A/N Well, I had definitely not anticipated starting another story so soon, but I found myself with time on my hands when I got stuck on a train this week, so here I go again!

I'm well aware that there is no shortage of post-London fics on here and I am sure that this will have been done multiple times, in many different ways by much better writers than me. I just fancied writing something a little less traumatic than my last one, and this is my absolute favorite time period of Friends, so I'm just going to go for it.

I had a brief sift through the archives to check if a single one of my ideas for this was original, but there a about 8 billion post-London stories out there, so I can only apologize if this turns out to be a carbon copy of somebody else's fic, and also if it just turns out to be a complete snoozefest!

(Disclaimer: I own nothing and I am writing for practice and fun.)

It was the high five.

That was what had ultimately convinced her to turn her back on him and retreat, alone, into the desolate silence of her apartment.

When he had glanced back from the doorway, and shot her that adorably boyish grin it had briefly made her hope and wonder if perhaps he was ruing the "Not in New York" rule as much as she was. Connecting with those smouldering ocean eyes instantly triggered an almost overwhelming surge of residual London passion that Monica had so far been hopelessly unable to unshackle herself from, and she had so very nearly been compelled to chase after him and wantonly urge him to reconsider their self-imposed restrictions.

But no.

The intention behind that high five could not have been clearer: That was Chandler's way of saying "We're home; we're back to normal; we're friends and nothing more."

So she stopped.

Before he had left, she had thanked him: Thanked him for giving her a much needed boost when that catastrophically depressing wedding rehearsal dinner had left her feeling so incredibly worthless. For making her feel beautiful, desired and wanted, even if only for one night. Not in so many words, of course. She had told him, a little shyly, that their night together had been special to her, but if she was being honest, that was the understatement of the century. They may have mutually agreed to box that night away and move on from it, but there was no way it would ever be forgotten. Certainly not by her.

Stumbling, dejected and a little drunk, into bed with an old friend like that, should in theory, have been a recipe for an awkward night of fumbling and swiftly regrettable sex, but her encounter with Chandler had been a revelation. The chemistry between them had been as intense as it was unexpected; so exhilarating in fact, it had thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. Because how on earth was she supposed to simply move on from something that had left her so weak at the knees? How was she ever going to look at him again without those deliciously scandalous scenes replaying somewhere in the recesses of her mind? And most importantly, how was she supposed to prevent herself from craving more?

With the benefit of hindsight she should never have agreed to impose such a limited time frame upon their affair. When they had foolishly agreed that this should be a London only event, they could not possibly have foreseen that circumstance would keep them apart for the entire remainder of their stay. Had she known that their friends would manage to inadvertently thwart every single attempt they made to revisit the ecstasy of the previous night, there was not a snowball's chance in hell she would have approved "Not in New York". Because now she was back in New York, and her desperate desire for him was still just as dizzying as it had been when they were on the other side of the Atlantic.

She was finding it impossible to believe that Chandler had not felt the same way she had. Monica had contrived an enthusiastic response in order to spare the feelings of an inadequate sexual partner enough times herself over the years to be able to recognize what that looked like. Nothing could convince her that there had been anything manufactured or artificial about what the two of them had experienced that night. Recalling the rampant desire that had darkened his dilated pupils, caused her to swoon even now, and she was absolutely sure that there was no way she had overestimated the extent of his ardor.

But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had only imagined that her passionate response to him had been wholly reciprocated.

Because now, Chandler appeared to be perfectly willing and able to accept that being back on home turf spelled the end.

"That night meant a lot to me too... And it wasn't because I was in a bad place or anything, it meant a lot to me.. 'cause.. you're really hot."

The two of them had been close friends for so long now, she could usually read him like a book, so it panicked her a little that she was struggling to interpret what could only be described as mixed messages. And she knew that she was sending contradictory signals back to him too. It seemed absurd that they could not find it in themselves to be sincere and candid with each other, considering both the longevity of their friendship and the uninhibited sexual connection they had established barely 48 hours ago. It was hard to fathom how any secrets could possibly exist between the two of them now.

Monica wondered that her inability to take the bull by the horns and be entirely honest with Chandler about her abiding want for him, stemmed from her own confusion about the situation. She was afraid to admit it to herself, but something she could not quite define had changed deep within her that night and she was beginning to doubt that any attempt to put whatever this was behind them, would prove futile. She was not even sure she wanted to put it behind her.

But maybe that was what Chandler wanted.

Perhaps, as his words had suggested, he really had viewed that night as nothing more than a satisfying one-time hook-up with an attractive friend.

As she had traveled home from the airport, sandwiched tightly between him and Joey in the backseat of a cab, perhaps he had not even noticed how she had angled her body in such a way that it favored his, the warm solidity of his form crushed against her own rendering her insides as liquid and burning as molten lava.

Maybe he had not experienced that crucifying ache of desire that had left the bottom of her lungs completely bereft of air ever since she had peeled herself from his hotel bed, for what had sadly turned out to be the final time.

Maybe she had even imagined the barely-concealed hunger in his eyes as had turned towards her when Joey and Phoebe had left them alone just now.

It was a good thing really, she told herself firmly, that he was ready to consign this to the past.

Brazenly throwing herself at one of her closest friends had been an unequivocally reckless decision, and the repercussions could have easily been devastating. Overstepping that unspoken boundary could have caused irreparable damage to one of her most treasured platonic relationships; all manner of deeply concealed feelings might have surfaced and changed the course of their relationship forever; The consequent awkwardness might have caused her to lose him from her life completely.

She ought to feel fortunate that he seemed happy to move beyond that feverish night of passion so readily, because it would allow her to follow suite. It would. Eventually.

She clenched her jaw tightly as she decided that the sting of tears behind her eyes, the wobble of her chin, and the painful lump in her throat were merely symptoms of a long and grueling journey, and a severe lack of sleep.

This was for the best.

Chandler ran a pensive hand through his hair as he leaned back against the kitchen counter.

He should just go back over there.

That is what he wanted to do. And maybe she wanted that too? Perhaps she was standing over there, right now, willing him to return?

After all, the fact that Monica had been the one to insist that they extend their passion beyond that one phenomenal night, indicated that she had enjoyed it as much as he had.

It could so easily have all been over and done with, when he had apprehensively approached her at the post-wedding buffet, raising tentative concern that any further sexual interaction between the two of them might impact negatively upon their cherished friendship. If it had not been for Monica's reasoning that their lust was in some way associated to their distance from home, his voicing of those reservations could have spelled a definitive end, there and then.

In all honesty though, any hesitation he had talked himself into as he endured Ross's disastrous wedding ceremony, had dissipated pretty much instantaneously when he had finally got close enough to her to instigate that hushed conversation.

"So while we're still in London, we can keep doing it, right?"

The thrill of relief he had felt when she had looked up at him with earnest sapphire eyes, as she cautiously proposed this solution, should not have taken Chandler by surprise.

He had enough self-awareness to know that his motivation for expressing doubts to Monica as to the prudence of indulging in any further fornication, had been primarily to confirm that she was as committed to another tryst as he was, rather than stemming from any genuine desire to prevent the occurrence of any more mind-blowing sex. The fact that he had spent most of that day scoping out secluded spots around the wedding reception venue where he might feasibly be able to get his hands on her once more, proved fairly conclusively that he was keen for a repeat performance.

It had quickly become apparent that Monica was just as dedicated as he was to securing some privacy for the two of them, agreeing to, and even suggesting, ever more risky potential scenarios as their time away from home began to evaporate worryingly quickly before their eyes: A wine-cellar; The honeymoon suite, just a few short meters away from her sleeping brother, screened only by a perilously thin wooden door; The airplane bathroom; No venue was off-limits as New York loomed ever nearer and their desperation for each other grew.

So why not here and now? If she had been receptive to a cramped inflight rendezvous against a well-used toilet, there was every reason to believe she might be somewhat malleable when it came to the "Not in New York" rule.

But that "thank you" speech she had delivered had felt like a goodbye.

That farewell hug had seemed completely chaste.

If he dashed back over there, attempted to rekindle the events of London, and she were to reject him, the ensuing awkwardness would almost certainly damage the recovery of their already unsettled friendship.

He exhaled decisively. What they needed was time. It was not like either of them were going anywhere, there was no need to act rashly. If the dust was allowed to settle, he would most likely be able to interpret her behavior towards him with renewed lucidity.

Patience is a virtue, after all.

It's not as though he'd never fantasized about her before.

He had fantasized about all of his best girl friends, in fact. Sometimes even simultaneously. You don't spend as much time as Chandler did with women as undeniably beautiful as Monica, Phoebe and Rachel and not allow yourself the occasional lingering glance, or a mildly debauched daydream here or there.

In the case of Monica, this had, at times, bled into the odd low-level crush. All three of the girls were irrefutably gorgeous, but in Chandler's opinion, Monica was simply on another level. She was precisely his type: Clever and dry-humored, slender of frame, with silky raven hair and elegantly sculpted features; and sometimes he felt that he could just drown in those huge blue eyes of hers.

She was physically spectacular, so of course he had imagined what it might be like to land a kiss on those rosebud lips, and considered how that lithe body might feel pressed against his own. But throughout their decade long friendship, any desirous musings had been as infrequent as they were harmless.

First and foremost, Monica was his best friend, and her physical perfection had absolutely no bearing on his desire to spend time with her. He honestly adored the woman: For her wit, her generosity, her occasional fiery outbursts, her non-judgemental and sage advice. She kept him engaged, entertained and grounded, and was, without a doubt, one of his very favorite people in the entire world.

Despite being able to appreciate how attractive she was, it was not as though he had spent the entirety of their friendship constantly lusting after her. Their relationship was eternally respectful and genuine, and Chandler was not some kind of lecherous pervert.

Except since returning from London, he was beginning to feel like that was exactly what he was turning into.

This had gone way beyond intermittent admiring glances or furtive looks, she was constantly on his mind, and he was genuinely concerned that this was beginning to border on obsession.

He doubted that even Joey, who was generally pretty frank in his appreciation of the three girls, had thoughts as salacious as the ones that currently crept into Chandler's mind whenever she was near.

Because the problem was, he no longer needed to imagine the feel of her velvet skin against his, or the sound of his name falling huskily from her soft lips as they grazed his neck: He knew precisely what he was missing, and he was missing it badly.

Yesterday, when Phoebe had offered Monica a benign compliment on the necklace she was wearing, Chandler had been rendered almost slack-jawed as his eyes had roamed beyond the pendant, his mind eagerly recalled trailing hot, sensuous kisses along that collarbone, her moans of satisfaction ringing in his ears.

This morning at breakfast, when he had attempted to navigate his way around her to retrieve a carton of orange juice, his bare arm had brushed against hers, and the thrill that had electrified his skin had caused him to leap away from her in a way that was entirely conspicuous. Both she and Phoebe had turned to stare at him in alarm, at which point he had awkwardly muttered something about static and lightly berated her for giving him a shock.

Phoebe had immediately jumped to Monica's defense, blaming the spark upon Chandler's propensity toward "cheap shoes", a jibe that had caused Monica to snigger. When their eyes had locked as she shot him one of her knowing smirks, another jolt, just as intense as the first had rippled through his core.

His physical yearning for her was now so intense he was barely able to prevent himself from sweeping her up in his arms and crashing his lips into hers, and to hell with the consequences. He felt like an addict desperately seeking a hit and was now beyond convinced that the "Not in New York" rule was the worst idea he had ever come up with.

Self doubt was one of Chandler's most crippling personality traits, so he had initially attributed that charged cloud of tension that hung in the air whenever they were together to a lingering sense of awkwardness on her part. It was not, after all, beyond the realms of possibility that she regretted ever having crossed that sacred line of friendship and was struggling to put it all behind her.

However, he really did not think he was imagining that he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him more frequently too: That instant sense of headiness when their eyes met felt completely reciprocal, and he swore that he had seen something akin to desire flit over her face when she had caught his lust-filled eyes roving across her body yesterday.

Despite his intrinsic lack of confidence, Chandler felt uncharacteristically certain that their intoxicating night of passion in London had been as mind-altering for her as it had been for him. He knew her well enough to be able to spot any insincerity on her part, and there was no faking a response like that. In fact, it was probably her astonishingly visceral reaction to him that night that was making it so hard for him to move on. It had all felt so raw and uncontrived, the way they had connected had been so natural and instinctive; and so wildly unabashed; it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And he was sure, with a sense of conviction he was seldom able to muster when it came to matters of the heart, or of the bedroom, that Monica had felt it too.

Opportunities to be alone with her, and attempt to rectify his stupid decision to stand immovably by their "rule", had been frustratingly scarce since their return to New York. When he had discovered that Rachel had jetted off to Greece in place of Ross and Emily, he was initially optimistic that her roommate's absence would afford him the chance to approach Monica at his leisure and eventually encourage her to open her mind to the idea of further exploring that exhilarating new level of intimacy they had serendipitously chanced upon in London. But then Phoebe, uncomfortably pregnant and increasingly anxious about the impending arrival of her triplets, had suggested that she might like to stay with Monica in Rachel's absence, knowing that Monica's nurturing presence would provide some much needed comfort, as well as calming her anxiety that the babies might put in an early appearance. Of course, Monica had agreed, and Phoebe and her huge baby-filled belly had been a permanent fixture in Apartment 20 until Rachel's eventual return.

Chandler had felt a degree of guilt about the unjust irritation Phoebe's constant presence had caused him, but she was completely forgiven now, as she had since unwittingly provided him with the perfect plan to engineer some alone time with Monica. Better yet, alone time that could take place outside of Manhattan, offering them an immediate exemption to that ridiculous rule he had witlessly suggested.

Phoebe had barely attempted to disguise her envy and frustration at having been unable to join the rest of the gang on their exciting trip to London, and uncloaked resentment seeped from her every pore when anybody so much as mentioned it. The others, sympathetic to her plight and keen to cheer her up, had decided that it would be a good idea to arrange some kind of outing or excursion that she could be included in, initially mooting a picnic in Central Park.

However, the significant disparity between an afternoon in their local park and a trip to one of the most exciting cities in Europe was not lost on Phoebe, so that suggestion was quickly and angrily shot down in flames.

Ross had then come up with an alternative suggestion, that the whole group could spend the weekend in Atlantic City, deeming it close enough to home to allow for a comfortable journey for their heavily pregnant friend, but far enough away to feel like a real vacation. As soon as it dawned upon Chandler that Monica might also potentially consider it far enough away to entertain the idea of resuming their physical relations, he seized upon the idea with both hands.

Most of the group were feeling a little financially precarious, having only recently returned from London, and Joey had suggested that they book two triple hotel rooms in order to keep costs down. This was completely unacceptable for what Chandler was envisaging, but he had nodded his approval, whilst informing the group with some insistence, that he would take charge of securing their accommodation.

The speed with which a plan of action had evolved in his brain amazed him, but at this point he was so desperate to be back in a hotel bedroom with Monica, he could probably have cracked the enigma code should the situation have required it.

Rachel was the first to ask how arrangements were proceeding as they all sat down to breakfast.

"Chandler, you'll have to let us know how much we owe you for our rooms. Have you actually booked them now?" she queried as she spread a thin layer of butter on her toast.

"Yep. All booked." He replied casually, flashing an affectionate smile towards an excited looking Phoebe.

"You three girls owe $150 each for your triple room. Guys, I'm afraid yours is a little more - $190. They only had one triple left, so I booked you guys a twin".

"What about you?" Joey frowned.

"Oh, er, I just got a double room for myself. It's a little more expensive but I don't mind paying the extra." he told them lightly, glancing fleetingly towards Monica who appeared to be eyeing him with curiosity. As his eyes met hers, she immediately averted her gaze.

The "extra" Chandler would be paying was actually pretty considerable. He had optimistically booked himself a superior, ocean view room with a king size bed, that he had specifically requested to be a fair distance from the other two rooms. Ross's wedding had caused Chandler's own bank balance to take a fair hit, but he was adamant that under no circumstance would he be sharing a room with Joey and Ross.

"Maybe Phoebe would be more comfortable in the double?" Rachel proposed thoughtfully, "It might have a bigger bed and she could use the extra space. We could all chip in to cover the extra for her. That way, Chandler won't have to pay so much more than the rest of us. Mon and I could take the twin room and you three guys could share the triple?"

Chandler barely managed to stop himself from yelling in frustration as she cheerfully suggested what was probably his worst case scenario, but he was sure he must have looked utterly stricken. His jaw fell open dumbly as he racked his brains to come up with a reason for why this would be a terrible idea, that was not "I need a room of my own so I can hopefully have sex with Monica".

His panicked eyes shot towards Monica once more, and he was not sure if he was imagining it, but she looked a little annoyed with Rachel too.

But then Phoebe came to his rescue.

"No way!" she protested vehemently, "I'm not being left out again! And anyway I want you girls in there with me in case anything happens with the babies!"

God bless you, Phoebe Buffay.

Chandler exhaled a smile of relief and told her magnanimously, "That's fine Pheebs, whatever suits you best. I really don't mind paying the extra. In fact, it will be nice to have my own space after being stuck with Joey's snoring in London."

Ross gave a dejected roll of his eyes as he considered what the weekend had in store for him.

"Hey!" Joey objected, "I was out with my bridesmaid most of the time!"

Chandler's heart flipped a little, as his mind drifted back to being left alone in that hotel room for one perfect night with a beautiful bridesmaid of his own, and he swallowed hard as he wondered if Monica's thoughts had returned there too. She was staring resolutely down at her cereal and he watched amorously as she bit down pensively on her plump lower lip.

"OK, well thanks for booking it, Chandler. I'll write you a check for my share later." Rachel assured him.

"Me too. Atlantic City baby!" Phoebe squeaked enthusiastically.

Chandler grinned back at her with a matching surge of excitement, provoked by a very different reason.

He could hardly wait.