serendipity {sequel to pop} || reddie

douze

Richie and Eddie did pretty well with keeping their marriage under wraps, but as the months slipped by, they found themselves caring less and less about people finding out. They would never publicly announce it or even hint at it verbally, but their actions did all the talking. The closeness, the touching, the "strong friendship," the clear chemistry. And the rings. That was the main thing- Richie had left New York for a while with Eddie and many of his friends and had returned with a ring on his finger. Eddie had two rings now, and people noticed.

So it became Richie's thing to wear gloves in public. He'd evolved as a celebrity, now known for a little more than just his dumb comedy routines. He was dangerous and always pushing the boundaries of what was considered "okay" without ever acknowledging it aloud. He would wear feminine gloves almost everywhere, and sometimes he'd wear feminine clothes, too, very experimental with fashion.

Once, he'd been featured on the cover of a magazine with his gloves and his made- up face, with eyeshadow and lipstick and smudged eyeliner, and that had been a big deal for the general public (plus, Eddie had been all over him for the few days that followed, absolutely obsessed with the picture).

But things settled down considerably as Richie himself settled down, something he'd never really seen himself doing. But he loved domestic life with Eddie.

Richie loves any life with Eddie.

Richie wakes up to find Eddie missing from their bed, a delicious smell wafting through the house, and he smiles. Eddie likes to get up in the middle of the night and start baking sometimes; it's an odd habit of his, but Richie doesn't mind it at all.

Richie tiredly grabs his glasses and rolls out of bed, walking to the kitchen in just his t-shirt and boxers with their pug, Poseidon, at his heels. Sure enough, Eddie is standing in front of the oven, facing away from him, trying to decide between two kinds of sprinkles. Richie stands in the doorway to admire him for a few seconds.

Eddie is wearing a pink sweater, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows, and it's tucked into a pair of faded, loose, high-waisted jeans (which hug his ass spectacularly, Richie might add). He's also got some white sneakers and a mint-green bandana tied around his head. The sun is shining beautifully on him through the blinds of the window. Cute.

Richie sneaks up behind him quietly, then gives him a harsh smack on the ass. Eddie starts, turning his head to glare at Richie with a short snort of a laugh. Richie grins, banding his arms around Eddie's waist and pressing their bodies together, Eddie's hands coming to rest over his. Richie kisses at his neck a bit, and Eddie rolls his head to the side to allow easier access, letting out a little contented sigh.

"Good morning to you, too." He says.

"What are you baking?" Richie asks, voice groggy from sleep.

"Sugar cookies. Do you think blue or red sprinkles would go better?"

Richie ignores the question, instead inhaling deeply. "'Smells good."

"Me or the cookies?"
"Both."

Eddie laughs a little. The timer for the cookies beeps, and Richie manages to bite Eddie's neck before being pushed off ("gross, Richie"). Eddie bends down to carefully retrieve the cookies from the oven. Richie silently enjoys the show.

"I think blue." Richie determines as Eddie lays the cookies out on a cooling rack, and the brunet nods, putting the red sprinkles back in the cabinet. "I'm excited. Your baking has gotten so much better."

Eddie turns around, leaning on the counter behind him, narrowing his eyes a bit, playfully. "Was it not good before?"

"Hell no." Richie scoffs, and Eddie narrows his eyes less playfully. "I don't mean to break your heart, Eds, but your baking used to be awful."