“’Maccabees’ is a funny word,” Chase observed. “And do we really need all these grated potatoes?”

“Yes, we do,” Wilson told him. “Now shut up, everybody.”

“Are you telling me to shut up?” House demanded.

“You’re part of everybody.” Taking a deep breath, Wilson looked at the candles and tried to summon up a respectful frame of mind. “Baruch atah adonai Eloheinu,” he began, and then mumbled over the parts he couldn’t quite remember.

“Are you about done?” House asked. “The latkes aren’t going to fry themselves, you know.”

Wilson was done, but just to spite House he said, “No, next I have to tell Chase the story of Hanukkah.”

“I thought we agreed we were going to raise the boy atheist,” House whined.

Wilson ignored him. “Over 2500 years ago, Jerusalem was occupied by a Greco-Syrian king named…I forget what he was named. It’s not important. He forced the Jews to worship the Greek gods, and even put a statue of Zeus…I think it was Zeus…on the altar in the Temple of Jerusalem.”

“Did he make them practice Greek love, too?” House asked.

Chase looked interested. “Yeah, did he?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe.”

“That gives me an idea for something we could play,” House announced.

Wilson decided this probably wouldn’t quite as bad as the concentration camp fantasy.

“I can play the Greek general. Or something. Did they have generals?”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Probably.”

“And Chase can be my catamite that I brought with me from Greece.”

“So far, this is surprisingly non-offensive.”

“And you get to be the nice Jewish boy who’s turned my head. You and Chase start out as rivals for my affections, but after a while you both decide you can share me,” House finished triumphantly. “Possibly after I tie you to each other naked for a while.”

“Well,” Wilson said, seeing a way to get back to the story, “I don’t know what would happen to you and Chase when the Maccabees drive the Greco-Syrians out of Jerusalem. I’d probably stay for the rededication of the Temple. See, after they tossed out all the Greek statues and stuff, they had to re-sanctify the Temple, and the ritual was supposed to last for eight days--”

“But they didn’t have enough oil, only they did have enough oil, the end,” House finished. “Will you cook now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Wilson said, feeling deflated.

As House wandered back out to the living room, Wilson poured some oil into the biggest frying pan. “I think that’s enough potatoes. Just mince up about half of that onion.”

Chase started on the onion. “It’s a good story,” he said encouragingly, as if he thought Wilson’s feelings might be hurt that they didn’t appreciate it.

Wilson sighed. “Yeah, I guess it’s not as impressive as the whole virgin birth thing.” He mixed the onion, an egg, and some flour into the shredded potatoes. “Get the applesauce out, would you?” Molding handfuls of potato mixture into pancake shape, he dropped them into the hot oil.

Chase emerged from the refrigerator with a jar of applesauce in hand. “So what’s the point of the latkes?”

“We eat things fried in oil to memorialize the oil that lasted eight nights,” Wilson explained. “Latkes are traditional, and jelly doughnuts. But really it can be anything fried.” He used the spatula to lift the edge of one pancake. Not quite brown enough yet.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they didn’t have potatoes in Jerusalem before the b--back then, I mean.”

Wilson realized that Chase had almost said, “Before the birth of Christ,” and smiled a little. “Probably not,” he agreed.

When the first batch of latkes were ready to come out of the pan, he sent Chase into the other room to get House. “They’re best if you eat them right off the stove, and I’m not standing here cooking while you guys eat. I’m not my mother.”

House came in in time to catch the end of his rant. “Defensive, much?” He grabbed first latke before it even touched the plate, dipped it in the applesauce jar, and crammed it in his mouth. “Ow! Hot!” He shook his fingers, swallowed, and blew on them.

“It’s funny how cooking sometimes makes things hot,” Wilson observed dryly. “Chase, put the applesauce in a bowl, please.”

Wilson ended up frying four batches of latkes. When he was frying the third batch, House sent Chase to stand next to him and feed him, “so he doesn’t miss out.”

When he finally was able to turn off the stove, he said, “Okay. Now we can have the traditional washing of the dishes and de-greasing of everything in a three-foot radius around the stove.”

“That can wait,” House argued. “Isn’t there something else we have to do?”

Wilson looked at him blankly. Did they have anything planned?

House whistled the first few bars of “I Have a Little Dreidel.”

“I wasn’t really planning on…I don’t think we even have a dreidel,” he pointed out.

“Oh but we do,” House exclaimed, backing toward the living room and beckoning for them to follow.

Slowly, Wilson dried his hands on a dishtowel. This could not be good.

When he got to the living room, House was proudly holding up a large plastic dreidel. “It lights up,” he said happily. “And plays the dreidel song.” He spun it on the coffee table to demonstrate.

“How…nice.”

“I bought it specially because I knew you would want to have the full Hanukkah experience,” House said earnestly.

“The dreidel game is really more for children,” he pointed out. “Although--Chase, maybe you’ll be interested in this. During the occupation of Jerusalem, it was forbidden to study Torah. So they’d meet in secret, and if the authorities turned up, they’d pretend they were just gambling.”

“Uh-huh, fascinating,” House said. “I know the dreidel game is mostly for kids. That’s why we’re going to play a special adult version.”

It took Wilson a moment to process what he was saying. “Oh, god. I haven’t played strip dreidel since Rebecca Wiseman’s bat mitzvah.”

House looked crestfallen. “You mean it’s an actual thing? I thought I invented it.”

“I think every generation of horny Jewish teenagers has invented it,” Wilson told him. House continued to look like he’d found coal in his stocking, until Wilson said, “But of course we can play it anyway. It’ll be fun.”

House flopped down on the couch, grinning widely. “Okay! First, everyone has to ante one article of clothing.” He pulled off one sneaker and plunked it on the coffee table.

Wilson sat down next to him and unknotted his tie--glad that he had just flipped it over his shoulder to keep it out of the oil, instead of taking it off earlier--and followed suit.

Chase, sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, looked at his already-bare feet in dismay, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “This is gonna be quick,” he predicted.

“The dreidel tradition allows the extension of loans,” House informed him. “If the more fortunate parties can be persuaded to offer them. Somehow.”

Chase nodded. “I see. Okay.”

“You spin first,” House told him. “You’re the youngest.”

Chase spun. The musical dreidel was, if anything, even more garish the second time. “Okay, I got a…weird-looking w.”

“That’s shin,” Wilson told him.

“And that means you put a piece of clothing in the pot,” House told him.

Chase groaned. “I’ve only got two left, you know!”

“The dreidel is a harsh mistress. Off with your pants.”

After Chase had taken off his pants, it was Wilson’s turn. He spun. “Nun,” he announced. In the regular dreidel game, that usually meant “do nothing,” but in some strip-dreidel variations, it meant “wear nothing.” He wondered which House had picked.

“Damn,” House said. “Okay, my turn.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything?” Chase asked.

“Nope.”

“This game isn’t very fair.”

“It’s a game of chance. There’s no way it can not be fair. It’s the very definition of fair.” House spun the dreidel. “I got gimmel, so I get a piece of clothing. Hm, do I want Wilson’s tie, or Chase’s shirt?”

“Isn’t that the same letter Wilson got?” Chase asked.

“No,” Wilson told him, “I got nun. That’s gimmel. They’re kind of hard to tell apart,” he admitted.

House draped Wilson’s tie around his neck and handed Chase the dreidel. “Spin.”

Chase spun. “I got…one of the ones that look alike.”

“Nun,” Wilson supplied, taking the dreidel. “Do nothing. Okay…come on, hey or gimmel.” the top came up “hey,” and he reached to take Chase’s shirt out of the pot.

“Nope,” House said cheerfully. “In strip dreidel, hey means take off half. First, we have to count how many things you have on.”

Chase looked more cheerful now that someone was going to join him in partial nudity. “Two shoes, two socks,” he counted. “Pants, underwear, shirt. Seven.”

“And in dreidel, do we round up or down?”

“Up,” Wilson admitted. “Four.” That wasn’t so bad--both shoes and both socks. He was still completely decent.

“Chicken,” House accused him, taking the dreidel.

“Like you’d take off your shirt when you had two perfectly good socks to go,” Wilson scoffed.

House shrugged, then, unsurprisingly, changed the subject. Nudging Wilson, he said, “Look at Robbie. I guess he’s kinda chilly.”

Wilson didn’t miss House’s switch from “Chase” to “Robbie,” and his dick, raising its head in interest, clearly hadn’t missed it either. “Uh-huh,” he agreed. Robbie’s nipples looked as hard as two little round pebbles, and the fine hair on his arms stood up.

“Think we should warm him up?”

“Okay,” Wilson said faintly.

“Robbie, c’mere and sit between us.”

He stepped over the coffee table and sat on the floor between their feet.

“Good. Jimmy, rub his chest a little bit.”

Wilson slipped both hands down over Chase’s chest, rubbing quickly enough to create a little warming friction. Chase relaxed into his hands with a happy little whimper.

While they were occupied, House spun the dreidel. Wilson had no doubt that if he didn’t like what came up, he’d try to use the distraction to change it.

But it came up shin, and House willingly put Wilson’s tie back in the pot. “Easy come, easy go. Your turn, Robbie.”

Wilson left off stroking Robbie so that he could take his turn. Wilson found himself hoping that this turn would see Chase completely naked--surely once one of them had lost, matters would progress more quickly.

But Chase got gimmel, which under House’s rules meant he got a piece of clothing. House picked up Wilson’s tie and draped it across his shoulders.

“Don’t I get to pick what I get?” Chase protested.

“Why would you get to pick?” House asked him.

“…good point.”

Wilson took the wide edge of the tie and brushed the silk idly across Chase’s left nipple, earning a gasp from Robbie and a, “It’s your turn,” from House.

He spun, got shin, and shed his shirt.

House casually stretched out his left arm and stroked his back, tracing each vertebrae with his fingers. “Chase is losing,” he confided.

“Uh huh,” Wilson agreed. If House kept doing that, there wasn’t going to be any blood left over for his brain to use. It was a good thing this game didn’t require any thinking or strategy.

“But you’re catching up with him,” House pointed out.

“Uh huh,” Wilson said again.

“Let’s make a little side wager,” House suggested. “If I end up taking something off on this turn, you kiss me.”

“Okay,” he agreed readily. “But--what if you don’t?”

“Then you can kiss Robbie,” House allowed.

Both options sounded pretty good. “Okay.”

House spun. “Shin again,” he observed. Even though he still had one shoe and both socks on, he took off one of his shirts. “Pay up, Jimmy.”

Wilson leaned into him and kissed him. House allowed his tongue into his mouth, but only for a moment, before he broke of the contact and said, “Robbie’s turn.”

Chase took up the dreidel. “Do I get a side bet, too?”

“Sure,” House said. “Let’s see…if you get naked on this turn, I’ll get you off.”

He sat up and looked interested. “Yeah? Okay, so I have to get…oh.” He slumped back on his heels. “Hoo-uuuse!”

“I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about Australian whine,” House muttered.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve used that joke before,” Wilson told him.

House shrugged. “Okay…if you lose something on this turn, and if you take off your underwear and keep Wilson’s tie….”

“Yeah?” Chase said eagerly.

“I’ll….”

Wilson suspected that House had started that sentence without a clear idea of how to end it.

“I’ll take you into the bedroom and fuck your brains out.”

“Okay!” Chase agreed.

“And then I’ll fuck Wilson’s brains out,” House continued.

“Okay,” Chase repeated, with slightly less enthusiasm.

“And then Wilson’ll jerk you off, and then we’ll go to sleep, and at 4 AM I’ll get up and go to Krispy Kreme for some hot jelly doughnuts.”

“Okay,” Wilson said faintly. He wished they could skip the rest of the game and go ahead with House’s plan.

“And then we’ll eat them in bed, and if any jelly drips anywhere, Robbie gets to lick it up.”

“Okay,” Chase affirmed.

“And then we’ll fuck again, assuming us old guys can get it up. And then we’ll sleep until noon.” House blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “That is, if you lose your shorts on this turn. If not, I guess we’ll just keep playing dreidel.”

Chase spun, and got hey.

Wilson thought it was probably for the best.