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Chapter One: The Wolf
Eddie doesn't want to be at this party. He isn't a party person, much less a big party person, and this is one big party. A celebrity party, to be specific, which in his opinion is the worst kind of all. He was hoping for it to be on the calmer side, but it's a Saturday in Los Angeles. He'll barely survive.
Left and right he sees people shotgunning beer and passing around joints and cigars and god knows what else as he leans against a far wall, clutching a red solo cup full of plain ice water. He’d partake in champagne occasionally, as well as some good old mary jane (old habits die hard), but he's a certain trashmouth’s designated driver, and he can't afford to let himself relax too much. How can he relax while trying to keep track of Richie?
Every time Eddie looks away, his husband is off in another spot, mingling with new people and old friends every two minutes, always with a joint or solo cup in hand. But his cups aren't full of water, Eddie knows that well enough. It’s not like he ever goes too overboard, considering the only thing he can stomach is champagne, so he tries not to hassle him over it; but it irks him enough to be a consistent worry throughout any event they attend. They know each other's limits, though. Eddie trusts him.
Who he doesn’t trust, however, are all these new people he’s never seen before at this party. Specifically the ones hanging around Richie. Some bottle-blonde (as if he has any room to judge) with an outfit that looks more expensive than anything he could afford, a tall brunet with the ugliest tie he’s ever laid eyes on, and a short woman with her hair done up much too elegantly for this type of party. They all seem to be escorting Richie around and giving him suspiciously flirtatious glances, even with Beverly and Ben tagging along when they aren't off socializing, themselves.
“Eddie?” Speak of the devils. One of them, at least.
Eddie turns to face Ben, giving a tight-lipped smile. As much as he loves talking to his friends, he's too busy sulking and being a worried mess to be very fun. “Ben! Good to see you...I thought you’d be glued to Bev’s side this far into the party.” He quips, but it sounds unenthusiastic. Ben seems to take notice, placing his hand lightly on the shorter man’s shoulder with a furrowed brow.
“Something bothering you, bud? You’ve been nailed to this wall for the entire night staring at Richie like he ran over Claire on the drive here..” His tone is full of genuine concern, and Eddie feels his face heat up.
“No, really, I’m...I’m just fine, Ben. I’m not mad or anything.” The blond shakes his head, though his grip on the solo cup in his hand tightens significantly. Is he mad? He doesn’t think so, at least not in the way he usually would be. He feels…
“Jealous?”
Eddie freezes up, eyes widening as he stares up at Ben like he’d just pissed all over the carpet in front of him. Is he jealous? His gaze falls back to the floor, brows knitting together as he mulls over it. He isn’t often jealous...except for when he sees other people look at Richie like those three strangers do. Like the cashier at the grocery store who always eyes him when they go shopping, or the car salesman from last month who had his hand on Richie's shoulder for a little too long, or the receptionist at the gym they frequent who seems to only ever give Richie tips on which machines to use or the best stretches to do before those machines, or the…
“Oh, god...” Eddie whines, using his free hand to cover his gradually flushing face. “Am I? Is it that obvious? I’m an awful husband...” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he begins to slump against the wall.
Ben gives him another gentle pat on the shoulder as he keeps the other man from sliding too far down, frowning softly. “Edds, c’mon, you’re a great husband...Richie wouldn’t pull all those jokes about how good you are at chores and how round your ass is if you weren’t.” He attempts to lighten the mood, but it seems to do nothing, even as Eddie lets his hand rest again. He's practically pouting now, staring down at his ice water as he tries to collect his thoughts. Ben knows there’s not much he can do to console him at this point, since he’s already stuck in his head; but he doesn’t have time to think of a plan of action before he hears a familiar, drunken voice come up from behind and sling an arm around his waist.
“Eddieee...make your husband quit rambling about your perfect cooking and beautiful hair, it’s getting on my nerves...” Beverly whimpers, wrapping herself around her husband's side. This pulls Eddie’s attention up from his solo cup, at least, but the red tint on his cheeks intensifies tenfold. He watches as Ben helps his tipsy wife stand, making sure the fancy dress she’s wearing isn’t getting caught on the floor.
“He’s doing what? ” Eddie blurts, abashedly staring at Bev as he tries to collect himself and process her words. Richie’s bragging about him? Well, that’s nothing new...but it threw his jealous streak for a loop when he heard her say it.
“He won’t stop talking about you! I tried smacking him upside the head but he dodged, that bastard , and now he’s on a tirade about your pajamas. Better go shut him up before I do it, myself.” She huffs matter-of-factly, and Ben mutters a brief apology through muffled laughter to Eddie before he goes to walk Bev off to get some water and fresh air. She waves back at the blond with a drunken grin, then has to focus on not tripping over her dress, leaving Eddie alone against the wall again.
Richie is bragging that much? And why about that of all things? Eddie groans, starting to make his way toward where he can see Richie sitting on the couch rambling non-stop. “...and then, he walks right out into the kitchen in his boxers! It was amazing! Best birthday I ever had…” He can hear him more clearly now that he’s getting closer to the couch, and once he’s within proper range, he pipes up.
“Beep beep, Rich!” He calls out from behind the thick semi-circle of people crowded around the couch, attempting to push through and get to his dumbass husband. As soon as he spoke, he saw Richie’s face light up, and the man of the hour pulls himself up to stand-- albeit a bit wobbly-- and orders the crowd to disperse. Most of them move aside, at least enough for Eddie to get through, and he goes right up to Rich with an expression that's nigh-unreadable.
“Eddie, baby! I was wondering where you went! I just told these lovely people about my last birthday! Y’know, the one where you--”
“Yes! Yes, I heard on my way over- can we please go, Rich? I’m not feeling well.” A bold-faced lie (sort of), but Richie’s expression immediately changes from drunken pride to concern. He moves a big ol’ hand to take Eddie’s drink and set it aside before holding him by the waist, looking him over with a worried gaze.
“Is it your stomach? Or did you get a headache? Hold on-- hey! Someone get my husband some Advil!” Richie calls out to the people around them, and it makes Eddie’s expression twist.
“No-- no, Richie, please...let’s just go.”
Richie goes quiet at that, and he seems to take another moment to examine his shorter counterpart before nodding intently and wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Part the fuckin’ seas! We’re leaving because my husband said so!” He announces, and Eddie cringes, but at least now they’re pushing through the crowd to get to the front door.
They reach the front porch, and Eddie is already heading towards their car with a swift gait. Apparently he’s visibly upset enough for even Richie to take notice at this point, because the taller man stops him right before he’s about to get in the driver’s seat. He uses his beefy arms to cage him in against the closed door, trying to catch his own breath before he speaks.
“Edds? Baby? What’s wrong?” He smells like smoke and liquor, but that’s far from what’s upsetting Eddie. The shorter avoids eye contact, fidgeting with the strings of the hoodie he stole from Richie earlier while he tries to search for a response. “Was it something I did? Gosh, I know you hate it when I brag too much, but how can I not? I get out of control with it most of the time, I’ll own up to that, but--”
“No. You didn’t...you didn’t do anything, Rich..,” he sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose while his eyes squeeze shut tightly, “I’m just...stupid. That’s all. We can talk about this at home, can’t we? I just want to go back to the house right now...” His hand falls back to his side as he finishes, and he’s about to turn and try to get in the car again before he’s suddenly being pulled flush against Richie’s chest. Trapped in a warm embrace, he tenses, glancing up at the larger man.
Richie looks...undeniably upset. Like a kicked puppy, really. Those big brown eyes peer down at him from behind his glasses, askew and only serving to magnify his pleading gaze. It makes Eddie melt.
“Oh, Rich...I promise, you didn’t do anything,” he manages to squeeze a hand up between them to cup Richie’s cheek, “I just wanna go home...we can talk about it when we get back. I promise I’ll be okay.”
His words seem to placate his husband enough for him to nod and let go, allowing them both to climb into the beat up little Honda Accord that Richie has tried to name multiple times, much to Eddie’s dismay-- also of which the salesman from last month could not convince him to trade in. Eddie boots up the engine once they’re both situated, and they drive home to the tune of the local college radio, neither of them uttering a word.
Once they return and park in the driveway, Eddie is the first one out of the car, fumbling with his keys while he walks around to help Richie out of the passenger seat. He lets the larger man sling an arm around him and lean gently, helping him up to the doorstep where they can hear Claire's excited yapping from inside.
Finally finding the front door’s key, Eddie unlocks it and ushers Richie inside first so he can get the keys out of the faulty lock and head inside quickly afterward, locking the door behind them. When he turns to toss his keys in the dish and remove his (Richie’s) hoodie, he sees the lumbering buffoon with his jacket half-off, sitting on the loveseat already, with Claire up in his lap barking and licking his face excitedly. Rich is giggling, and Eddie feels a fond smile tug at the corners of his mouth. That dog almost loves Richie more than Eddie-- almost.
“If you keep trying to steal my dog's love from me, I’ll really be upset.” He teases, but this time his tone comes across more gentle and playful than anything. Richie looks up at him, pulling his attention from the over-excited pomeranian to give his husband a sweet grin.
Eddie reciprocates, though with a much smaller smile, and heads over to help him get his jacket all the way off. “Couldn’t even finish this before Claire got you?”
“Hah- nope. She called for me, Edds! I had to oblige!” He chuckles, moving his arm to help Eddie wrangle his coat off.
The blond just grins a little wider and goes to hang his jacket up beside the other ones on the rack, soon returning to sit on the loveseat with Richie and Claire. The little pomf of a dog quickly switches to climb into her dad’s lap and shower him with affection, tail shaking like a metronome that’s trying to kill an orchestra. It coaxes a giggle from him, and he scratches behind her ear for a moment until his thoughts from earlier hit him in the side of the head like a train. His smile falters, and Richie takes note, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind the other man.
“Wanna...talk about it now?” He lets his arm fall a bit, resting lightly on Eddie’s shoulders so he can thumb at his bicep.
Eddie keeps his gaze down on Claire for a moment, watching as she makes herself comfy in his lap while he tries to collect his thoughts. He takes a deep breath.
“I...I’m a bad husband. I worry too much, and I get it in my head that I’m...that I’m not good enough . I see how people at parties-- hell, anywhere look at you, and I get so caught up with it. It makes me second-guess myself and the way that I think. I mean...look at you! You’re famous, and attractive, and you could have anybody. It just...makes me worried you’ll fuck off and find someone better once you realize I’m not all that. I’m sure that blonde would’ve loved to get in your pants, with the way she kept eyeing you.” Eddie's emotions are beginning to derail, but he's starting to not care. Everything is bubbling over, and he doesn’t have the capacity to slam a lid on it.
“It just pisses me off so much! We go to these parties, and everyone looks at you like they wanna go home with you. Of course they wouldn’t be able to because I’d slice both your heads off in a split second for it, but it really gets on my nerves!” He’d stood up by this point, Claire moving to sit in Richie’s lap as she watches her dad pace back and forth. “It makes me feel so...inferior, Richie, and I know it’s stupid- that’s why I didn’t even want to bring it up, especially not at the party. I feel selfish, even though you’re my husband--” he pauses in his pacing, letting out a groan as he smacks a hand to his forehead, “god, I felt bad even saying that! I shouldn’t! I shouldn’t...right?” He finally turns his weary gaze to Richie, who's looking up at him bewildered.
Richie is stuck for words, staring up at his neurotic husband whose shaking just about as much as his adrenaline-fueled dog at this point, and his brows finally furrow. “Edds...sit down. You look like you chugged five energy drinks and then got on a rollercoaster.”
Eddie continues to stare for a moment before he lets out a dejected sigh. His husband is right. He often is, to Edd’s chagrin. So, he sits back down on the loveseat, leaning his full weight against Richie’s side. The larger of the two welcomes him warmly, wrapping his arm around his shoulders to hold him close.
“I just...I feel like I’m boring, and unattractive. All the people at the parties we go to are so lively and sexy and they’re always eyeing you like a full-course meal, and it pisses me off.” Eddie whines, his tone holding a lot less venom than before. Richie rubs his bicep gently, nuzzling his nose into the blond’s hair and pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Edds...Eddie, baby, I don’t want you to worry about that. You know I’d never leave you for some bottle-blonde Hollywood loser...you already check off two of those boxes and more.” He grins, trying to get Eddie to lighten up a little, but he’s met with a firm elbow to the side; though it doesn’t hurt enough to have him doing much other than groaning in mock pain.
“Oh, fuck you…” Eddie mumbles, but he’s smiling- despite trying to fight it off.
“You know I’m right! C’mere- sorry Claire, your papa’s busy.” He chuckles, gently placing the pomeranian on the floor so he can wrap his hands around Eddie’s waist again, pulling the smaller man to straddle his lap. The sudden change of position makes Eddie blush furiously, his own hands clasping at Richie’s shoulders to steady himself.
“Eddie Marie Kaspbrak, I love you more than anything. Don’t doubt yourself just because people stare at my ass in public.” He leans up to press kisses along his husband’s jawline, the scruff of his beard scratching his neck in a way that sends goosebumps along Eddie’s spine. “Nobody gets me going more than my bossy best-friend and husband,” he mutters between kisses, “don’t let anyone get you thinking otherwise. Including yourself.”
Eddie can feel himself melting in Richie’s touch, focusing on the way his hands hold his waist firmly in place, and every brush of Rich’s lips and beard against the side of his jaw while he’s peppered in kisses. Most of all, Eddie takes in Richie’s words, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes atop the other man.
“Richie…” He whimpers, though he makes no move to pull away from Rich’s grip.
“I’m serious, babe...I love you. I’ve loved you since you started sitting out detentions with me in elementary school, and bringing snacks for me in senior year even though you didn’t have to. I’ve wanted this for years. You. For years. The day you finally confessed- even though it was a pretty awkward moment- I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I wanna take you with me for the rest of our awful little lives.” He rambles on as he feels along Eddie’s sides and hips, his forehead now pressed into the crook of the smaller man’s neck. But once he finishes what was basically a re-confession of his undying love for Eddie, he finally looks back up and sees his beloved about to cry.
The blond had begun welling up with tears about halfway through that whole diatribe of excessively homosexual affection, tears now threatening to spill as he looks down at Richie adoringly. “Oh, Rich…” He mumbles, and the man in question reaches up with one hand to wipe away a stray tear that had finally let go. Swiping it right across the scar on Eddie’s cheek, he quickly moves to press a kiss over the same area, earning a quiet giggle.
Soon enough, Eddie has himself wrapped around Rich, arms clasped behind his neck while Richie does the same with the smaller man’s midsection. “I love you so much…” Edd mumbles, pressing soft kisses to the side of Richie’s head while the other man rubs circles on his lower back.
“I love you too, Edds…” Rich mutters, though both of their attention is quickly pulled to Claire when they feel her jump up beside them on the loveseat, followed quickly by attention-seeking yapping. The interruption coaxes a hearty laugh from Eddie, and he pulls back from the other so he can look down at his little fuzzball of a daughter. “Oh Claire, we didn’t forget about you.” He grins, shifting to sit with his thighs flat across Richie’s like he's a second couch so Claire can hop up on both of them.
After laughing about it for much longer than required, Richie grabs the television remote from the end table and pops on a movie for them to watch all snuggled up together. A happy, dumb little family. They watch Hot Fuzz until Eddie falls asleep in Richie’s lap with Claire curled up snoozing away on top of him, and Rich admires his sleepy husband and their fluffy daughter for a while before he decides it’s time to get to a real bed.
Nudging Claire awake, he gets her to hop off and follow him as he carries Eddie to the bedroom as carefully as possible without throwing his back out. He struggles to open the door, but once they’re in, he lays Eddie down and does the gentlemanly duty of removing his most uncomfortable articles of clothing.
Shoes, socks, jeans, then dress shirt, leaving Eddie lying peacefully asleep in his boxer briefs on their California king. He tosses the clothing to the hamper, and shoes to the closet, then gets himself into some comfortable sweats and a muscle shirt that reads ‘STUD’ in a glittery font across the front. A joke gift from Ben, but he wears it every chance he gets. Those chances mainly being whenever he can hide it under his jacket long enough for Eddie to let him out of the house, if not as a sleep shirt.
Claire beats him to Eddie’s side, snuggling up closer to the outer edge and thankfully leaving plenty room for Richie on the other end. He lumbers over after clicking off the lights and turning on the A/C to full blast so neither of them would suffer the worse end of a hot flash in the middle of the night, then hunkers down beside his sleepy husband.
He’s met with a soft groan, and Eddie moves half-asleep to be pressed right up against Richie’s chest again, worming his arm underneath his side despite the fact he’d lose all feeling in it by the time morning comes. To reciprocate, Richie tucks his own arm behind Eddie’s head and lays the other across his torso, his hand landing perfectly to scratch Claire’s back as he finally feels himself drift off to sleep while thinking of how lucky he is to have such a beautiful little prick for a partner.