"Love Scenes" are my Achilles' Heel. I don't write 'em if I can help it, (insert a lot of fades to black and 'meanwhile...'s), and can barely read most of them without bursting into hysterical giggles (I never claimed to be mature). This story is me responding to a challenge from a fellow writer, just to see if I could do it.

As such... this fic is naughty. That's pronounced "naw-TAAAAY". I've seen worse than this both on Prime Time *and* in the PG-13 sections of FF.net, so I didn't NC-17 it, but just be forewarned -- this story is chock-full of s-e-x.

If that bothers you, now would be a really excellent time to flee.

Didya flee yet?

No?

You sure?

Okay...


--------------------------------------------

"Hang on, hang on," Chandler sighed, vaulting over the duck and jogging towards the door. "Jeez -- I'm coming, you don't have to bang the damn door down..."

Chandler arranged his glare and yanked the door open. "What in the..."

His angry look slid off, his eyes flying wide. "Rach?"

"Hey," she whispered, leaning haphazardly against the doorway, eyes red-rimmed, the band-aid on her forehead dangling limply from one strip of adhesive. "Can I come in?"

"Sure... I mean, of course, come on..." Chandler caught her as she stumbled, leaning her up against the foosball table. "You're a little drunk, huh?"

"A little," she admitted, holding her fingers together unsteadily.

Chandler knelt at her feet, removing her impossibly high-heeled loafers. "I never saw how you walked in these things, anyway."

"Well, I was better at it before the wine," Rachel reached up and peeled her band-aid the rest of the way off, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can.

"You, uh... you wanna sleep it off in Joey's bed? He has a date..."

"No."

"You want me to help you across the hall?"

"No." Rachel padded barefoot over to the big brown couch, collapsing onto it. "This is all your fault, Chandler. All... your... fault."

"I know. I know, Rach... I'm so sorry."

"All your fault," she mumbled, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it behind her head. "I was happy until you came along, with your big mouth, and your stupid crystal duck..."

Chandler sat down, putting a tentative hand on her ankle. "Rach... I know, I know my timing was horrible..."

"Could not have been more horrible," Rachel clarified.

"But... it was an honest mistake, okay? How was I supposed to know about..."

"Don't say the name!"

"That... person... from China?"

"Don't say the country," Rachel moaned, lurching forward, wrapping her arms around him, hot tears soaking into his collar. "I've never been so embarrassed..."

Chandler reached out, lightly stroking her hair. "Rach... I..."

He broke off, sighed. "If there's anything, anything I can do to make this up to you..."

Her head snapped up, her eyes staring into his. "Do you swear?"

"Sure, sure, yeah, I swear..."

And before Chandler's brain could react, Rachel's lips were on his.

He sprang back. "Rach... what... whaddya... whaddya doin?"

"You swore." Her fingernails scraped lightly down the back of his neck, and Chandler fought back a shudder of pleasure.

"I didn't know ya... ya meant this..."

"Do you know where I almost went tonight?"

"Um... no..."

"Paolo's."

"Oh, Rachel, major ick...!"

"And it's where I'll go if you don't kiss me."

"You realize this is probably not, um, the healthiest of reactions..."

Rachel slid herself onto Chandler's lap, straddling him, reaching out to grasp the back of the couch. He was trapped. "I don't feel very healthy right now." Her hair fell in a silken curtain against his neck as she lowered her lips to his throat, dragging her mouth slowly along the place where his heartbeat echoed loudest.

"R-r-ray, Rachel, wait," Chandler pleaded, struggling for control as Rachel's hands roamed his chest, sliding up underneath his bowling shirt, leaving trails of heat. "You'd regret this tomorrow, you'd hate me, I don't want that..."

"I wouldn't."

"You would."

"I wouldn't. Part of me has wanted to do this since that night I saw you again at the bar."

"R-r-really?"

"And you know..." her lips pressed against his ear again, her breath sending shivers through him. "I did have those dreams about you. They were very good dreams."

"The, uh... the table dream?"

"Among others." She tossed her head, a sly smile stretching her lips, layers falling all around her face. Her hands moved further north inside the warmth of his shirt.

"But Ross..."

"... is with Julie..."

"But..."

"Chandler?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up." She pressed her mouth against his, leaning forward, sliding herself against him. He moaned against her lips, and her neck arched in triumph as his hands began to move, sliding up her back, crushing her to him. His mouth opened, heat rising, his kisses becoming more urgent, demanding.

"Chandler?" she gasped.

"Shut the hell up," he growled, pushing her back into the cushions of the couch.

He moved over her, his eyes hungry, his thigh sliding between her legs, pressure where she needed it most. He took her mouth, cupping her face with a hand, his thumb caressing her cheek even as his lips beat down on hers mercilessly. She raised her hands to his face, and he made a low noise, capturing her wrists, holding them above her head with one hand while the other began a slow assault up her thigh.

Had she thought she was in control? Seriously?

"This is what you wanted," he murmured against her lips. "This is what you get."

This hadn't been... she hadn't known... had never dreamed this man lurked inside Chandler Bing, the jokester, the seemingly confidence-free clown...

This explains a lot about Janice, Rachel thought...

And then Chandler blotted out all conscious thought for her... his fingers toying, teasing along her upper thigh, fingertips barely brushing skin.

He was killing her. Rachel's hips lifted off the sofa, silently begging, but Chandler just laughed deep in his throat, continuing his agonizing ministrations. She moaned, her neck arching, hair spilling across the pillow, her whole body grinding against his in need.

"Please," she begged. "Please."

"Want something?" he smiled, letting the backs of his knuckles drag the fabric of her blouse across her aching breasts.

He kissed her again, their tongues sliding together, his fingers undoing button after button, gently pulling her shirt away, his hands cupping, teasing. He trailed kisses down her throat, her collarbone, pressing his lips against her breasts, releasing them from her bra, the warmth of his mouth surrounding her, driving her insane. She rocked herself against his thigh, desperate, and he withdrew it.

"Chandler," she moaned, her voice ragged, her breath shallow. "Oh my god..."

His hands again, god, how had she never noticed his hands? The large, warm weight of them on her thighs as he spread them, his thumbs pressing in, an unstoppable force. His mouth moved to her stomach, traced the lines of her ribs, dipped towards her belly button. Her work skirt pooled around her waist, her panties were being dragged slowly down her legs, the silk of them a whole new world of torture.

And then... oh, god... his mouth.

She arched involuntarily, grinding against him, as he worked magic, slow circles building to rhythmic pressure. She realized her hands were free and tangled them into his hair, eyes closed, brain melting, crying his name and then screaming it as he sent her over the edge, nails raking into his scalp, legs trembling in his hands.

"Oh my god, Chandler, oh my god," she mumbled, the words having no meaning, only the need to say his name, to touch him, to...

Her hands flew to his collar, fumbling at buttons, pulling frantically at the black fabric that kept her skin from his. She ripped his shirt back from him, yanking it down his arms, hurling it aside before attacking his belt buckle, his khakis, his boxers.

And finally she was close to him, skin on skin, the warm weight of him, the man-ness of him flaming her brain, running her hands deliriously over his arms, his chest, his stomach, reveling in his textures, unable to get enough of him, wanting him closer. Their mouths met and she wrapped her legs around his, her hands tracing the lines of his back, his neck, the rough satin of his hair.

"More," she begged, feeling him press against her. "Please."

He slipped his hands under her thighs, her lip dragging through his teeth... and then he was inside her, filling her, his heart beating hard against her own.

"Rach," he whispered, his eyes closed, his lips parted, a look on his face that was almost holy. "Oh, god... Rach."

She kissed his forehead, tasting his sweat, and he began to move, slowly, drawing out the moment, an exquisite torture, his breath shallow. Their fingers intertwined, her calves sliding up his thighs, her whole body pulsing, her hips rising to meet his.

"I can't... I'm... more. More."

He slammed into her, and a strangled scream of satisfaction rose from her throat. She pushed herself against him, fingernails raking down his back, encouraging him, begging him, her whole body trembling, wild and unconscious. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, their bodies slick with sweat, sliding against each other as he drove into her again and again, whispering in her ear, telling her what she was doing to him, how she was making him feel, the power she had over him. His teeth dragged over her throat as his voice grew ragged, hoarse with wanting, and she crushed him to her as they both cried out, his forehead touching her own, their breath intermingling as their moans of pleasure grew louder, frantic, animal.

The mouunting pressure broke inside her and she screamed, nails digging into him, her head thrashing back and forth. Chandler cried out and she felt him shudder, tightening her arms around him, keeping him with her, wanting to feel this through him.

His head dropped onto her neck and they gasped for air, limbs tangled together, one gasping, aching creature. She felt his heart pound against her chest, ran her hands up his arms, felt his biceps tremble from the force of it.

She put his hand on his heart, and he lifted his head, staring into her eyes.

"Chandler Bing... you are full of surprises," she grinned.

Hurt flashed through his eyes then, and a guard slammed down between them. "Was that what you wanted?" he gasped.

She raised her hand, cupped his cheek. "I didn't know I wanted this."

"Joey will be back soon," Chandler said, bitterness creeping into his voice. "You might want to head over to Paulo's, if that's still the plan."

"I don't want to go to Paolo's. I want to stay here, with you."

"Well, I'm going to sleep," he said, the same stubborn hurt in his eyes.

"I want to sleep with you," she said. "I want to wake up with you."

Confusion stole over Chandler's face. "But Ross...?"

"I've been waiting for someone to really love me a long time, Chandler. You made it sound like he was it. I wanted to be loved."

"And what do you want now?"

"I wasn't expecting this. But I... I want to wake up with you. Take a shower with you. Maybe put on your sweatshirt, maybe go get some coffee. See what happens from there."

One last lock on the door: "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah, Chandler. I mean it."

He rose from her, kissed her hand, and took it, pulling her to her feet. "C'mon. Let's pick you out a sweatshirt."

She followed him into his bedroom, grinning.