One-Shot: Teach Me How To Love You

"...7! 7! 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7!..."

Monica Geller was shouting the number for practically the whole apartment building to hear, her eyes heavenward and blissfully shut as she, using nothing but her voice, brought herself to orgasm.

At least, that's what Chandler believed, it appeared so real. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't entirely naive: he knew that some girls had the ability to fake an orgasm when rolling around in bed. Whether Monica had faked this one or not, and all without the use of a partner, mattered little to him.

In this moment, what mattered to Chandler was the sight of his best friend writhing and shrieking to the heights of pleasure, and he suddenly felt an irrational jealousy that any man had ever experienced the sight of this lovely woman in such a state of ecstasy.

Monica now mouthed the number 7 one final time, her fingers splaying the number, her eyes still sultrily closed. Lolling her head back upright, she opened those sapphire baby blues, blinking them coquettishly and with a self-satisfied smile.

... The smile froze and then fell in the second that her gaze met Chandler.

Her best friend was suddenly on his feet, breathing heavily and hard. His nostrils were practically flaring with all the cartoonish effort of an animated bull. His pupils were dark and dilated, and for a second Monica flashed through her mind for whatever she had done wrong in her performance. It had to have been something, for Chandler to appear so angry like that.

No. Not angry, exactly. Maybe. Perhaps. She still wasn't sure what was making Chandler so tense, if not anger, because the alternative couldn't be true. He couldn't be...

...Aroused?...

Helpless and a little wary, she glanced at Rachel next to her on the couch for an explanation, but her best girl friend just appeared deeply uncomfortable.

There was a long silence. When Chandler finally broke it, his voice had dropped several octaves, coming out in an unrecognizable bass:

"Rachel? Give us the room." The stupefying calm in his voice belied something neither of the girls could begin to pinpoint.

Rachel blinked. "Um... OK, but Chandler, sweetie, it was just a... a..."Joke wasn't exactly the right word here. Lesson? Helpful hint? She was at a loss for what to say.

"Can you give us the room, please?" Chandler's tone was tight, wound like a spring.

Rachel staggered to her feet. She looked once to Monica, who just shrugged. "Sure, honey, but..."

"Would you like a multi-language translation?!" Chandler suddenly yelped. "Go! Scram! Vamoose! Sayanora! Ta-ta! Arrivederci! Bon soir! Goodbye, take care, Buh-bye now!" He practically shooed Rachel across the floor of the apartment and to the entryway like a human broom and she the annoying dust bunny; she barely had room to get across the threshold before he was slamming the door in her face.

Then, for good measure, he was somehow possessed to lock it behind him and Monica both.

Chandler whirled around. Monica sat, poised halfway up out of the seated position on the couch. She rose slowly, by degrees, all at once trapped in a piercing stare from her best friend that she had never seen on his face before. She felt like she was being held at gunpoint, and while the way his eyes flashed unnerved her, it didn't frighten her. More than anything else, she was left caught in some halfway land between bewildered and amused, and her smile reflected this.

"Chandler, honey, what's wrong? It was just a..."

He comically wind-sprinted back across the apartment, wind-milling arms and all. Vaulting over the couch, he quite brazenly swept Monica off her feet and carried her away, back towards her bedroom.

"Chandler!" Monica shrieked, stunned and baffled. "Put me down!"

He ignored her completely, frog-marching them both into her back bedroom. Monica kicked and flailed, only half-seriously; she was beginning to believe he was playing some sort of game with her. They rough-housed like this all the time - it was no different than the tussles she would get into sometimes with Ross.

Chandler didn't stop until he had unceremoniously tossed his quarry onto her bed. Then he lunged back over to the bedroom door and slammed it shut.

This door, he locked too.

Monica sat up in bed, the smile of bemusement dancing on her lips, but this was beginning to fade. For when Chandler whirled back to her, there was still that... dark and burning stare in his eyes that was making her wonder just how much of a game this really was.

She had seen men gaze at her like that, but her brain - still fuzzy from her faked orgasm - was struggling to place a descriptor to such a tenor of stare. When the word came to her, she sucked in a breath:

Hungry.

Chandler was gazing at her with a hunger of all-consuming lust. Monica felt her pulse quicken. Wariness began to crescendo into a leery fear, which on its face, was ridiculous. Her, afraid of Chandler? Never!

Then again, he had never reacted to the porn he and Joey watched quite like this. Usually that involved impotent flapping of arms and a gnashing of gums as he was left slack-jawed in disbelief over such debauchery. The display she'd given him of the erogenous zones just now was downright tame by comparison. Didn't even rise to the level of a striptease.

"Ch-Chandler...?"

"You stay there!" And Chandler now hurled himself back up against the door. He was trembling, staring at her with such ardor that he seemed to be undressing her with his very eyes. It made Monica blush down to her chest, oddly.

"I'm sorry..." she started to say, even as she had no idea what she should be apologizing for.

"Don't!" Chandler growled. He was still burning a hole through her forehead practically, with the fire in his eyes. Though he seemed to be wrestling with himself to avert such a heated gaze. It was like he was at war with himself: not going near her, yet wanting - nay, needing- nothing more. "Don't you dare apologize."

Monica smiled, though this was weak. A teeny pinprick of warning was still tickling the back of her brain. The thought of what Chandler might do. But no! The thought was absurd, to say nothing of how it disturbed her, for how she just couldn't picture it: Chandler, rape her? Take her by force? Never! No, not her Chandler... Her Chandler was a gentleman. A prince. He would surely die before doing such a thing, to any woman but least of all to her...

She wasn't afraid of him... was she? Is that what you called this wariness when your best friend looked at you like... like that? She couldn't recall Chandler ever having looked at her before like that. Yet he was, and all because he had gotten hot and bothered over her faking an orgasm (ridiculously easy, by the way, if only guys knew just how easy - there are things a woman can do), while yelling a bunch of numbers.

For Chandler's part, he had never before felt less like a man. Not because he felt impotent in how he had clearly not pleasured Kathy in quite such a manner as Monica had just shown him, oh no. Rather, there was something animalistic purring inside of him. A roaring and wicked beast, murmuring such dirty thoughts that were imploring him, compelling him to tackle this woman before him to the bed, pin her to the mattress, rip off all her clothes and... and devour her until she could no longer walk.

But to do such a thing to Monica...

Chandler's inner torment between the hungry monster inside of him and his regular persona as a gentleman, and a rather meek one at that, was interrupted by Monica letting out a gasp. He watched as she drew both hands to her mouth in shocked and astonished wonder.

He glanced down: rather comically, and embarrassingly, his erection had chosen that moment to create quite the tent in his pants, an erection he was now unconsciously gripping in his fist. He was quite literally holding his own manhood cheap.

The beastly monster inside of him merely shrugged this off. So what?, it seemed to hum. Expose yourself to the wicked wench! Let her see what her wiles have done to you!

Chandler shuddered, feeling his desire burn through him. He glanced to where Monica was still staring at his straining cock, yearning to burst free of its cloth chains, in dramatic horror.

He felt guilty, for exposing himself like this, if not quite in the way the instinctive part of his brain was demanding. He needn't throw down his pants for his feelings to have been exposed and so obviously.

Chandler himself didn't know what had come over him. What possessed him to toss poor Rachel out of her own apartment, then lock himself inside said apartment with the woman who meant more to him than any woman had ever meant to him.

... He decided to blame it on his and Joey's damn cable bill, and the movie they had stumbled across last night. It had been a musical, campy and silly, about a cadre of fraternal backwoodsmen whose eldest leader got them all whipped up into a frenzy to perform a kidnapping scheme in the model of the ancient Romans.

Well, just do what they did to those sobbin' women - or Sabine women, or whatever you call them. So what did they do? They CARRIED them OFF!

The accompanying jaunty tune popped into his head and he started to bop along to it, until he caught how Monica was still gawping at him and he stopped. Focus.

Monica swallowed, nervously. "Does it... does it hurt?" Her voice was hoarse.

Chandler matched her gulp. "Yeah. Often," he admitted, seeming to take more meaning from what she had asked than just about his erection.

Monica pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. She eyed Chandler's erection with a strange sort of curiosity. "What did I do wrong, honey?"

"Nothing!" Chandler rasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, the monster inside of him telling him to move, move...

You showed Kathy, and you didn't really know what you were doing, it enticed. Show your true heart's desire now what you have learned, now that you know all the secrets...

"Then why are you acting...? Chandler, sweetheart, you're scaring me - I've never seen you like this..." Monica mumbled. "What's gotten into you...?"

Her voice stuttered to a stop as Chandler stalked, prowled towards the bed. Monica scrabbled back across it like a crab, all the way up to her fluffy pillow on the headboard. Not once did they break eye contact.

"Teach me," Chandler croaked.

She blinked. "I'm sorry...?"

"Teach me to make love to you."

"I did!" Monica gestured lamely out towards the living room. Then she clued in to what he had said. Teach me to make love to you. He didn't say Kathy, he... he said...

She swallowed again, her throat dry. "What do you want?" she whimpered. There was something stirring in her blood that she was loath to name, yet that she knew matched the ravenous glint in her best friend's stare.

Chandler trembled. "What do I want?" he echoed breathlessly, hoarsely. "I want to make love to you over and over again until you don't remember who you were picturing just now when you came!" He growled it, spat it, not recognizing his own timbre, and by this he knew: the beast inside him was fighting for dominance, to the point that he wondered if he had a split personality. He dearly hoped not - his default personality alone was usually off-putting enough for most people. "I want to fuck you and know that it's me making you shriek those numbers!" He placed one knee upon the bedspread, inching nearer. "I want to cum inside you like I do in my dreams. I want to rip that top off your chest and feast on your tits! Since Montauk, I've been able to think of little else!"

Monica gaped at him. Well, at least he was forward, she had to give him that much. Chandler was out of his head. He had lost his damn mind! This... this was... what he was proposing, it was...madness!...

"Montauk?" she breathed.

Chandler nodded eagerly. Both knees were on the bed now. "At night, I dream of us on the beach - you in your bikini. I'm making love to you, plowing you into the sand, with Joey feet away in that stupid little hole where he can't see us while he's digging halfway to China..."

His rather colorful reimagining of their trip to the beach oddly made Monica smirk. She should be so fortunate that at least Joe wasn't an active participant in these heady fantasies Chandler had been harboring. She could picture it, in fact... and blasphemously, it excited her.

"What... what else have you thought about?" she crooned. Her brain tried to slap her and missed. What was she doing? She shouldn't be... encouraging this...!

"I'm on my knees, asking you out in the pouring rain, except you're naked before me and my lips are on your lower ones till you climax on my face!" Chandler hissed.

Monica's own face burned at the imagery.

"...Keep talking..." She seemed to speak this from somewhere outside of herself.

"We're in the sunshine, in front of Central Perk, at the bistro tables. I tell you I could be your boyfriend, and then I show you that I can. I pull you onto my lap and you bounce there in full view of the street until you spill yourself all around me."

Her breathing quickened to match the rhythm of her racing pulse. "And now?" she whispered. "What are you going todo to me?..." She just about moaned it.

"Everything," Chandler froze her. "And anything else. I want all of you. I want you to teach me how to love you!"

Monica whimpered. "Chandler..."

"Spread your legs!" He was losing his patience.

Monica gawked at him again, the independent woman in her struggling mightily against such domineering - and from Chandler, of all people! - but this was in vain. Almost as if in a trance, she swooned back upon the bed...

... and slowly, she opened her thighs invitingly.

Chandler wasted little time. None, in fact, as he scrambled on top of her. When his lips claimed hers, it was quite unexpected and abrupt; Monica hadn't been ready for it, and she gasped God's name around where his tongue now swallowed the plaintive, mewling sound.

Her brain rapidly turned to mush, little more than gray matter, as against all her better judgment, Monica felt her eyes flicker shut and with a groan, she kissed him back.

It took a few moments of passionate necking for her to get a hold of herself, never mind get air, and they broke apart. Her breasts were heaving like a bellows under her top. "This... this is insane!" she breathed. Insane how this, making out with her best friend on her bed, didn't feel weird at all.

"Yes, it is..." Chandler grunted in agreement, and then he was on her again, his lips slathering her neck, and how did he know that was her weak spot? - # 2 on the erogenous zones. Good heavens... if he'd even done half of this with... had he done this to Kathy?

... Kathy!...

"No!" Monica mewled, and she struggled to be let up, pushing against him. She was proud of Chandler for exerting some control over himself when he'd seemed to have lost nearly all, as he stopped immediately. "Your... your girlfriend! Your girlfriend would never forgive us if we... Hmmm..." He kissed her again, and she melted into it, almost gave in entirely and let him have his way with her, only to have logic enter her brain along with oxygen when they once more had to come up for air. "Chandler, we... we mustn't, this is wrong, we can't do this..." She was babbling, trying to convince herself what her own set of ethics found to be self-evident: she didn't cheat, nor would she help someone else to cheat. The fact that Kathy didn't exactly deserve to be defended, in light of her cheating on Joey with Chandler, mattered little to Monica. It was the principle of the thing.

"Kathy? I've already forgotten her!" Chandler insisted. "I'd chuck her in an instant if only to have an hour with you!"

Monica whimpered and then they were both kissing feverishly. She nudged at his chest one last time.

"Mmmm... Wait! Chandler, there's something I have to tell you!"

"I will have you!" Chandler all but thundered. He - or the beast inside of him - was done waiting. "Tell me later, when you're naked!"

"OK!" Monica squeaked. And she dove back in for another kiss.

Clothes were ripped and fell away into a cascade along the side of the bed. Tongues pushed through to dance as hands and fingernails clasped sweat-slicked skin.

When Monica finally led Chandler to where he wished to dwell, the feeling of them joining happened sooner than he would have expected, and he submerged in her warmth the way he might sink into a warm bath.

From today, this is all that I need and all that I need to say... Home should be where the heart is...Chandler was as certain as he could be: he'd found home. Monica, not Kathy, was his home.

He knew where his heart lay: with her. With Monica. Technically, his heart had now taken up residence somewhere in his ball sack, which in itself and in turn was now taking up residence in her sweet femininity, but that was largely beside the point.

Now that he had reached Nirvana, Chandler was tentative and gentle as he moved about inside her. Cupping his glutes in her fists, holding him close against her chest and pulling him further inside her, Monica crooned in her lover's ear, coaxing him, guiding him. She was patient and kind and adorably shy as she showed him what she liked. How she liked to be touched. Their kissing turned languorous and lazy, and Monica wondered vaguely how she had ever resisted this. Ever lived without this. If Chandler had taken such utter leave of his senses in wanting to go to bed with her, then it was she who had taken utter leave of her senses in never inviting him into her bed sooner in the first place. Montauk had been her moment of madness, in denying him.

This, making love to her best friend, was not her moment of weakness, Kathy and ethics aside. Rather, and to the contrary, this was her moment of empowerment.

No man had ever loved her like this. No man had ever fucked her like this. By the time Chandler's thrusts were weakening, near his release, Monica was all but mentally begging him to put a baby in her! His natural talent left her gobsmacked. In truth, there was very little she needed to teach him at all. Give him the erogenous zones like the cheat codes to a video game and it was plug and chug - quite literally! - for him.

By the time the lovers arrived at orgasm together, Monica was screeching ecstatically in her lover's ear:

"7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7!..."

Her toes curled.

Her nails clenched into Chandler's shoulder blades and the skin of his backside.

Her back arched.

With a cry of his name, she came.

From that moment on, his name was all she would hear in the throes of passion. His name was the only one she would speak, as per his wish. The student had surpassed the teacher and achieved his greatest yearning: his best friend, his lover, in his arms.

By the time Chandler murmured Monica's name insensibly into her skin and chased her over the edge, spilling all he had into her, the pair had fallen irreversibly in love.


About 10 minutes after Chandler had so rudely tossed her out of her own home, Rachel was still standing in the hallway between Numbers 19 and 20, shell-shocked and steaming.

To add to the indignity, she had tried the door immediately after being so summarily dismissed, only to find it locked. Locked! Out of her own apartment! How do you like that?

She hoped Monica wasn't standing for this ridiculousness. Honestly, Rachel had no clue what was going on with that boy! That Chandler...

She decided to blame Kathy, for inflating his ego to such a degree that his empty head was now too damn big. Much more of this, and her awkward friend would turn into the last thing any of them needed, and that was another Joey.

There was a creak on the stair and Rachel turned. Speak of the devil...

Joey weeble-wobbled into the hallway, a boyish pep in his step. "Hey, Rache!" He drifted to her side where she was now back to staring at her own doorway, still dazed and confused by Chandler's gall. Joey followed her gaze blankly. It was but a moment before his curiosity got the better of him.

"... All right, I give up. What are we supposed to be looking at?"

Rachel fumed. "Your roommate kicked me out of my apartment!" she snobbishly sniffed, upturning her nose and all.

Joey blinked. "Why? Did he kick Monica out too?"

"No!" Rachel snapped petulantly.

Joey considered this and then shrugged. "Yeah, he wouldn't. Between the two of you, she is his favorite."

Rachel folded her arms, still seething. "I'm aware." She shook her head. "I don't know what's gotten into him, Joe... What are we going to do with him?"

Joey shrugged. "He's coming into his own, with Kathy. This is part of growing up. We should be proud of him."

"I'm not," Rachel stewed. "Kicking a lady out of her own place... I taught him better than that."

"Monica taught him better than that," Joey corrected her knowingly, which Rachel didn't appreciate at all. "She's always been the mature one."

Rachel frowned. "What are you saying, exactly?"

Joey shrugged, boyishly sincere. He gave a jerk of his head. "Come on. I don't know why Chandler ejected you, but you'll always have a home with me!"

"Hmm," Rachel demurred, following him at a flounce into Apartment 19. "What chivalry. Just don't expect it to be rewarded by me sleeping with you!" She was amused by how Joey still managed to look disappointed at this rather obvious disclaimer.

"I get it. And hey, if I ever do something so heartless as kick you or Monica out of your apartment, you have my permission to smack me!"

Rachel smirked and gently tapped Joey's cheek in a light slap, the two friends closing the door behind them.