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"I've never done this."
Steve hefts the safely-covered saw in his hands, glancing over his shoulder. Bucky's a step or two behind him as they squeeze between the tight rows of trees. "Which part of 'this'?" Steve asks. "Have you never had a real tree at all?"
"Oh, well that, yes." Bucky quickly steps forward, his hands resting on Steve's shoulders to stay close and speak into his ear. "We got trees from lots in the city as kids. From college on, it's been fake only. But I've never gone to a cut-your-own farm, pulled it right out of the damn ground." He presses a kiss to the back of Steve's neck. "By my very own lumberjack boyfriend."
Steve grins, warm in the late autumn chill. "Oh, you're helping, pal. We'll find a small one for your place." He can feel a puff of warm breath on his neck as Bucky huffs his opinion of that. He's happy to get a tree to decorate at Steve's, but he wants to leave his own apartment in its current state: blank walls, boxes left packed, and no sign of settling in even after almost six weeks.
The apartment itself is a small concession to not cranking this relationship up to open-water cruising speeds immediately, but Bucky stays the night at Steve's at least three nights a week already, and Steve knows there's an inevitability to it all. They're old enough to know that moving in too fast is a recipe for disaster, but they've also been around enough to know how this relationship is different.
"How about this one?" Bucky asks, stepping over to a stout tree, shorter than Steve had expected Bucky would pick, but still full and fairly even all the way around.
"Yeah?" Steve inspects it more closely, pushing the branches aside to get a better look at the trunk. One of the branches bounces back, and he's probably got some needles in his beard now. He reaches in and wraps his hand around the trunk, measuring the circumference. "Seems pretty sturdy," says, stepping back and showing Bucky the trunk size. "Not so big it's gonna be a problem to cut down."
Bucky nods and looks it up and down. "Gonna fit by the fireplace?"
"Hmmm, or it could fit next to the couch?"
"Fireplace puts it by the window, too. Looks nice from outside."
They keep bouncing placement ideas off each other while Steve has Bucky hold the top of the tree steady. He lies down on the needles and dirt to get in to saw this sucker off as close to the ground as possible, so they won't have to sacrifice any of the branches, since it's short enough already. It's a good quality, sharp saw, and Steve's got the strength to work it through the bark and wood like butter for the Christmas cookies he makes every year. Within minutes, it's free and Bucky lets out an oof as the tree's weight lands on his shoulder.
"We hiked in pretty far to get this," Bucky says, looking back the way they came with a little concern.
Steve stands up, brushing off his coat and shrugging. "We've got it. I'll take the base and go first, if you get it on your shoulder around two-thirds up? That should balance the weight. It really won't be too bad, and we can stop if you need to."
Bucky offers a shrug in response. "Guess my dad lugged a whole tree a few blocks all those years for us. It was bound up, so it looked smaller."
"Plus, you probably thought your dad was just that strong when you were a kid." He kisses Bucky's cheek and nuzzles his cold nose there for a moment, pulling soft, sweet giggles from his boyfriend. "We've got this, Buck, and it's not that far back to the lot." He gets them into position so the tree is already leaning against Bucky, and Steve kneels to heft the base onto his shoulder, then stands. "Ready?"
"You realize," Bucky says, as they start heading away from the stump and back towards the truck, "that with this thing in hand, it's gonna be hard to grab a tiny tree, too. Oh well."
Steve rolls his eyes, doesn't answer. Worst case, he'll give Bucky the small faux tree he's used the last five or so years. Does Bucky think that Steve does this whole fresh-tree thing every year? Very likely, since Steve hasn't suggested otherwise.
But this year, Steve feels more festive. He wants to make more of an effort, for some reason. Bucky starts whistling O Christmas Tree, and Steve smiles.
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"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have enough ornaments?"
"Didn't know I didn't."
Bucky shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he picks up another box of shiny red, green, and silver balls.
"How many are you buying?"
"Enough." Bucky grabs another box. "I think the tree's a little small for the space, so next year we'll go bigger, and this way you'll have enough ornaments."
Steve's bemused smile widens into a full-on grin. "Next year, huh? 'We'?"
"Hmm?" Bucky looks up, and then huffs, waving the box before he puts it in the basket. "Whatever. Just. Shut up."
Steve laughs and starts walking towards the tinsel, but Bucky stops him and advises against it, since Sully can't be trusted with it. He takes Bucky's hand in his, lacing their fingers, and they walk to the registers.
"My folks never bought this kind of stuff. Our tree's all sentimental stuff, crafts me and Becs and Emmy made, momentos from trips. Guess that's what happens when you marry when you're twenty and get started on all that family history so early."
Steve squeezes his boyfriend's hand. "You want to make some ornaments for the tree this year?" He doesn't say our tree, but they never did get a small one for Bucky's apartment, and Bucky firmly vetoed Steve's little artificial pine. Santa will have to deliver all his presents to Steve's place.
Bucky doesn't answer right away, and when he does, there's a sigh behind it. "We should probably wait. Make sure I don't flee the state when my lease is up." He's trying to make it a joke, Steve can tell, but it isn't really landing how their banter usually does.
Steve pulls his hand out of Bucky's so he can slide his arm around Bucky's shoulders. Bucky hums and presses into Steve's side for a moment, and then he seems to get his good mood back as they head for the registers. He smiles and flirts with the woman checking them out, and Steve watches, amused, before he shoos Bucky away so he can pay with a wink to the pink-cheeked cashier. All paid and checked out, they get back in the truck and head home, where they've left a half-decorated tree waiting.
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"It's not bad, actually." Steve sips at his hot cider, wincing a little at the heavy touch of rum he'd poured. Bucky snuggles closer under his arm, and Steve's eyes droop, blurring the lights from the tree and the glow of the fireplace. Music spools out from the speakers, a sweet tune about Mary singing a lullaby to lambs. Sully's curled up in the dog bed that now lives in front of the old recliner in the corner, snoring softly.
It's the coziest his house has been in years. Maybe ever.
"Think it looks pretty good," Bucky agrees, gesturing to the tree. The baubles they bought balance well with the old ribbon garland Steve pulled out from his attic. Steve remembers it on the tree his mother would put up, but he hasn't had the heart to find and use ever since he moved up here. Still, he knew he'd packed it and brought it with him when he moved for a reason.
He sips the spiked cider again, smiling softly. "Yeah, it's good. Thanks for helping, Buck."
"Well, you're hopeless without me." Bucky presses his smile into Steve's neck, a poor attempt to hide it. Steve knows how those lips feel on his skin now, he knows their moods. The last six weeks of knowing that they have time— that Bucky isn't leaving, that this can have a real shot— they've allowed themselves to sink into each other in a way they never did over the summer or the fall.
Bucky reaches for the mug in Steve's hand, and Steve passes it over easily, letting Bucky sip from it. Bucky's own mug sits abandoned on the coffee table, out of arm's length. "It's supposed to snow this week." Steve has mixed feelings about winter weather. It's pretty and can set the mood around Christmas, but the world doesn't stop for snow around here.
"I've never had snow where it didn't immediately turn into grey slush," Bucky says, handing the mug back to Steve. "Is it hard to dig yourself out of here?"
Steve nods his head back, gesturing vaguely towards the side yard. "I have a plow attachment for the truck. I usually help some folks out, so I'll get a bunch of calls. But if it's bad, I won't go out right away." Steve waggles his eyebrows at Bucky. "You should probably spend the night here. Just to be safe."
"Safe from what?" Buck asks, impertinent for show. "Does Bruce turn into a big, hulking yeti in the snow?"
Steve giggles and closes his eyes, imagining soft, gentle Bruce transforming into a huge, hairy beast. "He might. You better stay with me," he says again, will keep saying again and again until he doesn't need to say it.
"I think we can arrange for that." Bucky looks at his watch. "And speaking of me not being here..." Steve can't help the way his body deflates. Bucky noses against Steve's cheek, into his beard, then presses his lips there. "I have to call my sisters tonight, we're coordinating gifts for our folks."
Steve knows that. Bucky told him this morning when they met up for brunch at Wanda's cafe. Still, he wishes it was different.
"It's not like there's no service here," Steve says, petulant and pouting.
Bucky pulls back so he can look Steve square in the eye. "Steve. I have a lot to coordinate with them. It's really best if I'm at the apartment. Alone."
There's a tone in Bucky's voice that clicks with Steve, and he grins. "Ohhh. Got it." His grin shifts to a smirk. "Maybe I should coordinate with Sam and Nat." He's already bought his presents for Bucky and Sully, but a little conspiracy with friends is always fun.
Bucky lifts an eyebrow, but he's smiling, too. "Maybe you should." He leans in to press a sweet kiss to Steve's lips, lingering a moment, then he stands up with the sigh of a man accepting his inevitable fate. "I told the sibs I'd call around seven, so I should get going. I'll pick up dinner on the way." Sully's head perks up at the mention of a meal, and Bucky winks at his dog. "Yeah, bud, you'll eat, too."
"Guess I gotta make a dinner decision for myself, then, too." Steve gathers Sully's toys, crouching down to check under the couch. "I'll make a grocery run tomorrow so we can stock up for the weather. Just text me if there's anything in particular you need. Want."
Bucky agrees as he gets his coat on and finds Sully's leash. Back on his feet, Steve hands Bucky the tote of dog toys, then tugs on Bucky's coat where it hangs open, buttoning not quite necessary for a quick run to the car. "'Night, darlin'," he murmurs, before kissing Bucky softly, careful not to try to start something.
"Goodnight, hon," Bucky whispers back, placing one more kiss on Steve's cheek. Then he heads out the door, Sully running over to the small crossover Bucky bought when he moved here. Steve waves as they drive off, then closes the door and his eyes, too, as though if he doesn't look in the empty house, he can pretend he's not alone.
He loves that man, he knows it. Knows it, as much as he knows that it's too soon to say. The way their relationship started doesn't make it easy to pin down a specific date, and that makes it hard to calculate exactly when he should be able to feel safe in telling Bucky how he feels. He doesn't think this Christmas will be the right time, but maybe soon after. Maybe in January.
For now, he opens his eyes again. Maybe Bucky has left the building, but the tree is still there. There are two mugs on the coffee table, and Bucky's sweatshirt remains where he tossed it on the armchair.
He's not really alone. And he needs to make sure he finds some great gifts for Bucky, so he turns up the music, pulls out his laptop, and starts his search.
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