A/N Thank you so much to everyone reading!
I'm aware that I have drawn out this whole theater episode a bit, it's just been kind of nice to get rid of Richard for a while, so I got a little carried away!
As Revisora pointed out in the comments, I have changed the rating of this to "M". Somebody mentioned that things were already getting a little steamy for a T, so I thought I should probably change it, and as soon as I did, I kind of leaned into it a little bit and ended up writing what I think might be my longest sex scene so far! It's not wildly explicit or anything, (don't get excited - it's still tame by most standards!), but still, I feel a little bad for changing the parameters half way through a story, so apologies for that.
Anyway I hope it's OK.
I'm not sure when I'll next update now, but it will definitely be slower than usual. Happy holidays to anybody celebrating, and peace and goodwill to all.
"Monica?"
Chandler could feel every muscle in her body spasm into painful contraction at the sound of that most familiar of voices as it sliced through the protective darkness of the alleyway.
She was staring back at him, utterly stricken, unable to speak a word, and frozen to the spot.
Chandler was generally no stranger to panic himself, but though his instinct might have been to spring back from her like a scalded cat, the desperate pleading in her eyes seemed to galvanize some unexpected streak of calm and resourcefulness that he had no idea he possessed.
As a married woman, Monica faced greater jeopardy than he did in this situation and he was determined to shelter her from that.
"Hey Rach, you made it!" he called back blithely.
As he turned, he managed to subtly extract the leg that had somehow ended up wedged intimately between Monica's during that fervid entanglement of limbs, but their bodies were still so excruciatingly close that he could discern the rapid pounding of her heart.
When he dropped his gaze and observed the dishevelment of her satin blouse and the continuing heave of her chest, another flare of arousal impeded his ability to climb down from their passionate frenzy, and he struggled to control his own labored breath.
"Chandler?" Rachel squinted as she peered harder into the darkness, her voice revealing more than a hint of incredulity, leaving both Monica and Chandler wondering how much she had seen.
"What the hell are you guys doing down there?"
Chandler inched a little further away from Monica, bending to pick up her discarded crutch and then turning back towards her to rearrange the coat that he had wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak just moments before, being careful to display no guilt or discomfort whatsoever.
"Well, we went to the stage door to see Joey" he told her, gesturing towards the dimly lit doorway further down the alley, before making a grand show of dusting off Monica's crutch and handing it back to her.
"But he can't come out until the play ends apparently."
Rachel had moved close enough that they could clearly see her inquisitive blue eyes now, and despite Chandler's gallant attempt at distraction, Monica balked queasily, certain that the lion's share of Rachel's curiosity was still falling explicitly on her.
"Mon? Are you OK?"
Rachel seemed concerned by her friend's wild-eyed silence, and Chandler watched nervously as Monica's mouth opened as if ready to speak, but words failed to materialize.
"Mon stumbled and she dropped one of her crutches . The asphalt's all cracked and uneven, and it's really dark down here..." Chandler rambled an explanation on her behalf.
"Yeah.." Monica finally managed to croak, "I almost fell, and Chandler was just helping me...to lean against the wall..."
Chandler's eyes widened a little when he saw Monica's eyebrows flicker in distress, her rather conspicuous attempt at an excuse trailing off into nothing. His eyes flitted anxiously towards Rachel, hoping that the darkness would conceal the flush that must undoubtedly be creeping across both his and Monica's cheeks by now.
He was relieved to see that despite these highly compromising circumstances Rachel appeared more bewildered than suspicious.
She gave a small, befuddled shake of her head.
"I almost didn't see you guys! I only took a quick peek into the alleyway because I overheard some guy tell his friend there were people having sex down here! He must have seen you two fumbling around and just assumed!" Rachel sniggered in a manner that suggested total faith in their innocence.
Monica and Chandler forced laughter that fell somewhere between incredulity and relief.
"Well, I think that's why she brought me down here," Chandler quipped, throwing a jovial nod in Monica's direction, "But I've told you before Monica, I'm not the kind of man you can just proposition in an alleyway; I'm a champagne and roses kind of guy. I need to be wooed."
Monica threw him a suitably sarcastic glare, her shoulders beginning to relax a little as Rachel's conspiratorial smirk indicated a complete and intrinsic confidence that nothing untoward could possibly have been going on between her two friends.
"That's why I was so surprised when I saw it was Monica down here; I never had Richard down as an alleyway kind of guy either!"
Chandler cleared his throat awkwardly when Monica visibly blanched at the mention of her husband.
"You didn't hurt yourself when you stumbled, did you Mon? You look a little... shaken."
Rachel's worry provoked a wave of guilt, and Monica shifted uneasily, shuffling her crutches more securely beneath her arms. The adrenaline that had surged through her body during that mind-blowing kiss was beginning to trough now, and she suddenly felt weak, her limbs starting to tremble.
"I'm alright" she murmured.
"Mon, you're shivering! Let's get you back inside. Here, pass me your purse." Rachel instructed, helpfully relieving Monica of her small leather shoulder bag and then immediately thrusting it towards Chandler, for him to carry on her behalf.
Chandler complied, wordless and solemn-eyed, tucking the bag beneath his arm and hanging back deferentially as Rachel began to cluck attentively around her somewhat dazed best friend.
Monica glanced back at him nervously. After finally being allowed to spend what felt like a life-changing amount of time with her lips pressed against his, the ever increasing distance between them now was pure agony, and as the residual heat from his kisses and the imprints from his fingertips continued to fade and dissipate, her formerly roused flesh felt cruelly bereft.
Her mind flew back to that night of drunken stupidity way back in the summer, and a renewed sense of panic began to constrict her ribs when Chandler's compassionate rejection of her clumsy advances rang loud in her ears.
"This is wrong"
"You're married"
Her yearning eyes sought him out, desperate for confirmation that creeping fingers of doubt and insidious good sense were not trying to tear him away from her once again; that Rachel's interruption was a mere blip; a small bump in the road to the final destination her heart now craved with complete conviction. If he pulled back now she did not know what she would do.
The tornado of intense feeling that had been garnering force within her all evening continued to whirl, but now that it had no place to go it felt dangerously out of control, her head was beginning to spin and she felt worryingly close to tears.
As they arrived at the main entrance of the theater Chandler seemed to sense her anguish, and when he nonchalantly reached for the chrome handle of the weighted glass doors, he moved his body recklessly close to hers, in a way that could surely only have been deliberate.
She gasped as she found herself submerged once more in his heat, his scent, the sound of his breath. It was the same kind of blissful sensory relief that one experiences when lowering aching muscles into a steaming bath, and she felt her lips part and her eyes flutter accordingly.
"Sorry Mon. I'll just grab the door"
His gruff mutter was anything but apologetic and sinfully close to her ear as he leaned intimately around her and pulled open the door before allowing both women to pass through ahead of him.
He placed a gentle hand against her back as they entered the brightly lit lobby, and his touch reignited her anxious flesh, worry and doubt ebbing away as a rampant surge of want took complete hold of her once more.
Newly confident that they remained on the same page, that their mutual desire continued to rage, she offered him a rueful, sultry-eyed smirk that was absorbed and returned with such eagerness and smoulder, euphoric sparks were sent flying across her skin.
They were not done.
Not by a long shot.
"So where are we sitting?" Rachel asked as they made their way towards the theater.
"You're up at the back with us," Chandler informed her with poorly concealed vexation, "The others are in the middle somewhere. You know, you turned up at the worst possible time."
His tone was so accusatory that Monica's head whipped around in shock, wondering what on earth he was about to say.
"Joey dies right at the beginning of this half, you've pretty much missed everything."
Chandler simply could not keep the irritation from his voice, frustrated as he was by Rachel's ill-timed and, to his mind, pointless intrusion.
"I know." she replied guiltily "I feel bad for showing up so late, but things were going really well with Joshua tonight. We had... a moment. But then my stupid boss turned up and ruined it."
Her annoyed tut and woeful eye-roll drew reproachful glances from both Monica and Chandler.
"Yeah, I hate when that happens" drawled Chandler, with a sardonic grimace.
When they arrived at their row, he gave a dejected sigh as he helped Monica with the dilapidated, red velvet seat they both thought they had seen the last of for the evening.
"So, how was the first half?" Rachel asked, as she stood patiently in the aisle.
"Yeah, it was good.."
Chandler's vaguely dispassionate reply was interrupted by a loud scoff from the elderly man sitting in front of Monica, who startled them all with a sarcastic riposte.
"I'm surprised you two saw any of it!"
Rachel's brow contorted in confusion as Monica and Chandler exchanged a look of alarm.
"What was that about?" Rachel mouthed.
Chandler attempted to communicate his complete bafflement with a shrug, a shake of his head, and a gesture that cast doubt upon the sanity of the crotchety man.
Rachel smothered a chuckle and shook her own head in bewilderment before waving at Phoebe, who was attempting to get their attention by gesticulating animatedly from her seat next to Sophie.
"Oh look at poor Pheebs, playing third wheel down there," Rachel remarked sympathetically as Chandler cleared his throat to prevent an emergent scoff, "I suppose I should go say hi to those guys".
Alone at last, Monica looked up forlornly into Chandler's eyes as he collapsed into his seat, and she could see that he was just about as lost for words as she was.
She pressed her lips together a little awkwardly before exhaling a loud dejected sigh and speaking with hesitation.
"Well... I guess at least we get to see Joey sing his Wham! song..."
Chandler eyed her with a dark look of reproval that quickly melted into a mutual wry snigger and as they contemplated their ill fortune he slid a surreptitious hand over to her seat and captured her fingers tenderly in his.
Predictably, their smirks soon faded to a wistful gaze of longing and Monica could feel her heart rate begin to quicken once more, but it was not long before Rachel reappeared at her side.
"Sorry Mon, can I squeeze past?"
Monica shifted her legs to the side, wincing as Rachel cautiously climbed across her, wobbling a little as she went. Chandler followed suit, twisting his own body to allow Rachel to access the vacant seat to his left, but she looked down at him incredulously as she struggled to balance.
"Chandler! Just move along!"
"No! I've been sitting here the whole time! I like this seat!"
He knew exactly how churlish his objection must have sounded.
"Don't be so ridiculous!" Rachel hissed, looking apologetically towards the grumpy man in front who was shuffling about in irritation, apparently unimpressed by the mild commotion going on behind him.
"All the seats are exactly the same! Move along!"
Her demand was met with an angry tut, and Monica felt Chandler's thwarted fingers give hers a final squeeze before slipping from their secretive clinch. She shot him a mournful glance, but he was too busy glowering at Rachel to return it.
He gave a dramatic huff as he flopped with flourish into the neighboring seat, but if Rachel noticed or cared at all she certainly did not show it, instead turning back to Monica, keen to continue with her tales of Joshua.
"So anyway, I cannot tell you how frustrating tonight was.."
Monica paused, having to bite hard at her own acutely frustrated tongue, before taking a calming breath and asking with polite patience, "Why? What happened with Josh?"
"-uah"
"Bless you." Chandler raised a sarcastic eyebrow as he side-eyed her dismally.
Rachel rolled her eyes.
"Josh-uah. Not Josh."
"He doesn't like Josh?" Monica confirmed.
"No. I don't" Rachel corrected briskly.
"So anyway, we'd just spent the best hour together; I picked him out some great outfits for work, and we were just having this amazing conversation; laughing together; really flirting, you know? And then, I was standing really close, adjusting his jacket, and we just had this moment, this incredible eye contact.."
Rachel's expression grew intense and dreamy as she relived the scene.
"And then my stupid boss burst in and wrecked the whole thing!"
She gave a pained sigh.
"And now, I have no idea what to do! Do I mention it? Follow it up? Or do I just wait and hope it happens again? Ugh. You're so lucky you're married and you don't have to deal with any of this crap anymore."
Monica looked down at her lap and pressed her eyes closed as she rode out the wave of nausea that rolled unpleasantly through her stomach. Chandler writhed restlessly in his seat, feeling her discomfort as potently as his own.
"Seriously! What should I do?" Rachel persisted.
Monica sighed in exasperation, struggling as she was to find the head space for her best friend's latest romantic escapades, "I don't know, Rach. Just... think outside the box.."
Rachel stared back at her questioningly.
"I know what you should do!" Chandler interposed with a flash of unanticipated vigor, "You should go find him! Right now! Screw the play! Strike while the iron's hot!"
Rachel tutted scathingly "'I'm not doing that! I'm not desperate!"
"Well good for you," Chandler grumbled beneath his breath, folding his arms and staring sulkily ahead, "Maybe spare a thought for those of us who are."
"What?" Rachel shot him another withering glare.
The dimming of the lights communicated the beginning of the second half of the play and the murmuring audience began to still and hush.
The return of the sublime cover of darkness that had earlier set the scene for the most soul-stirring kiss he had ever experienced in his life, wrenched at Chandler's heart in a way that felt completely overwhelming. He felt a sudden painful urge to seek any kind of connection he could with Monica, and he leaned first forward and then backwards in his seat, in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her past the barrier imposed by Rachel.
"Oh my God, Chandler!" Rachel scolded in an irritable whisper, "Will you please stop fidgeting! What is with you tonight?"
"Shhh!"
By this point Chandler could not help but side with the cantankerous man in front and when he turned to admonish Rachel for her chatter, Chandler threw her a petulant, smug smile.
However, Rachel's embarrassment was fleeting, and she raised her eyebrows in amusement and flashed Monica a furtive smirk in response to the man's crabbiness.
As Monica returned her friend's smile, she felt more than a shred of guilt for having felt unjustifiably annoyed by her presence, and she gave Rachel's shoulder a fond nudge with her own as she attempted to absorb herself in the play.
But once again, it did not matter how reasonable and rational Monica tried to be; how much she tried to channel her focus elsewhere; there was no distracting her singularly fixated mind.
She pressed her body slowly and carefully as far back in her seat as she could, so that she was finally able to find those desirous eyes that shone back at her through the shadows like the ocean under the night sky, and she was unable to ignore the unruly knot of need, the like of which she had never known, as it twisted and coiled deep in her stomach, suspending her right on the threshold between pleasure and pain.
The second half of the play had actually been shorter than the first but to Chandler it seemed to go on forever.
He felt suffocated; hemmed in by bodies, with uninvited perfumes invading his nostrils, obliterating the last remaining traces of hers; unwanted arms and knees grazing his agitated limbs, blockading him away from her, and preventing the one piece of physical contact that he felt like he might actually die without.
But when it was all finally over and he, Rachel and Monica jostled their way out into the cool night air once more, alongside his ravenous hunger for what he hoped was about to come, Chandler felt suddenly sick with nerves.
This exit from the theater was not quite the same as their heated scramble for the door at intermission, when the two of them had been entirely lost in one another, swept along by a lustful tempest of kisses, with no time for doubt or reason.
That miserable hour in the dark, parted from Monica and then immured by Rachel, had allowed a deep unease to creep into Chandler's mind.
As they navigated their way towards the exit, he stayed as close as he could, genuinely concerned that the wayward limb of a stranger might collide with her crutch and knock her off balance, but whilst the reasons for his proximity were chaste and honorable, his bodily reaction to it was not; every small touch setting off a fresh round of fireworks in his ribcage and inspiring a near unstoppable need to crash his lips into hers once more.
His crippling carnal need for her had not diminished in the slightest, that was for sure. But though the enchantment undoubtedly remained, it suddenly felt infinitely more complicated.
Were they actually going to go through with this?
If it had not been for Rachel's untimely intervention, it would almost certainly have happened already.
In fact, it would most likely still be happening right now.
Fantastically salacious images flooded his mind at this thought, and he felt just about ready to combust.
But still, the magnitude of what he was asking of Monica roiled in his gut.
An affair.
That was where this was headed wasn't it? In fact, some might say they were already there.
Chandler knew affairs. He had known them his whole life.
If either of his parents had ever had any intention of remaining faithful to the other, it certainly predated his own living memory.
Infidelity, and its associated blazing drama and toxic fury, had been an accepted part of Bing family life throughout Chandler's childhood until his parents' eventual divorce.
His eyes moved longingly towards Monica: Beautiful, sweet, decent Monica. She deserved better than that.
She was nothing like them.
He had always tried hard not to be like them himself, vowed not to be like them in fact, but perhaps the proverbial apple had not fallen so very far from the trees of promiscuity after all.
Infidelity was not in Monica's nature he was sure of that. She had not been the one to lead them to the dangerous precipice upon which they now stood. It had to have been him.
He had pursued her relentlessly, had he not? He could not even try to pretend otherwise.
Trapped first in a hospital, then in an apartment, by virtue of her injury, alone and depressed, he might have told himself that by making himself available, he was just helping her out, caring for her, being a good friend. But as with most narratives, there was an uncomfortable alternative version just waiting to be told.
A wounded woman, confined, lonely and vulnerable, flagged up an immediately obvious imbalance of power, and suddenly the romantic picture he had painted in his mind of two people discovering a bond so beatific it simply could not be stopped, morphed into something entirely more ugly.
An irrepressible tom-cat hounding an maimed mouse;
A neglected and bored novelist seducing a naive, young pool boy.
His lungs seized. No. It was not like that. He wasn't like them either.
What he and Monica shared was special. Exquisite.
At that very moment she turned and met his eyes, her gaze an immediate assault of searing passion that left him thunderstruck.
He wanted her. So badly. He wanted her more than he had thought was possible to want another person.
But at what cost? Did he really want to drag someone so perfect down the sordid path of deception, which appeared to be the natural order he had inherited as his birthright?
As they came to pause outside of the stage door awaiting an appearance from Joey, Monica edged exceedingly close, resting her body against his, confident that their friends would assume that her reason for doing so would be to simply take the weight off her poor, injured ankle, and that the cover of dark would obscure the finer details.
Chandler swallowed hard.
Feeling her body melting against his was all it took for self-control to abandon him, and he hated himself for that weakness.
Why couldn't he stop?
Maybe it really was written in the stars?
Or perhaps it was just in his blood.
Either way, his hungry fingers moved stealthily to her hip and he dipped his head as if to look at the floor, his lips skimming her hair, and his abdomen clenching hard when her spine curved and undulated against him in response.
Joey had finally appeared at the stage door now, less orange than before having removed his makeup, and already making plans to abandon his friends in favor of a promising drink with the make-up artist with whom he had been striking up a rapport. He waved cheerfully towards Phoebe, Ross and Sophie who were making their way down the alleyway towards the group.
"You were great Joey!"
Rachel was the first to offer congratulations that were then echoed by all.
"I had no idea you could rap like that!" Monica told him.
"Joey, you were amazing!" Sophie exclaimed flashing him a bright grin before turning to Chandler, "You must have loved that Wham! number, Chandler; Ross was just telling me and Phoebe about the time you tried to jump on stage with George Michael!"
"I'm going to need to hear more about that story!" Rachel chuckled, as she and Ross shared an amused glance.
As much as Chandler would have liked to have come back with some biting retort at Ross's expense, he was struggling to focus on anything beyond the way that Monica had nestled the taut muscles of her behind flush against his pelvis, and as she smirked back at him over her shoulder, he found he could manage little more than a breathless guffaw.
"Mon, I think we should get you home," Rachel suddenly declared, "You've been on your feet so long, you look like you're about to collapse on Chandler!"
"You're right, I am. Sorry Chandler," Monica looked up at him with another knowing smile that made his breath catch.
He was quite amazed by how quickly she seemed to have discovered an aptitude for hiding in plain sight like this, especially considering her stuttering display of anxiety when Rachel had happened upon them in the alleyway earlier.
"That's alright. Collapse if you need to," he replied airily, taking the opportunity to loop a genial arm around her shoulders, in a hug from behind.
His eyes suddenly landed on Sophie, and he noticed that she seemed to be observing them with a hint of curiosity. It would not be the first time that an outsider had been intrigued by the tactile interactions that went on within their close-knit group, but given the continuing physical developments between himself and Monica, and Sophie's link to Richard, Chandler could not help but feel a little spooked, and he dropped his arm to his side as casually as he was able.
Rachel stepped in to physically extract Monica at this point, placing a hand on her arm and getting ready to guide her towards the street.
"Come on, let's go. You can share a cab with me and Pheebs."
Chandler's momentary panic that Monica was about to be stolen away from him yet again was alleviated by a fortuitous intervention from Ross.
"Actually Chandler, you should probably hop in with the girls too; Sophie and I thought we might grab a drink somewhere".
Chandler's eyes flickered straight to Monica and their gaze bonded for an explosive instant, his lips curling into a smile.
"Perfect"
The cab was alive with chatter as Rachel and Phoebe bounded between topics; first giggling as they dissected some of the quirkier aspects of the play; then debating how Rachel should proceed with Joshua; and finally pondering the likelihood, of a long term relationship between Sophie and Ross.
But Monica was deaf to it all, her eyes drawn like magnets to the profile of the man in the passenger seat, who sat with a tense-shouldered introspection that matched her own.
She felt worryingly unsure as to what would happen next. Her pulse was racing, her mind full of hazy, scandalous visions of the final chapter she had been hungering for, but although that promised shangri-la seemed in touching distance now, she still had no idea quite how she was going to get them there.
How explicit was she going to have to be about what she wanted? Would Chandler just instinctively climb out of the cab when they reached her apartment? Or was he expecting some kind of official invitation? And if he did not receive one, would he simply forget the whole thing and retreat shyly to Bedford Street? Would she let him?
A lustful mental image of the two of them tumbling onto her bed, a writhing mass of rhapsodic flesh, flickered through her mind sending a tingle down her spine but simultaneously bringing an unpleasant clamminess to her brow.
She could see the framed wedding photo on her bedside table.
Richard's reading glasses on his.
His robe hanging from the back of the door.
Was she really going to do this?
Sighing deeply, she pressed her eyes closed and recalled the intoxicating sensation of Chandler's lips against hers, and she dragged her trembling, guilty fingers across her face.
"Mon, are you sure you're OK?" Rachel examined her again, "I know you said you were feeling better, but you really don't seem like yourself. Would you like me to stay over at your place tonight? I'm a little worried about leaving you all alone".
"No!"
Monica knew that her refusal exploded from her lips far too fast, but at least her vehemence answered her own question.
She was definitely going to do this.
"Thanks for offering Rach, but I'm honestly fine, I just really need to go to bed"
Her affirmation was calm, and absolutely truthful.
Bed was exactly where she needed to be. But perhaps somebody else's bed would be favorable to her own.
Chandler was the first to leap from the car when it drew up alongside Rachel and Phoebe's building, holding open the door for the two women to climb out after saying their goodbyes to Monica.
As he slid into the backseat he gave the driver Monica's address before turning to look at her, his eyes expectant but anxious. A cloud of nervous tension hung thickly between them until Monica broke the silence with a tentative utterance.
"Do you think you'll see Joey later?"
Chandler searched her face with fearful confusion, wondering if this was her way of telling him that she was having second thoughts, that they were about to go their separate ways.
"I..uh..I don't know. He said he might stay out with that make-up girl.." his voice sounded choked.
Monica nodded before leaning forward and speaking to the driver.
"Change of plan. Can we please just go straight to Bedford Street?"
As she leaned back slowly in her seat, her eyes gleamed through the dark, intense and ferocious, and he could clearly see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
"Is that OK?" she checked in a husky whisper.
He blinked back at her, not quite darling to believe what was happening.
"Yeah. That's OK.."
"Good."
She reached out and roughly seized hold of his shirt, dragging him towards her into a kiss even more frantic and ravenous than the last, neither of them caring what the driver made of their mutual groan of intensification.
No further words were spoken, not even as they stumbled their way from the cab to Chandler's apartment, each so utterly engrossed in the other, that neither would ever be able to recall how mundane tasks such as paying the driver or opening doors ever came to pass.
It was only when they crashed into his bedroom and he felt her insistent fingers moving to the buckle of his belt that a sudden rush of anxiety and guilt swelled in Chandler's gut, coming from nowhere and taking his breath away.
"Mon.."
Her urgent lips barely allowed him the time or space to form words.
"Do you think we should.. I don't know..."
"No!" her eyes were imploring and her voice laden with anguish as she halted his stammering protestation before it had a chance to emerge, and she cradled his face gently in her hands "Please! I know we need to talk Chandler, of course we do, and we will, just not now, OK? Please not now!"
She pressed desperate kisses against his forehead, his eyelids, his temples, before continuing her breathless plea.
"I just... I need you, Chandler. I need to be with you, and I don't want to think about anything else. Just you. Please!"
As he gazed back into those yearning blue eyes he knew that he would have been powerless to resist even if he had wanted to. He could deny her nothing, and he stopped her appeal with another searing kiss.
"I need you too."
He barely had time to murmur his avid affirmation, his famished lips and tongue already seeking out the sensitive skin of her neck, and his fingers attempting to free her from the constraints of her blouse and bra. He managed to pause, just long enough to drink her in with his eyes, as his heart hammered in his chest.
She was spectacular. Perfect. Her milky skin luminous against the dark of the room, bringing to his mind a divine vision realized in marble by a renaissance master. And that was how he touched her at first, reverent palms against translucent skin, mapping each gentle curve and hollow, but the enthusiasm of her response encouraged his exploration to become gradually more emphatic, electrifying her flesh with kneading fingers and grazing teeth.
He groaned as she began to free him from his clothes with eager, deft hands, but when his own thumbs hooked around her waistband, her ensuing exclamation, breathless and frustrated, was jarring to say the least.
"Oh crap. You might want to look away for this next part. Watching me try to take off these stupid pants without injuring myself is not going to be arousing.."
A small laugh of bewilderment escaped his throat, as he continued to scatter kisses across her stomach "What?"
"They're so tight, it took me about a half hour to put them on!"
"Well, I don't like to boast, but I'm pretty sure I'll get 'em off quicker than that" he promised gruffly, beginning to tug the material over her hipbone.
"No seriously!" she suddenly sounded a little panicked "I have to be really careful pulling them over my ankle!"
He stopped for a moment and looked deeply into her anxious eyes before catching her lips in the tenderest of kisses, and running soothing fingers through her already disheveled hair.
"I promise I'll take care of your ankle" he whispered softly. "Let me take them off."
She lay back on her elbows, watching as he began to peel the fabric slowly from her hips and down her thighs, her breath catching as his lips trailed languid kisses across every patch of newly exposed skin.
"If it makes you feel any better, you look sexy as hell in these pants. I could hardly keep my hands off you. You probably noticed. "
"That actually does make me feel a little better." she admitted with a whimper, her back arching when his hair brushed against her inner thighs, jolts of electricity racing through her flesh.
He could feel her tension as he reached her hurt foot, and he held it gently aloft as he began to ease it from the tight cotton with scrupulous care.
Her ankle was barely swollen at all now, the only visible sign of her injury being a streak of mauve, right across the slowly recovering ligament. She gasped as his lips glanced that purple bruise with a kiss as soft as a feather, before making their way at a torturously slow pace back towards her hips.
When he reached for a pillow and gently slipped it beneath her foot she was so touched by his sweetness that she thought she might weep, but then she felt his humid breath against her belly, and his fingers pulling at her underwear and she hissed in fervid anticipation instead.
He took his time with teasing kisses, edging his lips ever closer to where they were both now desperate for them to be, and when the sweep of his tongue finally drew heavenly proclamation from her lips, his low hum of satisfaction against her already ignited flesh made her feel like she might shatter into a million pieces.
He wrapped a steadying arm around her flailing right leg, determined to keep her damaged ankle ensconced in the safety of its pillow, and he felt her left foot flex hard before arching like a ballerina's, her toes dancing wild, rapturous patterns across his shoulder as she gasped his name.
She could barely take the strength of what was building inside of her, and she was not ready for it. Not yet. She wanted him closer, craving the fever in his eyes and the haven of his kiss, aching for his fullness.
As she struggled her way free and grabbed his shoulders, encouraging his face towards hers, he looked momentarily wounded.
"Was that not good?" he whispered anxiously.
"Way too good" she panted her assurance as she dragged that remarkable mouth back to hers "I just need you Chandler. I need you with me. Now."
As his hand fumbled around his bedside table, ready to comply, his lips moved back to her neck, devouring lungfuls of her scent, tasting the salt of her skin.
Finally, her hands framed his face and her eyes gripped his, and when he sank into her, ecstatic in her molten heat, she cried out, knowing there could be no greater feeling in the world. Nothing else existed now, time stood still. It was just the two of them, coiled tight, moving together towards that sublime euphoric plain, where desperate thrusts turned to violent shudders and blinding light.
Afterwards they clung to one another; hearts thrashing, humid breath mingling between langorous kisses; a single entity of glistening skin.
Ecstasy melted into deep satisfaction, but as wholly fulfilled and content as she was, laying against Chandler's chest, his pacifying fingers combing through her hair, there was only so long that Monica could fend off the slithering tendrils of guilt that began to infiltrate her mind.
"Chandler, I need you to know something..."
Her voice was so small he had to bend closer to hear her.
"I'm not a bad person. Not really..."
His arms tightened around her as he felt hot silent tears moisten his skin.
"Of course you're not!" he began to exclaim, but she cut him off.
"I don't want an affair, Chandler."
The seize of his muscles, and the stilling of his fingers against her scalp, spoke of his fear; Fear that this was over, that she had come to her senses, that once was enough.
"I'm going to leave Richard".
He exhaled the oxygen that had been unable to escape his anxious lungs.
"I'm not telling you this to put any pressure on you, I'm not.. expecting anything..." she continued, tilting her chin to look into his face "And I have no idea how the hell I'm going to do it, but I have to start being honest. I don't love him anymore and I can't stay with him."
She chewed on her lip nervously before adding "Because I only want you".
He cupped her chin in his hand as he stared gravely into her eyes.
"You can put as much pressure on me as you need. And we'll figure it all out, I promise we will. I love you, Monica. More than anything. I thought maybe you knew".
An emotional whimper escaped her throat as she pressed her lips ardently against his.
"I love you too".