[Joey x Chandler] COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES FROM AO3

Whose heart doth hold the Christmas glow Hath little need of Mistletoe

The lights are down low and everything has a soft red and green and gold glow about it; all of their guests are gone, have been gone for an hour at the least, and the quiet is broken only by Monica and Ross's familiar bickering and Phoebe and Rachel's giggles. They're playing some sort of game on the floor. Chandler isn't exactly sure what it is, or if even they know what it is, but he thinks it's sweet. He thinks they're sweet, and yeah that's kind of sappy but it's Christmas, and it actually feels like it is for once.

Chandler sighs, content, and Joey—who is sprawled across Chandler (who is lying on the sofa) and has his arm wrapped around Chandler's waist, his face pressed against his abdomen—mumbles something intelligible, and tightens his hold on Chandler. Chandler sighs again. This is—nice, even if it burns.

Joey grumbles again and lifts his head, trying for a glare, but his eyes are too sleepy and sweet to look any kind of menacing, so Chandler just smiles at him, affectionate. He's allowed this, this fondness, even if only for this day. It's ok, he tells himself, and he believes it.

Joey smiles back at him, just for a second, dopey and warm, before he pulls his lips back into a frown. Chandler almost laughs—he just looks so funny like this, grumpy and sleepy and, well, sweet —and then he squashes it, and then he thinks, oh, what the hell! It's Christmas! And laughs anyways. Joey purses his lips like he's trying not laugh, and shakes his head. He looks like a crotchety old man, and Chandler just laughs harder.

"Chandler," Joey says, whines, "'M trying to sleep here."

Chandler just grins, pokes his side where he knows Joey's extra ticklish, and watches as he fights to suppress his laughter. It's a lost cause, and a giggle bubbles out of him unbidden. Chandler feels his heart swell with pride and affection (three sizes bigger than usual, he thinks, and then laughs at his own joke), and he cards his fingers through Joey's hair, like he's been doing for the last half hour.

"Then go find somewhere to sleep, Joe. I'm not a mattress, and I'm sure Rachel wouldn't mind if you took her bed until we go home."

Rachel twists around when she hears her name and gives him a look. It says I have no idea what you said but the answer is still no, and he's about to give her a look that says something like Thank god I didn't want Joey to leave anyway, when Joey interrupts him with another whine.

"But you're comfortable," he says, and Chandler grins. It might be coy, it might be flirtatious, and Chandler couldn't care less.

"Why, Mr. Tribbiani!" He exclaims, batting his eyelashes, "I'm flattered!" So, Chandler might be a little tipsy. He might be a little drunk actually, might have a hangover tomorrow, but it's all good because it's Christmas and he feels warm and floaty and hazy, and like he's on top of the world, like nothing could ever bring him down again.

Joey's smiling at him now, despite himself, and it's got this quality —warm and fond and inviting—that makes Chandler's heart beat faster. Not out of fear, but exhilaration. It's good. It's so good.

All of their friends are staring at them now, because Chandler said that kind of loudly; Ross looks confused, while Phoebe and Monica look mildly interested, but Rachel looks knowing. It should scare the shit out of Chandler. It should make him run. It should feel probing and invasive, but instead it's warm and gentle, and it makes Chandler feel... Loved. Accepted. Like, everything's gonna be ok, 'cause Rachel's got his back, no matter what happens now.

Chandler smiles at her, and she smiles back, and then she leans forward and whispers something to Ross.

"What!" Ross yells loudly, and he gives Chandler a weird look, like he's trying to say something, but Chandler has no idea what it is. Ross isn't great with expressions. He kind of always looks constipated. "No way! Nuh-uh! Not happening!"