eyes slowly drifting up to mine. "Seriously?"

I lean in close to him, my lips grazing his ear. "I don't joke around when it comes to chocolate."

His eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down his body. "About that whole no-sex-on-the-roof thing…"

I laugh softly and lean into the basket once more, pulling out the promised container of fruit. "Are you ready to be horribly clichéd and feed this to each other?"

He settles back against the pillows, hands resting on his stomach, eyebrows waggling. "Cliché me up."

I grab a piece of chocolate covered fruit—who knows what it actually is. I cut everything into bite-sized chunks and covered them all completely—and laugh to myself for a moment before holding it out to Chandler, positioning it just in front of his lips. He keeps his eyes on me, his tongue darting out, barely grazing my fingers as the fruit disappears between his lips. My breath catches in my throat.

I'll be damned if this isn't actually one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.

Blindly, I reach for the container of fruit pieces and grab another one, holding it out for Chandler again, my breathing a little faster as I watch his mouth, waiting. He leans forward just a little, the tips of my fingers disappearing into his mouth for a moment as he snatches the chocolate from me.

I swallow heavily and maneuver onto his lap, balancing myself on his thighs, holding out another piece for him. All traces of his earlier mirth are gone as he stares me, his expression suddenly very serious. He takes the fruit from me very carefully this time, and my fingertips traces over his bottom lip for a few seconds. His teeth nip at me gently and he grabs the container from my hands, now holding out a piece for me.

This may be a cliché, but it's a cliché for a reason—it's ridiculously erotic.

I lean forward slowly, keeping my eyes on his, and I wrap my lips around his fingers, and I suddenly feel like I'm about to combust. I whimper just a little as the chocolate hits my tongue, and suddenly his hand is gone. He gently grabs the sides of my face and pulls me to him, kissing me hungrily, the box of dessert cast to the side, forgotten.

I slide forward, wrapping my legs around his waist, moving my hips slowly against his. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer, and I sigh happily against his mouth.

Something about this moment is completely perfect—the cool, spring air, the gentle breeze wafting across us that makes the twinkle lights dance in the night.

I think it's mostly has to do with the guy in my arms, though.

I feel one of his hands slide underneath my shirt, his fingertips chilly against the heat of my skin, and I jump at the contact. He presses his lips to my neck, gently kissing my throat, and I run my hands through his hair, my fingers playing with the soft, short strands.

He pauses for just a moment, wrapping his arms around me tightly. "I love you, Monica."

"I love you, too, Chandler." My response is automatic by this point, but wonderfully so. He says it, I answer, and vice versa.

His lips are on mine again and he's shifting us around, gently guiding my head to the pillows, his body covering mine.

Making out on the roof for a while could be okay.

His fingers slide under the edge of my shirt, gently stroking my skin, and I shift a little underneath him, letting him press me a little more firmly into the floor beneath us. I grab fistfuls of his shirt, my fingers flexing in time with our bodies' movements.

He pops up suddenly, his hands grabbing the back of his sweater, pulling it over his head, and my hands reach out, stroking his soft skin. He presses himself to me once more, and I wrap my arms around him tighter, keeping him warm.

Suddenly, it's not enough. I need to feel him against me. I pull at the bottom of my shirt, trying to slide it up my body, and he puts his hands on mine, stilling my motions. I'm only confused for a moment until he takes over, pulling it over my head, dropping it on top of his shirt. His hands slide up my back and I feel his fingers playing with my bra straps, sliding them down my shoulders.

I arch my back up, pressing myself against him, unable to get close enough.

His finger fumble at the clasp for a few moments—I can feel him shaking just a little—before it comes undone, the cool air rushing across my overheated skin. I shift my arms a little, both of us working to pull the bra off until it joins the growing pile of clothing.

Suddenly, sex on the roof doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

I grab at one of the blankets, pulling it over us, cocooning us, before my fingers go to the fly of his pants.

"You sure?" he mumbles against my mouth, his hands mirroring my actions, and I just nod. We work together to remove our pants, pushing them off to the side, and we're suddenly skin to skin, his warm weight covering me, sheltering me, his erection twitching against my thigh as we move gently against each other.

Everything is so tender and gentle I think I could cry.

Our lips move against each other slowly, carefully, as if we're both fragile and could break at any moment. His fingers move down me slowly, very slowly, delicately tracing the sides of my breasts and I shudder at the contact. His fingers skim my hips, my thighs, pulling my legs up a little so he fits against me more firmly.

I stroke my fingers gently up and down his spine, feeling his body shiver with every pass, growing harder against me by the moment, and I push myself against him, desperate for more.

This is actually perfect.

His hips shift and he slides into me bit by bit, taking his time, and I break my lips away from his to gasp out, moaning a little. Inch by inch he fills me, taking over the empty places inside of me, and I dig my fingers into his arms.

I let him set the pace, which is agonizingly beautiful. So slow, so tender. If he's not kissing me, he's stroking my hair back from my face, watching me, telling me he loves me, telling me that I'm beautiful.

Still, we move against each other slowly, neither of us in a hurry, the endgame a guarantee.

My heart thumps erratically against my chest, filled with so much love for this man. I want to be like this forever.

His hand captures mine, linking our fingers together, pressing our joined hands into the pillow next to my head and I cry out as he moves against me a little faster.

He tightens his fingers against mine, and I wrap my free arm around him, my nails gently scratching at his back, enough to make him shudder.

I stroke my foot up and down his calf a few times before wrapping it around his leg, pulling him closer, pushing myself against him a little harder.

I bury my face in his neck for a few moments, muffling the moans that escape me naturally every time we do this, vocally representing just what it is he does to me, what no one else has ever been able to do to me.

We're not making love right now—the love has already been created. It's part of us, part of who we are together. We're just in it, in the moment, becoming one person, one soul, one life. Adding to the love, maybe making more love in that respect.

It's almost too much to bear.

It's completely amazing, astounding, and just this side of too much. My heart hurts, aches, and I need him more than I can ever really express.

I look up from his neck and our eyes meet; he's not looking at me in any way that he hasn't been looking at me for months by this point, but it's still intense. There is so much in his eyes, so much that is always in his eyes, things that are probably in mine; all the things we feel for each other that have no words, that don't need words.

My hand comes up and strokes his cheek and he smiles at me gently, pressing his lips to mine once more, our bodies moving faster now, desperate for more of each other, for the release that only he can truly provide.

I tighten my legs around him and he groans, pausing for just a moment to get his bearings before grabbing my hip, his fingers firm against me. Our linked fingers squeeze against each other and he starts pushing into me urgently.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," I moan against his lips, trying to be as quiet as I can—even in New York, a woman screaming will eventually draw the attention of someone.

I feel tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes, something I've gotten used to happening at times. It's just another way I express what I feel for him, what he does to me, though I don't know if Chandler will ever get used to it.

"Oh, God," I whisper, moving hand down to his back again, my fingertips digging against his skin. I bring our joined hands closer, holding our arms and hands against our bodies.

I can't get close enough. I will never be able to get close enough. I want to be able to crawl inside of him and live forever.

I feel a coiling in the pit of my stomach and my entire body starts to vibrate, so close to the edge. I push against him more insistently and he responds in kind, speeding up, pushing harder, his gasps of pleasure mingling with mine in the April night.

"Oh, my God," I say again, a little louder and my hand goes down to his hip, trying to pull him against me harder. His hips are a flurry of movement for a few more moments and I explode, stars bursting behind my eyelids, a sob erupting from my body as I orgasm, my body tightening around his, my fingers grabbing his so tightly I feel like I must be breaking his bones.

He moves against me a few more moments, long moments, almost as if he's struggling to let go, trying to hold onto this for as long as possible before his body starts jerking against mine, releasing himself into me, and I stroke his sweaty hair even as I cry, holding him close.

He gasps for a few minutes, panting into my ear as his weight settles against my body, heavy but reassuring. "It's okay, Mon," he finally whispers, kissing my cheek. "It's okay."

I sniffle and nod, kissing his neck for a moment. "I know."

He gives me another squeeze and rolls off me, our bodies immediately curling into each other. I shiver as the cool air hits our sweaty skin and he immediately grabs his sweater, pulling it carefully over my head, helping me get it in place before he pulls the blanket tightly over us, warding off the chill.

"I love you," I tell him again, resting my head next to his on the pillow.

He gives my arm a gentle squeeze, kissing me softly. "I know. I love you, too."

I stroke his chest for a few minutes, the sounds of the street below oddly comforting. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Remember our first night together?"

"How could I forget? It was one of the best nights of my life."

I turn my head, kissing his shoulder, smiling a little. "Thank you. We had a lot of sex that night, right?"

"If memory serves."

"Well, that last time we did it…were you making love to me then?" I remember thinking that's what he was doing at that point, though it hasn't occurred to me to ask since then. So much happened in such a short amount of time, and we just sort of fell into each other after we got back from London, and it didn't really matter at the time. But for whatever reason, what we just did reminded me so much of that night, and I just need to know.

He chuckles against my hair, pulling me closer. "I tried like hell. That's what I was going for, though."

"You succeeded. I don't know if you knew that. It almost broke my heart it was so beautiful."

I feel him swallow slowly, and I think I've made him just a little uncomfortable. "Well, good. I'm glad."

I bring my hand to his cheek, turning his face to mine. We stare at each other for a few long moments, and I take him in—all of him. He's so beautiful. I don't know if he'd ever believe that, but it's true. I bring my face to his and kiss him, our arms wrapping around each other, holding each other close, before we sigh at the same time, coming to rest side by side once more.

"Don't let me fall asleep up here," I finally whisper, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

He laughs softly. "I can't make any promises. We weren't supposed to have sex on the roof and look where we are."

"Yeah, I need to work on my willpower."

"Overrated," he tells me, kissing the top of my head, and my eyes feel heavy all of a sudden. I burrow into his side, wrapping myself around him.

"Maybe just a few minutes," I mumble.

His breathing is steady beneath my ear, already out like a light.

*A/N…I think I damn near cried while writing parts of this. Maybe you'll cry, too. Then I won't feel like such a sap.

Also, this story is drawing to a close. It makes me a little sad to even say it, but I feel good about it. Monica and Chandler's story is changing...so, I should change things, too. Don't worry too much, though-there's still plenty in the pipeline (I hope).