A/N Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this story - I have enjoyed writing it so much!
The site has been a little glitchy this week, so I have absolutely no idea if my replies to messages and reviews have gone through, or even if anybody can see this!
I hope you enjoy this final chapter. (Set vaguely around TOW the Free Porn)
His glazed eyes met the writhing undulation of naked flesh with indifferent neutrality now; his body and mind entirely numbed to the heaving of implausibly firm, perma-tanned breasts; immune to the perfectly-glossed, over-inflated lips that so readily contorted in grotesquely exaggerated pleasure.
In fact, Chandler was beginning to consider the astonishing possibility that the free pornographic channel that had inexplicably appeared on the television set he shared with Joey, like a gift from some bounteous erotic deity, might instead represent a poisoned chalice; an x-rated millstone around both of their necks.
He and Joey had mutually agreed that this most fortuitous of findings must be protected and cosseted at all costs, deciding that switching off the TV, or even changing the channel was far too risky a prospect; having the potential to cause their heaven-sent vulgarity to vanish for good.
And so here he was; obliged to stare, dead-eyed, at this tedious stream of interminable explicit imagery for all eternity, when all he really fancied watching right now, was a cartoon.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He turned in mild surprise at Monica's reprimand of a greeting, not having heard her enter the room.
As she stared down at him, arms folded in utter disbelief, he could only return a look of genuine bafflement; completely unable to understand why she seemed so shocked to have found him in the exact same position she might have reasonably have found either him or Joey on any given day this week.
"Chandler, Kathy will be here in a couple of hours! The apartment's a mess and you're sitting here in your sweats watching "Good Will Humping" again!" she scolded.
Thursday. The fake date. His porn-addled brain had completely forgotten.
It had been Chandler's intention to find a way to slip into conversation that his planned meeting with Kathy was no longer going ahead before this day arrived; but since the night he had pretended to leave a message on his ex-girlfriends machine, Monica had made not one mention of the date.
He had started to think he might be able to simply gloss over the entire thing, eventually telling Monica that he and Kathy had spoken and decided to part ways for good.
At times, he had even dared to believe that he might suddenly tap into some previously unknown vein of courage, and find himself able to finally tell her the pure and simple truth; but despite much self-searching, and lambasting from Joey, he was yet to garner the required bravery.
"For your information, this isn't "Good Will Humping". It's "Saturday Night Beaver". And it's the first time I've seen it." he retorted with risible loftiness.
Monica chewed at her cheek in an attempt to smother a smirk as she told him "Well, you know what? I'm pretty sure the ending will be the exact same as it was in all of the other movies, so you can probably give it a miss.."
Her stifled wry smile finally escaped, curving her lips as Chandler returned a delightfully cheeky and lascivious grin, agreeing "It's always a happy ending on this channel".
"I came over to see if you needed any help with cooking" she explained, heading towards the kitchen to rifle through the boys' refrigerator, tutting when she found it woefully under-stocked, containing little more than beer, smoked turkey, a jar of mayonnaise and a questionable looking block of cheese.
"Chandler!" she sighed with despair.
"Look don't worry about it Mon, I'll sort it out OK? I don't need any help." he brushed off her concern with uncomfortable irritation, suddenly keen to get her out of the apartment in order to avoid any further escalation of his deception.
"I want to help" she said quietly, her eyes wide and sincere, "The truth is, I've been feeling a little guilty about this whole thing. I kind of feel like I bullied you into calling Kathy and making that date with her."
Her apparent anxiety provoked an ache of shame in Chandler's chest.
"You didn't bully me into anything." he reassured huskily.
"So... you really do want to see her?" she sought to confirm.
Monica was determined that her reaction to his response to this question would remain staunchly neutral in any event, but Chandler's curiosity was already somewhat piqued when he noticed her throat twitch under the strain of a hard swallow.
There had also been a discernible tremble in her voice, and as he struggled to work out what might have provoked it, he felt a strange flutter in his stomach.
Her eyes were suddenly brimming with a mystifying urgency that inspired an instinctive surge of desperation to take hold deep inside of him, despite having no real clue what it all meant.
"No! I don't want to see her, and I'm not going to see her. Because I'm madly and hopelessly in love with you!"
Why were the words he wanted to say; the words he knew he needed to say; impossible to speak?
"Yeah. I mean, you were right... I think it's a good idea to be honest with her." he replied instead; as evenly as he was able.
"OK" she murmured as she turned swiftly away, hoping to keep his eyes well away from the pain she was sure must now be etched clearly across her face, and she absorbed herself in the pretense of assessing the contents of the store cupboard.
When she managed to summon the required grit, she faced him, and said with resolve "Listen, I think I have all of the ingredients for Chicken Parmigiana at my place, so I'll bring it over and we can make that."
She paused before adding stiffly, "I think Kathy likes it."
Chandler shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Go change! And brush your hair!" she commanded brusquely.
He could not let her do this, could he? Let her waste her time cooking food for a fake date? No matter how much his heart was secretly singing at the glorious prospect of spending a precious couple of hours in her company.
God, he was not sure he had ever felt more pathetic.
"Monica..."
"No arguments!"
His weak attempt at objection was quickly overruled as she breezed from the room, chin in the air.
However, as soon as she reached the privacy of the empty hallway, Monica took pause. Her shoulders hunched miserably as she leaned back against the apartment door, blinking away the sting of tears she could feel accumulating in her doleful eyes.
He had confirmed it: He really did want to see Kathy. He obviously still loved her, and he clearly wanted to try to make it work with her.
No matter the intriguing shift in dynamics Monica had imagined she had sensed between them lately, Chandler had just verified the agonizing truth: That any change she may have perceived, was entirely one-sided.
As his good friend, it was Monica's job to support him, and that was exactly what she intended to do; but still, the dreadfully-timed unburying of her own deeply concealed feelings for Chandler felt devastatingly cruel.
When she eventually strode back into Apartment 20, her arms laden with all of the required ingredients for her much-lauded Chicken Parmigiana recipe, she felt somewhat cooler and more collected, protecting herself as she so often did, with a bubble of carefully curated control and efficiency.
A less casually-attired Chandler made his way quickly towards her and offered assistance by taking some of the vegetables from the wobbling tower of food that looked set to topple from her grasp at any given moment.
"Pretty dress," he remarked as he scanned her svelte figure with approval; his tone gruff and his eyes bashful.
"Thanks," she responded shyly, feeling her cheeks flush pink; not because of the compliment, but because it forced her to acknowledge that she had chosen to wear the form-enhancing navy blue dress in his honor.
She had dressed herself up to cook a meal for the object of her desire to share with the woman he was hoping to impress.
The realization made her feel so pitiful that she actually winced.
"I know raw chicken grosses you out," she told him curtly, "So I'll deal with that and you can make a salad."
She rolled a lettuce across the counter towards him and grabbed each of them a chopping board.
Before she could set to work, she felt her eyes being drawn towards the mesmerizing groans and thrusts of a hairy-chested lothario on the TV screen and she stalked across to the living room with a huff and a decisive grimace.
"The porn has to go", she declared, snatching up the remote control and snuffing out the erotica with a firm press of a button, throwing the room into blissful silence.
"You can't expect Kathy to eat with that going on in the background!"
Chandler's knife clattered to the work surface as he gasped in horror.
"Joey is going to kill you!" he told her with a hiss.
Monica rolled her eyes and gave a bold chuckle of defiance.
"Where is he tonight, anyway?" she inquired lightly.
"He's taking Jessica out again" Chandler replied, discarding a wilted outer leaf from his lettuce before beginning to shred the rest.
"I thought she caught him with that Lauren girl and dumped him?" Monica screwed up her nose as she struggled to pin down the details of Joey's chaotically full and ever-fluxing romantic calendar.
"Yeah that's right," Chandler confirmed with a nod, "I guess she forgave him".
"My God. Where on Earth does he find this neverending stream of women who are actually prepared to put up with this stuff?" Monica said, with a withering shake of her head.
"Oh please! Like you were immune to the Tribbiani charm!" Chandler teased, "You were practically salivating when he first showed up here... I seem to remember you inviting him in for "lemonade""
Monica cringed at the memory of the fleeting attraction she had felt for the charming actor upon meeting him for the very first time; a purely physical initial captivation that had proven incredibly short-lived.
She shuddered as she recalled Joey's unfathomable misinterpretation of her simple offer of a cool drink; inexplicably mistaking it for a sexual invitation and subsequently stripping naked in her living room. His clumsy and brazen alternative to seduction had revealed to Monica, a distinctly off-putting tendency towards womanizing, and so much more besides.
However, her eyes clouded over when she remembered seeking comfort shortly afterwards in the tender embrace of the man who stood next to her now; the only thing parting his fully-clothed body from the vulnerability of her freshly-showered nakedness being a scant white towel.
She shook off her reminiscence and shot Chandler a scathing scowl.
"Oh shut up! I might have thought he was cute for like a half hour, but that incident just showed me how totally incompatible we would be. There's no way I would go anywhere near Joey!" she told him with a head-shake, dusting seasoned flour over the chicken with flourish.
"Oh come on! Joey's a great guy!" Chandler's instant objection was proof, if needed, that he could not help but defend his best friend's honor in any given circumstance.
"I know he is!" Monica reassured, "You know I love Joey to pieces. He's one of the sweetest guys I ever met.. completely adorable. And just gorgeous."
Despite his previous protectiveness, Chandler felt his eyebrow twitch slightly, as her earnest compliments provoked a twinge of envy.
"Joey's like... a Golden Retriever." Monica concluded, as she finished coating the fillets of chicken in breadcrumbs and moved to the sink to wash her hands.
"Greedy, slobbery, might try to hump your leg?" Chandler guessed, chuckling at the comparison.
"Well yeah there's that..." Monica wryly agreed, "But also enthusiastic, cute, fun..."
"So what's wrong with that? You don't like Golden Retrievers?" Chandler threw her a sideways glance of interest.
"I love 'em! They're just not my type of dog, that's all; they're not the dog I'd choose for myself. I'd prefer something a little more... sophisticated."
Her air of perceived haughtiness elicited a knowing chuckle from Chandler.
"Of course you would" he remarked sardonically, "No doubt any dog of yours would smoke cigars and play golf...a canine Richard perchance? What sophisticated breed would he be? A Giant Poodle?"
Monica narrowed her eyes as she regarded him a little strangely, but eventually her lips revealed some amusement as she began to deftly chop at a fat clove of garlic.
"No. I think Richard's more of a German Shepherd, actually" she mused, "They're good looking dogs aren't they? Intelligent. Strong. Dependable. Hard-working."
Chandler cleared his throat uncomfortably as he hacked testily at a cucumber for his salad, instantly regretting having asked the question.
"But I wouldn't have a German Shepherd either." Monica declared steadily, suddenly sounding less jocular, her eyes serious and thoughtful.
"No?" Chandler braved a glance in her direction, her change in demeanor causing an immediate tightening in his chest "Why not?"
"Well... recently, I began to realize that something a little more... funny... and playful... might suit me better." the casual shrug of her shoulders belied her slightly breathless tone.
"But less playful than a Golden Retriever..." he confirmed, his voice low and hoarse "So what kind of dog would you have?"
"Well, what kind of dog would you be?" she breathed, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop it.
She had stopped chopping now and as he turned to meet her wide eyes he suddenly felt incredibly aware of the deep rise and fall of his chest, wondering how on earth a conversation about dogs could be causing his heart to thrash so violently against his rib cage. Was this conversation even about dogs?
"Tttt...Uhhh... a Border Collie... maybe?" he managed to respond, hating the tremor he discerned in his own voice.
"Well, they're very smart dogs.." Monica said with a soft smile, her gaze thankfully returning to her chopping board, the broken eye contact allowing Chandler to relax just a little.
"Yeah, highly-intelligent, obviously," he replied with mock-pride, before adding ".. and they're also prone to anxiety..."
"And they're loyal. And definitely playful." Monica offered, feeling his self-deprecating streak beginning to take over and hoping to nip it in the bud.
"And they're very handsome..."
As she turned to face him again there was a sudden crackle of tension, so intense it should really have been audible.
Monica's breath hitched, not quite sure of what was happening between the two of them, but feeling herself getting hopelessly carried away with whatever the hell it was.
She reminded herself sternly, that her whole reason for being here was to help Chandler to prepare for a date with the woman that he loves; not to confound him by professing her desire through weird and barely intelligible dog analogies.
She could already see how uncomfortable she had made him: His eyes seemed to be searching hers for answers; his bottom lip dropping open as if he was about to speak.
But without uttering a word, his gaze dropped nervously to the floor.
"And they're incredibly agile..." Monica listed a final Border Collie attribute, managing to lace her smile with a hint of mischief that she hoped would ease his unbearable nervousness.
True to form, a grin spread across his lips "Well, yeah of course. I'm well known for my remarkable agility."
"They're great dogs" Monica smiled wistfully, "I could probably have a collie".
Chandler found himself rooted to the spot, dry-mouthed and unable to form a single word as he struggled to digest this most flummoxing of conversations.
"Could you please pass me the olive oil?" Monica asked mildly, waiting with quiet patience as Chandler took an inordinate amount of time to shake off his befuddlement and retrieve the dark green bottle.
"OK, we need to make a marinara sauce" she instructed, her tone suddenly every bit as authoritative as one might expect from a professional chef "I'll dice the onions, you crush these tomatoes."
She thrust a bowl of vibrantly red, peeled plum tomatoes towards him and set about scrutinizing the utensil draw ready to source the most appropriate knife for her own assignment.
"What do I use to crush 'em?" Chandler peered over her shoulder in search of a suitable mashing implement.
"You can just use your hands," she told him as she deftly removed the brittle skin from an onion. "So long as they're clean."
"They are!" he assured her with a mildly offended glare, before rolling up his sleeves.
Monica kept one eye on his progress as she finely diced her onion; moistening her lips as she noticed how the tanned skin of his forearm rippled; his muscles flexing as he squeezed.
She found herself looking up to surreptitiously examine his face; admiring the strength of his furrowed brow and the clarity of his ocean-blue eyes. She smiled, thinking how sweetly boyish he looked; long-lashed and deadly serious, as he concentrated hard on the task in hand.
She averted her eyes quickly when he glanced back in her direction and asked "Are these crushed enough?"
"No, not quite. Move over" she directed.
She stood close at his side and pushed her own hands into the ruby red pulp, and began to squeeze; but as soon as she did so, a formidable rush of deja-vu overwhelmed her.
She had been here before.
In this very kitchen. Not more than twelve months ago. It was probably the same bowl.
The man was different but the probability of getting hurt was just as dangerously high; in fact, if anything, this felt even more perilous.
No sooner had her fingers captured his in an inevitable squeeze, she removed them from the crushed fruit with a startling jolt.
"Are you OK?" Chandler turned to regard her with alarm.
"Yeah" Monica eventually said, sounding shaken and slightly breathless, "It's silly... It's just.. this exact same thing happened when I was helping Richard with a lasagna last year. It made me feel a little weird."
"Oh" Chandler replied after a long pause, unsure of how to respond and a little annoyed to have unwittingly caused her to reminisce over her suave and mature ex-boyfriend for the second time in half an hour.
"It was part of that whole "trying to be just friends" disaster," she confided with a regretful shake of her head, "I remember just feeling that...spark... between us, when my hand touched his. And as soon as I felt it, I should have shut the whole thing down right there and then..."
They stood in silence for a moment before Chandler said, somewhat awkwardly, "Well.. at least this time it was just me."
He did not know quite what else she wanted him to say. Perhaps nothing at all.
He turned as he felt her wistful gaze upon him.
"There's no such thing as "just" you, Chandler" she rebuked him huskily, "I wish you could see yourself how... how everybody else sees you."
He stared back at her in surprise, warmed by her words and riveted by the sudden intensity of her expression, feeling his breath catch when he saw her eyes drop momentarily to his lips with what he might have sworn was desire, had he not known better.
She went to tuck her hair behind her ear, before sighing loudly, remembering the tomato pulp that coated her fingers, and moving swiftly towards the sink.
"Do you still think about him a lot, then?" Chandler asked hesitantly, "Richard, I mean."
"No. That's all done with now," she said with an adamant certainty that caused his heart to soar.
He let out a small cough of relief that Monica mistook for a doubtful scoff and she faced him with a look of reprimand and clear curiosity.
"Is that funny?"
He had not realized that a telling hint of a smirk had broken out across his face.
"No, it's not funny" he gently denied, "I guess I'm just surprised, that's all. I kind of thought things would never really be done between the two of you. I mean, I know he's the love of your life."
"Well I hope not!"
Chandler was rather stunned to see how affronted she was by his remark.
"I'd like to think that the love of my life will be the one that actually sticks, Chandler! The one that wants the future I want; the guy who wants to have a family with me. It's a little depressing to think that my one great love might already be behind me, because that probably means I'll die a childless old spinster!"
"Come on! You know that's not what I meant, Mon!" Chandler refuted, attempting a soothing glance back at her wild blue eyes, "There's no way you'll end up alone! Who wouldn't want you? I guess I always just assumed that Richard would come to his senses eventually. I mean, I've never been able to get to grips with the idea that anybody could turn down the chance of having all of those things with you. The guy's insane."
She took an intake of breath that was so sharp she was sure he must have been able to hear it.
In fact, she could feel that she was on the verge of panting like a Golden Retriever herself, at this point.
God, she wanted him.
She wanted him with a blazing ferocity she had never experienced before; and she could not quite believe that she had managed to spend so many years in the company of this beautiful man without being burdened by the earth-shatteringly profuse physical need she felt for him now.
Hearing him say things like that to her was torturous. She knew that they were mere platitudes; nothing more than one kind friend seeking to bolster the confidence of another; and yet still she could not help but wonder, if she had not been so blinded by their platonic bond for so many years, if she had acted sooner, what might have otherwise been.
"Uh, Mon.. You...uh..you have a load of tomato juice on your face, by the way."
His croakily delivered statement came as a welcome relief, interrupting what had felt like some kind of terrifying climatic journey to revelation; and stunning her out of saying, or doing something stupid, and life-changing, and unretractable.
"Oh", she choked, swiping her forearm across her cheek.
"Gone?" she managed to ask.
A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes regarded her with an intolerably gentle affection that made her knees feel weak.
"No Honey, it's everywhere now." he told her softly "You look like Hannibal Lecter"
She let out a gasp of a laugh.
He reached for her face with wrenching hesitation, his feather-light fingers cupping her jaw, as his thumb brushed the tomato from her cheek and chin; coming achingly close to her lips.
His touch was fire against her already warm skin; her core now molten and churning like simmering lava in a formerly dormant volcano.
She felt like she might entirely liquefy, right there and then, in the palm of his hand.
She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing that the merest connection between the two of them would spell endgame.
"I have to go!" she suddenly announced through ragged breath, stumbling for the door, leaving Chandler trembling in her wake, mouth agape with confusion.
"I forgot... I have to be somewhere." she stuttered "I'll drop the recipe over so you can finish this off."
"Please don't go, Mon," he heard himself quietly beg.
"You'll be fine, it's real easy, you'll just need to soften these onions-"
"Kathy's not coming!" he suddenly blurted out.
Chandler had no idea now much of the crippling tension in the room was mutual; if his own agonizing want was now so tremendous he had started to project it onto Monica; but he did know that he had pushed her too far.
He looked back into her bewildered blue eyes and told her shamefully, "She never was. I've been lying to you Monica, and I'm so, so, sorry."
She stared back at him in silence, her chest still heaving as she fought to control her breath.
"I don't understand... Did she cancel? Or did you?"
Either of those options would be less humiliating than the truth, but Chandler was determined to give her nothing less than full honesty now, no matter how excruciating.
"No. I faked that message. I never invited her over here" he looked down at his feet with remorse.
"Because I pressured you into it..." she suggested guiltily
"No! Well.. yeah a little, I guess ... But I lied to you before that. I'm not in love with Kathy. That conversation you overheard; I wasn't talking about her. It was just easier for me to let you think that I was."
He looked back up, searching her eyes, expecting to find hurt or anger or disappointment, but observing instead an emotion he had never seen in her before: something that lay somewhere between fear, anticipation and longing.
"I care about you so much, Monica, and your friendship means the world to me.. the idea of ruining that just kills me. That's why I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth."
"What's the truth?" she prompted softly, barely able to breathe.
He gulped as he continued to stare into her eyes.
The only outcome his terrified mind was able to envisage was one where she would scramble, appalled and mortified, from his apartment and most likely from his life, and he felt suddenly gripped with insurmountable panic.
"I...I just... I don't know why I can't just say it...I'm sorry...I don't know how to tell you..." he began to stammer, his eyes full of anguish.
Monica's face crumpled with emotion, her bright eyes glistening with tears, pained as she was by the extent of his abject frustration.
"Then show me." she dared to whisper.
Those euphonious, barely audible wisps of words; permissive; actually inviting; stopped his heart and the world; deafening him to anything beyond this pivotal juncture, where nothing else existed, only the huge blue eyes that shone back at him with all of the desperate fear and desirous yearning he knew was mirrored in his own.
Hardly able to believe what was happening, he stepped tentatively towards her, the burn of longing that he had smothered for so long finally blazing its way through each taut muscle, demanding its overdue release.
He brought a loving hand to her face once more, his touch just as tender as before; but suddenly invigorated with the new found confidence he gleaned from the ardor in Monica's eyes; his fingertips scorching across her cheekbone and raking through her hair to cradle the back of her head in his palm, with the kind of gentle reverence one might use when carrying a butterfly.
His other arm drew her close at the waist as he took one final glance of famished desire towards her slightly parted pink lips before at long last capturing them euphorically with his own.
The kiss was soft but deep; a moment of pure epiphany, so dizzying that Monica forgot to breathe. She was completely overcome, as the intimacy she had craved ignited a wild electrification that rippled through her flesh, and she found herself clinging, weak-kneed, to Chandler's shirt, desperately seeking his grounding solidity as her lips yielded to his.
When she eventually drew back with a gasp; their ardent eyes connected intensely, the air around them suddenly thick with humidity from their panting breath.
Chandler's eyes were full of a hunger that set her aflame, her passive overwhelm evaporating as she thrust into his soft hair with passionate fingers; drawing his mouth towards hers once more, her supple lips fervid and her body insistent.
After some time they began to move in synchrony; locked in a clinging embrace, with not a centimeter of space between them; staggering blindly towards Chandler's bedroom, unwilling to break their kiss for even a second.
They were halted temporarily by the bedroom door, their lips finally parting as Chandler pulled away to check that the collision between Monica's back and the unforgiving wood had not caused her any pain, but the aching look of longing in her eyes urged him to continue, and he took the opportunity to trail a series of hot kisses from jawbone to clavicle.
The throaty groan that escaped from her lips as she arched in pleasure, caused Chandler's mind to flash fleetingly back to that diagram she had drawn and explained to him in such beguiling fashion all those weeks ago.
But Chandler soon found that he needed neither map nor instruction: As the two of them continued their stumbling dance into his room, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in their wake; their sweat-slickened bodies finally merging in an ecstatic tangle upon his bed; it became apparent that loving Monica came as instinctively to Chandler as breathing clean air, or quenching his thirst with fresh water.
There was no sense of contrivance or formula: Each kiss, and caress; every touch and taste was raw and true; delivered and returned with uninhibited sincerity.
By the time she cried God's name into the rapturous heat of his mouth, he was utterly convinced that from this point on she would indeed be as essential to his sustenance as oxygen or water.
As they collapsed onto their backs against the soft pillows, allowing their soaring minds to return to reality and the coolness of the air to soothe their hot, damp skin; both of them knew that this was quite unlike any journey either of them had taken before.
Chandler's eyes were glued to Monica, nervously scouring her face for any trace of regret; and he felt a shockwave of euphoria when her delicate hand reached for his, and she turned to face him, with languorous eyes and a smile of pure elation; and he pulled her hand towards his face to press soft kisses of relief against her fingertips.
"God, you're amazing", he told her, bringing his lips to the smooth skin of her shoulder.
"Oh my God, Chandler, that was just...Wow." she breathed, rolling onto her side and framing his face with her hands.
They lay in blissful silence for a while, losing themselves in a mutually adoring gaze and delighting in the divine sensation of skin upon skin, as their fingertips traced gentle circles across each others backs.
"Hey" she said shyly, stroking his cheek "Back in the kitchen... What you said, about valuing our friendship? You know I do too, right? So much."
No. No! She could not be about to "I like you as a friend" him. Not after that. There was no going back from this, surely?
He could feel a knot of anxiety beginning to form in his chest as she spoke, despite the reassuring heavenly softness in her eyes.
"So can I ask you something? As a friend." she asked, looking into his face adoringly, her fingers caressing his earlobe.
His gaze dropped uncomfortably, as he told her "Of course you can. You can ask me anything Mon. You know that"
Her sapphire eyes twinkled as she began quietly "Well, there's this guy I know... He's really great..."
He stared back at her, his jaw slackening inquiringly.
"He's smart; he's sweet; he's funny; incredibly gorgeous" she continued wistfully, "Think... Border Collie in human form..."
Chandler's face broke into a wide beam "He sounds like quite a guy. Agile I assume?"
"Oh very!" she smirked "I found that out today! Anyway, he hasn't actually said it to me... but I kind of overheard, that he thinks he might secretly be in love with me..." she whispered coyly.
"And uh...how do you feel about that" Chandler asked gruffly.
She leaned forward and nuzzled the tip of her nose against his before brushing his lips with hers.
"I feel pretty great " she confirmed "Because, I think I might secretly be in love with him too."
His eyes became watery as he gazed back, hypnotized by the dark dilation of her pupils.
"You know... He probably wants to tell you... That he's in love with you. He's probably just been a bit of a wimp about it, because he's been so scared about ruining things with you..."
Monica planted another languid kiss against his lips before telling him sincerely, "He's not a wimp. And he doesn't have to tell me. I can feel it".
"Well, then that sounds perfect" he breathed,
"It is perfect " Monica confirmed huskily, peppering more soft kisses over his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose; against his eyelashes.
"Because he has the most beautiful blue eyes...he is the best kisser...and he's magical in bed" she smirked, kissing the toothy grin that broke across his face.
"But mainly because, he's my best friend", her gentle fingers caressed his scalp as she pulled her body flush against his.
"We can have both, right?" she asked
Her eyes revealed a desperate yearning for reassurance that somehow drew out a strength and decisiveness in Chandler, that he had never known he possessed.
"Yeah" he told her with rare but absolute certainty, "We can have it all".
A tide of peace washed over him as she pressed her forehead against his, their eyes reflecting a love and a friendship that were at once free and undemanding; pure, intrinsic and deep.
And above all, nothing to be afraid of.
"I love you, Monica. I love you so much."
The ease with which the simplest of words now emerged from his lips almost made him laugh out loud.
She hugged him fiercely as she told him with a rhapsodic sigh "I love you too."
"Thank you for telling me," she whispered into the warmth of his neck, before drawing back and thrilling him with the most deliciously enticing of smiles, "Now, show me again".
A/N I feel kind of bad that Joey did not make a final appearance in this chapter after being so instrumental so far, but I just couldn't find a way to make it flow. I do have a little idea for a scene with him and Rachel, so I may yet add that as a little bonus chapter at some point, I'm not sure.
Anyway, thanks again for reading!