Different in London

Chandler tried to suppress his excitement by staring out the window of the cab. He hoped that by watching the darkened, foreign streets of London blur into each other as they passed by would somehow distract him from saying, or doing, something really stupid that could ruin the mood. But it didn't work, and he became restless as the view failed to keep his interest. He turned his attention back towards the inside of the car. His eyes darted around the backseat until they landed on Monica. He stared at her for a moment as she impatiently drummed her fingers on her thigh. She was lurching forward, almost as if she thought she could influence the speed of the cab through sheer force of will and physical inertia. Leaning over like a runner trying to gain some type of aerodynamic advantage to shave precious seconds off their time.

He could tell by the glint in her eyes that Monica was brimming with anxious, anticipatory energy. Her eager, impatient expression made her almost look like she was doing an impression of him. Comporting herself in the same way he would whenever he got to the precipice of a moment like this. There was a kind of electricity emanating from her body, creating a static connection between them that traveled across the backseat bench and through his veins. He was certain, if he reached towards her, he would recoil at the shock. And yet, a part of him wanted to take the chance at getting burned. He wanted to pull her into him, wrap his arms around her slender frame and kiss her with an intensity that told her everything she needed to know about how much he wanted her in this moment.

It was almost impossible for Chandler to wrap his mind around the idea that Monica wanted to have sex with him. None of this made sense. Not last night when she came to his room. Not today during the ceremony when they agreed to do it again. And not back at the Waltham's home during the reception where he and Monica came up with the loophole that gave them permission to do what they were probably going to do anyway.

It was all still so unfathomable, even though he now possessed intimate knowledge over every inch of this woman's body. The way her eyes looked when she was aroused. How her naked breasts felt under his deft touch. How her skin tasted on his tongue. How her primal scent filled his nostrils. The sounds he heard her make when she was riding an intense orgasm. How she let loose with a quivering giggle anytime he did something to her that she found pleasantly surprising. The earnest way she went about her task to ensure they both climaxed together. It was all now forever branded onto his brain, never to be removed.

Every experience they had last night was now a part of him that described who he was to the world. He had brown hair. He had blue eyes. He was six feet tall. He was quick witted. He was good with numbers. And he had amazing sex with Monica.

And yet, even with all of that, he still could not believe that it was going to happen all over again tonight.

Oddly enough, his disbelief was not rooted in a lack of confidence, which is what would normally trip him up in situations like this. Where he would hesitate and miss his opportunity to sleep with a woman due to his own insecurities. If anything, what he was experiencing was the complete opposite. He knew that this gorgeous, sexy, and nearly perfect woman (by any measure when it came to physical beauty), was on fire for him.

Sex was never something that had ever been guaranteed to Chandler. He could not get comfortable enough about how things were going with a woman to accept its inevitability. But it was different this time. He had more clarity on that than on anything else he had ever felt certain of in his entire life.

But still, there was some trepidation, and no matter how self-assured he was about tonight, one thought could not allow him to feel completely comfortable.

She was Monica and he was Chandler. Things like this, between people like them, were not supposed to work out.

Just thinking about all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening had him feeling like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone. But instead of some cruel twist of fate denying the protagonist that one thing which they most desired, the universe was rolling out a red carpet. One that led him right into Monica's hotel room, onto her bed, and between her thighs.

And while he still had some reservations before they came up with the London rule, that overwhelming, nagging sense of dread about how a night like this would usually end for him had disappeared into the ether. He didn't even panic when they were still at the Waltham home and Ross discovered that Emily jumped out the bathroom window. If anything would have derailed their plans, it should have been the bride running away from the wedding reception. Any other time in his life that would be a vicious backhanded slap from the cruel hand of fate messing with his sex life again. But surprisingly, Chandler never wavered. Despite everything that was happening, he knew that they would eventually leave together and make their own escape from this ill-starred wedding. They'd be back at the hotel. And they would be ripping each other's clothes off. And they would forget about everything else going on in the world. It was inexorable.

And that assurance was why he never lost his resolve, despite the wild yelp from Ross, the nervous looks from Rachel, and the pleading eyes from Joey that seemed to be begging Chandler and Monica to step in and do something. He knew all of this was just a momentary bump in the road. A slight delay in the inevitable. A small test of their determination to sleep with each other again.

Even when he started to walk towards his friends, he was confident that his time with them would be brief. And while he did not know what he was going to say, he assumed it would be enough to placate them and allow him to slip away with Monica. But before he could take a step, Monica grabbed his arm with strength that belied her size and pulled him back to her. As if she were rescuing him from walking on thin ice that threatened to crack open and swallow him whole. She gave him a determined look and held up a finger, wordlessly urging him to stand by and wait for her to take care of everything. She then stepped away from him, and with the grace and measured discipline of a dancer, she hit every corner of the room.

First, she spoke to Ross, Rachel, and Joey. That conversation did not seem to take long as Monica gestured and directed them like a military commander. Moments later the four of them parted ways. Rachel disappeared out into the foyer. Joey filtered into the crowd of guests, and Ross linked up with Emily's father, perhaps for some sort of guidance on where to find his runaway bride, even though Mr. Waltham was probably too drunk to help. Then she spoke to her parents, pushing them out of the door to the main room and sending them away. All the time she would look back at Chandler, as if to reassure him that this was still happening. They were going to have sex, even if she had to beat back all the barbarians at the gate to make it a reality.

Then, as quickly as she left his side, she was back, pulling him through the crowded foyer and towards the front door. She leaned in, and whispered to him, breathing on his neck as she spoke, which left him enthralled.

"We need to grab one of these taxis that are waiting to take everyone back to the hotel now before they are all gone."

He knew she was right. And they pushed past the other guests trying to leave the uncomfortable mayhem. But it wasn't hard to follow her lead. She was always right. And she got them back on the right track by hastily plastering over the events of the wedding and running out the front door.

Next thing he knew, she was shoving him into the back seat of the cab, and they were on their way to the hotel. And while all he wanted to do, was reach over and start kissing her right there and then, he knew it would be better to wait. Wait until they got to the hotel. Wait until they got to her room. Wait until she bolted the door shut and kept the real world on one side and this strange new world of theirs on the other.

And while the anticipation was killing him, he made sure he didn't get too anxious and blow it like he always did. Because he did not have to worry. This was going to happen. He and Monica were going to have sex again. A lot of sex. And although he couldn't quite put his finger on why he was so certain about it, he knew it didn't really matter.

It was such a strange feeling for him. This unquestionable faith. But it was true. And he had never felt more confident about anything else in his entire life.

Perhaps Joey was right.

He was different in London.

Monica had a habit of putting everyone else's needs before her own. Throughout most of her adult life she was always looking out for her friends or her family. She was reliable in that way. Dependable. Nurturing. And, she could begrudgingly admit to herself, a little controlling. But it all came from a place of love. Letting Rachel move in. Feeding Joey. Nursing her brother's wounded pride. Enabling Phoebe's eccentricities. It didn't matter. She would see someone she cared about in need and she would step in. Even when doing so stood in the way of having something for herself.

But something changed. It felt different this time. And when she saw the commotion happening during the reception at the Waltham's house, and overheard Emily's Step Mother tell someone that she had run off, she didn't feel that rush that she normally would when there was a crisis that required her particular set of skills. Instead, she was annoyed. Because she knew that she would be called upon once again to put her own plans on hold so that she could solve everyone else's problems. Spend her evening putting out fires. But it was all so different this time, because she did not want to do that.

She was tired of being the group's den mother. She was tired of feeling like the responsible one. She wanted to be selfish and reckless. She wanted to be like Rachel, or Ross, for a change. The two of them doing whatever they wanted, like forces of nature, unconcerned with who or what got caught up in their wake. Why did they get to live like that? Why did Monica have to be the responsible one? Why couldn't she make a rash decision about something that she really wanted without having to think about everyone else? Why couldn't someone make her potatoes the way she liked them for once?

This time, there was definitely something she wanted. She wanted it more than she wanted to fix everything. More than she wanted to clean the mess. More than she wanted to tell people what to do. And it was reckless, and ill-thought out, but she did not care. She wanted it. She craved it. She couldn't remember the last time she had such clarity about something like this. And as the chaos began to develop all around them, she almost wanted to shout, "I can't help any of you! I am going to have sex with Chandler!" and then run out of the building with him in tow. But obviously, she knew she couldn't do that.

However, she did think, that perhaps, the two of them could slip away under the cover of the bedlam that was going on. Everyone distracted by the drama would be unaware that she and Chandler discretely disappeared out the front door with each other. And she was almost going to grab him to do just that, until she saw Chandler and realized he was about to walk into the fray like some self-destructive lemming. She almost lost her mind. Now he decided to be mature about something? Now he wanted to be responsible? Didn't he realize that he was about to dive into quicksand? And didn't he understand how badly she wanted to have sex with him? Or how she refused to be derailed from their agreed upon course of action?

He forced her hand, and she held him back, preventing him from obliterating any chance they had at one last night of sex. She then quickly went around the room and tried to say something, anything, that would get the wheels in motion and give her permission to leave.

"Rachel, maybe you want to give him some space."

"Joey, that bridesmaid might know where Emily was going."

"Ross, you should talk to Emily's dad."

She had no idea what she was saying. All she cared about was doing just enough to give her and Chandler some space so they could leave this place, find somewhere private, away from prying eyes, and devour each other without anyone suspecting a thing.

When they got in the cab, it took all her willpower not to jump on top of him in the backseat and crash her lips against his. But she resisted her primal urges and thought it better to wait until they were alone. And it wasn't because she was embarrassed to be seen with Chandler. Sure, he was "Chandler", which would result in some eye rolling from the people they knew, but he was also a very handsome man. In the right light, and when he allowed himself to grow still and earnest, he was downright sexy. So this was not some act of pity on her part that she wanted to hide from the world. Her hesitation to bring this into the light was because of this odd feeling inside her telling her that there was something almost magical about what was going on between the two of them. Something she feared could unravel the moment anyone found out. So much so, that she even worried about this nameless, faceless taxi driver observing them locked in passion. That even this one stranger knowing could ruin everything for them and make what they had done with each other no longer be some secret thing. It would cease to be a fantasy. It would be real. Perhaps too real. So she wanted to make sure they were not caught.

But it was hard to maintain her composure. And that was evident in how she could barely keep still as she waited for the cab to finally reach their destination. She probably looked a little crazy, all amped up on adrenaline. She even wondered if she looked like Chandler when he gesticulates wildly and stammers because his nerves got the better of him.

She was twitching and fidgeting in the back of the car like an addict about to get a fix. And in a way, she was already addicted to what he had given her last night. And she needed more.

And while Chandler was attractive, it still made no sense to her that she was acting this way. He was the most unlikely person to drive her crazy with desire. That could get her so obsessed that she was compelled to leave Ross to deal with his disastrous wedding all on his own. That had her pretend not to hear her mother asking her where she was going. That made her ignore the confused look on Rachel's face. All of this behavior was because of him. Chandler. The improbable salve who made it that nothing else mattered right now. She didn't care about anymore.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Of course, she cared. She just did not care enough to bury her own desires underneath everyone else's needs. Not like she had done so many times before.

She looked over at Chandler and could tell he felt the same way she did. They were already in sync. And as she thought about that, she realized that they had always kind of been in sync for years. And maybe that was why the sex was so good. Why the idea of doing it all over again was so enticing. They had this weird private synergy between them that they did not share with anyone else in the group. They could react almost perfectly to each other without using too many words. Share entire conversations with just a lifted eyebrow. Perhaps that was why she was afraid to do anything in front of other people. She didn't want this private little world get intruded upon. Colonized by other people who could never understand the kind of connection they had with each other.

So she held off of acting on her impulses. And she waited.

Monica didn't like to wait. Not for gifts, or food, or tv, or news. But for this, she was willing to wait until they were alone. This was worth it. And maybe she was being silly and selfish and careless, but for once, she wanted to be different. And ever since last night, she felt different.

Maybe it really was London's fault.

Because she was different in London.