A/N: As promised, here is my little gift to you. I'm a sucker for anything that even has a touch of Christmas spirit, and the thought of House and Cuddy relishing in each other's misery on Christmas Eve was too delicious to resist. So I'm dropping this into your stocking. There is no real timeline set to this, but I suppose it works best in a season 3ish world. Enjoy!

The snow had started to fall a little over an hour ago. He'd heard the faint sound of carolers outside his apartment building, but hadn't bothered to leave his frostbitten apartment.

Some of the other tenants had ventured out into the wintery mix, but House remained on his couch, with a barely touched glass of scotch strategically placed right in front of him.

He turned on the television and muted the sound; he preferred to sit in silence.

There was a soft knocking to his door, as if the person on the other side was unsure if they should be knocking in the first place. At first he thought it was a caroler or someone asking him to buy some type of Christmas cookie, but then the knock grew firmer, in a rather familiar pattern, and he smirked, knowing exactly who was on the other side.

He took a sip of his scotch before getting up and limping towards the door. He took his time, enjoying the fact that she was probably torturing herself for coming in the first place.

"Come to spin my dreidel, Cuddy?" he asked, opening the door to find a dressed-down Lisa Cuddy with a guilty smirk on her face and a faint glow in her eyes.

He watched as she rolled her eyes, smirking to himself. She was dressed in jeans and an oversized gray sweater that unintentionally hung off of one of her shoulders, exposing a teasing hint of her silky, white-as-snow skin. Tiny snowflakes had gotten caught in her slightly curly hair, and her cheeks were rosy from the nippy air.

"I thought about it," she answered, in that completely seductive and irresistible voice of hers, "but then I remembered Hanukkah ended three days ago. It no longer seemed appropriate." She shrugged her shoulders and blew a lock of hair out of her face, taunting him with a wicked look in her eyes as she patted his shoulder apologetically.

He smirked; she wasn't even trying to pretend that she didn't want to be there.

"You want to come in?" he asked, although the question was pointless. They both knew what she was doing here.

She neglected to answer, deciding to simply smile and strut past him. His eyes fell to her ass, watching as her hips swayed back and forth as she sauntered into his living room.

There were few things he loved more than casual Cuddy—especially a casual Cuddy who was possibly hiding some ridiculously festive and wildly inappropriate lingerie underneath the jeans that seemed to melt on to every delicious curve of her body.

He watched as she slipped out of her coat, folding it neatly and placing it on the edge of the chair. He tried not to drool when his eye caught sight of the bright red strap to her bra—he may be on to something with that whole festive lingerie thing.

"I see you have big plans for the night," she said, gesturing towards the muted television and the half empty glass of scotch on the table.

He shrugged.

"It's Christmas Eve. Seemed just as good a night as any to get completely shitfaced. What about you?" he asked, somewhat accusingly. She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms over her chest.

She wasn't about to let him turn the tables around. She'd come to him. She'd knocked on his door. This was her game.

"What about me?" she demanded, taking a seat on the couch. "I'm Jewish," she reminded him, "this holiday means absolutely nothing to me."

He walked over to join her, settling into the spot next to her and stretching his leg out in front of him. He smiled when she didn't flinch.

"And you think it means something to me?" he asked, turning his head towards her.

Her cheeks were red, but he couldn't tell if it was leftover from the cold or a result from the embarrassment of being caught.

"Your sister has kids," he continued, "you can't honestly tell me they're not participating in some ridiculous school-sponsored event that tries to make it look like they're so accepting, when really it's just a giant tribute to the birth of Christ with a Menorah tucked in the corner."

Cuddy sighed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I wasn't exactly in the mood to be around family tonight," she said softly, swallowing more than just her pride with the admittance laced underneath her words.

He nodded. She'd had an IVF treatment about a month ago, and for the past two weeks, there had been a certain glow to her that he couldn't quite place. But the glow, and the apparent reason for it, was gone now, and suddenly everything made sense.

But he didn't push the issue. If she'd wanted to talk, she wouldn't have come to him. His eyes darted to a paper bag that she had tucked underneath her arm and said:

"What's in the bag?"

She smiled, pulling out a bag of Scotch with a bright red ribbon—that just so happened to match the red strap of her bra that she hadn't realized was showing—wrapped around the bottle.

"Thought this might be a little better than eggnog," she said.

He nodded and got up to fetch her a glass. He limped back into the living room and found her lounging provocatively on his couch, her feet resting on the coffee table in front of him.

He handed her the glass and she opened the bottle, leaving the red ribbon intact as she poured herself a drink. He quickly drained the content of his own and then handed it to her, silently telling her to refill it.

Cuddy poured him another and then stood up, taking a sip. Their eyes met in a smoldering glance and he paused—it wasn't going to happen this quickly, was it? He smirked when she set her glass back on the table and walked over to his unlit fireplace.

"Give me a lighter," she ordered, her back to him as she kneeled down in front of the dust filled space, leaning into the opening as if she were inspecting it.

He heard her let out a slight cough, and he laughed—although he wasn't really sure why. He supposed the noise she had made was kind of cute.

"Why?" asked House, tilting his head slightly as he admired the view. He'd already started to move towards her when her irritated huffs filled the air.

"Because," she began, pausing as she felt him hovering behind her. His legs were pressed up against the curve of her back as he reached over her, but her voice barely faltered. "It's cold in here," she said, turning her head slightly to gaze up at him.

"I noticed," he whispered, his eyes moving to the direction of her shirt. She rolled her eyes as she snatched the lighter from his hands, ignoring the quickened pace her heart began to beat at when their fingers touched.

If the act didn't kill her by the end of the night, the anticipation surely would.

Cuddy expertly lit the fire and smiled at her handiwork—and also the fact that House had refrained from moving. She cleared her throat and then stood up, wiping imaginary speckles of dust from her sweater as she turned to face him.

He simply watched and took another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers.

"That's better," she said, suddenly turning away from him and walking back towards the couch.

She flopped down into the cushions, tucking her legs underneath her as she waited for him to join her.

She didn't have to wait long.

The feeling of the couch sinking on the other side was comforting, as if their worlds were evening out—or better yet, the playing field. Because when this was all said and done, this was really just a game. A game they could both win, if they tried hard enough.

He handed her the remote and she gladly took it, unmuting the sound and flipping through the channels. She broke into a smile, pausing when she found something she liked.

"You can't be serious," he said, taking a sip from his drink.

Cuddy scoffed, rolling her eyes and then raising an elegant eyebrow. "You don't like It's a Wonderful Life?" she demanded. "It's my favorite Christmas movie."

"That's impossible," he said, giving her a look of disbelief. "It can't be your favorite Christmas movie on account of the fact that it's not actually a Christmas movie."

"What are you talking about?" she fired back, turning towards him and tucking her legs underneath so she was sitting crossed legged. She gripped the sleeves of her sweater in a way that House couldn't help but smile at, and she had this fiery look in her eyes that practically begged him to disagree with her. "It is most definitely a Christmas movie."

House rolled his eyes.

"On what grounds?" he asked. "The fact that it teaches you a lesson that has nothing to do with the spirit of Christmas? Or because it has an angel in it? Oh wait, no I've got it—it takes place at Christmas, ergo, Christmas movie."

"Well I guess I don't have to explain it to you then," muttered Cuddy, tossing her hair over her shoulder rather saucily.

"I was being sarcastic," he said—as if she didn't already know.

"I know," she said. "That was me ignoring you. I'm sorry, did you want to try again?"

"Fine," said House. "Tell me this then. Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?"

"With Bruce Willis?"

"No," said House, rolling his eyes. "Bruce Banner." She glared pointedly at him. "Of course I'm talking about Bruce Willis," he finished.

"I've never seen Die Hard," she confessed, turning her attention back to the movie.

House paused. How had she never seen Die Hard? It was a classic—as long as you defined classic by several unrealistic car chases and explosions that were bound to cause your eardrums permanent damage.

"We're remedying that situation when this ridiculous film is off," he muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

Cuddy smirked, smiling into her glass as she did the same. She sighed, leaning back into the cushion, taking comfort in the silence that being with House brought.

For someone who was single, she found herself surrounded by constant noise that rarely ever seemed soothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw House shifting in his seat before he relaxed into the couch. They were inches apart now, their eyes focused on the movie, while their minds were in a completely different place. Like, why exactly she was sitting on his couch on Christmas Eve, for example.

Gradually they felt themselves move closer to each other. It was innocent at first; the lazy movement of a hand, the shifting in the seat—it was your run of the mill awkward high school game.

But then Cuddy was suddenly overcome with a wave of confidence, and she turned towards House and said:

"Lift your arm up."

So he did.

And she curled into his side, letting her head fall to the crook of his shoulder—where it just so happened to fit perfectly. Sometimes she thought the stars aligned simply out of spite when it came to her relationship with Gregory House.

His arm rested on the top of the couch at first, but eventually it draped over her shoulder, and his fingers picked at the material of her shirt as he gently ran his fingers up and down her arm.

And she smiled, because it felt right. And it was Christmas Eve, and the stars had aligned thousands of years ago for the mother-to-be who rode into Bethlehem on a donkey, so why couldn't they align for her?

They were silent for about half an hour, their drinks long forgotten—or ignored, on account of the fact that it would mean getting out of the surprisingly comforting embrace they had found themselves in.

Cuddy was the first one to break the silence.

"Can I ask you something?" she murmured. He nodded his head, his eyes moving slightly towards her. "Why aren't you with Wilson or something? You don't have to be miserable on Christmas."

"Neither do you," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "And yet, here you are."

"I'm not miserable," she answered, in a way that was so confident that she just had to be lying. "At this moment, I am not miserable," she said, clarifying her previous statement.

"Okay," said House, eyeing her suspiciously. "What were you before you came over here?"

She sighed, her lips curving into a slight smile. "Pretty damn miserable," she answered, laughing through her words. "But I have a reason to be. You don't."

"My entire existence is a reason to be miserable," he muttered. Cuddy paused, her mouth hanging slightly open. She moved her hand to his thigh, letting it rest there momentarily. "Look," he began again, "everyone who isn't miserable on holidays is either delusional or lying to themselves."

"You really have that little faith in humanity? Happiness is really that unattainable to you?"

"You really have that much?" he asked rhetorically. "And it's not unattainable to just me, it's unattainable to everyone. People are never satisfied with what they have, even if it's exactly what they claim to have wanted."

"That doesn't mean you should have to walk around in constant misery," she answered.

"I don't," he said, he shrugging his shoulders. "I limp."

She didn't answer, but she swiftly removed her hand from his thigh, suddenly uncomfortable with the placement of it.

"My turn," he continued. She turned her head, unsure as to what he was talking about. "To ask you something," he clarified.

She nodded.

"Why are you here?"

Cuddy sighed, unsure of how to proceed. She didn't exactly have a reason—more like a thousand of them, and even more reasons as to why she shouldn't be there.

"I don't know," she said softly, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess I didn't want to be alone. A small part of me didn't want you to be alone, either."

"There is no small part of you," he teased. "And I like being alone."

She scoffed and reached for the remote, turning of the tv that had been long forgotten.

"We both know that's not true," she whispered, gazing at him with eyes that were so full of sadness and longing, that he wasn't quite sure how to respond.

And he didn't know if it was the scotch, or the holiday spirit that she had magically brought into his apartment, or the way her sweater was hanging off of her shoulder, but the words he spoke next were words that she would never forget.

"I don't mind being alone with you," he muttered.

And she smiled. Because even if it was just for one night, the stars had aligned, and after everything that had happened in the last months, they would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

So she leaned in closer to him, lifting her head slightly to meet his gaze, and her hand returned back to his thigh. He dipped his head down, meeting her halfway as their lips gently brushed together.

The kiss ended almost as soon as it began, but their limbs were still intertwined in way that had never felt more right. Their eyes locked, and he slowly inched his hand up her thigh, silently asking her if this was really what she wanted—if this really was what she came over here for.

And it was. She knew it was. He knew it was. The variables were all in place.

So she fell back into the couch, pulling him down with her. His lips were back on hers within seconds, but this time it was more rushed, so full of need and desire that she thought the room was actually spinning.

She moaned into him and shoved one of his hands to the button of her jeans, whimpering as he hastily undid them. Her hands tore through his hair as he moved his lips from hers to the base of her neck, nipping at her skin as he shoved her jeans down.

"Cuddy," he said warningly—clothes were starting to be discarded, and soon they would be at a place where neither one of them would be able to stop.

In some ways, they had arrived at that place years ago.

She sighed, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. She sat up quickly, taking pride in the fact that a sudden wave of disappointment had come across his face. But she shot him a wicked glare before standing up and removing her oversized grey sweater.

He had to fight the urge to let his mouth hang all the way down to the ground.

"There is no way I would be wearing this if I hadn't already decided on the way this night was going to play out," she said, slowly walking towards him.

Standing right in front of him was Cuddy, dressed—more like scantily clad—in a sheer red bra covered with green lace, with a tiny jingle bell placed conveniently in the small gap between her breasts.

He was pretty sure she had a matching pair of panties, but the bulge in his pants was making it a little hard to concentrate.

"You're that confident, huh?" he asked.

She smirked as she closed the gap between them, her hand gravitating to the waistband of his jeans. "Confident in my abilities to turn you on?" He grimaced as her hand teasingly paused at his crotch before hastily undoing his pants. "I like my chances," she whispered.

His pants were long forgotten.

The sound of the jingle bell filled the air as she hovered over him, his eyes widening as her hands found his shoulders. She pushed him back into the couch, steadying herself as she strattled him.

"I gotta say," he said through shuddered breaths, "you're doing a pretty good job so far."

Cuddy responded by wrapping her legs even tighter around him and pressing her lips back to his. His hands grazed up and down her back, and he moved his hand underneath the lacy material of her bra, finding her breasts.

They pulled their lips away in a hurried fashion, his hand kneading every inch of skin he could find underneath that taunting bra of hers, while she shoved his t-shirt over his chest.

He pulled her breasts out of the bra as quickly as possible, his mouth gravitating towards them as soon as they were exposed.

"Don't worry," he moaned into her chest, "I'll unwrap you later."

She threw her head back as his tongue flicked the bell between her breasts, toying with her as he moved from one breast to the other. She groaned when she felt his tongue move across her nipple, and one hand moved to the back of his head while the other slowly ran down his chest.

"Sometimes the wrapping paper is just as good as the package," she teased, lifting her head back up. She unbuttoned his boxers and shoved her hand inside, stroking him before taking him in full. "Package, being the operative word," she added.

As if he wasn't turned on enough.

She guided him into her, sighing contently as she rocked on top of him. He ran his hands down her back, cupping her ass and lifting her slightly up. He thrust into her with as much power as he possessed, their hips bucking toward each other simultaneously.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her breasts colliding with his chest as he moved inside of her. His head fell to her shoulder and he bit down on the strap of her bra, dragging it down her skin. His teeth scraped against her skin, and she purred into his ear with every touch.

"Unwrapping has its perks too," he murmured.

He unclasped her bra and shoved it aside. He slowly began to pull out of her, teasing her with every sudden movement. Her breath hitched as he paused right outside of her entrance.

Cuddy bit down on her lip, a whimper escaping as he pushed her down into the cushions, hovering over her. She'd been in charge for too long. After all, this was his game, too.

So without warning, he slammed into her once more, teeth clenching and breaths ragged as she wrapped her legs around him and threw her head back against the armrest.

His head fell to her chest and he thrust once, twice, until he had lost count and their heads were spinning, moans of pleasure filling the air as they reached their high. He brought his head up towards her, his cheek pressing against her forehead.

Her skin was hot against his, and he relished in the sounds of her purring unintelligible sounds into his ear as she climaxed.

"House," she murmured, gasping for breath. She didn't have anything to say. She just wanted to say his name. Wanted to let him know that even if it was just for the night, she was here, and he wasn't alone—because she had chosen him.

And he had let her, which was as close as he was ever going to get to seeking out company on a night like this.

Their rhythm slowed, and he eventually moved off of her. But he remained on top of her as they relished in post-coital bliss, wrapped up in each other's arms.

"You might be the best present I've ever had," he said, flicking the jingle bell once more. He gently kissed her lips and pulled away, saying:

"And I like this new look you have going for you. Gives a new meaning to the phrase 'Jingle Bell Rock'."

She pressed her hand to the back of his neck, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

Her hair was stuck to her forehead, beads of sweat glistening on her face. Her eyes were warm but focused on him, demanding the attention that he was more than willing to give her.

"Merry Christmas, House," she whispered.

House smiled and bent his head down to gently kiss her lips.

"Merry Christmas Cuddy."

Merry Christmas! Fill my stocking with reviews?

-Alison