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There isn't a particular number that Chandler's...problem...revolves around, unlike some people, he knows. He doesn't need to do things in threes or tens or hundreds. But when he produces a repeatable pattern, and he's in a state, it itches at him till he repeats it or something breaks the cycle. He knows that's how his brain works, but knowing how it works and being able to prevent it aren't the same thing.
The first time Chandler kisses Kent he's in a state, and they do it eleven times. Now all of their firsts have to come in elevens. (And sometimes things that aren't firsts, but count as firsts in his brain because they are in some significant-to-him way slightly different from the last time.) Depending on the day, depending on how stressful it's been, sometimes everything between them is an eleven. He's tried to explain it, but Kent's never asked him to. He's just accepted it, the way he's accepted all the little quirks that come with being with someone like Joseph Chandler.
"Come in," said Kent, opening the door wide for him.
His flatmates are all gone for the evening, he's promised, and Chandler can tell he's made a real effort to clean the place up. He genuinely doesn't know what it looks like ordinarily, they always go to his home, but he can smell at least three different cleaning products, and not in an unpleasant way.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"I...all right," he says, because it feels like the right thing to do. It feels as though Kent might have stocked his kitchen just for this occasion, even though they weren't making dinner together (they considered that, then decided that going out would be preferable), just in case things had gone in a different direction. As though Kent hadn't had every part of this evening planned out, not for his own sake but for Chandler's, though Chandler imagines the are much later getting back than anticipated.
"I've got lager, wine...water?"
It's likely that he bought the wine for just this occasion; it doesn't seem like the sort of thing that he'd have around the flat on a regular basis. Or maybe Chandler just doesn't know him well enough; they haven't been doing this for very long yet. There are plenty of things left to learn.
"Wine, thank you," he says. "Does it need to breathe?"
"It's white," said Kent, leading the way to what Chandler presumed was the kitchen. "My flatmate says it's good." Chandler was right. It was purchased just for this occasion.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," he says, looking around as Kent finds a couple of wine glasses in the cupboard. The kitchen is tidy, if a little cluttered, which is to be expected when you have several people sharing the same space, everyone with their own essentials. There was less sharing in a flatmate situation than there was with a single family...though Chandler really wouldn't know about either one of those.
He kisses Kent in front of the refrigerator, Kent's back to it and sending a magnet with the number of a local takeaway place skittering to the floor. Afterwards, Kent hesitates and looks at him and Chandler knows the ball is in his court. It's the first time they've kissed in Kent's flat. He kisses him again. Then again and again and again. Eleven times.
He looks at Kent again afterwards, a good honest look, and he knows it's okay. They both understand it's going to happen like that tonight.
"The wine," says Kent softly, and Chandler backs away a couple of steps so Kent can pour it.
It is a nice choice, quite dry, and perhaps Chandler imagining Kent's flatmates as a bunch of hooligans just because they're younger than him wasn't fair. After all, Kent is nothing like that.
"Thank you," he says, sipping it slowly as Kent mostly holds his in one hand and tidies up things that don't need tidying with his other. "Are you nervous?"
"I'm trying to impress you," says Kent, turning back to him and giving him a shy, somewhat chagrined smile. "Is it working?"
"I was impressed by you a long time ago," says Chandler. "I would like to find out how impressed I am by your bedroom, though."
Kent nods and puts down his glass of wine. He's hardly had any of it yet, though he seemed to appreciate what he had and Chandler is quite sure the bottle won't go to waste. He brings his own with him as Kent leads him upstairs, to the first door on the right.
"This is me," he says.
The room is even tidier than the kitchen, this time without the clutter of other people, just Kent's own signs of living which have all been put away and organised in a way that Chandler thinks is not completely unnatural for Kent, but also much more effort than he would have made for himself. He's a little embarrassed by the effort to conform to his own standards, but also appreciative that Kent cares enough to bother.
He sets the glass of wine down on Kent's dresser, atop a coaster there that would be out of place except that there is a matching one, and it seems that Kent anticipated that they might bring something up here with them. He's touched again. Touched and, he has to admit, a little turned on.
They've had sex before. This is not a new thing and neither of them are blushing virgins, uncertain of what to do with themselves or one another. This is new, but it's not that new and they are both adults. If Kent is nervous, and it appears he still is, a little, it's only because this is happening in his space for once. Chandler is a little nervous too. What if he needs something and it's not there? What if something goes badly and he needs some space? But working as a police officer has prepared him to deal with the unexpected, even if it's difficult, and Kent has proven himself to be as prepared as it's possible to be.
He takes his own tie off, then Kent's. Buttons come next: Six on his own shirt and five of six on Kent's. He hesitates over that last button, but then Kent just undoes it himself like he doesn't know what Chandler's battling over, or like he knows and he understands. With most people, Chandler would prefer the former. With Kent, it's the latter.
With Kent, Chandler has started to think long-term. Not the dreams he once had of marriage and family, but something new and different and somehow suited him better. He doesn't need to be ordinary for someone else. He needs a partner who is extraordinary.
"I need to get my clothes off before we get into bed," he says.
"I know that," says Kent, casually pushing Chandler's shirt off his shoulders and hanging it up. "Though I was hoping we'd end up on the bed in a sweaty pile rather than in it like an old married couple." That's a compromise Chandler is very capable of living with. "Let me take the rest of your clothes off."
"I can—"
"I want to," Kent interrupts him. "This is something I want to do."
He is not going to argue with that. It doesn't feel like obligation, and it certainly doesn't feel like interruption. Kent gets on his knees and carefully takes Chandler's clothes off, and it feels as erotic as anything else they're planning to do with one another, and anything they have done with each other.
He runs his fingers through Kent's hair. Then does it ten more times.
"Okay, bed," says Kent once he's done—with both Chandler and himself—standing up and grabbing both of Chandler's hands, pulling him towards the bed. They land in an untidy pile, but they're naked and the bed was made and the covers are pleasant and soft against his skin. "Good?"
"You haven't got to check in with me every step of the way," he insists, and to prove it he pushes Kent onto his back on the bed and kisses him with abandon. Over and over again. H's counting in his head, and hopes that perhaps Kent isn't. That he, at least, can get lost in it.
"I will stop checking in," he says, a little dazed, and Chandler just smiles at that.
"I will let you know if something is a problem," says Chandler in return. He thinks it'll work for them, that they've reached a level of trust that he feels okay being honest about it. That he's nearly not ashamed.
"Deal," says Kent, and then arches his neck as Chandler starts kissing it, and moving further down his body.
He flicks a tongue over Kent's tight nipple, and just lets the impulse go this time, doing it ten more times. Then eleven on the other side as well. Kent gasps a little towards the end of it, so Chandler feels good that it's good for him too.
"I could...go for another round of that, actually," Kent murmurs, and Chandler smiles where Kent can't see it and does exactly that, counting in his head since his tongue is busy with it. He knows Kent is sensitive there, the same way Chandler himself is, though Kent finds it more sensual than stressful; he's just always used his fingers before, touching or pinching while his mouth is on Kent's throat. Kent's been wearing his collars buttoned for the last while for a very good reason.
"I want," he says, and then just moves Kent's body with his hands rolling him over onto his front. When Kent gets the idea of what he wants, it's a whole lot easier.
He leaves eleven tiny bite marks across Kent's shoulders and back, that he's confident will fade before anyone else has the chance to see them. Probably. Assuming that Kent has no reason to take his shirt off in front of anyone for the next couple of days. He was in the moment, and might've been rougher than he meant to be, but Kent had no complaints.
When he leans back on his heels, Kent wiggles his arse for him and Chandler gives it a good smack, right on the meatiest part, leaving a flush of red behind. Kent stills and gasps, and Chandler feels a shock of arousal that mirror's Kent's.
"Was that...?" he starts, his hand already poised to go again.
"Again," says Kent, panting a couple of breaths and pushing himself up towards Chandler. "Oh god, please, again."
It's a discovery Chandler is not unhappy with. He makes sure to get both sides an even rosy red, Kent gasping and sometimes moaning every time his hand comes down. Eleven is not an even number, but twenty-two is.
"I'd like to..." he says, but even after doing something like that the language of sex is something that still does not come easily to him. It's easier to do it than it is to talk about it.
"Do you want to fuck me?" Kent asks him, breathless. It's not as hard for him, he's had a different life, different influences. He probably talks about sex with his flatmates, or...no, he probably doesn't talk about it, just listens to it all. Takes it all in.
"I do," says Chandler, and Kent nods his head solemnly and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees again to show him where he keeps all the necessaries, lined up in a row in order of use. He does it without making a fuss, and without taking them out of the moment. "I take it that means yes."
"The answer to that question is pretty much always going to be yes," says Kent, a little sheepishly, lying back on the bed once he's done his hosting duties. "I think you already know that. Unless I'm the one asking."
"The answer to that question will sometimes be yes," says Chandler, and Kent seems to be more than pleased with that answer.
This isn't the kind of sex they usually have. Chandler doesn't assume he knows the answer to any of the questions he wants to ask. There's still so much they need to learn and get used to and negotiate. But Kent doesn't just seem okay with this—this is eagerness. This is desire.
When they did it before, in Chandler's bed and with towels handy, Kent had been on his back. Chandler was going to do it like that here, too, but then Kent just looks so tempting lying there on his front, arms casually above his hand and body already arched slightly again so that his arse is in the air. If Kent was worried about being too sensitive to do it like this, he would've said something long before now.
He fingers Kent eleven times with one finger and eleven times with two, counting out loud. Kent counts with him, and he sounds like he's smiling when he does, even when he gasps every time something brushes against his arse cheeks. And because Kent looks like he's enjoying it so much, Chandler goes for three fingers. Eleven more times.
"If you're going to do it, you need to do it," he says, halting and breathless, in a voice Chandler has never heard out of him before. They both like to stay in control. Hearing Kent sound so out of control is a little scary, in a way that makes Chandler hot for it in a way he doesn't remember feeling before.
He rolls the condom on with absolute precision and care, taking what time he needs even though Kent is there waiting, squirming and clutching at the blankets which are already an absolute mess. It's not his bed, and Chandler doesn't get upset over it. Everything else he can control.
As soon as he pushes into Kent the first time, he knows this is going to be another pattern of firsts. He does it slowly, varying his rhythm so maybe it isn't as obvious, like with the kisses. It's okay that Kent knows. It's good that he understands. But it's nice if sometimes Chandler can make it feel spontaneous.
"One," says Kent afterwards, as Chandler rests and plants eleven kisses to his shoulderblades.
"Hm?"
"Come on," he says, pushing back on Chandler's cock. "One. Go again. Come on. Please."
Chandler does, a little harder, a little faster, and Kent is up on his knees and grinding back against him and reaching beneath his body to wrap his hand around his cock which Chandler should be doing but it's all he can do to keep himself upright and fucking him right now with everything he has. They are going to be absolutely spent after and he has never felt so happy about something like that.
Kent is making small noises, steady noises, half muffled by the pillows but still moans and gasps and cries with every thrust, fisting the blankets and the headboard and getting as much of Chandler as he can.
He's going hard and fast and deep now, stuttering over his count as he feels Kent tighten impossibly around his cock as he comes, and still thrusts six more times after, as Kent pants and moans and shudders beneath him. Six more times, when it should have been five, but he is so close to orgasm and he was going so fast.
"Twelve," he whispers a second time, almost horrified. Twelve means one, and Chandler can't shake the impulse to complete another set, it's already eating at him, making his muscles twitch.
"I can't," says Kent, heaving breath after breath. "I—" He is worn out and sweaty and just barely post-orgasmic and Chandler should wait but his brain isn't letting him.
"Please," says Chandler, trembling as he holds himself back. His head hurts with it.
"I..." says Kent, and breathes again, and again. "I..." Chandler trembles and starts pulling out, using all of his willpower and trying to figure out something that will take its place, maybe his hand, or Kent's thighs. "I...yes. Do it."
Chandler immediately thrusts ten more times into Kent's body. He comes on number seven, but he has to go through to the end anyway, all but collapsing on him after. They are both wrecked and done.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"That was really hot," Kent whispers back.
"Are you su—?"
"I'm sure," says Kent.
"And you're not just say—"
"I am definitely not just saying that," says Kent.
He pulls out, carefully because both of them are oversensitive in all kinds of ways now, and doesn't look at Kent as he takes care of the condom, as he cleans himself up and cleans Kent up and tries to start arranging the blankets again.
"Stop," says Kent, rolling onto his side and wrapping his fingers around Chandler's wrist. "Lie down. Look at me." Chandler does, because he's taken care of the important things, and he can. "That was so fucking hot I almost got hard again."
Chandler glances down, as if Kent might provide him with evidence of that, and he is a little plumper at the moment than an ordinary, flaccid cock.
"I said yes," he adds, in case his point wasn't already clear.
"I hate that I'm not easy."
"I don't," says Kent. "I want you the way you are. I'm not easy either."
"You are so easy," says Chandler, "you can have anyone you want."
"I'm going to assume that didn't come out exactly the way you intended it," says Kent.
Chandler goes over his words for a moment, then laughs. "You know what I mean," he says. "You don't have to—"
"I chased you, remember?" says Kent. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. This was hot. I liked it. Shut up." And then he kisses him. One time. "Can you stay?"
Not does he want to stay, but can he, and Chandler knows he isn't talking about his busy schedule. "I don't know," he admits. "But I'd like to try."
"Wake me up if you have to leave, all right?" says Kent. "I don't mind, I just want to know."
It's another compromise Chandler feels fully capable of making, but sleeping on top of the covers is not. He urges Kent off the bed so that he can make it again, then pulls the covers aside so they can get in, and if Kent thinks that bit's odd he shows no sign of it other than smiling at him when he gets in. Chandler sets the alarm on his watch, then kisses Kent's face eleven times and closes his eyes.