Title: O Tannenbaum...
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 8652
References/Spoilers: I don't think there's anything specific.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Summary: Donald embraces the Christmas spirit, and both guys embrace an oversize Christmas tree (tannenbaum in German!). A sequel to "Long Distance" in the One Night Series.

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O TANNENBAUM...

By

Candy Apple

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go." Johnny Mathis and I were belting it out at the tops of our lungs as I sat stuck in Christmas shopping traffic that ordinarily set my teeth on edge. I was tapping my hand on the steering wheel, singing for all I was worth, when the realization hit me. For the first time in years, I was singing along with Christmas songs, not turning off the radio because they pissed me off or spiraled me into such bitter depression that it brought unwelcome tears to my eyes while I was trying to drive. And I didn't even care that I was in the middle of bumper-to-bumper mall shoppers. Shit, I was having fun. I had a big bag of presents for Timmy on the passenger seat, and the back of my car was filled with decorations for my office, including a poinsettia plant for my new secretary, Cora, who was making my professional life much easier than it had been in a long time.

I had blown a small fortune on my little holiday adventure, but Scrooge on Christmas morning had nothing on me. I felt like I was waking up after spending the last several Christmases in some kind of misery-induced coma.

I don't like Christmas in October - I readily admit that. I don't care about Christmas shopping, decorations, or any of that when I haven't polished off the Halloween candy yet. When I go into a store and see a saleswoman dressed up like a witch, standing next to a Christmas tree. It's like something out of a bad drug trip. But in December? I always loved Christmas when the snow was on the ground, the chill was in the air, the Christmas lights were everywhere...

So when I found myself humming Christmas songs and actually feeling a bit festive that morning, I detoured from going into the office and went to the mall instead. While I was digging for the right sizes or jockeying for a position to get waited on, I was the happiest I'd been in years. And I had Timothy to thank for all of that. He didn't need to buy me anything. What else do you need to buy for someone when you've given them back Christmas?

Still, I couldn't wait to see what he got me. I always loved presents. I'd gotten a couple from guys I happened to be dating over Christmas, but not all that often, since the holidays were usually a good time to realize how superficial and useless the relationship was. Nothing like a good break-up in mid-December to get you in the Christmas spirit.

It took me three trips to unload the car when I got to my office. I didn't want to risk leaving Timmy's stuff outside, and I had a lot of decorations, and that damn poinsettia I was beginning to regret as I made the third trip down to get it. Still, my office was organized, tidy, pristine and clean, there was fresh coffee brewing, and Cora handled my incoming calls and walk-in visitors with all the grace and panache of the top-level executive secretary she'd been most of her adult life. She laughed at my tendency to just drop things anywhere and to go in ten different directions at once. She said I reminded her of her second boss, who was too busy having good ideas and running a company to pick up after himself and make coffee. She told me that's what a good assistant does - all the stuff the boss needs done so he can focus on bigger things.

Nobody's really thought like that in the last forty years, so not a day went by I wasn't grateful to have her there, cleaning up after me, making my coffee, and making me look good. I even paid her more than I could really afford. It was a crappy little job in a dingy little office working for a scatterbrained slob, but she seemed to like working for me.

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, standing up when she saw me staggering in with the big poinsettia. As I set it on her desk, I realized that it hadn't occurred to me that it would take up most of her workspace.

"It's kind of big," I said, laughing, shaking my head. "Guess I got carried away."

"We'll find a spot for it, and all these other things," she said, poking through the bags. She still came to work dressed in sharp business suits and heels, her gray hair upswept neatly, little pearl earrings in her ears. She looked like she should be working for the president of some big company, not a struggling PI who couldn't pay her even a fraction of what she'd been making.

"The place is kind of dingy for Christmas season," I said, looking around.

"I don't think that will be a problem when we're done," she said, handing me the bag with the Christmas lights in it. "Those are man's work. Those, and putting together the little tree."

"Apparently, you've never seen me string lights before," I said, opening the boxes. And it was true. I had a great knack of shorting something out, or not plugging the right ends together. Probably because I hated the job and didn't give a crap. This year was different, and I actually looked at the instructions before I threw them out.

Cora turned up her little radio that she kept on her desk, and the tinny speaker filled the office with Christmas music while we put up the decorations. I'm not sure how my clients who were facing disintegrating marriages or some other form of fraud or mayhem would feel about all this festivity, but I didn't care. I was gonna enjoy it.

********

I held up the red sweater with the green Christmas tree on the front of it. I knew Donald would have a love-hate relationship with it, and that thought made me snicker evilly as I put it carefully in the bottom of the shopping cart. I had selected the green sweater with the brown leaping reindeer for myself. I already hated it, but we needed something goofy and festive for our tree-buying mission that night. I hadn't seen a single turtleneck in Donald's wardrobe, so I chose a green one for him to go under the sweater. He hated the cold, so even if he hated the outfit more, it would keep him cozy while we trudged around the tree lot looking for the lucky winner. I chose a red turtleneck for myself. I didn't have one - there was a reason for that - but in all fairness, both outfits had to be equally cheesy and over-the-top festive.

As I took out my wallet to pay for the clothing, the woman behind the discount store counter gave me an odd look. I was on my lunch hour, so I guess my suit, tie, and topcoat didn't really coincide with my purchases. Happy with my two plastic bags of cheap Christmas festivity, I hopped on the bus that would drop me off near the Capitol building. I checked my watch, deciding to walk the couple of blocks to the sandwich shop and get something to eat. Congressman Donovan was in meetings all day, and one of the perks of being Chief of Staff was a tad more flexibility in my lunch hour and my comings and goings. Rank does have its privileges, and while I wasn't one to abuse those privileges, I did enjoy them on occasion.

It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell Don I had a table tree in storage in the basement, or to suggest that we wrestle a six foot tree neatly packaged in a box upstairs, but I could never forget how bad he felt on Thanksgiving morning, when he cried in my arms and told me how rotten the holidays had been for him. He rarely told me anything in so many words about his past, but he'd confided that to me. There was no way I was going to dampen his enthusiasm about getting a real tree, with all the mess, hassle, pine needles, and...well, enough said. If I could have, I would have brought the big tree from DC home for him.

I was in full Christmas mode from the moment the last pumpkin was disposed of after Halloween, but I hadn't seen much spark in Donald until Thanksgiving was over, some snow was on the ground, and Christmas music was coming at us from all sides. I was just about to take the first bite of my grilled sub when my cell phone rang. Seeing it was Don, I felt even more festive.

"How's Albany's cutest private eye?" I asked by way of greeting.

"Missing Albany's sexiest chief of staff," he replied. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Philly Grill," I said. "Where are you?"

"I'm starving, and I'm about five minutes from there. Did you eat yet?"

"No, I just sat down. You want me to order you something?"

"Yeah, get me one of their big Philly steak subs with the onions and peppers. I'll meet you there."

"There's just one thing," I said, looking at my bags, knowing what a natural snoop my PI boyfriend was.

"What? You don't have enough money?" he asked, and I had to laugh. That was often my plight, but today, I had enough cash to order his sandwich while he was on his way.

"No, I've got you covered. But I have some bags with me you absolutely can't look in. Not before tonight."

"Please tell me they're from some adult toy store," he joked.

"No, but that's a fantastic idea for Christmas shopping," I said, and he laughed.

"I won't peek. See you in a few minutes."

It was snowing outside, and the wind was blowing, so when Don came into the sub shop, his nose was red, his hands were redder, and he brought a swirl of cold air and some clinging snowflakes with him.

"Honey, where are your gloves?" I said, taking his cold hands in mine. It was almost instinctual, seeing some part of him so ice cold. He looked at me with one of those big grins, his eyes just so full of love that the look he gave me was almost as good as an embrace.

"That's the $64,000 question," he replied, letting me warm up his hands as we sat across the small table from each other. "They're kind of bulky, so I don't wear them much anyway. I can't handle my gun as well with my gloves on," he said, and I wondered why he'd projected his voice a bit. Then I saw two college-aged guys at a nearby table nearly give themselves whiplash turning their heads back from staring at us holding hands to focus on their own lunch. Don flashed me a wicked grin. "So what's in the bags I'm not supposed to see?" he asked, withdrawing his hands so we could eat our sandwiches.

"If I were about to tell you that, I could just let you peek, now couldn't I?"

"That's okay," he said through a mouthful. "I've got a bag you can't look in, either."

"What is this? Don't tell me you've been Christmas shopping?" I teased, since I'd been listening to him bitch about the crowds and the traffic and the parking at the mall and the overload of Christmas commercials for the last month.

"Stranger things have happened."

"Now I know it's love," I said, and he smiled at me again, albeit with a mouthful of beef and green pepper.

"I'd walk through fire for you, sweetheart, so the mall isn't all that bad."

"What did you get me?"

"You'll find out. Don't think I'm gonna be a pushover and tell you ahead of time."

"I bet I can think of a way to make you talk," I said, pointedly licking a drop of au jus off my finger in a much more sensuous manner than the drop of meat juice really called for.

"Do that to some part of my body when we get home, and I'll hand you the whole fucking bag."

"There's a whole bag?"

"Next time I question somebody, I'm taking you along," he said, chuckling, shaking his head. "That's all I'm saying before you drag the whole thing out of me."

"I thought I'd make us some chili tonight, and I have some French bread I can warm up to go with it. Something to keep us warm while we're tree shopping," I added.

"Sounds good. I hope the snow lets up, though. It's kinda piling up out there."

"Now what's going on with your gloves again? Really?" I added, since the two college guys had left, and Don just laughed.

"Actually, that was the truth. They're cheap fake leather, so they're kind of bulky and not too flexible. If I had to draw my gun quickly, I'd probably drop it, and forget pulling the trigger."

"Hopefully, you don't have to draw your gun or pull the trigger very often."

"Well, no, generally I don't, but there's not much point in having it if you can't use it."

"I suppose I can't argue with that logic." I took his hand while it was on a brief break from hoisting his steak sandwich. It was still cold. "Do you have them with you?"

"What? The gloves? Yeah, they're in my car somewhere."

"Take these," I said, laying my leather gloves on the table. They were soft and flexible, good quality cashmere lined gloves my mother had gotten my for my birthday a couple years earlier.

"You need your gloves, sweetheart, but thanks."

"You can give me yours. I don't have to carry a gun. I would imagine I can still carry a briefcase with fake leather gloves. I know they don't look too bad because I didn't know they were fake until you told me."

"Timothy, I can't take your good gloves. They even have some fancy little logo on them." They were Prada, but I wasn't going to tell him that or I knew he'd never take them. Hopefully he wouldn't obsess over the logo or the price. I didn't care. I didn't want him to, either.

"Do you think for one minute that wearing those makes me happier than knowing your hands are warm and you're safe? Just give me your gloves when we're done with lunch, and quit arguing with me."

"I love it when you order me around," he said, smiling at me a little lecherously.

"I'm not joking, honey," I said, hoping he heard the love in my voice.

"I know," he said, and I could see him swallow before he added, "Thanks."

His gloves were good enough for what I needed, and I slipped them on as he drove me back to work, happy to see his hands warm and toasty in my gloves. If he hadn't gone out and bought me a bunch of Christmas presents, he probably could have afforded to get himself a decent pair of gloves. I loved him for not even thinking that way.

********

I was whistling some bouncy Christmas tune when I opened the door of the apartment, and the smells of chili and warm bread tweaked my nose. Timothy was in the kitchen tidying up after his cooking project while the pot of delicious-smelling stuff bubbled on the stove. Suddenly I was one of those people I used to envy - the ones who whistle Christmas songs as they go home to their family and get ready for the holidays.

"Don, you're home!" he said, smiling.

"Of course, I'm home," I said, laughing. "We're going tree shopping, remember? And I heard a rumor there was going to be homemade chili involved."

"I was worried you might get tied up with a case."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," I said, hugging him, holding on, feeling his arms tighten around me.

"Is it still snowing?" he asked, pulling back, kissing me quickly on the mouth before he went back to tidying up, then looked in the pot at his chili. It was a married people's kiss. His lips hit mine, but there was no tongue. I'm not sure why that made me feel even happier, but it did. I could feel forever in that little kiss, in Timmy cleaning up the kitchen instead of us falling into a passionate tangle on the kitchen floor...not that I would have resisted that. "Set the table, okay? The food's almost ready, and there are martinis in the fridge."

"I'm on it," I said, taking off my coat and then taking off Timmy's gloves. My hands were nice and warm, and I could handle my gun with no problem, thanks to the soft flexibility of the leather. Still, I knew they were expensive, and I felt a little guilty keeping them. "Honey, the gloves are really great, but -"

"Oh, good. Did you try them with your gun?"

"Yeah - I mean, I didn't shoot anybody or anything."

"Gee, I'm glad to hear that," he said, smiling, stirring the chili.

"These look really expensive. I can't keep them. You should have your gloves back."

"I don't care what they cost, honey. I can't put a price tag on your hands," he said, taking my hands in his as I joined him by the stove. "Or on your safety. I like thinking about you wearing them." He kissed my hand. "It's kind of like me being there, keeping your hands warm."

"I love you," I told our joined hands. I couldn't quite look at him without getting emotional, and I didn't want to blubber all over him.

"I know you do," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, even though I wasn't looking at him yet. He gave me a big hug, his hand going up to the back of my head and resting there so gently. I closed my eyes and held on, amazed how he always knew what I needed. I'd never been loved like that - I'd never had another human being so in tune with my feelings and my quirks that he just knew how to make me feel good, that I could give him something as fucked up and splintered as my heart and he'd know how to hold it and guard it and make it flutter as if it was brand new and not all fucked up. Kind of like the way I know how to make my car start on a cold morning, but I'd be stunned if anybody else could figure it out. "You're every Christmas wish come true for me...I just thought you should know," he whispered in my ear, and I could hear a little tremor in his voice.

I didn't doubt his words, but I could hardly believe them at the same time. Every time I looked at Timothy, listened to him talk and realized how smart and cultured he was, saw him smile, saw how handsome he was...he could have anybody...and he wanted me. He'd drilled that into my head, finally, but sometimes it amazed me that he felt as lucky to have me as I felt to have him.

"Merry Christmas, beautiful," I said, pulling back so I could kiss him.

"Merry Christmas, honey," he said, kissing me, smiling that beautiful smile at me.

"We should probably have those martinis," I said, but I didn't move out of his arms.

"Maybe drinking before we go after the tree isn't a good idea."

"Yeah, we should probably wait and drink afterward," I joked, and he laughed.

"It'll take another twenty minutes or so for the chili to be done."

"It's already bubbling," I said.

"It won't be after I turn down the heat." He slid a hand down to my ass.

"You call that turning down the heat?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're really hard to spontaneously seduce?"

"No, just that I was really hard, and trust me, I'm getting there."

"Oh, is that what that is? I thought it was just your gun."

"I don't wear my holster there."

"That's not the gun I want you to fire for me," he responded.

"Does your mother know you talk dirty like that?" I teased, reaching down to cup him with my hand. He was getting hard, too.

"Let's not bring my mother into this just now," he replied, backing me toward the couch. Once I'd flopped there on my back, he had my pants open and my cock out with a frightening efficiency. His hot mouth was on me, sucking, licking, driving me crazy.

"Timothy," I gasped, touching his hair, feeling like I should do something for him, participate somehow, but I couldn't. I was flat on my back and he was sucking my brains out through my dick. I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything but lie there and enjoy it. One of his hands finagled its way inside my pants and somehow up the leg of my shorts so he was fingering me, his fingertip wet and slick, easing inside me. I wondered for an insane moment if his finger had some kind of roll-on lube dispenser in it, because I couldn't figure out how he licked it or where he would have gotten any slippery stuff.

When he rubbed over my prostate, I quit worrying about it and shouted loud enough to make him clamp a hand over my mouth. No sense in having the neighbors calling 9-1-1 before I even had a chance to come.

I didn't know if his mouth or his finger was making me happier. I moaned and babbled some dirty words, and I came like I'd never come before, his mouth still locked on me, drinking me down. I thought we were done, but he had other plans, and within moments, he was tugging my pants down, moving back to get me to turn over. For a minute I thought he was going to do me with just a little spit for lube, but then I felt the slipperiness of gel on his finger and he was stretching me, though as relaxed as I was from that blow job, it didn't take much. Then he was inside me, rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm, the fabric of his good slacks rubbing against my ass... I don't know why that turned me on so much. I guess I liked the idea that Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfucker or whoever was getting a good dose of my ass and Timmy apparently didn't care how much the pants were worth or whether or not this would necessitate some other cleaning and pressing ritual to restore them to their usual pristine condition.

I held onto the sofa cushions and pressed my face into a sofa pillow, grunting and shouting my way through the nice, long ride it took for me to get all the way to coming a second time. Timothy came first, letting out a few pretty good gasps and cries of his own, and when he sped things up a bit as he got more frenzied, I came, too, again, and then lay there like a dead man as he collapsed on my back.

"Ho, ho, ho," I muttered into the pillow, and he laughed, his belly rumbling against my back, his cock vibrating in my ass.

"Sorry, honey, I just couldn't resist decking your balls tonight," he replied, and it was my turn to laugh.

"I thought it was the halls you were supposed to deck," I said, finally getting my face out of the pillow.

"Is that a complaint?"

"Shit, no. Hey, you still have that Febreze stuff around here somewhere?"

"I'll even clean up your wet spot," he said against my ear, and then kissed it. "You have the most beautiful ass on the planet, and I had to have it right now. Christmas makes me horny."

"Excuse me?" I angled my head back to look at him. Timothy Callahan, former seminarian, generally considered a "good boy" - got horny at Christmastime? I wondered if that was some kind of mortal sin or something.

"It's all the love and romance and mistletoe and finally being with someone I love to share it all with. It's making me...think about making love and getting intimate more, I guess."

"And my ass is so beautiful, how could you control yourself?" I added.

"When you're right, you're right," he said, giving my butt a squeeze that would have gotten me going again if I had any fluid left in my body.

"I love you, too," I said, and he kissed my cheek - the one on my face, that is - and hugged me, pressing his body against me at the same time he eased out of me.

"We should probably clean up before the chili scorches or something," he said, and we shed our abused clothes and headed for the shower. It was warm under the spray of water, and I was glad he'd turned the chili down very low, since a wet, naked Timothy isn't something you let go unexplored and unsavored.

We ate in our robes, sitting close so our knees touched and we could feed each other when we felt like it. It was tempting to just stay in and make love all evening, but it was getting late in the season if we wanted a decent tree, and a plan was a plan. Timmy had even bought some kind of fancy tree stand that held and dispensed water for the thing, and probably made it a latte every morning. We were going to stop and pick up some decorations on the way, and I was looking forward to picking them out with him. I wondered if we'd still pull them out ten years later and get all misty-eyed about our first Christmas together. I hoped we'd be doing that in fifty years, if any discount store ornaments could actually last that long.

"I have a surprise for you," Timmy said as he finished his chili.

"Another one?" I asked, and he laughed.

"You can keep your pants on for this one."

"That'd be fine if I had any on." I flexed my eyebrows, feeling like I could get my second wind pretty quickly, and the idea we were both naked under our robes wasn't helping cool me down any.

"If we get distracted, we'll never get out for the tree," he said, going into the bedroom and emerging with a shopping bag. He sat back down in his chair, and we both turned away from the table, toward each other. He pulled a sweater out of the bag and held it up. "Surprise!"

I stared at him, wondering who he was, and what he had done with Timothy. Mr. Impeccable Taste in Clothing was sitting there with this silly grin on his face, holding up a god-awful red Christmas sweater with a green tree in the middle of it. He'd either gone nuts, thought my taste was tacky enough that I'd wear it, or he was yanking my chain.

"Well, that's festive," I managed, not knowing what to say.

"I know it's kind of cheesy and cliched, but I got each of us one." He handed me mine, and pulled out a green one with a leaping reindeer on it. I was about to say he'd gotten himself a more dignified one when I noticed the reindeer had a red nose. "I thought maybe they could be part of our tradition. You know, wearing silly Christmas sweaters to go out and get our tree?"

"Tradition, huh?" I repeated, liking the sound of that. I hoped making love and eating Timmy's incomparable chili would also be part of that holiday tradition. Mostly, I was just trying not to get emotional over being part of a family, even if we were a tiny little family of two, and that Timmy was trying to establish traditions for us.

"Yes, a tradition. Years and years from now, when we're old and gray, we can look back on this and laugh, and remember the first year we wore our goofy sweaters to go out and get our tree."

"Sounds like fun. The sweaters, and getting old with you," I said, leaning forward and kissing him. "For a long time, I've turned off the radio when Christmas songs came on, and tried to figure out how to get drunk enough or fool myself into not realizing it was Christmas. This year, I can't get enough of it. That's all because of you, sweetheart," I told him, touching his cheek. He looked at me with all the love in the world, tilting his head a little, leaning into my hand.

"This is the most magical Christmas of my whole life," he said, covering my hand with his, "because I have you. The man I'm going to spend my life with."

We lost a little more time kissing, just sitting there together, enjoying the moment, enjoying being more in love than either of us had ever been before.

********

The Christmas decoration aisle of the discount store was still laden with an abundance of colorful decorations, even though we were well into December. I admit I'd begun to wonder if we'd be stuck with the ugly ornaments because we waited so late. Don was dutifully pushing the cart, serving as a sort of center of gravity for me as I explored every possible color scheme for our tree. He had this sweet little smile on his face, and he watched me like he thought I was the best thing in the world. Finally, he quit watching me long enough to discover some ornaments that caught his eye. They were these iridescent sparkly snowflakes. They were just plastic, nothing terribly expensive, but the more I looked at them, I could understand what he saw in them. They would be incredible with the lights, picking up their colors and reflecting them. But it wasn't really the ornaments I was looking at.

Don was standing there, dangling one from his finger, letting it turn and watching it reflect color and light with all the fascination of a child by the Christmas tree. I snapped a picture of him with my cell phone. He laughed.

"What? You want evidence to prove to your mother that I really shopped for ornaments with you?"

I just stared at him for a moment, wondering how I got so lucky. So I kissed him - a nice, quick, chaste little kiss.

"I love you," I said. His smile softened, and he got this look in his eyes like I'd just given him the best Christmas present possible. I liked telling him I loved him, because I think it healed something inside him to hear it as often as I thought to say it to him.

"I love you, too," he said, then he twirled the ornament. "What do you think?"

"I think it's beautiful," I said, but I was looking at him.

We got a bunch of those ornaments, and some other silver and white ornaments to go with them. I was going to eschew tinsel garland, since I've never been all that fond of it, but apparently a Strachey Christmas tree had to have it, so I concurred with his choice of a garland made of silver hologram material that would probably be pretty with our other decorations. Choosing a tree skirt was an experience, since Don was apparently really in the Christmas spirit now, and decided he should hold each one up to his own waist and shift his hips back and forth, as if he were modeling a skirt for himself, much to the giggling delight of a little girl who was in the aisle with her mother, picking out ornaments.

"You should get that one," the child's mother said, smiling. "It goes with your eyes."

Armed with our decorations, we made our way to the tree lot. It was snowing lightly, and when you combined that with the Christmas music playing at the tree lot and the bustle of people buying and hauling out their trees, it just couldn't have been more festive. At first, I wasn't all that excited about the mess and hassle of a real tree, but now that I was out there in the gently falling snow, holding hands with Don while we strolled through the snowy lot looking at all the trees, I couldn't imagine missing the experience for the world.

"This one's nice," he said, stopping by a nicely shaped, moderately sized tree. It wasn't quite as tall as he was. It would fit well in the apartment. I was about to concur when I saw it. I saw the tree. It was taller than both of us, probably a good seven feet tall, with branches shaped so beautifully that I felt compelled to touch it to be sure it was real.

"Donald, look," I said, and I realized my voice came out hushed and awe-struck, as if I'd seen a miracle. I was already positioning myself near the tree to fight off another couple who were gaining on us, eyeing it.

"It's a nice tree, but we'll never get it upstairs, and I'm not sure the ceiling's high enough."

"The ceilings are fine, or we'd be hitting our heads on the doorframes. Oh, Donald, look at it, it's perfect!"

"Honey, it's great, but it's too big."

"We can put one of the chairs in the basement storage until after Christmas. We'll make room for it." I was getting close to whining at him the way I hadn't whined since I was about ten years old and found what I thought was the bike I couldn't live without. Though you could argue I was a somewhat indulged and spoiled child, my mother developed a certain immunity to my pleading for things. Poor Don had apparently not reached that point, because I could see he was caving in, and the other couple were fast approaching. For an insane moment, I wondered if he was carrying his gun...

"This is the one then," he announced pointedly, smiling sweetly at them as they looked visibly disappointed and kept moving.

"I love you," I said.

"Yeah, you love me because I just agreed to haul this monstrosity into an apartment. This thing's bigger than a third tenant." That having been said, he flagged down the tree lot owner to wrap it up for us to transport home. "It's probably going to crush my car."

"It won't crush your car," I retorted, getting a tad irritated at his dramatics. Of course, the man he loved who would have settled for a fake table tree was now insisting he defy gravity, spatial limitations, and risk our only means of transportation to haul a giant pine tree across town. Yes, looking back, I was being a bit of a brat, and Donald was never more in love with me than he was then, because he didn't point that out. I wondered if our little spontaneous holiday sex was helping my cause.

I began to worry for the car as we worked at finding a way to hoist the monster onto the top of it. I suddenly had a vision of the little dog in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas pulling the overburdened sleigh, wearing those giant fake antlers on his head. The tree dwarfed the car, and even the tree lot guy looked skeptical as he took our money and went back to work, shaking his head as if we were nuts.

As we drove toward home, Don was taking it easy on the corners, going more slowly than usual, and I kept waiting for the tree to break free from its restraints and roll into traffic. I was busy envisioning a traffic disaster worthy of a Christmas comedy movie when Don glanced at me with a grin.

"It's a really cool tree, honey," he said, and I think I breathed deeply for the first time since we left the tree lot. Snow was melting on his coat and his hair, it was bitingly cold outside, and the heater wasn't working too well in the little car. The tree was too big, I had done all but stomp my foot like a petulant child when I spotted what I wanted. He had every reason to give me the silent treatment on the way home, but now I realized he was just watching out, driving more carefully than usual, mindful of the load on top of the car. He wasn't mad at me.

"I know it's bigger than what we should have picked out."

"It's our first Christmas together. And your mom's coming to visit after Christmas, so we need a good tree. It'll be a pain in the ass to get into the apartment, but it'll be great once it's all set and decorated."

"Do we have enough lights?" I asked.

"No," he replied, laughing. "We're short on ornaments, too. I was thinking the tree would be about five feet tall and about half as wide."

"Should we stop on the way or get the tree home first?"

"We'll get the tree inside, and then we'll make a run back to the store to get more stuff. We can look over what we've got and get a better notion of what we need."

He parked in front of the apartment building, and we got the tree off the roof of the car. It was neatly wrapped, so at least its girth was substantially reduced. Fortunately, as we headed for the door, one of our neighbors, the elderly Mr. Ellerbee from a few doors down, was coming out, and had the mercy to stop and hold the door for us, though he was snickering a bit when he made the remark, "That's quite a tree you've got there." It was obvious he didn't think much of our chances of getting it upstairs.

"Yeah, we're in the Christmas spirit now," Don said, laughing, as we made our labored way toward the elevator.

"Don't think that'll fit in the elevator," he called after us.

"It's worth a try," I retorted, smiling, trying to sound friendly, and wanting to tell him to mind his own business. Don was still in a good mood, ostensibly, and our elderly neighbor's amused observations weren't going to help him stay that way. "Don, this is Mr. Ellerbee - he lives a couple doors down from us," I explained. Sometimes, I forgot how little time Don and I had really been together. It felt like we'd always been together, meant for each other and so in sync. With his erratic schedule, he'd never met a good number of the other people in the building in the couple of months he'd lived there. "This is my partner, Don Strachey."

"Nice to meet you, Don," he said.

"Likewise," Don said, his voice sounding strained as he kept moving the tree, and me, toward the elevator.

"Mighty big tree for an apartment," he added, sticking his hands in his pockets, following us to the elevator. "Let me get that button for you," he said, pushing the up button.

"Thanks," Don managed, but I could tell his good humor was wearing thin. The tree was heavy, it was too big, and Mr. Ellerbee badly needed to go on about his business and leave us to ours.

The elevator doors opened.

"Have a nice evening now," Don said, and I had to stifle a grin. That was his best attempt at a polite dismissal of the old man, but Mr. Ellerbee wasn't fazed.

"I'll get in there and hold that door open for ya." He stepped on the elevator and pressed the button.

"I don't think we'll be able to get the tree in without risking bumping you," I said, and he nodded.

"Probably right," he agreed, and just when I thought we'd gotten rid of our unsolicited helper, he stepped out of the elevator and kept his hand on the door to keep it open. "There ya go," he said, smiling. "Boy, that's gonna be a tight fit!" he declared cheerfully.

"I bet you're right," Don said, shooting me a look that said if I wanted to have sex again before Valentine's Day, I should find a way to move Mr. Ellerbee along.

"Thanks for your help. I think we've got it now," I said, sticking one foot against the door while still trying to hold onto the tree. The truth was that having someone hold the door was helpful, but the irritation his commentary was causing Donald would ultimately leave me with Mr. Ellerbee and the tree wedged in the elevator while Donald left us both and went upstairs to put his feet up and have a beer. Okay, so maybe Donald's love for me would keep him there, but it would certainly stretch it to its limits.

"Nonsense! You go on now and get that tree in there and I'll just hold the door."

Donald was taking the lead, trying to get the tree in the elevator, which was definitely at least eight feel tall, but definitely not that wide. It was a small complex, and therefore, a small elevator.

"Probably need to get it in there sideways," Mr. Ellerbee said. I could see Donald's spine stiffen, but he remained silent as we tried turning the tree at another angle.

"It's no use," he finally declared, letting the front end of the tree down to the floor for a moment as the three of us stood there, staring at the tree, half in and half out of the small elevator.

"Well, I guess we need to take it up the stairs," I said. Don closed his eyes briefly before he looked at me. I loved him for his self control, because I know the look I would have gotten if he hadn't paused. I wondered if he'd still be that patient twenty years into our marriage.

"Since it doesn't fit in the elevator, I think that's probably a better option than the fire escape," he replied.

"Very funny," I replied, irritated enough by his tone to get over my sense of guilt for having put us through this.

"Now don't you two start fighting with each other over this silly tree," Mr. Ellerbee interjected. I hoped Donald wouldn't go berserk and shoot all of us. "If we all work together, we can carry this critter upstairs."

Don and I looked at each other, at the tree, and then at the elderly man with his big grin and can-do attitude. He was pushing 80, and there was no way we were going to let him help carry a tree up three flights of stairs. The fact he wanted to try made his involvement in our whole dilemma much less annoying and a bit heartwarming.

"It'll be fine," Don said, finally, with a sigh. "I'll just skip working out tomorrow," he said, picking up his end of the tree as I did, and we backed out of the elevator. Between two of us, it was manageable, but we'd be pretty worn out by the time we made it to the third floor. Still, if Don was game to haul it upstairs, I could pull my share. "Mr. Ellerbee, can you get the stairwell door for us, and then take the elevator up to the third floor and open that door for us up there?"

"Sure, but I'm telling you, I can give you a hand with it."

"Getting the doors will be a big help," I said.

"Okay," he agreed, holding the first door for us.

Don went first, and from our first few steps upward, it was obvious he was planning to pull more than half the weight of the monster. It was heavy, and I could feel the strain as we wrestled with it on the landing. At a point we were wedged. Don above, me below, and IT in the middle. I expected to learn a whole new vocabulary of curses from Don at that point, but instead, he looked down at me, and started laughing. I don't know if I laughed because I was relieved that he was laughing, or if I really thought our predicament was that funny, but it was contagious, and we both rested there a moment with the tree between us, hanging on the banisters, laughing.

"Donald?" I finally asked.

"Yeah, we need to get moving," he said.

"Do you still love me?" I asked, mostly joking, but still wondering how annoyed he really was with me for getting him into this.

"If this tree wasn't between us and we didn't have Mr. Ellerbee waiting for us up top, I'd show you how much, right here. That answer your question?" he asked, still grinning down at me. "I hope you're kidding," he said.

"Yes...well, mostly."

"Even if moving this tree upstairs kills me, I'll die loving you, sweetheart," he quipped, a devilish grin on his face.

"You're impossible," I replied, smiling. "I love you so much," I added, and I wasn't kidding.

"I know, honey. We're good. We better get a move on," he said, and we resumed our labored trek up the stairs. Getting that monster up to the third floor was certainly punishment enough for my temporary insanity in picking it out, but he was suffering it with me, and he really didn't seem to mind. Which made me feel more like an ass for putting him through it.

"You're carrying more of the weight than I am," I said.

"You're strong, Timothy, but you don't work with weights as much as I do, and I don't want you to pull something we might want to use later."

"When you put it that way, I guess it makes sense. I still love you for it."

"I know, and you'll have to think of a way to pay me back once we get this pine cone infested spawn of hell upstairs."

We eventually made it to the top, and Mr. Ellerbee held the door while we dragged the beast to our apartment.

"Well, you made it!" he said, chuckling as I unlocked the door. "Going to your folks' again this year, Tim?" he asked.

"No, we're spending Christmas here this year. My parents had other plans," I said, trying to smile about it, but wishing he hadn't brought it up. As much as I loved Donald and was so excited to spend our first Christmas together, I'd never spent Christmas away from my family, and it hurt more than I thought it would. "Are you going to Adam's like usual?" I asked him, referring to his son and family in New York City.

"Nah, not this year. They're going to Julie's folks' instead, down south in Georgia."

"You have any plans?" Don asked.

"Just gonna have a quiet day in, watch some TV..." he said, shrugging.

"We don't know exactly when we're gonna eat, or what we're having yet, but why don't you come over and eat with us on Christmas Day?" Don suggested. "We're short parents, and you're short a kid, so it makes sense." I was stunned he'd invited the elderly man who seemed to be such a burr under his saddle during the tree moving. I couldn't have loved him any more than I did at that moment. And I knew why he felt so moved to invite our elderly neighbor to share part of our Christmas. Don had spent enough of them alone that he didn't have the heart to leave such a nice, well-meaning old man in the same dilemma.

"You two probably weren't planning on company. I don't want to intrude," he said.

"You aren't intruding - we're inviting you," I added. "You like ham?"

"Love it. And I can bring the hors d'eouvres. My daughter in California sent me one of those big Hickory Farms boxes."

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"Timmy, don't be so hasty," Don interrupted. "You said Hickory Farms? Does it have one of those beef sticks in it?"

"Three foot long beef stick!" he declared proudly.

"You got yourself a deal," Don said, and I had to laugh.

"We'll just plan on around one o'clock or so?" I said.

"Sounds good to me. You guys need anymore help?"

"I think we're good," Don said. "Thanks for your help."

"Sure thing. Thanks for the invite," he said.

"No problem," Don replied, and after Mr. Ellerbee had gotten in the elevator to go back downstairs and go about whatever errand he'd started when we interrupted him with our tree moving, I pulled Don into a big hug.

"You're quite a guy, Don Strachey," I said, squeezing him.

"That old guy could have been me in forty years or so, assuming I didn't blow my brains out first, if I hadn't met you."

"Please tell me you didn't ever seriously consider doing that," I said, knowing I probably shouldn't react that way - I didn't mean to sound like I was judging him. Still, the thought of him harming himself, or even thinking of it, made my blood run cold.

"Don't worry about me, beautiful," he said, pulling back. "I wouldn't leave you for anything. And you think a big Christmas tree could make me not love you as much as I do?"

"Promise me you'll always remember how precious your life is to me, that you'll always remember there's someone who doesn't want to live without you?"

"Honey, I'm fine. It was just a figure of speech." He kissed my cheek, and smiled at me, looking like he was hanging on my every expression, not wanting me to frown or look worried. I knew it was more than a figure of speech. He hadn't broken down and cried when he remembered the loneliness of past holidays without there being a lot of depression, sadness, loneliness...and maybe the occasional temptation to put an end to it lurking in his past. Still, I didn't want to make him feel awkward when he revealed another little piece of himself.

"We better get this thing inside and go back to get the rest of our decorations. It's getting late," I said. Then I touched his cheek and kissed him slowly, gently. "Besides, I still need time to make all this up to you, remember?"

"Yeah, I'll have to be thinking about that," he said, smiling as we hauled the tree inside the apartment.

"I'm taking requests," I retorted, hoping it sounded as sexy as I wanted it to.

"We get the decorations tomorrow night and spend the rest of tonight making love?" he asked.

"That's your request?" I teased.

"I don't care what we do, so long as we do it," he said, locking the door behind us. "What do you say, sweetheart?"

"Ho, ho, ho," I replied, grabbing him in my arms, launching a night of passion that would leave us in an exhausted, sweaty, happy sleeping heap on the bed, and our tree undecorated until the next night.

********