They are well into the second hour, sandwiched between two eco-friendly limos, when Kurt takes off his jacket and bow tie, and unbuttons the top button of his tuxedo shirt. At Blaine's raised eyebrows he simply says, "We still have ages."

Blaine looks out through tinted glass. The line of black Escalades and limousines seems to go on for miles, the red carpet nowhere in sight. "At least an hour," Blaine agrees.

Four years ago, they were Oscar babies, so excited they practically had to sit on their hands to keep from freaking out and tweeting their fans every two minutes. It was Kurt's year, up for Best Actor, and they had been in a daze ever since they got the 5:00 a.m. call the day the nominations came out. Blaine was the "talented boyfriend" then, his first film in post and months away from breaking box office records. It was beyond amazing, watching Kurt work the crowd like he belonged there, watching movie stars squeal when they saw him, kiss his cheeks, take his arm, engulf him in giant hugs.

This is Blaine's year, up for Best Supporting Actor, but they've attended every year since Kurt's nomination. There is still magic in the day, of course, but now they know it's a fucking marathon, with stylists arriving before noon and the last party ending at dawn. If Blaine wins, he'll be up most of the day after as well, answering questions about his role, his next film, his "talented husband," first on the East Coast, and then the West. The press loves the high school sweetheart angle, and asks about it every time, looking for cracks. It really pisses him off.

Have you ever dated anyone else?
No.
Haven't you ever wanted to date someone else?
No. Never.
Did you ever breakup?
No.

That last answer was a tiny lie, one they agreed to tell when Kurt broke out and the world came calling. The breakup lasted exactly two days, during which time neither of them slept and both of them realized that they were irrevocably connected to each other, and even if it wasn't healthy, even if they should spread their wings and experience other people, they just didn't want to. But that was nobody's business but their own. Even Rachel didn't know about it.

Why do you think your relationship has lasted so long?
Because Kurt is without a doubt my best time.

Blaine glances at Kurt, his long legs stretched out across the seat, his soft hands resting on his broad chest, his head tilted back on the seat, exposing his graceful, pale neck. "Do we have hangers?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods, but doesn't lift his head; he is always prepared.

Blaine hangs up Kurt's jacket, and then takes off his own jacket, hanging it up next to Kurt's He takes off his own bow tie, his shirt, cummerbund and his pants, and hangs everything up, carefully. Stripped down to his boxer briefs and his socks, he leans over and tugs at Kurt's cummerbund, which finally gets his attention.

"Hi."

"Hello," Blaine says, deftly stripping Kurt of his remaining clothes.

"You really want to try this? We're going to look a mess," Kurt says, lifting his hips to allow Blaine to pull down his briefs.

"I'm sure you'll fix whatever needs to be fixed."

"Hmm... probably."

Blaine pulls off his own briefs, and tugs on Kurt's legs until Kurt slides down, his ass nearly off of the seat. "I'm not that prepared, Blaine. I don't have lube."

Blaine smirks and slides his hand into the little make-up kit stuffed into Kurt's giant version of a "GO" bag. "Yes, you do."

"I see you have your priorities straight," Kurt says, hand stroking himself hard, waiting.

"Thank you for noticing," Blaine says.

"Do you happen to have a condom in there? I don't want to sit on your cum all night long. I'll never be able to look Kate in the eye, and I promised her a dance at the Vanity Fair party."

Blaine holds up a condom and says, "Priorities."

Have you ever been attracted to someone else?
Sure.
So why didn't you go through with it?
Because I love Kurt.
Sometimes love isn't enough.
Love is always enough.

Blaine wastes no time; his mouth is on Kurt in seconds, loving him with every suck, every twist, every drag. Kurt moans, begs, cries out when it's too much. They know this dance. This is them, as teenagers, dreaming; as young men, living the dream. This is them tomorrow, and next year, and all of the years. This is them.

Blaine has three fingers inside Kurt when the driver comes through on the intercom. "We're about 40 deep, sirs. Give it 30 minutes."

Kurt bucks up, grabs Blaine's hand and says, "Now. Hurry."

Being inside Kurt is familiar, hot; a revelation, every time. "Oh God, just let me..." Blaine says, pulling Kurt's hips closer, spreading his thighs wider so he can go deeper, harder, faster.

"Yesyesyes," Kurt says, pushing back against Blaine until they are both close. They're a heaving, grunting, sweaty mess when the limo comes to a stop and for a moment they both panic, scramble up to look out the window. But they're still far enough back in the line to get the job done.

"Come on, come on," Kurt whines, turning over, his face planted into the leather seat.

Blaine wastes no time getting them there, his thumbs digging into Kurt's hips as he kisses his lower back, urges him on with every thrust. He makes sure Kurt falls first, makes sure he's tipping over before he slams into him, hard, fast, then faster still until Kurt spills over the seat and babbles a stream of "Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, goodyesgood, Blaine, good."

Blaine comes moments later, collapsing on Kurt's back, and for a moment they are home, in their bed, far away from all of the attention, the work, the questions. For a moment they are just them, just Kurt and Blaine, figuring it out, sleeping in, taking care of each other, making sacrifices, climbing, trying, working, and loving, loving, loving. In a moment they will be KurtandBlaine, movie stars, their talent praised while their relationship is picked apart and on display.

They dress quickly, Kurt in charge of making everything perfect again, and just in time. They kiss soundly and swiftly before the door opens and Kurt steps out, followed by Blaine, to the roar of screams and the blur of flash. Kurt takes Blaine's hand and moves them through the crowd, kissing cheeks, passing out compliments, smiling back, waving at fans. Blaine couldn't love him anymore than he does right now, except he will probably love him more later, and tomorrow, and the next day, and months more until there are decades behind them, and more still to come.

How do you keep the fire burning after all these years?
Date night. And we're never apart for longer than two weeks.
But you two seem so, sorry to say, hot for each other. How do you keep that up?
Great conversation.
Is there any jealousy at home? Kurt didn't win his Academy Award. What if you win yours?
He still gets to decide where to put it. It's as much his as it is mine.
What is the secret to a good marriage?
Sex in public.
Ha, ha. No, really... what's the secret?
Marry your best friend.