Half an hour later, when the smell of something wonderful had drifted into the living room, he wandered into the kitchen, where Horatio was stir-frying something unidentifiable. House's eyes lingered on Horatio's hair where it curled against the back of his neck. "Smells good."

Horatio straightened slightly, obviously surprised by the intrusion. "Oh, hey."

"Hey." House stepped into the kitchen and looked down over the redhead's shoulder into the pan. He inhaled lightly against Horatio's hair and instantly closed his eyes. His heart was racing; the man just exuded pheromones.

"Greg," Horatio said quietly. "If you stand any closer to me I will be in no frame of mind to cook dinner."

"Would that be a bad thing?" House murmured into Horatio's neck. The spatula hit the counter with a decisive crack, and House took a step back. "You're perfectly right, it would be a terrible thing."

Horatio shot him a sidelong glance that House couldn't gauge to be amused or otherwise. "I happen to be hungry."

"Which is completely understandable." House wandered around the kitchen, studying the cupboards and trying his hardest to ignore Horatio's presence. "Listen, I'm gonna step outside for a few minutes, okay?"

House went out to the porch and pulled up a chair. It was September, and it was getting cold. A light breeze stirred the dead leaves on the ground, the soft twitter of birdsong coming to his ears from the distance. House closed his eyes and felt his heartbeat slow, his blood pressure decrease. Strange how he had developed such a physical desire – no, not a desire, an addiction. He was addicted to Horatio. And it was more than an addiction now. It was a problem.

House shifted restlessly and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. September. They hadn't made love since July. House shivered just thinking about it. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Horatio.

"Greg." A hand came down lightly on his hair and House's breath caught. "Are you all right?"

House debated his answer, which gave Horatio the opportunity to be sitting down opposite him and looking at him expectantly by the time he was ready to speak. "This moving slow thing," he said. "When you said you wanted to go slow, I didn't anticipate that you'd want to be at a complete stop."

"I don't," Horatio said. "I wanted to focus on the emotional side of it for a while. Which we've been doing very nicely, I might add."

House couldn't deny that. The lack of sex had given them a chance to actually get to know each other. Now he could list a million things Horatio loved and hated, could probably write an ode to all his little tics and quirks. "At the expense of sex."

"I never said at the expense of sex," Horatio pointed out. "I've personally never been more ready for sex in my life. It's been an interesting exercise in self-control for both of us."

House's jaw dropped minutely. He stared. "An exercise in self-control?"

Horatio smiled. "I assumed you'd tell me when you were ready."

"Ready? I didn't want to push you!" House sat back and covered his face with one hand. "Well, these last few months have been a miscommunication of epic proportions."

"Now you know what's next on the agenda to develop." Horatio shook his head and handed House a beer. "How's Wilson?"

"Oh, Wilson's fine. He and Cameron are technically over, but there's still a lot of sexual tension and otherwise unresolved bullshit between them, which is of course an inexhaustible supply of entertainment. Foreman's seeing a nurse in the oncology ward. Chase is...I actually have no idea what Chase is doing." House took a thoughtful sip of the beer. "Maybe he's seeing Cuddy."

Horatio snorted. "A potentially wise career move."

House looked up into the darkening sky. The birds had gone home, and night was rearing its head as the sun retreated beneath the horizon to get some rest and perhaps return to fight another day. "So nothing's changed."

Horatio glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean nothing's changed. All this...abstinence or whatever you want to call it. It hasn't changed anything, right? I mean..." House couldn't bring himself to voice what naturally followed. How more to sound like a vulnerable child than to ask do you still want me?

"We're still together," Horatio said. "I still love you. Even more now, I think, than before. I still need you, Greg. That hasn't changed."

House reached into the pocket of his jeans and fingered the gold band with the fire opal set into it. He had seen it in a store and had bought it entirely on impulse. It had screamed his name and it had reminded him of Horatio; every time the light hit it it kindled flecks deep within the stone to burn as brightly as Horatio's flaming hair.

He released his hold on the ring. Now was not the time. Later. Later he would do it, and he wouldn't be afraid because what did he have to fear? Rejection was rejection. He was used to it.

"Greg," Horatio began.

House sat up abruptly. "What's for dinner?"

They ate on the porch between the lulls in conversation. Horatio had a nice backyard. It stretched for a couple hundred feet down to a river that he never tired of looking at. It had been difficult, at first, to get used to the idea of being retired. But he had settled down nicely, and he was enjoying the life. What he wasn't enjoying was being alone, and the ring was burning a hole in his pocket.

He'd made a discreet call the week before the wedding and asked Delko to buy it. Delko had done so willingly, and Horatio had collected the ring and paid back the money upon their arrival in Miami. And since then he'd been walking around with it.

It never seemed like the right time. It was always too late in the day, or not late enough. Or they were having a serious conversation. Or maybe they were laughing too much. It was maddening. Horatio didn't understand how anybody ever managed to propose to anyone with all the variables to consider.

"Hey." House's voice broke into his thoughts, and Horatio glanced over. The doctor was looking at him intently. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Horatio began to chew meditatively on a thumbnail, thinking that he was not anywhere even remotely close to okay and that he was so far from fine that it wasn't even a dot on the horizon.

"Horatio." House reached over and pulled Horatio's hand from his mouth. "What?"

The words spilled out before he could stop himself. "Look, I...we need to talk. I need to ask you something."

In an instant, House was looking unaccountably shifty. "Um..."

"No. I have to." Horatio held House's eyes. "I have to get this out. I have to say it. Okay?"

House looked up, down and everywhere else in the universe before he met Horatio's eyes again. "Okay."

"I..." Horatio didn't know what to say. He stood, pacing the length of the porch slowly, rubbing his neck. Tension made his body ache. He came to a stop in front of House again, still not sure of what he wanted to say but knowing it was coming out one way or the other.

"You know I love you," he said. "You know how much you mean to me."

House nodded without speaking.

"Okay. You know...I wanted this to be special. And amazing. Something you'd remember for the rest of your life. But things just aren't turning out like that. So...I'm just going to go for it, okay?" Horatio didn't wait for an answer. He reached into his pocket and drew out the ring.

It was precisely the same as it had been the moment he'd first seen it while ring-shopping with Delko, but somehow it seemed more beautiful just being in House's presence. Even as far from him as it was, it seemed to draw brilliance from his eyes. And those eyes were now very wide, and those lips parted, as House stared at the ring Horatio was holding gingerly between his forefinger and his thumb.

Horatio's left knee hit the floorboards of the porch with a soft thud. "Greg," he said quietly. "Will you marry me?"

Everything was silent. Nature itself seemed to be hanging on House's answer. And House seemed to be completely incapable of coherent speech. "I...but..." he sputtered, and then he arched up off the chair, digging furiously in the pocket of his jeans.

Horatio waited patiently with no idea of what was going on, and wondered to himself why in the hell he was doing this. And then House opened his hand.

The sky was already dark, but there was enough dim light coming from inside the house for the fires in the stone to ignite. It might as well have been a flame burning in House's hand for all Horatio could tell. But if it was a flame, it was the most beautiful flame he had ever seen. His lips parted. His mind was blissfully, wonderfully blank.

"I was going to ask you to the same thing," House said.

Horatio let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. He didn't know what to say. Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything.

House reached out and took Horatio's left hand in both of his. Their eyes met; House's were almost grey in the darkness. "Yes," he said, and slid the ring onto Horatio's finger.

Horatio took a few breaths to calm himself before turning House's left hand between his. He studied the long fingers, the veins that traversed bone and muscle beneath skin. This was a hand that made music, that drew pictures, that saved lives. This was the hand of a man who would always be his, from now until forever.

Horatio slipped the ring on, anxiously following its course joint by joint until it nestled snugly at the base of House's finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Yes," he said breathlessly. "God, yes."

"Oh my God," Calleigh said. "I can't believe it. You are?"

Horatio, on the couch, turned away from the brilliant sunshine and belatedly wondered what had happened to his sunglasses. "Yes. We are. It's legal in New Jersey, only they call it a civil union."

"A rose by any other name." He could hear the smile in her voice. "That's wonderful, Horatio. I'm so happy for you. Let me get Eric on the phone for you."

Horatio leaned back into the leather, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he dusted off his pants. House had gotten a call and had left at an ungodly hour after a long night of thoroughly torrid sex from which Horatio was still exhausted. And the sun seemed unusually bright this morning. Or perhaps it was Horatio's decaffeinated eyes which were protesting.

"H." It was Delko, grinning by the sound of it. "Calleigh just told me. Way to go, man."

"Thank you, Eric. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Hey, no problem. So when's the wedding? Uh, ceremony? Thing?"

Horatio smiled. "Wedding will be fine. I'm not sure. When are you going to be able to come up? I know things are hectic for you."

"Um..."

"Shall we say November?"

"I might be able to get a couple days off in November, yeah. I'm really happy for you, H. Congratulations. Tell House for me."

"I will. I'll let you know. Give my love to Calleigh, all right?"

"Yeah, will do."

"Okay. Goodbye." Horatio set down the phone, looked at it for a moment and then dialed House's number to see how things had gone with Wilson.

"Female, late thirties. Presented with high fever, headache, nausea, confusion –"

"Drugs," Foreman said at once.

"I'm not finished. She also has sensitivity to light and sound."

"Something neurological?" Cameron suggested. "It could be a tumour. Or a bad migraine. Cluster headaches can cause similar symptoms."

House stared at her. "What is wrong with you people today?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, bewildered.

Chase turned around from where he'd been examining the wall. "Does she have a stiff neck?"

House raised his eyes to the heaven. "Dammit. Definitive proof that there is a God. Yes, Chase, she has a stiff neck."

"Headaches can make you sleep badly," Cameron said.

"Know what else gives you a stiff neck?" House enquired. "Know what is the ultimate diagnostic proof of meningitis?" He turned to Chase. "Do a CSF analysis and, to make Foreman happy, take some blood and do a tox screen. But before you do any of that, get her on empiric antibiotics. Vancomycin and meropenem."

"But –" Cameron began.

"But nothing. Bacterial meningitis has a high mortality rate. You know that as well as I do." House paused. "Seriously, what is going on here?"

"House. House!"

House's eyes snapped open and he realized that he was slumped over on his desk. Wilson was leaning over him, holding out a cell phone that looked a lot like the one House usually kept in the pocket of his jeans.

"House," Wilson said. "It's for you. It's Horatio."

House shook his head and managed to regain the use of a few brain cells. "Horatio?"

"There you are. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. I called your cell, you didn't answer..."

"So you called Wilson." House grimaced at the pain in his leg and took a Vicodin. "Smart move." He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and nodded to Wilson, mouthing thanks. Wilson gave him a rueful I'm-used-to-this smile and left. "What's up?"

"Eric and Calleigh send their congratulations."

"Oh." House slapped himself in the forehead, which shook him up a little since he had just woken up. "I knew there was something I forgot..."

"Greg..." Horatio said in the disapproving tone of a high school teacher.

"Yeah, I know. It's just...I was tired. So I fell asleep. Which reminds me, I wonder what happened to our patient..."

"Go do something constructive, will you?"

House scratched his cheek and smoothed a thumb over one eyebrow. "All right, all right. I will."

"Good. And tell Wilson."

"Do you want to hear the good news or the good news?"

Wilson looked up at House with the cutest expression of confusion in the universe. "There's good news? From you? Thank God I'm sitting down."

House rolled his eyes and flopped ungracefully into a chair. "The good news is that my patient has cancer."

"And this is good news?"

"We know what cancer is. We can treat cancer." House raised his eyebrows. "Cancer is always better than a mystery disease. Of course, she didn't take it so well. I don't have that natural gift that you do for telling people they're dying and having them thank me afterwards."

"You always manage to make that sound so terrible." Wilson turned his head and squinted at House with one eye. "You're happy. Is that what that look is? That's the happy look?"

House tried to pull an innocent look and fell laughably short of his intended target. "Maybe."

"And that would have something to do with the other good news." Wilson leaned forward. "Okay. I'm listening. I'm sitting down. Hit me with it."

House held up his left hand.

Wilson's jaw dropped. His eyes widened. "House?"

House kept the left hand up and said nothing.

Wilson stood up and leaned across the desk, reaching out to take House's hand and pull it towards him. He studied the ring, and then sat back down with a sudden exhalation of breath. "Wow," he said. "You're...you're...what do you call that?"

"Engaged, Wilson," House said. "You call it engaged."

"Engaged." Wilson laughed. "I can't believe this. You're seriously gonna do this. You're gonna...you're gonna marry him."

"Yep." House nodded. "Is it starting to bother you now?"

"Bothered isn't the word you're looking for. I'm thinking more along the lines of...wow. You're wowing me more than anything else. Doctor Gregory House contemplating marriage. You'll forgive me if I find this a bit much to take in all at once."

"I'm not contemplating anything. It's happening. We haven't set a date, but it's happening." House arched a defiant eyebrow. "Sure you're not bothered? You look bothered."

Wilson, fortunately, didn't seem irritated by the fact that House was badgering him. "I like Horatio," he said. "I have no problem with Horatio. No problems with his hair, no problems with his gender or your collective sexual preference."

"But you do have a problem," House said unnecessarily.

"My problem is what it has always been. It's you."

Here we go, House thought.

"You're not conventional relationship material. You're damaged, House. You're broken. You know that as well as anyone does – it's not something I should have to point out to you."

"You don't have to point it out," House said, and rapped the end of his cane sharply on the floor. "You think I forgot, Wilson?"

"I know you haven't. What mystifies me is why you seem so confident that this is going to turn out just fine. Look," Wilson added hastily, "I'm not trying to be a pessimist. I'm not trying to be a doomsayer or anything like that. And, to be honest, you have changed. I didn't think anybody could change you, but, well, Horatio apparently has."

House made a rolling motion with his hand.

"I'm just concerned," Wilson said gently. "That's all. I'm concerned that you're both so involved in this that neither of you has a clear view of the other."

House digested this. The point Wilson was making sucked. And the reason it sucked was that he was probably right.

"I have issues," House said eventually. "That's a given. Big issues, most of them. And he has issues. But all our issues combined are nothing we can't handle." He saw Wilson's mouth open and held up a hand. "Trust me on this. I love him. I haven't been able to say that about anyone in a long time, but I can say it about him. This is big, Wilson. This is important."

"And for some reason, you actually care this time." Wilson scrutinized House's face, then nodded. "Okay. If that's how you feel, then I guess we'll work with it. What day are we looking at?"

House was thrown by the change in topic. "What?"

"The wedding, House, what day is the wedding?" Wilson was flipping through his planner. "I'll need to know so I can take a day off."

For one reason or another – House had ridiculous clinic hours, Miami was having a crime wave and Delko and Calleigh were pretty much stuck – the wedding was postponed continuously right through November. It was eventually decided that come hell or high water, it was going to happen before January hit.

Horatio took it upon himself to investigate the business of the civil union license, and was relieved to find that only one party needed to be present to obtain the license, since the likelihood of being able to tear House away from the hospital was very slim. December was the busiest month in hospital history; House was juggling clinic patients and regular patients and not managing particularly well.

"A justice of the peace will be fine," Horatio said placatingly. "We don't have to do it in front of a priest if you don't want to."

"Okay." House sounded distracted, although harassed was probably a better word. "When?"

"Within the next sixty days." Horatio examined the license and couldn't help but be slightly awed by the fact that the small piece of paper was going to enable him to get married. "How do things look for you?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll make it work." House snapped something at someone, and then said to Horatio, "Call Eric and Calleigh. I'll tell Wilson. We're doing this on Friday."

Horatio paused. It was Wednesday. "This Friday?"

"Yes, this Friday, as in the day after tomorrow, as in Boxing Day. I'm fed up of beating around the bush. Everyone else can take time off and get married and go on honeymoons and have babies...well, I wanna do that too. I'll break it to the ducklings this afternoon and I'll lay it on Cuddy as soon as she gets back in."

Horatio's grip on the phone tightened. "Greg, are you sure about this?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," House replied crisply. "Look, things are really hectic right now, so I have to go. But I promise you that everything will be out in the open by the time I get home. And we are getting married on Friday, okay?"

"Okay." The edges of Horatio's mouth curled in a tiny smile. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you too."

House hung up and met Cameron's eyes. "What?"

She was staring at him. "Did I just hear you say you're getting married on Friday?"

"Mm-hmm." He took the report from her slack fingers and glanced at it. "Wow. That's really extreme leukocytosis."

Cameron put her hand down on top of the report, pressing it against the table and effectively obscuring all the information on it. "You're getting married."

"Didn't I say that already?" House pried two of her fingers off the page. "Okay, she has sepsis. Any organ dysfunction?"

"She's in a lot of pain. Which is perfectly understandable considering she has blood toxicity. Who are you getting married to?"

"Regrettably, that's none of your business." House managed to get the report from under Cameron's hand and scanned the rest of it. "Abdominal pain could be ischemic colitis. Check for rectal bleeding, start her on antibiotics and do a colonoscopy."

"House."

"Cameron! A woman has sepsis and you're standing here asking me about my personal life?" House raised an eyebrow. "Nice priorities."

"Don't you think this is a bit sudden?" She was pulling out her phone. "Were you even seeing someone?"

"I've been seeing someone for a long time," House said truthfully. "Anyway, I intend to have a honeymoon of sorts, so you and your brothers will be in charge of diagnostics while I'm gone."

Cameron had gotten through to Chase. "Chase. She's septic. House thinks there's a possibility of ischemic colitis. Check for rectal bleeding, start her on antibiotics and do a colonoscopy." She hung up. "Honeymoon?"

House rolled his eyes. "Look, I hate it to break it to you, but...I actually have a life. I'm getting married the day after tomorrow and you're not invited."

"Does Jimmy know?"

"Yes, Jimmy knows." House gave her a look. "Cameron. Every moment you stand here postulating is a moment you could be saving another precious life."

She stood up and pointed at him with her pen. "We will talk about this later."

"No, we won't." He was serious now. "There's nothing between us, Cameron. You don't have the right to tell me anything."

She paused, and dropped her eyes. She sighed. "Will you at least tell me her name?" she asked softly.

House took a breath. It was now or never. "His name is Horatio."

Cameron's head snapped up. She stared at him. "What?"

"His name," House repeated patiently, "is Horatio. It's a civil union, Cameron. They're legal in New Jersey now."

"You're..." She stopped. "No way. You're playing with me."

"I'm not playing."

"Horatio," she said. "Horatio."

"Horatio Caine." House willed her to understand, willed her not to freak out completely.

"And...and you love him."

"Yes."

"The way you could never love me."

"And in every other way."

Cameron nodded slowly. "When did you know?"

"When did I know what?"

"That you were...you know."

"Gay?" House quirked an eyebrow and gave a derisive snort. "I'm not gay, Cameron."

"But..."

"I'm in love with a man. That doesn't make me gay."

She was clearly confused. "Okay..." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going to go see how our patient is doing."

"You do that."

Cuddy didn't cope as well. First she laughed because she didn't believe him. Then she was angry because she still didn't believe him. And then he brought in Wilson, and finally she believed him.

She was silent. House waited in equal silence, eyes fixed on the desk, infinitely glad for Wilson's reassuring presence standing beside him. The only thing the oncologist could have done to be any more supporting was to actually reach out and put his hand on his shoulder.

"When do you want off?" Cuddy asked finally.

House remained stiff. "Friday and week after."

"Okay." She wrote something into her diary, then set down the pen. "Fine. You have Friday to the following Sunday off. I want you here at eight o'clock next Monday morning with no excuses. And you are working tomorrow."

House gave a sigh of relief. "Great. Thanks."

Wilson steered him out of Cuddy's office. "I can't believe that just happened, but I'm going to roll with it anyway because it apparently did. So...Friday?"

"Friday before a justice of the peace. I'll give you a call." House checked his watch. "Oh, would you look at that. My day's over."

"See you tomorrow," Wilson called.

"Yeah," House grunted from by the door. "Unfortunately."

House was at work on Christmas and couldn't decide why he wasn't more annoyed by that. He supposed he was more surprised than anything else by the sheer number of people who had come in to the clinic with burn injuries from cooking adventures gone wrong.

"How hard is it to bake a turkey?" House enquired as he applied a loose dressing to a middle-aged man's forehead, which was imprinted with three reddened horizontal second-degree burns. "I mean seriously. You put it in, watch the clock, take it out. Where does it become necessary to stick your head in the oven?"

"I didn't stick my head in the oven," the man said miserably. "I overbalanced."

"Overbalanced?" House raised an eyebrow. "Overbalanced and fried your forehead?"

"The dog surprised me."

"The dog surprised you? What is that, some kind of metaphor? How does a dog surprise you badly enough so that you bury your head in an oven?"

The patient flushed. "It's...personal."

House put a few things together even as he was finishing the dressing. "Let me guess. You cook naked."

The man nodded. "And the dog..."

"The dog took a sudden liking to your gonads," House finished. "Okay, you're all done. You have a good Christmas." As the man left the room and started down the hall, he called, as an afterthought, "Keep your clothes on!"

Wilson stuck his head into the exam room. "My God, you're still here."

House rolled his eyes. "How many more patients?"

"Ah..." Wilson did a once-over of the waiting room. "Looks like five. Look, House...you want to go home?"

House eyed the oncologist with not a little suspicion. "I can't go home, I have five more patients. Are you trying to catch me out or something?"

"No, I just..." Wilson fidgeted a little, then stepped inside and put his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "House, it's Christmas. If you want to go home, I'll cover for you. That's all I'm saying."

"You're serious."

"Yes."

House gave the idea sober consideration. It would be so easy to accept and to stick Wilson there for who knew how many hours, dressing burns and diagnosing colds. But House was different. He had changed.

"No," he said. "It's all right. I think I'll stay."

Wilson looked at him for a long time. "Jesus, Greg," he said at last. "Who are you?"

House sighed. "Well, whoever I am, it sucks. Send in my next patient, will you?"

House eventually managed to escape to his office for a few moments of relative relaxation and had let Cameron, Chase, and Foreman loose on the clinic patients while he rested his eyes and took his fourth Vicodin of the day.

He felt the vibration before he heard the ringing and pulled the cell phone out of his jeans pocket. "House."

"Greg."

Just the way that 'Greg' had been uttered set alarm bells ringing in House's head. Slow and drunk and wet, the vowel sliding into a groan that House recognized instantly.

"Oh God," House said, trying not to notice that blood flow was beginning to divert from his brain. He glanced through the windows of his office and saw nobody paying attention. "Where are you?"

"On your bed," Horatio replied thickly.

"What?"

The reply was amused. "On. Your. Bed."

House's mouth opened of its own accord, and then his door opened and Cameron strode in, looking at a file. "Can we talk?" she asked.

"No!" House said fiercely.

She ignored him. "There's this girl in the clinic with -"

"Maybe I should hang up," Horatio suggested.

"No! You, stay on the phone." House stabbed a finger at the air in front of Cameron, who was taken completely by surprise. "You, twenty seconds." When she continued to stare at him openmouthed, he said, "Five most important words. Now."

"Girl. Fever. Arrhythmia. Headache. Please?"

House snorted. "You would waste one on 'please'. Leave the file, do a tox screen, go away. Far, far away. Alphabetize the lab equipment." He snatched the folder from her hand and made a vehement shooing motion. "Goodbye." Once he was satisfied she was down the corridor and out of sight, he returned his full attention to the phone. "You're on my bed?"

Horatio was definitely amused. "Did you not understand the first two times?

House chose to ignore this. "What are you doing on my bed?"

Horatio's smile was evident in his voice. "How explicit would you like me to be?"

House felt a dark heat move slowly through his abdomen and settle heavily in his groin. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his thighs falling apart to accommodate the growing weight between them. "Oh God," he said, swallowing.

"That's the second time you've said that. You're repeating yourself. That's never..." Horatio's voice trailed off into harsh breathing.

House suddenly felt weak. "Again - what are you doing on my bed?"

"Again - how much do you want to hear?"

"Fuck," House said. "Everything."

"Let me create an atmosphere for you." House closed his eyes and let himself sink into what Horatio was saying, let himself drown in that voice. "It's dark. Your room is empty except for one solitary retired forensic analyst with disturbingly red hair lying on your bed. He's in a suit, all black, and you know how you like him in a suit. Please stop me if I'm boring you."

House managed a dry-mouthed, "Nuh-uh."

"Our retired forensic analyst is not asleep. He's thinking of a certain eccentric genius doctor...and thinking of this doctor has gotten our retired forensic analyst very, very aroused. One hand holds the phone, while the other slides down -"

"Five minutes," House said suddenly, already getting out of the chair. "Five minutes, Horatio. Can you do that? Can you wait five minutes?"

"If you hurry."

"Get your hands off yourself. Nobody touches you but me, you get that? Hands off." Hands trembling, House snapped the phone shut and headed for the elevator.

His house was dark, which didn't surprise him. He parked the bike, unlocked the door and limped urgently down the corridor to the bedroom, unsure of what he was going to find but knowing he was going to love it anyway.

Horatio was sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed. He had the most impressive erection House had ever been privileged to see on anyone.

"Wow," was all House could say.

Horatio smiled. "For you."

House was already shrugging off the leather jacket. "Best. Christmas. Ever."