"Does it make me a horrible mother that I almost don't want to go home on Sunday?"
Chandler chuckles, lifting his arm to wrap it around my shoulders. "If you're a horrible mother, then I'm a horrible father because I've had those same thoughts." I sigh, pressing myself against his side as he runs his fingers through my hair. I drape my legs over his, tracing my toes over his foot, and he shifts sideways a little, giving us both a bit more room in the chair we've managed to squeeze ourselves into. "I think it makes us human," he finally says.
"But I love our kids so much. They're the best things that could have ever happened to us." My heart clenches at the thought of them, even though part of me really doesn't want to ever leave our lovely hotel room. "We've been away from them less than a day and I miss them so much I think I'm going to fall over, but…"
"It's reality, Mon, and this is a little break from that—a long overdue one from the sound of it. We're not bad people for needing time away from our kids. As long as we actually go back to them, I think it's all right to have moments where we fantasize about no responsibilities."
I give his side a little pinch, smiling when I feel him try to twist away from my probing fingers. "I really miss the days where I was the sane one and you were the crazy, irrational one."
"Yeah, me, too."
I give his side another pinch, pressing him down with my arm and leg to keep him from getting away.
"I'm just saying that I don't know when it got to the point that you needed to talk me down from a ledge after every minor incident or milestone with the kids."
He grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine, keeping me from pinching him again. "I think it was the whole 'having kids' thing. It changed us. All in good ways, I think, but we're different. We react differently. I know that you're always going to get emotional over the things they do—and I love it," he says quickly, my other hand already in position to pinch him. "I really do. I love that everything they do affects you so deeply. I like to think that it's made me grow up in a lot of ways, so maybe that's why I can be calm about things when you're not. But it's not like I'm always so good at being calm and collected all the time, either. They all have the ability to get under my skin in about half a second, and how many times have you reminded me that they're just little kids? I think we're pretty even on the responsible parent/crazy parent scale."
"I guess. Doesn't mean I don't miss being sane. I know, I know," I answer before he can say anything. "Kids make you crazy, right?"
"I can't vouch for all kids, but ours most definitely. It's a good thing I like my women crazy."
"That would explain Janice, I suppose," I tease, and he groans against my forehead.
"Low blow, wife. Low blow."
"You're right—that was below the belt."
"Definitely. I would have thought that you'd aim a little higher seeing as how I know just how much you love what I have below the belt."
"You're sick, you know that?" I whisper as I lean up to kiss him, and his teeth gleam in the afternoon sunshine as he grins at me.
"Part of why you love me," he answers just as softly, pressing his lips to mine for a few moments before we pull apart, keeping our faces close together.
So far, since our failed attempt at sex last night, this is about all we've done on our vacation. We woke up at seven, which felt like sleeping in, and the first thing we did was call the kids to tell them "good morning," We managed to get showered and dressed and drag ourselves outside where we found a cozy little breakfast place. We wandered around the town for a couple of hours, neither of us in the mood to go very far from the hotel. We have all Saturday and most of Sunday to explore, though truthfully, the room that Chandler booked for us is so cozy that I would probably really be okay with staying here the entire time. We found silly little shirts at a tourist shop for the kids that say, "My parents went to Cape Cod and all I got was this lousy shirt," and after that, we stopped to pick up more food and parked ourselves on the balcony to enjoy the breeze wafting in off the ocean.
It's been a very long time since we've had the opportunity to just sit and be. I'd forgotten just how nice it was to simply relax, even if we wind up talking about the kids every few minutes. It wasn't even an hour ago that Ross called because Jack wanted his daddy to tell him a story for naptime.
How is anyone expected to refuse that?
Chandler's naptime material has gotten interesting, though.
"Hon, when did you start using the history of Chandler and Monica as fairytale fodder?"
He chuckles, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss my palm. "A few months, I guess. I can only read 'Hop On Pop' so many times before I want to start taking hostages. And we're kind of like a fairytale, so I thought it'd be a nice change for them."
"How on earth are we like a fairytale?"
"Well, we met when we were kids, for one. Became best friends, fell in love, got married…"
"Yeah, you just described probably a quarter of the relationships out there," I answer, rolling my eyes good-naturedly.
"I highly doubt that a lot of people fall in love after being friends for so long, never mind a quarter of the population. And you can't use When Harry Met Sally as an example of a relationship like ours. It's a movie and it doesn't count."
"It does too count," I answer, offering no further justification to my point.
He shakes his head. "Fine. But still, if I'm going to tell a story over and over, I'd rather it was our story than yet another Dr. Seuss."
"Yeah, for now. What're you going to do when they ask for it every day and every night?"
He shrugs, making a face. "Go back to 'Hop On Pop.'"
I turn onto my side as I sink further down in the chair, pressing myself against my husband. It's actually really sweet that he's turning our life story into a story the kids can enjoy. It's even sweeter when Jack asks about Flock of Seagulls in his silly little voice. Just as long as he never tries to replicate that haircut.
Chandler's fingers stroke gently up and down my spine, making me release a long, shuddery breath. It's been a very long time since we were alone together like this; probably close to four years. I think I really had forgotten what it was like to be alone with my husband.
"I love you," I murmur, feeling my body start to tingle around the edges.
His arms tighten around me a fraction. "What brought that on?"
"I need a reason to tell my husband I love him?" I tilt my head, frowning as I look up at him. "I guess I don't say it enough anymore."
"I've never forgotten that you love me, if that's what you're worried about. I don't remember us going any length of time without saying it, either. I just wondered what was going on in that head of yours."
I shrug, burrowing back into him. "Nothing," I answer, kissing the hollow of his throat. "Just that I love you more than you'll ever know, and even though it's hard to leave the kids, being here with you feels absolutely amazing."
"Oh, is that all?" he asks, his fingers casually wandering under the back of my shirt. "Well, it just so happens that I love you, too."
"Well, that's a relief. I thought you'd hung around all these years because of my cooking."
"Not completely because of your cooking," he answers, his hand moving up to my bra, his fingers barely a whisper against my skin.
"You're such an—" His lips press against mine, silencing my insult completely. His leg slides against mine, the fabric of his shorts sending shivers up my mostly exposed skin. I wrap my leg over his, hooking my ankle behind his knee. He groans a little, stiffening against my thigh. Both of his hands disappear under my shirt, his fingers digging into my skin.
"I love you," he mumbles against my lips, this time not teasingly, and I sigh happily. That's not something that will ever get old.
I give him a little push, shifting us so that he's mostly on his back and I'm draped over him. I slide my hand under his shirt and scratch my nails carefully down his stomach, smiling when I feel his muscles twitch beneath me.
His fingers dig into my hips, keeping me against him as he gently thrusts against me. I whimper into his mouth. Really, it's only been a couple of days since we last had sex, but I feel desire crashing over me like the ocean in a storm. I pull my lips from his and sit up, grabbing the bottom of my shirt and pulling it over my head. I toss it in a heap on the floor next to us as his pupils dilate. Being able to get this reaction from him will never get old, either.
I wait as his hand slide up my sides, shuddering as his feather-light touch tickles me just a little. I shift so that I'm sitting on his lap, making sure to wiggle my hips just a little extra for him.
"Monica…" he warns, he voice low and gravely. I ignore him, pushing his t-shirt up to his armpits. I lean down and move my lips across his chest, taking deep breaths of him. He smells like he always does—clean, like his soap and aftershave—with a hint of salty ocean air mixed in. It's more intoxicating than usual.
His hands almost stop moving, save for his finger tips gently creating circles on my sides. I look up at him to find him watching me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his breathing labored. I grin as I move over to his nipple, moving my tongue over it for a few moments before taking it gently between my teeth. His head falls back as he hisses, his fingers gripping me tighter. I can't help but chuckle a little as I drag my mouth across his chest, lavishing the same attention on his other nipple. His erection pushes up against me insistently, and I moan as I push my hips against him. "Oh, God," I whimper, my eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.
"Christ, Mon," he gasps, his hands going to my shoulders as he pushes me up. I open his eyes as he shifts beneath me. He grabs the back of his shirt as he sits up, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. I go to wrap my arms around him but he grabs my hands, stopping me. I wait as he leans forward slowly, inch by infuriating inch.
My body trembles in anticipation.
His lips finally make contact with my clavicle, just a faint brush, but it's enough to drive me wild. He lets go of my hands, wrapping his arms around my waist as he pulls me closer. I push my chest toward him, but he keeps the contact at just a whisper.
"Chandlerrrrr," I whine, sliding my hands up his back, his neck, running my fingers through his hair and grabbing, giving it a few tugs, which he happily ignores.
His own hands finally move up my stomach—still at an agonizing pace—until he reaches my breasts. I gasp loudly at the contact, another shudder working its way through my body.
Still, his lips move across me slowly, his hands kneading me carefully, and I take a few deep breaths, appreciating what he's doing.
Nowadays, we always come together so quickly, almost clandestinely, trying to work around our kids' schedules and our almost perpetual exhaustion to make the most of the few stolen moments we have together. Right now, we don't have to do that. We don't have to worry about anyone waking up from a nap or wandering into our room in the middle of the night. Right now, we have nothing but time.
Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at things—that feels like more of a turn on than anything.
His teeth nip at me suddenly through the fabric of my bra—which, sadly, isn't as cute as the stuff I put on last night, though it doesn't seem to bother my husband in the slightest—causing me to jerk against him, pulling his hair harder than I mean to. "Sorry," I gasp, rubbing his scalp as gently as I can in apology.
He mumbles something against my breasts, his face buried between them, and I take that to mean he accepts. I feel his tongue against my skin and my entire body goes limp for a few moments, only held up by his hands quickly grabbing my back.
I grab onto his shoulders and pull myself back up, groaning as he grabs my breasts again. My bra straps slide off my shoulders and he moves his lips to my neck, his teeth dragging pleasantly across my delicate flesh. Using my thighs keep myself upright, squeezing them around his hips, I slide my hands down his chest, fumbling with the button on shorts for a moment before it pops open. I maneuver my hand into his boxer briefs, nearly weeping at the feel of him.
He gasps and pulls his mouth from my neck, blinking at me hazily. "Do you really want to do this out here?" he asks, his breathing heavy and body shaking.
I run my hand up and down him gently, swallowing heavily as I feel him twitch beneath my ministrations. I lean forward and press my lips to his, neither of us able to maintain the contact for very long around our gasps for air. "You know how the thrill of being caught turns me on," I whisper.
"I recall," he answers weakly, his fingers dancing over my skin once more. In fact, the idea of being caught in the act kept the both of us wildly turned on for quite some time at the beginning of our relationship, and even for a while later on, too.
"You're right, though," I finally concede, regretfully removing my hand from his shorts. "We should move this party inside."
He pulls me close and kisses me a few times, hard enough so that I almost forget where I am again before he gives me a gentle nudge. I stand carefully, somehow surprised at just how shaky my legs are. I offer my hands to Chandler, who sits on the edge of the lounge chair as he breathes deeply for a few moments. His entire body is visibly shaking, and I feel a familiar sense of smugness wash over me. We've been together for nine years and I can still reduce him to a quivering mass. That's enough to make anyone feel cocky.
Finally, he takes my hand and pulls himself to his feet, his khaki shorts pooling around his ankles, and I feel my heart start to pound even faster at the sight of him standing there in his underwear—form-fitting gray boxer briefs that hug his thighs and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. I reach out and slide a hand over him gently, tenderly, his hips jerking against the contact, when all of a sudden he grabs my arm and stoops down, pulling me over his shoulders in a fireman-carry. I yelp out and clap a hand over my mouth as I giggle, shocked.
"So macho, Mr. Bing," I tell him, picking my head up as he grins at me over his shoulder.
"You know it," he answers, readjusting his grasp on me as he opens the screen door to our room.
"If you hurt yourself right now, so help me God…"
"You're a tiny little person, Monica," he assures me as he carries me into our room. "You don't take a lot of effort to hold like this." He drops me onto the bed and I prop myself up on my elbows as I watch him walk back to the balcony door, pulling the screen shut again.
"Your ass looks so cute in those shorts."
He pauses, giving his hips a little wiggle for my benefit. I giggle as I watch him, his silliness only serving to turn me on even more. He takes a few steps toward me and pauses, lifting an eyebrow teasingly. "Oh no," he deadpans. "I've dropped something. Wait; let me bend over and pick it up." He turns around and bends slowly at the waist, making me laugh. "Oh, dear. It seems to be stuck to the ground. This could take a while."
I pop open the button on my shorts, shifting my hips until I can kick them to the floor. I reach out a foot and carefully drag my toes across his ass. "Get over here and defile me."
"One corruption, coming right up," he answers, only moving a few inches before he bends over again, changing his angle. "Oh, my, there's something over here, too." Give the man an inch and he takes a mile. I tell him his ass looks cute and he lets it go to his head. Good thing the rest of him is really cute, too.
I sigh dramatically and drop my foot. I reach behind my back and unhook my bra, peeling it off of my already-damp skin. Usually he likes to do that part, but maybe knowing that I'm naked will get his attention. I toss it on the floor in front of him, enjoying the way his body freezes when he sees the garment. I recline on my elbows again, gently tugging at my own nipples for effect as he stands and turns to face me. "Hi," I say casually, feeling my toes curl as he looks at me. I watch his chest move up and down faster as his breathing gets heavier.
"Shit, Mon," he breathes as he watches me, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. My stomach clenches at the sight. I lift my legs into the air and move my hands to my panties, tugging them over my hips. In a heartbeat he has his hand over mine, pulling my underwear off in one smooth motion. They drop to the floor as I feel lips move across my calves—a spot he doesn't usually hit which makes it all the more exciting.
His hands wrap around my thighs, the tension in his arms obvious belying his gentle touch. My feet fall open, my heels resting on his shoulders as his fingers move the front of my legs. I watch his face, captivated. He turns his head and kisses my ankle, his eyes never leaving mine. My head drops back against the bed, a high-pitched noise escaping my lips. His grip on me tightens a little as he moves to the other ankle, his teeth grazing the bone. I gasp and my thighs tremble, my hips lifting off the bed just a little.
"I want you," he whispers, and even though I know it, hearing the words does something to my heart, making it flutter like crazy. I lose control of my legs and they drop open. A moment later, Chandler leans over me, his lips almost touching mine. His eyes are impossibly dark, almost no blue left in them at all.
"I love you," I tell him, and he kisses me softly, much softer than I was expecting. A moment later he's gone, moving on to my neck for a just a few seconds before he continues on his journey. My body goes rigid as he kisses my breasts for just a few moments. His lips keep moving, tracing over my ribs tenderly, his teeth nipping at my hipbones teasingly. He kisses low on my stomach lovingly, and my hips thrust up of their own accord, my body desperate for more of him. "Chandler," I whimper softly. He looks up at me again, his expression so full of love I nearly cry. I watch his throat bob as he swallows and leans forward again, his lips wrapping around me and I almost fly off the bed.
My insides quiver as I try to keep my body in check, his eyes studying me as he works. I reach down and run my hand through his hair, gasping as I feel his tongue move against me. My legs curl up and my head drops to the bed, my back arching as I moan. An instant later his mouth is gone and my eyes fly open in shock.
He looms over me, breathing heavily, his chest glowing in the afternoon sun with a fine sheen of sweat. I nod at him and watch as he shoves his boxers down his legs, scooting back on the bed until I reach the pillows. My breath quickens as he crawls over me, his expression almost predatory. We both moan as he settles over me, our bodies finally coming into contact. I run my hand over his cheek as he pushes the hair away from my face, both of us staring at each other in wonder and fascination. I move my hand to the back of his neck and pull his lips to mine. My legs fall open a bit more, my feet bracing on the mattress beneath me. He hooks one arm under my knee and I whimper as his body pushes against mine a little more firmly. He moves against me slowly, our bodies rubbing against each other, and it feels heavenly. I tighten my grip on the back of his neck, angling my head to kiss him more deeply—I almost don't care if I pass out, I never want to stop kissing him.
His hips shift away from mine a little and my body feels like it's humming with pent-up energy as it waits for him. A moment later I feel him slide into me, filling me—filling every part of me, making me whole—and my muscles clench around him involuntarily as I moan. "Ohhhhhhh."
He buries his face in my neck, his breathing fast and heavy against my skin, his entire body shaking as he takes a moment to regain control.
It's a moment I need, as well. I already feel like I'm on the edge of the world, waiting for a gentle gust of wind to push me over.
His arm tightens under my leg and he thrusts into me gently. My eyes fall shut as I gasp—it's been way too long since we took our time with this.
"Oh, my God," I half sob, digging my fingers into his back.
He starts thrusting steadily as he sucks at my neck and shoulders. "I know," he grunts. "God, I know."
He hits all the spots inside of me, by this point knowing how to get there without any guidance. There's something about a man that knows your body so well that he can anticipate your every need that's such an amazing turn on.
I wrap my free leg around his thigh, pulling him to me. We stop moving for a few moments and he lifts his head, my eyes opening to meet his. He smiles at me shakily, a bead of sweat dripping down his face. I reach out and catch it with my fingertip, dragging it into my mouth. He shudders, his entire body vibrating mine. Our lips collide as our bodies start to move at a frenzied pace. I don't think I've ever wanted him more. Of course, I think that every time we have sex. It's reassuring to know that my desire for him will never go away.
I feel pressure building in the pit of my stomach already and moan into his mouth. "Oh, God, Chandlerrrr."
He thrusts against me harder for a few moments before backing off just a little, making long, slower strokes.
It doesn't help the coil in my stomach.
My hamstring muscle twitches and I pull my lips from his. "Honey, put my leg down."
He looks at me in confusion, his eyes hazy with lust. "Why?" he gasps, his pace never faltering. "Doesn't it feel good?"
A shudder races down my spine, my other leg clenching around him tightly for a moment. "Oh, my God!" I yell out, digging my nails into his back. "Oh, God! Oh, GOD!" I close my eyes as I gasp for air, fighting for control. I need some more time with this. "Ohhhhh, it feels amazing. But I don't think I'm limber enough today to pull this off." I grin at him as our chests heave together. "I don't want to get a cramp in the middle of it."
His eyes twinkle as he smiles back, carefully lowering my leg to the bed. I stretch it out for a moment, feeling my impending orgasm subside a little. "I guess that would kill the mood," he says, planting a kiss on my breastbone.
"Nah, you'd keep going," I tease, whimpering a little when he shifts on top of me. "The joy of married sex. Plus this way, I won't come so quickly."
He looks up at me and chuckles. "Well, do you have a tip for me on that end? I really don't think I can hold out much longer."
I run my hand through his sweaty hair lovingly. "Look, it was either going to happen thirty seconds from now or about a minute and thirty seconds from now. I didn't buy us a whole lot of time."
He thrusts into me suddenly, making me gasp. He keeps his face hovering over mine. "Do I turn you on?"
I laugh weakly, the change in leg position really not doing a whole lot to ease the situation. "It's been known to happen."
He thrusts into me again, and this time I bring my hips up to meet his. "I'll let you in on a little secret."
Now both of my legs wrap around his thighs, even this slow, sporadic movement almost too much to bear. "Ohhhhhh. What's that?"
"You still manage to turn me on."
I laugh a little—that much is obvious. "After all this time?"
He stops moving, smoothing the hair away from my eyes before he gently holds my face. "Always," he answers seriously.
I think my heart bursts. "Oh, God, Chandler, I love you so much."
He smiles at me, his eyes shiny as he leans forward to kiss me softly. "I love you, too." He moves against me once more, his pace slower now, though the emotions threatening to erupt out of me aren't helping. "I love you," he whispers into my neck.
My arms shake as I hold onto him, my body crying out for more. I give him a couple of shoves, making him roll off of me. Immediately, I climb on him, straddling his thighs as I slide down him, sighing with relief. Truly, this position isn't much better for slowing me down than with my leg hanging in midair, but I don't care at this point. I think I need the emotional release as much as anything at this point. He rests his hands on my thighs as I rock back and forth, his eyes studying me carefully as he lets me take the lead.
It's almost unnerving.
I put my hands on top of his, gripping tightly, needing something to hold on to.
"Ohhh," I gasp. "Oh-oh-ohhhhh, Chandler. Oh, God. Yes. Yes yes yes." One of his hands pulls free of mine, his thumb stretching across my pelvis to rub me gently. I nearly jump off him at the contact, even though my hips start to move faster. "Yes yes yes yes yes, ohhhhh ohhhhhhhh."
My senses nearly go on overload and I knock this hand out of the way. Immediately, he sits up and wraps his arms around me. My body twines around his, pulling him closer, so close that he's nearly melting into me. I clutch at him as we thrust wildly, our movements growing desperate.
His body shakes violently and I feel his hips jerk against mine. His back tenses beneath mine as his orgasm takes him over, yelling into my ear as he grips me tightly. My breath catches in my throat, stuck there as I dangle on the edge, one finger holding me there for an endless moment before a wail rips out of me and I'm falling. My eyes slam shut as we pound into each other, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes anyway. We ride it out together, the feeling overwhelming, powerful, and incredible, our bodies moving as one for a few eternal moments. My entire body locks around him as the orgasm continues to wash through me, both of us gasping so hard we're nearly sobbing, until my muscles give out. My body collapses against his, everything shaking as the endorphins start to dissipate as quickly as they appeared.
"Oh, my God," I whisper, my throat sore from my vocal acrobatics. I clear it half-heartedly and try to wrap my arms around my husband. A few moments later he falls back, his chest still heaving as he gasps for air. I drop down onto his chest, whimpering as I try to collect myself. I feel his hand come up and stroke my hair, and I through my sex-addled brain I can't help but marvel at his muscle coordination right now.
I take a deep breath and force myself to sit up, grabbing the blankets and giving them a few tugs until there's enough space for the two of us to crawl under. Somehow, he manages to sit up, taking my face in his hands. He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, for a few minutes, letting me know without saying anything just what he's feeling right now. We maneuver ourselves under the covers and curl up together, his front pressed to my back, our hands tangled together as our bodies crash after that phenomenal high.
I feel his lips press against my neck, his arms tightening around me. "I love you," he says quietly, his voice full of wonder and exhaustion.
"I love you, too," I whisper, turning my head to kiss his arm. A few moments later, his body goes slack behind mine as he falls asleep, and I allow myself to follow.
The next time I open my eyes the room is partially dark, the sun much lower in the sky. I groan a little as my bladder makes its presence known and turn my head to look at Chandler. He's still quite passed out, his breathing deep and even. I press a kiss to his knuckles anyway as I slide out of bed and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs, reveling in walking around unabashedly naked.
I spend some time relieving myself and cleaning myself up, unable to help but be impressed by the, for lack of a better expression, well-and-thoroughly-fucked look on my face. It seems vulgar to call what we do together "fucking," because it's always been so much more than that, but it's still the look that's on my face. I'm definitely a satisfied customer.
I peek out into the bedroom, smiling at my husband. He's sprawled himself across the bed, his arm draped across my pillow. I tread quietly across the floor, but it doesn't matter—a bomb could drop next to his head right now and he'd never know it.
I grab one of the light blankets from the bottom of the bed and wrap it around my body, the thought of putting on clothes exhausting. I shuffle over to our mini fridge and grab a beer before heading back out to the balcony. I gather up the clothes we left outside and toss them into the room before settling into the chair we abandoned earlier. I twist open the bottle and take a few long pulls before putting it on porch next to me. I stretch my body out, enjoying how wonderfully sore my muscles are, and I don't fight the grin that spreads over my face.
Every once in a while it all hits me—this is my life. That man in there is my husband and I get to spend forever with him. Not "have to," but definitely "get to." I get to curl up next to him at night, and I get to make love to him whenever the opportunity arises. I get to hold him when he's down, and he does the same for me. He's the guy I get to raise my kids with, the guy who's turning out to be the greatest dad a group of kids could ever get. The guy I love more than I ever thought possible, and the guy that I love more every day. It's not always a walk in the park—sometimes it's a lot of work—but at the end of the day, it's worth it.
The kids are worth it.
My husband is definitely worth it.
I sigh and lean my head back against the chair, a mild case of euphoria washing over me. My life is so awesome I can't even stand it.
I close my eyes and listen to the waves crashing on the shore, the seagulls fighting not too far off in the distance; I tighten the blanket around my shoulders as a chilly ocean breeze washes over me and feel a smile pull at my lips.
I hear a noise behind me and open my eyes, surprised to see that sun is almost completely gone from the horizon. I must have fallen asleep again. I turn my head and snicker at my husband in the doorway, his hair standing in every direction, his underwear clutched in front of his privates like a shield. "What're you doing?" he asks blearily, rubbing his face like one of the kids.
"Nothing. Just thinking. "
"Good stuff?"
"Definitely." I scoot forward in the chair a little, making room for him as I try to adjust the blanket. "Want to join me?"
He grins and yawns, nodding his head. "Need anything?"
"Just you. Only you. And maybe a couple of beers."
He disappears back into the room where I hear him rummaging around, humming tunelessly to himself. A moment later he tosses another blanket at me before he appears once again, grocery bag full of beer and probably a few other snack items, underwear gone. My eyes widen in shock even as I grin broadly. Post-coital Chandler is usually pretty shameless in his nudity, but I've never seen him quite so publicly naked. It only lasts for a few moments before he squeezes into the chair behind me. We take a few moments to rearrange the blankets so that we're skin to skin beneath them, cocooned against the night air together, and his arms wrap around me. Silently, we pass a beer back and forth, the night creeping in around the edges gradually until all is dark, soft light glowing through the stained glass of a neighboring room.
He kisses my shoulder and I tilt my head back to him, our lips meeting slowly, casually, kissing for the sake of kissing. He presses his forehead to mine and we sit that way for a long time, basking in the glow of each other.
*A/N…people were starting to mention the need for smut, and when I sat down and thought about it, I realized that the last time I wrote the smut was probably back in January, when I was knee deep in "You." I was a little shocked that I'd gone that long, too. Remember how I said that someone had told me that my writing was repetitive? Well, it was my smut (erotica, whatever) to which they were referring. So, it kind of shook my confidence in my ability for a while, especially because (as some of you might remember), I was so timid about writing it in the first place all those months ago. I certainly didn't want to write the same crap over and over again. But I thought I owed it to Mondler (who in turn owe it to sex, as we all know) to give it another shot, and know what I realized? It's a hell of a lot of fun to write. So, while I hate Taylor Swift, I have to quote her here—"haters gonna hate hate hate hate." If it's repetitive, don't read it, or at least offer feedback that will help me make it interesting.
Also, this chapter almost reads like the end of this story. It's not (at least I don't intend for it to be), but new chapters may continue to come out slowly as I struggle to find stuff for this little family that's interesting for me to write about. That part can definitely be a struggle—finding things that I want to write about and delve into, even if it's only a moment. I'm not giving up, though. I still owe you guys a "butt munch."
Some of the language is a little stronger than my norm, but I want to make this story as honest as possible. Plus, I swear all the time, so why not Mondler?
If you catch the Harry Potter reference in this chapter, you get a cookie.
Also, I'm still proofreading and catching grammatical errors, so be on the lookout for updates to this chapter (and other, honestly).