One-Shot: Fond Enough of You to Fondle You
Chandler gazed down at the hefty, beautiful kid sister of his college roommate and best friend where she lay in his bed. Monica was asleep, but the apneic hitch of her breathing told her that she had at one point been crying. She may have even cried herself to sleep.
So far, this weekend visit to Ross and Chandler's campus had ended in disaster: Ross had ignored his sister in favor of fawning over Rachel Green, then had proceeded to ignore both of their guests in favor of mingling with the ladies tonight at the mixer. Rachel had ended up falling-down drunk and possibly even drugged; she was currently sleeping it off in the bed opposite.
And Monica... Monica had been mocked by the most popular guy on campus, Rick Asher, when she had asked him to dance. He had mocked her over her weight! It made Chandler see red, that some of his own peers couldn't look past Monica's girth and see the tender, generous, kind-hearted person she was.
He felt proud of himself for having stood up for her. It had ironically gotten him noticed by Missy Goldberg, the most popular girl in their freshman class and whom Chandler had had a raging crush on. She had actually hit on him, admiring the way he had defended Monica... only to then turn right around and insult her by suggesting that Chandler was a hero to her, but that his defense was only out of pity.
Chandler still couldn't believe he had rejected Missy, but he didn't regret it. Not one iota. The moment she had insulted Monica in such a backhanded way, he had lost any interest in her.
Standing over Monica in the bed now, Chandler thought back to what Missy had said: You were her hero.
It ironically gave him an idea: he could still be Monica's hero.
It was evident that Monica had gone into this campus visit with certain ideas about what college life was like and the sorts of benefits one could glean from it: meet people, particularly cute, older boys. Maybe steal a drunken kiss or two in the darkness, the romance only heightened by the anonymity of night and the alcoholic lowering of inhibitions. She had probably hoped for just such a moment with Rick Asher after a slow dance, only to be so summarily rejected.
Well: it was dark now, in this dorm room, and though Monica hadn't appeared as drunk as Rachel, she was asleep. There was a lowering of inhibition when one was dreaming as much as when one was drunk, at least according to the Psychology 101 class Chandler was taking. It was the perfect cover, this cover of darkness, and in all likelihood, Monica wouldn't feel it. Wouldn't even remember it. She might even think she was still dreaming.
True, there was the risk of waking her up. Yet Chandler figured that this was unlikely, for how deeply in slumber Monica appeared. She wouldn't even have to know it was him. Not that he would feel ashamed at the thought of kissing her...
Bending over her, Chandler softly brushed his lips along hers, like a prince kissing the reposed princess. Oddly, he didn't even have to work up the nerve to do it. He drew away, feeling a tingling throughout his body that should not have been there during what was merely a meaningless peck.
So, he wasn't at all prepared when, eyes still closed, Monica curled a palm around his neck, tilted her chin up and pushed her lips against his in an earnest return of his kiss.
Chandler froze, having no idea what to do. He gentlemanly kept his arms rigidly at his sides, not wanting to touch her when her state of wakefulness was indeterminate. Her eyes were still closed, which suggested to him that she was kissing him back in her sleep. But then her fingers curled into the little hairs at the nape of his neck and she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss in a manner that left Chandler doubtful. That made him think she wasn't as asleep as she portrayed.
Then... Monica moaned.
It was like a switch flipped in Chandler. The kiss turned passionate, even skillful in a way that neither of them should have managed, given their known (and in Monica's case, assumed) lack of experience. There was a lazy, languorous gliding, an easy and practiced give-and-take to their lips, such that it wasn't long before mouths yawned open and tongues swam through to meet and grapple and dance.
The blood thundering in his ears, Chandler felt his eyes droop closed. His mind went blank. He forgot about where they were, that he was making out with his best friend's little sister with her best friend sleeping off a bitch of a hangover mere feet away. That at any moment, Ross could walk in on him and Monica making out like two randy teenagers.
Still, his body remained stiff in Monica's arms, and he did not dare touch her. He only did when her embrace enveloped him in a kind of silent encouragement. His palm glided over her chest until it settled over her breast. He cupped her, through her sweater; he could feel the aching bud of her nipple straining with arousal through her top, and he began to subtly rub in a clockwise circle.
Monica shivered in his embrace, her body trembling under Chandler's touch and her moans became louder. "Mmmm... Hmmmm... MMMMMMM! MMMMMHMMMM!"
Her cries, swallowed by his lips, pitched in such a manner that at first, Chandler feared he had awakened her and made her frightened. But there was something too melodious to the quality of the sound, and her lips never left his.
In a daze over how sweet she tasted, Chandler's free hand - the one not on her breast - reached down between them. He palmed the space between her quivering, buxom thighs. Through her skirts, Chandler could feel the soft patch of hair. He was astonished to find how wet and damp she was, even through the fabric.
His thumb and forefinger found her nub. Pinching it gently, he began to rub Monica there too. All the while, Chandler's lips left hers and he kissed down her face, blazing a trail down the soft, sweat-slicked curve of her neck.
"Hmmmm…. Mmmmmhmmmmm…" Monica's pelvis levitated off the bed at his ministrations. She bucked her hips wildly into his hand.
Chandler felt his cock spring to life and grow erect, creating a painful tent in his trousers. Ignoring the agony of his own desire, Chandler now face-planted into the valley of Monica's bosom. While his own hand palmed her right tit, he now took the left tit between his teeth and he sucked. Monica cried out with pleasure. Meanwhile, he continued to fondle the petals of her sex.
"Huhhhh… Uhhhhh…." Monica was by now writhing upon the bed, shuddering with pleasure underneath Chandler's touch. Almost blindly, her own hand slapped out and - almost by happenstance - brushed against Chandler's stiff length. Her fingers curling into a fist around his shaft, Monica began to earnestly stroke him, from ball sack to tip. Her digits thrummed over his head.
Chandler groaned into Monica's boobs and he began to unconsciously thrust, in spite of himself. He began humping the wooden bedframe, fucking Monica's palm as if it were her wet heat. As if he were embedded in her warmth.
Beneath him, Monica suddenly let out an insensible sigh. Chandler felt her stiffen. Felt her toes curl and brush his forearm.
She came under her skirts, brought to blissful orgasm. And all by him.
Chandler was now jerking into where Monica clasped him, his thrusts coming in weak bursts. Before he could stop himself, his entire frame went rigid in a very different way and with a satisfied grunt, he ejaculated into his underwear.
Only then did Monica release him. Chandler took his hands off her, took his mouth off her. Off where he had been groping her, all but making love to her. Stunned and shaken, he staggered away from the bed and made his way over to the futon. Monica curled up, murmuring insensibly; she appeared to have not woken up once.
That had gotten out of hand, Chandler decided. It awed him to sense how aroused he still was - so aroused, in fact, that he was almost tempted to double back, wake Monica up and give her a proper make-out session. Hell, have his way with her and with her full well knowing, thrashing against him as he ravished her…
Chandler squeezed his eyes shut and willed his heart rate to slow. Willed his erection to soften. Too much, too fast.
Thoughts in a tempest, he fell asleep.
Several hours later, Monica awoke from the loveliest dream she had ever had, one in which she had been fiercely taken and made love to by a tall, dark, handsome stranger.
Rubbing her thighs together, she was mortified to realize that the apex of her legs was soaking wet and she sprang out of bed.
It was dark - still the middle of the night. By the light of the moon, Monica could make out the lump that was Rachel, passed out in Ross's bed. On the futon closer to the door was a form that looked like Chandler.
Monica fumbled for and found her toiletry kit in the darkness. Padding to the door, she slipped out into the hallway to use the restroom and cleanse herself, her head still spinning from her wet dream.
She didn't see Chandler shift on the futon and open one, concerned eye after she left.