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Awkward Fumbles

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"Life sucks."

This statement that leaves my lips is directed to no one in particular, especially since no one is here. Cupping my head in my hands, I sigh, leaning against the refrigerator. My head goes back to give a bit of reprieve to my neck, but is impeded by a sharp magnet hitting it. My face contorts in pain, giving the magnet the dirtiest glare I can manage as I retreat from my attacker, cradling the back of my injured head. Instead I move to the counter, sitting on it.

Why would I say that life sucks, you ask? Well, I'm not used to giving my personal information out to strangers, but I guess I can make an exception today. At least, until my injury stops impeding my judgment.

You see, my name is Chandler Bing. If that doesn't entail the hardships and strife my life is surrounded by, maybe you need to go to high school with a last name like that. Anyway, besides the obvious name handicap, I have a terrible job, I can't seem to hold down a decent enough relationship, my father is a trannie, and I'm in love with my best friend/roommate, who is, by the way, a guy. So, yeah…do you understand my previous statement now?

I sigh again, leaning all the way back on the counter. My body, which isn't very athletic in the first place, fails me, and I end up smacking my already pain-filled head against the hard surface, causing a manly, dignified yelp to issue from my startled lips.

I sit up, rubbing my head and giving the counter a dirty look too, ignoring how many times I've given inanimate objects a glare today. Better to ignore the craziness; either it goes away or you get used to it.

I decide to go away from these dangerous objects, opting to sit on the couch, leaning back and resting my legs on the coffee table. I've been waiting here for a while now. For who, you ask? Well, I've still got an injury, so…

If you have to know, Joey. You know the guy I was talking about? You know, the one I'm in love with? That's him. Joey Tribiani. Yeah, he's Italian. Just another thing to add to his resumé.

So, yeah, I'm sitting here, like the total pussy I am, just so I can see him. Seriously. That's how pathetically in love I am.

Sure, I've been in relationships before, lots of them (all right, not that many actually), but with all those (okay, the few that I've been with) girls, I've never felt anything that could compare to what I feel when I'm with Joey. Just looking at him, I feel as though maybe I could be more than pathetic. You know, rise to the occasion and turn out a kind of decent guy. But then he cracks one of his stupid jokes to break the tension in the air, or goes off on another date with another blonde bimbo, and I curl into myself, trying to get rid of the despair clawing its way up my stomach, threatening to make me choke.

Yeah, real lighthearted material, I know.

Well, Joey's off on one of those dates right now, probably on his way to getting laid yet again, while I sit here, nursing my rapidly-swelling head half-heartedly. "God, if only…" I whisper to myself, not sure how the sentence should end. If only I had a different job. If only I had the courage to tell Joey. If only I had a different life. Time passes, and I decide to leave my sentence a fragment, unfinished. Maybe if I leave it this way, my words unspoken, I'll finally be able to do something for once in my life.

A sound startles me out of my thoughts. I look up in time to see the lock on the front door moving, the sound of a key scraping against metal and giggles pervading my ears. Joey seems to have trouble locating the catch; when he finally manages to unlock the door I let out a sigh. Might as well prepare myself for the agony of seeing him with this girl he went out with.

I can't look away as I watch the door slowly open, Joey stumbling in, grabbing onto the counter for support. My sigh of relief is uncontainable when I see that no one is accompanying him. He looks up at the noise, his eyes running away from him as he tries to pinpoint the thing that just emitted the noise. He finally notices me, grinning crookedly when he does. "Shmandluh," he slurs out.

"Well, I'll just take the safe bet and guess that you were trying to say my name," I state wryly, if only to cover up the sound of my telltale heart, beating erratically at the sight of Joey's exposed chest, his shirt unbuttoned. I suppose he got hot or something; that or he just walked out on a girl. Judging from the hickies littering his body, I'd say the former.

Joey just pushes away from the counter, bringing his forefinger up to his mouth. "Sh…shhh," he shushes me, stumbling towards me, "yuh'll vake up ze naybuhs wiz zat nozy voice of yuhz."

I can't suppress the chuckle his latest sentence emits out of me. "So what, now you're German or something?" I ask him, standing up and reaching a hand out to steady him, trying and failing not to let it linger on his waist. I'm hyper-aware of my thumb resting on his exposed skin, rubbing it gently on his stomach.

He just giggles, whether from my question or my thumb, which seems to be tickling him, I don't know. All I know is it's getting harder and harder to keep my eyes away from him, from his marred skin, his pink nipples, his full lips. My gaze slowly trails up to his eyes, the dazed look in them portraying just how drunk he is. Maybe that's why I do what I do.

As his mouth opens, probably to say something else incoherently, I press my lips to his, closing my eyes so I won't see his reaction. I'm surprised when he doesn't pull away; actually leans into me, his hands fisting into my shirt. I open my eyes to see his closed, an expression of bliss on his face as he slowly sucks on my bottom lip. Encouraged, I deepen the kiss, running my tongue across his closed lips, asking, almost begging for entrance. He complies, opening his mouth wide enough to fit three tongues in. I grin, still caught up in how funny this guy is drunk. I slide my tongue into his willing mouth, running it across the insides and his teeth, tasting booze, mint, and, confusingly, cotton candy. I wonder at this, which gives Joey time to suck on my now limp tongue, playing with it with his own tongue. I let out an appreciative groan, my arms encircling around his waist.

I slowly lead us to the couch, pulling Joey on top of me. He gets the idea, straddling my hips as he lets go of my tongue, digging his pelvis against my own. Our moans are synchronized, my penis twitching almost violently. I'm harder than I've been in my entire life, and we're not even naked. He smiles into our kiss, nuzzling into my neck affectionately. I breathe in a shuddering breath, cupping his groin in my hand. He giggles, moving his hips against it to get some friction. I comply, rubbing hard against his rough jeans. I ignore the growing red mark on my hand, satisfied as long as Joey is.

His thrusts grow deeper, faster, shorter. I'm trying to move my hand fast enough, but I guess it's not working. He just grips my wrist with his two hands, keeping it in place as he keeps thrusting, his eyes closed, his head leaning back. My eyes are hooded in want, unable to think anything but 'Joey's dry-humping my hand!'

His thrusts come to a crescendo, faster than you would think possible. He throws his head back, his mouth open wide. "Ungh," he cries, and with that sound he comes, twice. He stays there for a while, perched on my hand, still holding my wrist. I can't take my eyes away from the wet stain on his jeans, the urge to lick it unable to leave my mind. I'm just stretching out my neck when he pulls off of me, pushing me to the corner as he rests his head on my lap, stretching out on the full length of the couch. Never mind my extremely large, hard-to-ignore hard-on that he's breathing on, just making me more sensitive.

"Godammit…of course you would fall asleep," I breathe out, unable to tear my eyes away from his mouth, so damn close to my penis. I'm too polite to wake him up, instead I just shift his head away from me, enough room that I can now stand up and walk to the bathroom, to get rid of this thing. Hey, at least I have a bunch of actual images to jerk off to this time.


When I've finished (it took me about three times to get rid of the erection), I leave the bathroom, gasping when I see Joey, lying out on the couch. His legs are spread wide, his hand resting on his stained crotch, his other hand covering his right nipple, his mouth partially open. I put my hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the moan of need that escapes my lips. My penis already half-hard, I abandon the idea of returning to the couch, realising that I would just have to go immediately back to the bathroom.

I let out a wistful sigh, keeping my eyes on Joey as I make my way to my room, backing into it so I can keep looking at him for as long as possible. I finally close the door, my last sight of Joey being his face, so peaceful as it lays there, unaware of my desire. I pull off my shirt and jeans, lying back on my bed, pulling my arm over my eyes.

"There's no way I can fall asleep no—" in the midst of this sentence I fall asleep, my mouth still open as though still wishing to complete my statement.


I awake the next morning, unsure of how much of last night was part of a seriously wet dream. Well, seeing as I don't have a ginormous boner right now, I'm assuming it really did happen. I rise from my bed, anticipation, fear, and excitement roiling around in my belly. I get dressed quickly, tripping over my feet three times before successfully becoming unnaked. I smooth down my shirt, taking a look at myself in the mirror. Not great, but okay.

I walk to the door, taking a deep breath. Who knew how hard it could be to just open something. I finally pull in enough courage to open it partially, peeking my head around the corner. There I see Joey, dressed in different clothing than last night, stretched out on the couch with his feet stacked upon each other on the coffee table, nursing a mug of black coffee. He looks deep in thought, and I'm kinda scared to go out there, wondering what exactly will be in store for me. He doesn't look too happy; maybe he regrets what happened last night.

I pull away from the door, my brow furrowing as I clutch my chest. Does he regret it? Damn, I don't know how I'll take that piece of knowledge if he gives it to me. It's suddenly hard to breathe as I keep thinking about this, so I stop, shoving these thoughts deep inside my brain. Time to go out there and meet the man with the power to either make my life miserable or wonderful.

I push the door open, watching as Joey winces at the slamming sound it makes. "Sorry," I let out, walking to the counter and grabbing my own cup of coffee, adding a bit of sugar. I've never been able to drink it black. I move out of the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I face Joey, unsure of how to continue. Do I just blatantly bring it up?

Turns out, I don't have to. "So, about last night," Joey starts, looking up at me. I hold my breath, unable to speak, so I just nod, hoping he'll continue. He does. "So, I had a ton to drink, and a lot of everything is fuzzy. Really, I don't remember anything after I left the club. So, what happened, did I humiliate myself or something?" He asks, a sheepish grin on his face.

I stand there, glad that the counter's there to support me, or else I might fall over. My mouth's open but nothing's coming out, and my eyes are wide in shock. "Yo-you…don't remember anything?" I stutter out, grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt.

He smiles, a confused look on his face. "No, I really don't. What, did I do something terrible?" He asks, an amused expression appearing. I'll bet he's imagining all the crazy things he could do.

I keep standing there, unable to tell if I feel relieved or crestfallen at this news. Probably both. I put on an annoyed expression, though, to mask my hurt. "Yeah, you made a bunch of noise and woke me up," I state, closing my eyes in what I hope he sees as consternation. "Seriously, I didn't get enough sleep. But, anyway, I've gotta go to the bank, some stuff's going on with my account, so I'll see you later, okay man?" I ask, not waiting for a response. I grab a coat and set my coffee next to the sink, untouched. I quickly make my way out the door, leaning against it once I've closed it. A tear, unbidden, falls from my eye and I take in a shaky breath, trying to compose myself as I leave the building.


Inside the apartment, Joey sits, a surprised expression on his face. "The bank? But…it's a Sunday," he says to no one, sitting there for a few more seconds before getting up from his seat. He dumps his and Chandler's coffee in the sink, leaning against it once he's finished. He can't get the image of Chandler's crestfallen face from his mind. He sighs, rubbing his hand across his eyes, unaware of how adorable that is. "Of course I would pretend I don't remember last night," he whispers, as though Chandler's still there, "because I know you didn't want that to happen."

He takes in a shaky breath, pushing off of the counter and picking up the phone. "Sharon!" he calls out when the person he's called picks up, "sorry for ditching you last night; I had an emergency to take care of. How about I make it up to you and take you out tonight?" He nods and makes affirmative noises, then says, "Yeah, sounds great, see you there."

He sets the phone down, leaning against the counter that Chandler had just recently occupied. He stays there, pretending that Chandler's still there, holding him in his arms.