The couple got to it at an impressing rate. Some days they wouldn't even leave the house. It was a good thing they weren't in an apartment or something. Their neighbors would have been close to strangling them at this rate.

Eddie and his husband were absolutely ecstatic knowing they could make their own baby. No egg donor, so surrogate. Nope. Just them, and no one else. It was special. It was a privilege that they wouldn't take for granted.

Richie moans loudly, burying his face into the mattress as Eddie abused that special spot. They had been trying for months now. Poor Richie was lucky if he could feel his legs some days. It was intense, and exhausting. But exciting all the same. Eddie was an animal, and he's proven that more than enough recently. The only sounds in the house were skin clapping every time they connected, and moans that got higher as time went on. "Eddie~!" Richie screamed as shock after shock of pleasure assaulted his nerves system. And Eddie didn't dare stop, not until Richie was screaming his name in orgasm.

He pants heavily, collapsing onto the bed after his husband had finished.

"God damn..." Richie pants out. The male swallows to soothe his throat, limbs shaking against his will.

Eddie plopped down alongside him, panting to try and catch his break. All while pulling Richie close to his chest. "You okay?" He asks, breathless.

"I think you killed me.." Richie answers. He rests his head over his chest, closing his eyes as a lazy smile graced his lips. The male was beyond hopeful. A baby... . Their baby... . He was curious as to who they'd look like. They might get his own wild curls, and Eddie's deep, rich brown eyes and the dimples creasing his cheeks with every smile. He really hoped. But as long as they were healthy, he didn't give a damn.

A few weeks after they had outdid the concept of "going at it like rabbits", it had happened. The symptoms started to make their way into the light.

First it was Richie crying randomly. Once it was over nothing, simply crying in the middle of him making himself a grilled cheese as he wrote content. And another, was over a minor case of the couple's unceremonious bickering. Mood swings.

He had to pee all of the time, to where it annoyed both of them. It never changed, even when Richie forgot to drink water as he curled like a shrimp over his laptop. That's another.

Richie was so exhausted. No matter how early he went to bed, or how late he slept in, he'd always end up dozing off on the couch by dinner time. To the point that he drank too much caffeine for Eddie's liking. Fatigue.

And then the nausea. At first, it was just that. The simply queasy stomach, eating light meals and being set. Until it wasn't, and if it didn't sit right with Richie, he'd sprint to the bathroom like some monster was hot on his tail.

And then came the little pains here and there, where Richie would be found in bed snuggled into the blankets as he rested through them. Richie said it was like someone had his stomach in a vice grip. Cramping.

And then Eddie noticed Richie's jeans were a tad snug. He wasn't far enough to start showing, not at all. But he definitely wasn't as thin as before. Bloating. It was all there. All of the early signs men dealt with. This could be it.

That's where they found themselves three weeks after they began trying. Richie gags loudly, hurling not a moment later into the porcelain bowl. It had been going on for weeks. And he was so sick of it. Richie had already cried over it, feeling so awful yet he didn't even know what was wrong or how to solve it.

Eddie had left to buy tests at the drug store. Those plastic little sticks that every couple uses to see whether or not their family has a visitor on the way. He blinks as he sat on the cool tile and strained his ears. Richie was almost certain he heard the front door, but he couldn't quite tell. He's been getting himself stupid sick, to where sometimes he wouldn't even move when he was done. His brain was in a constant fog.

Eddie frowns, walking into their bathroom. It broke his heart seeing Richie so sick, but he was so hopeful. "Hun..." He says gently, coming and kneeling next to his husband. The male brushes Richie's curls from his face to prevent any mess. He knew Richie wouldn't like it.

"..shu'up.." Richie slurs. His head pounded, his stomach swirled. It was god awful. It only made Eddie rub his back and keep his hair out of the way. Richie didn't snap at him often, and at a time like this, Eddie wasn't all that upset. Mood swings are normal. Not to mention he was just plain not feeling well.

"Just finish up, and we'll take the tests," He says gently. Eddie would be his rock. He didn't mind. It was his job as Richie's husband.

The process was simple enough. Pee in a cup, and dunk the tests in. As long as someone knew how to read, they knew what to do. And even now, the wait was the worst of it all. Richie had sat himself on the edge of the tub, waiting impatiently as the timer on his phone ticked away. And when it went off, Richie stood.

Richie stared down at the four plastic sticks on the counter, his hands supporting his weight as he leaned forward. He felt god awful. As he stared down at them, he watched as all four developed those two bright lines. There wasn't any questioning it. Two bright pink lines. On all four. Positive.

He walks out of the bathroom to see Eddie standing by the bed anxiously. Oh sweet, sweet Eddie. "Rich...?" Eddie asks, his mouth going dry. He really hoped he was pregnant. If not, Eddie would still take care of his husband. In sickness and in health. That applied even after 7 years together.

Richie couldn't help when he broke into a grin, getting tackled by his shorter husband in a second. He laughs a bit despite just how sick he felt. "Really?!" Eddie squealed. It made his heart squeeze.

Richie laughs again, smiling down at him. And in the winter of 2007, those faithful words left his lips.

"I'm pregnant," He declares.