Chapter 2: He's Coming Over Tonight
Chandler stared at the door to Monica's hotel room. He glanced up and down the deserted, sleeping corridor before turning back to the edifice. He remained frozen.
It wasn't that he was pumping himself up to go in. On the contrary, all the courage he needed was already fueling his blood. He would have long ago broken the door down, if discretion didn't demand that he refrain. At present, what was leaving him trapped on the opposite side of this door was the question:
How he was going to get in?
Admittedly, he and Monica should have thought this through better, despite their quiet agreement that they must replicate the magic that had visited them last night.
I'm coming over tonight, though, right?...
…. Oh, yeah, definitely.
Of course, that was before Rachel had shown up at the very last second, in a panic and intent on stopping a wedding that Ross had managed to bungle just fine on his own. Now, Rachel was here in a foreign country, unannounced, and Monica had booked a double room, leaving her no choice but to put up her best friend for the night.
After the flubbing of the vows and Rachel's arrival, Monica couldn't very well have slipped Chandler an extra key card, much less her own: it would have looked too suspicious. Even if it hadn't, it would have been unlike Monica, unbelievable even, for her to misplace a hotel keycard. Not with her attention-to-detail ways.
Which is what left a horny Chandler on the other side of the door where his dearest fantasies come to life awaited him within. Without a means for him to gain entrance, and with an unwelcome third party inside.
Honestly, by all rights, he should be satisfied, considering he and Monica had managed to sneak away from the reception and back to his room for a second round of passionate lovemaking. To try and break into his…. his lover's hotel room, all while risking waking up a forlorn and love-bereft Rachel seemed insane, and not worth the risk.
Yet Chandler found himself invigorated by the realization that he just didn't care. Screw Rachel! She shouldn't have even come here in the first place! What, had she just left a pregnant Phoebe alone and in the lurch? Some babysitter she was! He resented how he and Monica, after spending more than an hour making love in his hotel room for a slow and sensuous Round 2 (really, Round 8, but those first seven rounds from last night all sort of ran together), had needed to go check on their heartsick friend and more or less babysit her. They had had to listen to Rachel yammer on and on as she attempted to read some deeper feelings into Ross saying her name, and not Emily's, at the altar.
Chandler wanted to tell Rachel to get over herself, and tell her to hop on the first flight back to New York, for good measure. All he cared about – all he could think about – was how to taste heaven again. Two hits weren't enough, not nearly enough. Would never be enough. He was already addicted. He had to have his fix of Monica, and he had to have it now. Who cares if it was the middle of the night? Because, honestly, who knew if he would have another chance like this, once they were back across the pond and home? He and Monica had agreed: what happened in London had to stay in London. And they were going home tomorrow.
Chandler knelt on the carpet and fished around under the doormat, just on the off chance that Monica would have…. nope. Nothing. Fuck. He rose back up out of his crouch and pondered the door again.
Trying the window wouldn't work. He didn't want to brave the street just outside the hotel at night, and even if he did, how was he supposed to pinpoint Monica's hotel window? Even if he did that, how was he going to scale the wall to gain access, without waking Rachel or killing himself? No, that was way too risky.
…. He couldn't just knock. What if Rachel answered the door? Then he'd have to come up with some bullshit excuse for why she was there.
Chandler racked his brain. Then he started.
His grandmother had had a saying: the good Lord helps those who help themselves. Digging into the pockets of his pajamas, Chandler fished out his wallet, and pulled out his credit card.
The saying he may have gotten from his grandmother, but the trick he now employed he had learned from Phoebe. The credit card couldn't trick the key slot into thinking it was a key card, but the credit card could still slide along the door's groove and disengage the lock. Phoebe had called it 'slicing.' Bracing his shoulder into the door, Chandler heaved and held in a cheer as it gave.
He refrained from doing his happy dance in favor of stealing into the hotel room quickly and closing the door behind him, lest the light spilling in momentarily from outside woke the girls up. Tiptoeing around the corner and into the main room, Chandler let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Even then, he couldn't make out from the lumps in the bed which one was which.
Chandler held his breath. He had to get this right. If he shook one of them awake and guessed wrong, this whole…. affair could come tumbling out and Monica would never deign to sleep with him again, here or back home.
As if answering some silent prayer, a sleepy mumble emanated from the bed to Chandler's right.
"Ross….?" Chandler froze, cringing, but then there was a rustling of the sheets as Rachel rolled over and fell back.
Chandler silently thanked her for her pining dream that was making the poor, heartbroken girl mumble in her sleep. He tiptoed over to the left bed. A sliver of moonlight poked through the drawn curtains at his back, revealing Monica's face in lovely repose.
Kneeling beside her bed, Chandler took a moment to rake in her beauty. She was so lovely. How had he ever gone through life without sleeping beside her? Sleeping with her….?
Carefully, trembling with excitement, Chandler reached out a hand…. and clapped it over his lover's mouth.
Monica jerked awake instantly, her scream muffled by his palm.
"Mon, Mon, Mon, Mon! It's me, it's me, it's me, it's me….!" Chandler hissed desperately. Once she stopped thrashing, he lowered his hand, giving her his most winning grin.
"Chandler!" Monica breathed. "My God! What are you doing?!"
"I said I was coming over tonight, didn't I?"
She gaped at him, before glancing back once over her shoulder to Rachel, sleeping in the other bed. "Not now!" There was a mix of chastisement and regret in her tone, scolding him. Though her shining sapphire eyes betrayed how she was ever so glad to see him. "How did you even get in here?"
"Determination and a parlor trick from Phoebe." At her blinking, bemused frown, he waved her concern away. "I'll explain later…." Beaming, he dove in for a kiss, capturing her lips with his.
"Mmmm…." Monica moaned prettily, sinking into the kiss for a moment before twisting away, her eyes darting furtively about. "No! Chandler…" Her voice was already weak in its admonishment of him. "It's dangerous! Rachel…."
"…. shouldn't even be here in the first place…." Chandler growled with lust. He started to climb on top of her. Monica pressed a hand into his chest to halt him, though tellingly, she didn't push him away.
"Chandler, are you crazy?!... You really want to…." she blushed in the moonlight. "…. with our friend feet away?"
"Then we'll just have to be quiet, won't we?..." Chandler rumbled amorously. He kissed her again, and from how she kissed him back, it must have caused her head to spin. Limbs wounding about each other, Monica spread her legs for him, allowing Chandler to nestle in between her thighs and she cradled him, where they were both starting to realize he belonged.
"Hmm….. Mmmm…. Wait…." Monica rasped. "Joey…. what about Joey…? You snuck out….?"
"…. after giving him enough NyQuil to euthanize a bear," Chandler hissed into her very willing mouth.
Studying his face for a moment, Monica finally gave an exhilarated nod. "Quickly. Quietly. And you have to leave straight after. If we fall asleep, we'll get caught!"
Chandler smirked and waggled his eyebrow. "So let's not get caught." With that, he ravished her mouth with his.
There was no time for the couple to completely undress each other this time, and it wouldn't have been wise anyway – what if they stripped and left something incriminating behind? Monica threw Chandler's cowboy pajama bottoms down to his ankles; Chandler bunched the hem of her nightdress up over her hips.
His cock sprung free into the cool, springtime air. Holding each other's gaze, Monica smirked wickedly, unable to reconcile with herself how…. reckless she was being. How it thrilled her.
Chandler lined up their entrances. Dipping his head, he pecked Monica on the lips once, softly. "Try not to make too much noise," he whispered.
He mounted her and mated with her.
The instant he slid into her warm and wet heat, he knew that every risk to get here – breaking and entering in the middle of the night, Rachel sleeping feet away – was worth it. Monica lolled her head back into the pillow; her eyes fluttering shut, she started to let a moan of pleasure and relief bubble up inside her. Chandler clapped his palm over her mouth again before said moan could escape.
Softly, as tenderly as he dared, he began to thrust. Wrapping her thighs around him, Monica clamped Chandler's middle and frantically thrust her hips back, grinding against where his cock now filled her.
The bedsprings beneath them creaked, but not terribly, as the newly intimate lovers had sex. Wrenching the bodice of her nightdress down, Chandler bit down on his lip to hold back a groan as the perfect apples that were Monica's breasts now caught the moonlight. The swell of them…. He buried his face into the valley of her boobs and licked his way to one nipple, sealing his lips over the purple areola.
"Chan….. Chan-Mmmmmm….. Chandler…." Monica whispered his name around his palm, her tone reverent, like a prayer. "Chandler…."
Chandler feasted on Monica's nipples, kissing along her skin as he bore down, pumping into her harder.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh…" Monica managed to low around his splayed fingers, and she canted, keened into his pelvis ardently. Chandler clapped his palm down over her mouth harder. He didn't trust her not to do something like scream with delight as he fucked her while her best friend slept only feet away, blissfully unawares.
Curling his free hand along the small of her back, Chandler lifted Monica up from the bed so that he could get a better angle into the space between her legs. He detected from the mewl she now sent into his digits that he had hit her G-spot, and he began to pound into her with frenetic, if silent exertion. With every upstroke, Monica started to squirm in his gasp, thrash. Chandler now moved on from where he had practically been nursing at her tits to bury his face into the soft and creamy curve of Monica's neck.
He didn't whisper sweet nothings to her, and neither did she to him. Perhaps that was for the best. Yet as he felt Monica clamp her thighs around his middle and arch her back up into him, Chandler couldn't help but groan out her name into her sweat-slicked skin:
"Monica…."
He felt Monica sigh, a kind of weeping sob in her voice. "Chandler…"
With a shudder from him and a whimpering, muffled cry from her, they both came together, almost simultaneously. Satiated and utterly spent, Chandler halted the jerk of his hips, though he remained inside her, dipping his head into the valley of her breasts as he lay still.
Holding each other in post-coital bliss, Chandler and Monica turned their heads as one to look: Rachel hadn't moved. Cocking their eyes, they both listened carefully, and only upon hearing the easy rise and fall of their blonde friend's breathing could they finally confirm that she remained asleep. Turning back, the couple shared goofy, silly grins with each other. They touched lips lightly, kissing chastely.
Lovingly, Monica caressed his face. "I wish you could fall asleep with me…" she whispered. Enveloped in her warmth, Chandler wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and just nod off…. but they both knew he couldn't.
Pulling out reluctantly, he cleansed himself as best he could and pulled up his pajamas bottoms. Smoothing down her nightdress, Monica walked Chandler to the door. Taking him in her arms, she kissed him goodnight deeply, and when she drew back, there were tears of happiness in her eyes.
"Thank you…" she whispered, her voice hoarse. She wasn't sure if he registered her gratitude, much less heard it, though he did dive in to indulge in one last kiss. Then another. And another after that.
Only then did Monica open the door and show him out, as much as she didn't want to. They both knew Chandler couldn't linger, not even for one last make-out session, lest the light spilling in from out in the hall awaken Rachel and expose them.
Closing the door softly behind her, Monica padded back to her bed. Curling into the fetal position, a smile of bliss was plastered on her face.
Yet tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried herself to sleep. For Monica knew that she had tasted happiness for the last time. It had to be the last time.
… Hadn't it?...
