So what if I found out Joey cooks naked before he said he did in front of everyone? That's not something you can admit to or anything, like 'Oh, yes, the sky is blue and my roommate cooks naked and I'm fine with that, and it's a wonderful day in the neighborhood, Mr. Rogers.'

But it's not like a big deal or anything. I mean, yeah, there's all those playboy bunnies that maybe just wear an apron, a sexy apron, all frilly and stuff, and cook in the kitchen. Joey doesn't have the hips to be a playboy model (and that is the official reason I gave him). But, anyway, it's not like I hadn't seen him naked before, right? Right? Not in sexual situations, either, just like…well, actually, just about every situation is sexual to Joey. So not sexual situations with me, at least.

Except for that one time--- but that was because we were drunk and playing strip poker and we stopped.

So I just told him not to cook me breakfast anymore.

I mean, so what if he still does? If that's what he's doing now? He makes good breakfast. Good eggs… Oh, Christ, that sounds dirty when he's naked in the kitchen.

Good…toast. There. Not dirty.

What's weird is him still doing it when I'm around. That's what's weird. Not me letting him do it. But I really shouldn't let him do it, that's kind of weird, too.

It'd be really weird if someone walks in.

Are those footsteps?


No. Okay, we should totally lock the door.

We're not actually doing anything, though. We're definitely not doing anything, because I'd know if we were doing something. Half of us are naked, not all of us. And that makes a difference. Maybe. Does it? I'm not doing anything. Just waiting for my breakfast, nothing wrong with that. Nothing sexual. Totally cool.

"I can see why girls like you."

Okay, I did not just say that.

"Heh, thanks, man."

And he did not just think I meant his body. I didn't mean his body. Did I? No.

"I meant 'cuz breakfast, you know, I can't make breakfast but you can and hey! All the girls I've ever gone out with hate me once we break up. They could hire a speaker to motivate them in their hatred of me. And after the speech, there would be no refreshments, it'd just be, 'Hey, girls, there are free pitchforks and torches in the lobby, let's go get him'." Nice save. All right.

Joey's not paying attention, so I must've played that one cool. Okay.

"Here you go, Chandler, eggs and pancakes."

"Awesome. But, you know, when my chef's a nudist, I'm always extremely concerned about finding a hair in my food."

"Don't mess around, just eat it, huh?"

Oh, yes. Definitely no messing around. Eat your eggs and pancakes. Chewing keeps you from talking. "Thith ith good."…Chewing should keep you from talking. Don't talk with your mouth full. Shut up. Shut up. Swallow. Oh, man, how can so many things sound so dirty? Swallow but don't think of swallowing.

"Thanks. One of my many talents. I have like, twenty or something."

"Counting the ten on your resume?"


"Didn't you lie about all of those?"

"…Oh. That's right. Then I have eleven."

"Mmm?" Chew, chew.

"The ten I didn't lie about, and imagination…y'know, for thinkin' up the other ten."

"Isn't it cold?" What does that have to do with anything? Nothing. So why ask? No reason. It should be easier to keep a mouth closed than open. Probably something wrong with me. Maybe I should go to a doctor and have my jaw re-tightened, I mean, I've heard I have a screw loose, maybe that's it…

Joey looks confused. When does he not? Then, there's that moment where it all clicks into place. That moment's….now, "No. It's kinda…I dunno, like having wind blow up your skirt or something."

"I've never experienced that sensation before."

"Well, I was gonna say shorts, but--"

"But you think I have more experience with dresses?"

"Well, I do wear the pants in the relationship."

What? What the hell? What the God-damn hell? "I'm the one that works steadily, I pay the rent, and you cook and apparently know what it's like to wear a dress. How is that pants-wearing?"

"I meant in the bedroom."

"I don't want to know who you're confusing me with, but we've never had sex."

"No, but if we did, it's pretty obvious I'd be on top, huh?"

"What? No!" I think moments like these call for wild flailing of the arms. "No, it's not obvious. At all."

"Chandler, man, ask anyone. Wait, I'll call Monica."

"You're going to talk to her on the phone while you're naked?"

"I've talked to you on the phone while I'm naked."


"I'm talking to you now and I'm naked."


Oh, God, Joey's actually reaching for the phone. Actually dialing the phone. Oh, God, oh, God, my head is in a plate of scrambled eggs. Cold scrambled eggs. That a naked Joey Tribbiani touched. One more 'Oh God' won't hurt.

"Man, what are you doing?"

"Wishing this was a bowl of soup so I could drown myself."

"Chandler, c'mere, Rachel picked up."

"So she has mastered the telephone." But I'm walking over there. I think I have egg in my hair. I think I'm stupid for voluntarily going closer to Joey.

"Hey, Rach. Naw, just, say, like if Chandler and me had sex or something---no, we didn't. But if we did, who'd be on top?" Presumably for optimum humiliation value, he's leaning towards me as Rachel very loudly and very clearly tells Joey, 'You'. "Thank you! No, I just told him that I'd be on top. Why? Oh. I dunno, 'cuz I'm naked and Chandler's weird."

"Stop talking."

"Sure, he's here."

"No I'm not."

"Dude, she heard you, she knows…-- Okay, yeah, no, that's all. Bye, Rachel."

"And the headlines will read 'Man Commits Suicide Because Roommate Cooks Nude'."

"What are you so bent out of shape about? I was just proving it's obvious."

He's bouncing on his toes. Don't look at him bouncing on his toes. Oh, he's almost bouncing on my toes, too. Don't look to see what appendage is hitting you in the leg. Better left unknown. Ignore, ignore, take many, many large steps backwards. There's a good boy. Okay, "So you're saying that I could never be on top?" What…the….hell? Even from far away this isn't a good conversation to have, why am I having it?

He's definitely coming closer. Avoid eye contact. Better yet, avoid contact. "Pfft, no way, Bing."

Bing? Bing? My boss calls me 'Bing'. My boss who slaps my ass calls me 'Bing'… Thoughts, thoughts, go away, come again another….never. "Oh, come on, if I wanted to I could so be on top." But I don't want to. That's the point. Say the point; 'but I don't want to'. Why am I not saying the point?



"Prove it."

Just revel in the remaining seconds where you could be declared brain dead. "…What?"

"Prove it."

So that answer didn't come out any differently than it had before. "You don't…That's…that's…ungh."

"Not like, just stick me." The romantic fool. "Just, I mean, Christ, Ross got like three totally hot girls to sleep with him. It's not like you're way smarter than Ross or anything, but you did that whole debate thing in high school, right?"

"…Little while."

"There ya go! So, just, do something. That makes me wanna get drilled. Improv, Chandler, improv."

"You're the actor, not me!"

"Well, with that negative attitude, you won't get the part."

"…You have people audition to have sex with you?"


Have I had a weirder conversation? Probably, it's Joey. There was that one about quarters. That was weird. And skittles. And that thing with George Washington. But this is near the top, at least. "All right. It…I could… I dunno, it'd be really good."

" 'Really good'? C'mon."

"I don't want to be on top." There! That's the point! Better late than never.

"So, what, you want to bottom?"

Hell no. "Okay. Wait. Okay. It….you know anything about anatomy?" And now I've totally strayed from that point. Get back on track.

"It doesn't really take a rocket scientist to have sex, Chandler."

"No. Actually, being a rocket scientist usually hinders that."


"You don't know what 'hinders' means, do you?"

"It has something to do with sex."

"Only in context."

"Then no."

"Then forget it. Forget anatomy. Forget… Joe, look at my record, I can't persuade people into having sex with me." My good points have a strange tendency to be personal insults. I've got to stop that. Maybe I should talk to Phoebe's ex-boyfriend, psychiatrist-whats-his-name. But, man, I hate that guy.

"That's 'cuz you're talking."


"You gotta do other…things with your mouth. Not talk."

"This is speaking in general and not in terms to the situation, right?" Okay. Woah. When did Joey get so close and why is he getting closer? I should have noticed that. I…should have noticed that in a much different way then I'm noticing that now.

"Not if you don't wanna."

"I don't want to." All right, voice hasn't cracked like that since puberty.

"So don't."

"I won't."

But I am.



Oh, Shit.

Stop kissing Joey. I'm not stopping the kissing. The kissing is continuing. In fact, I'm pushing him backwards. This would make so much more sense if the pushing was separating us. But, well---my God, how long is this man's tongue?

It's insane that I'm not gagging.

Joey's on a barcalounger. Mine, if that's important. But it's not. It's important that we're apart. Separated. Done. That I can't fit in the chair with him. Unless--"Move your legs," not what was supposed to be said. But he's spreading his legs and I'm kneeling between them.

And now somehow, with awkward fumbles that would seem dangerous even if he wasn't naked, straddling him.

There's a moan.

"Which one of us was that?"

"Was what?" Joey's considerably more focused on the kissing.

"Who's the moaner?"

"…I dunno."

"It is harder to tell," Stop just long enough to breathe, "since both of us sing baritone."

"Probably you. I'm more of a grunter. Y'know. Uh, uh."

"Oh, that's good, Tarzan. Guess that makes me Jane."

"And Jane's a moaner."

"Wait, so what, we're roleplaying?"

"Chandler. This is s'posed to be romantic and I'm cool with that, but seriously. Shut up."

His tongue, his Oh-Christ-long tongue is in my ear. Hard to disagree when someone's tongue is in your ear. "Aa-aah-kay."

I grind against his hips. This is way more fun than I thought it'd be. At least here I know I'm doing something right. There's a hot, hard fact proving that. Although with Joey I don't think anyone's ever done anything wrong.

Is it weird I'm worried about my hands being cold? And my feet. My feet are definitely cold. Maybe I should keep my socks on. It might be a little odd to wear gloves, though. But it be really terrible to be the first to do something wrong. That's great. More insecurities-- I need more. If I were ever secure with anything, I just would have nothing to live for. Grind some more-- I know that works.

Reach down behind me and grab his thighs, almost sitting on my own fingers. Yep. Cold hands, cold hands. He shudders and thrusts up. Small circles with my thumbs, still cold against our shared radiating heat, and he thrusts again. His skin is soft.

"Pants off, Chandler."


"Not enough." so he is playing Tarzan, with patented fragmented sentences, "Easier that way."

"Oh--right." I miss his mouth when I kiss him as I pull back to stand up, "Let's…you go get, whatever. While I--" Okay. Two Tarzans, no Janes. But we could beat Johnny Weismuller any day.

"Right, oh. Right." He's scrambling to his room and I'm hopping out of my pants and shorts. There's probably a better way to go about this. At least a more dignified way. This is probably the reason we're not invited out more.

My shirt's last, and while it's half-over-my-head Joey runs into me. On purpose, I guess, because he hugs me from behind, hands on my stomach. Huh. His hands are cold, too. I tug the shirt over my head and turn to look at him, wrists still stuck in my sleeves. "Are you trying to take advantage of me, sir?"

"I'll buy you breakfast." He waves the lubricant to enforce his words or something.

"Yeah, with money you borrowed from me."

"I'll pay you back."

"Can't we just have a cigarette afterwards?" I kiss him, just for the hell of it.

He smiles against my lips, and bumps his forehead against mine, "Like I'd let you smoke."

"Worth a shot." I finish taking off my shirt and let it drop to the ground, which is really on Joey's feet. "I, uh…" My hand joins his around the lubricant bottle, "Never--" I blush and he smiles at it, the bastard. "Have you?"

"Oh, sure, hundreds of times!"

"Ah." So long as I'm with a professional. "Wait, do you charge by the hour?"

"Huh?…Oh. No. I figure, I got a gift; I oughta give to the community, you know?"

"And, you've done this?"

"Sure. I mean, with girls, though."

"With girls?"

"Girls have butts, too."

"Strange. I thought girls' bodies went 'head-shoulders-knees-and-toes.' Butts? Intriguing." I've been hanging around Joey too much, he can tell I'm nervous. And I can tell he can tell. So he probably tell I can tell he can tell. Joey's brain might not be able to take the connection that far, though, which is good because a few more 'tells', and I'd have been confused, too.

"Chandler, you got nothin' to worry about, okay?" There's a pretty eager press against my leg, which he may or may not mean to do.

"Ah, penises." I muse, wrapping my fingers around Joey's, well, penis, and giving a few clumsy jerks, "So much easier to decipher than my Little Orphan Annie decoder ring." It's strange to do, from this direction, so I pretty much have to go behind him to get a better…hand on the job. I giggle at the pun into Joey's shoulder.

"What?" It's more of a throaty gasp than a question.

"Nothing. Quiet."

A few more long, slow, soft-squeezing pulls and he leans back into me. He's breathing a little faster, has a bit of a catch at the end of each exhale. I can't really help but pump against him, not into him, but that makes the breathing a little more erratic, anyway. "That's pretty…That's good, man."

I stop pulling and his whole body twitches towards my hand as I move it away. "So, guess I am on bottom."


"You're right." I rest my chin on his shoulder, "You wear the pants."

"I was joking. We both wear pants."

"Right now, neither of us do."

"Still equal."

I rub my hand over his stomach; harder than a girls'. "So, how do we do this, huh? I mean, do I just bend over or what?"

"Takes the spark out of it if you ask, doesn't it?"

"Listen. My mom told me how to do it the other way. For this one, my dad would have to tell me. I like to avoid as many scarring conversations as I can."

"Yeah. So, yeah, I guess." He grabs my hand and stops it mid-circle, the tip of my index finger on the edge of his bellybutton. "But, I mean…what if I, like, hurt you or something?" Good thing this was the guy who said I had nothing to worry about.

"I'll run screaming into the night." Which would be easier to do if it was, in fact, night. Joey's pretty easy to lead to the bedroom even if he's scared as hell. Gotta admire that in a guy. He could be in the army. At least if the army was anything at all like it was in M*A*S*H. "I'll say 'ow', you'll say 'oops, sorry', and we'll figure it out."



"All right."

"Never thought I'd see the day Joey Tribbiani had to be talked into sex."

"It's you, man."

That should seem endearing, or sweet. Really it just makes me sound entirely and sickeningly repulsive.

A bit like I was the one on the VD poster, actually.

It's hard to breathe as I turn on the light.

Harder to breathe as I brace my hands on the bedspread.

Absolutely impossible to breathe when Joey kisses my neck.

Oh, wouldn't this be a great time to have a stroke.

I can hear it as Joey warms the lube up in his hands. Still slightly cold when it touches my skin; I clench and Joey tells me to knock it off in just about the nicest way I've ever heard.

"Just relax, okay?"

"What makes you think I'm not relaxed?"

He runs his hand across my shoulders and massages them. The muscles loosen a bit and he mutters sarcastically, "Gee, I dunno." He grabs my wrists, "This'll be harder for both of us if you don't relax. Really." I can feel his hair against my neck as he puts his lips against my spine. I shiver.

"I am so relaxed."

"I'm serious. I don't want to mess up, and this would really, really, mess it up."

Breathe in. Breathe out. "I'm relaxed." Breathe in. "I'm relaxed."

"You ready?"

"Drive on, Kato." Pause. Elaborate, "That's a 'yes'."

"All right." He pushes into me, a bit.

I can feel my muscles spasm, clench and unclench and clench without meaning to do any of it, and it makes me nervous as hell. "Would, would, would this be a bad time to make a joke about Italian sausage?"

He rubs my ribs. Reaches down, grabs me and jerks rhythmically, base to tip. "Going," pull, "slow," pull, "okay?"

"Yes." I don't know what I'm agreeing to.

He pushes in, very, very slowly, then stops. "Okay." I guess he's relieved I didn't scream bloody murder.

"Good." I say shakily, "The anticipation was killing me."

"Yeah." He draws out, pushes back in, in rhythm with his hand; slow, smooth, and really, really hard to joke about. There's definitely nothing funny. My elbows are shaking on the tenth push-in, when it's all starting to speed up. Even shaking elbows is only funny when it comes to pushups.

What's funny is I'm counting. Maybe I'm just good at math.

Not really funny; try to forget it's to distract and last-longer-last-longer-last-longer.

Then it's right there, "Oh, shi--" jerk and nearly knock Joey's legs out from under him. I lose count and not even my nerdiness can save me.

It's just clenching and gasping and I think Joey's saying my name, and I hope to God that the one I'm saying is his, but I really can't actually hear anything with blood in my ears. My elbows give and I fall onto the mattress with my hands pressed under my chest, and Joey seems to almost collapse on top of me.

"Oh, uh, oh crap." he gasps.

"We'll, we'll have to-" I can't finish, just pump desperately back against him and it really screws the rhythm he's made, makes everything a temporary surprise again, "ah!"


I reach back, flail my arm blindly and can only grab at one of his knees. He hits there again, and I claw into the soft back of his knee. "Nn.."

My hips jerk backwards and he drives in, slowed-down, hand slower to match.

Deep. So deep.

"I'm--I--" Shaking. "Joe; Joey." Coming. Proverbial stars. Shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Joey keeps going. Too sensitive all of a sudden, man if it doesn't feel good. Takes too much thought to help him.

He stops, tight muscles, and comes deep, one hand spastically grabbing my hip.

He's on top of me, heart beating fast and hard against my back.

It's uncomfortable laying here. Almost too much work to move, but we do. All the way onto the bed and oh, God ignore the sound as Joey slides out; that's gross.

Joey's hugging me. Weird that that's more personal than sex. We're staying hugged even though the sweat between us is cold and clammy instead of sexy at all now.

"Man, I love you." Right in my ear, so I can't even pretend I didn't hear. Mr. Heckles probably heard, and he's dead. I shouldn't be waiting to hear the broom knocking against the floor.

If he were a girl, I'd have told Joey I loved him about a gagillion times by now. But taking everything into consideration, I think I can positively say that Joey is so totally not a girl.

I curl my fingers into his back, smell his skin, and almost have the courage to say it. "So, how do you think the Patriots'll do this year?"