The alarm beeped near Waylon's face.

Eddie snarled in his sleep.

There was something about the alarm. Waylon reached for his phone to shut it off. Surely, it could wait.

Except then Eddie's phone rang on the nightstand, humming across the surface as it vibrated. Eddie's eyes opened with another loud growl. He groaned as he grabbed his phone.

"Tell whoever it is to fuck off," muttered Waylon, turning over and tucking into Eddie's side. "I'm ready for a repeat of last night…"

"Darling, you're insatiable," muttered Eddie, holding his phone in front of his face and staring at the screen for several seconds before accepting the call.

"The fuck do you want this early…"

Waylon reached for his own phone, leaving Eddie to his phone call. The voice on the line was unmistakably Andrew.

The alarm. Andrew. Puzzle pieces fell into place.

"It's TODAY!"

Eddie frowned as he stared at the bedspread, ignoring Waylon's outburst.

"You're joking," said Eddie, into the phone.

Waylon unlocked his phone with urgency, rushing to bring up Google.

Oscar Nominations, he typed. On the second time, he even typed it correctly.

The day had finally arrived.

Mainstream opened just inside the cutoff for being considered for the upcoming Academy Awards. The film continued to earn accolades and gleaming reviews. There were more than a few rumors swirling that the film would be considered for at least one category—if not several.

The critics praised Eddie's range in the movie. The fans cheered that their hero had finally returned to a real movie role that showcased exactly how passionate Eddie could be on screen.

There was little surprise when Waylon brought up the website and scrolled down to the nominees for Best Actor.

Eddie Gluskin for Mainstream.

Waylon squealed. It was an unbecoming noise he hadn't realized he could make, but he made it, loud and terrifying. Waylon launched himself at Eddie next to him in the bed. Eddie barely reacted.

"Eddie! You made it! You got nominated! Oh my god, you're going to fucking win! Eddie, can you believe it? Holy shit, finally, another nomination, and this time you're a shoe-in, you're going to win, it's going to happen, baby, oh my god. I'm so happy for you!"

"I'll call you back," said Eddie, ending the call. He turned, slowly, his face pale and slightly clammy despite the cool room.

"I thought you'd react a lot differently to finding out you got nominated," said Waylon, grinning. "You look ill."

"Where are you getting this information, darling?" asked Eddie.

Oh shit. Waylon quickly brought his phone back up and double-checked, afraid he had clicked on some parody news site. Had they been making fun of Eddie? "The Hollywood Reporter, no, this is legit…"

Further down the nominee's list continued, and there it sat.

Waylon Park for Mainstream.

"No," said Waylon.

"Yes," said Eddie, a shy smile creeping onto his face.

"It's…it's impossible, it's my first movie."

"It would hardly be the first time a debut actor won the prize," said Eddie.

"Won, shit, no way," says Waylon, shaking his head so violently his disheveled curls whipped into his eyes, "there's no way I can compete with you."

"You never know which way the Academy will go—and I can't imagine our producers care, considering either way is a win for the film."

"But Eddie, I believe in you, one hundred percent," said Waylon, smiling. "This is your time."

"You're not…not jealous? That we're competing?"

"Not at all," said Waylon. "We're on the same team, and I want you happy as much as you want me to be happy."

Eddie's brow furrowed.

"Aw, c'mon, don't tell you feel jealous of me?" asked Waylon.

"I don't," Eddie said, sighing. "But that's strange, for me."

"To not feel jealous?"

"Yes," said Eddie, the covers rustling as he slid out of Waylon's grasp and sat up straight in bed, resting his back against the thick, wooden headboard. "It's difficult for me. To not feel jealous. Maybe that seems strange since so many people envy my own success, but I've always felt jealous. Insecure."

"When I caught you watching my videos, you were jealous, weren't you?" asked Waylon, moving back on the bed to sit up straight next to Eddie.

"Of course," said Eddie, sliding a hand across to take Waylon's where it lay over the covers. "Why do you think I was watching one of your solo videos that time? I couldn't stand the sight of you with a partner."

"Well, I suppose a little bit of jealousy can be sexy, I mean, not like it's threatening our relationship and…"

"But it has," said Eddie, squeezing Waylon's hand. "When I found out about Jeremy, I was…I was ignorant and jealous. I've thought about it long and hard. No one knows better than me the ways this industry can abuse talent. I suffered my own abuse as a child, while my parents allowed it. I see others abused every day working with Hope. If you hadn't performed for Jeremy, you never would have gotten hired. It's not right. I know you didn't want to behave that way—you didn't choose to perform for him. He chose it. And it's wrong.

"But I was still jealous," said Eddie, shaking his head. "Jealous because Jeremy Blaire, someone I saw as an equal and a rival of success, had put some claim on you before me. This wasn't some faceless porn colleague, this was Jer. And it clouded my views, made me want to see his side, made me question my loyalties, and it was all because of my cheap, disgusting…"

"Hey, you've apologized a thousand times," said Waylon, bringing Eddie's hand up and kissing the back of his knuckles. "You don't need to keep beating yourself up over it. I'm working on my shit—the therapists with Hope Agencies are the best."

"I don't want to feel jealous anymore," said Eddie, "and I want you to be safe and happy."

"Dude, this is a really heavy conversation for this early in the morning," said Waylon, grinning.

"I apologize," said Eddie, cheeks flushing slightly. "I suppose we really should be getting out of bed…"

"It's an amazing morning, already," said Waylon, laughter bubbling up before he cold stop it. "We're both Academy Award Nominees, and we're a power couple, and we should be celebrating! We should go out, or call some people, or at least…"

"Darling, you know I have to keep to my regiment, the script is very clear, Sergeant Shaw is in fighting shape, my trainer will be here at nine, I need to get down to the gym…"

"I have a better idea," said Waylon, kicking the covers away in a smooth motion and revealing his bareness underneath. "Wanna bench me?"

"Wasn't there some better reporter available?" asked Helen, clacking along beside Waylon in platform sandals. Her ensemble of the day was gleaming white pants with a petal pink blouse, large hoop earrings, and her blonde hair back in a silky ponytail.

Waylon plodded beside her in skinny jeans and a maroon top, torn in several places. He ruffled his curls as he searched the outdoor seating looking for a familiar face.

"Over here, cookie-dough," said Miles, walking up behind Helen from the sidewalk outside the agreed upon bistro. He wore his usual leather jacket despite the warm weather.

"I thought we were running late," said Waylon.

"Sorry, I was walking here, and I saw this chick, I swear, she looked just like Katy Perry, walking her dog, and she didn't clean up after it. But then she yelled at me for taking pictures and turns out—wasn't Katy Perry at all. Just some nobody."

"So you were taking pictures of some random dog shitting on a sidewalk?" asked Helen.

"Anyways," said Miles, walking up to an empty table with a 'Reserved' sign posted. He sank into one of the chairs and waited for Waylon and Helen to choose two of the other three. "Should we get all this 'on the record' shit out of the way, first?"

"Are you capable of having a normal conversation with me before we get to that part?" asked Waylon.

"Probably not," said Miles, biting his lower lip. "Ugh, I'm sorry, I know we've been talking about this—about taking your feelings into account more—but I have the perfect questions, I've been writing them in my head all day and well, I paused when that dog…"

"Please, no more about the dog," said Helen, waving down a waiter.

"Just ask me," said Waylon, fighting a smile.

"Okay," said Miles, fishing into his leather jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone, fidgeted for a half second, then pointed the screen toward Waylon to prove he was recording. "Alright, could you please state your name for the record."

"Waylon Park, Miles, you know we, can't we skip this part…"

"Due diligence," said Miles, clearing his throat. "Waylon Park, how do you feel about Jeremy Blaire's continued insistence that the sex was consensual?"

"Miles, you know the answer to that."

"I do," said Miles, staring down at the recorder on the table, "but when you told me your feelings about all this, it was between friends, not on the record. Like we talked about, I'm not gonna publish stuff you didn't want me to publish anymore, and I'm not taking any chances. If you didn't tell me 'on the record,' it's not going in any printed format."

"Thank you," said Waylon, reaching out to slide his hand over Miles' where he held the phone aloft.

"Yeah, well, answer the question, cupcake…"

"Sure, well, Jeremy Blaire used his power in the industry to coerce people, like me, into sex. The fact that these people agreed to the situation and allowed it to happen without fighting, doesn't make the act any less deplorable. People like Jeremy Blaire are a stigma on Hollywood that needs to be washed clean in order to make this industry safe for new talent and old professionals, alike.

"As for the reason he insists on his innocence," said Waylon, shrugging his shoulders, "that's because he's a disgusting abuser who can't see anything he does as wrong due to his overblown narcissism."

"Were you happy when you learned that the Academy evicted Jeremy Blaire's membership?" asked Miles.

"Nothing about Jeremy Blaire makes me happy," said Waylon, shrugging. "Even when he's behind bars and penniless it won't make up for all the pain he caused so many people."

"Did we really come here to talk about this asshole?" asked Helen, passing out menus to the other men. "I mean, I thought you were going to want to ask about, you know, the nominations or something?

"I was getting to it," muttered Miles, sparing a glare for Helen. "How are you dealing with the fact that you re competing against your boyfriend for the title of Best Actor?"

"I feel," Waylon frowned, gnawing at his lower lip, "nervous."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah, I mean, not really, since there's no way in hell that I would win, right? Eddie's going to get the prize, there's no doubt in my mind, but I do have this fear that something might go wrong and I'll receive the award for him for some…for some dumb reason…"

"Dumb reason?" asked Helen, scoffing over the top of her menu. "You mean like acting your heart out? Bringing your real-life tale to life through drama, and moving millions of people to tears, and moving thousands of others to take action against their own abusers by defending yourself against Blaire?"

"That's…that's not what's happening here," said Waylon.

"That's exactly what's happening," said Miles, leaning his elbows on the table. "And, for the record, I'm proud of you. You're stronger than you know—and more deserving than you allow yourself to believe. I'm pulling for you to win."

Waylon blinked as a fat tear fell onto the menu in front of him.

"Aww, don't cry, creampuff," said Miles.

"How can I not cry, you never say nice things to me…"

"I told you I'm working on it," said Miles, laughing as he turned off the recording on his phone. "I'm here for you. I'm here for all of it, the whole, respecting your boundaries thing, the like, not calling you demeaning things in front of strangers, I just, never saw it all that way- and I was wrong. You deserve a better friend."

"I don't know, I think I have, like, the best friends ever…"

"You guys act like it's set in stone, that one of them is going to win," said Chris, digging into a plate of bread set out at the restaurant.

"Everyone's talking about Mainstream, of course, it's going to win, it has to be one of them," said Aiden, gesturing with his beer in hand causing the liquid to slosh.

"Sometimes having too much buzz can be detrimental to a film's chances," said Eddie, frowning down at his interlocked hands.

The boys met for lunch rather than dinner that day. The daylight streaming through the windows was disorienting.

"No offense, boss, but I believe the Oscar is guaranteed to Waylon," said Billy, rifling through a pile of files in front of him on the table.

"I agree with Billy," said Eddie.

"Well, no offense to Waylon, and it's a shame he's working so much and couldn't make it here today," said Aiden, pausing to sip his beer, "because I would tell him to his face that he did a stellar, just, amazing performance, but Eddie, my man, it's been too long since Hollywood recognized your talents..."

"The character of Randy was a more complicated character, and Waylon nailed it," said Billy, flipping his attention between his phone and his papers.

"Felix was the heart of the show," said Aiden, scoffing. "I mean, it opens on him, it ends on him, the entire movie is about his character arc from a sleazy porn talent scout to a legit mainstream agent..."

"Are you insane?" asked Chris, taking yet another piece of bread. "The movie is obviously about Randall and his character growth from a porn star to a mainstream actor..."

"It's about both," said Eddie, squinting at his friends through the harsh midday light. "I dislike meeting for lunch."

"Well, you have interviews all evening or I would have met them," said Billy, frowning across the table.

"How sure are you that Waylon's going to win?" asked Aiden, setting down his now empty beer glass. "Enough to put some cash down on it?"

"Absolutely," said Billy, dropping the file in his hand and rustling into his jeans pocket for his wallet. "Wanna say fifty?"

"Make it one hundred," said Aiden, pulling his own money clip out of his pocket.

"Would you two stop it," said Chris, chuckling. "You both don't have enough money to lose on a dumb bet like that."

"Dumb bet, what, you want in on this action?" asked Aiden.

"No, thanks, but I would say my guess is that the Best Actor category is going to Cooper for that show about the abused prisoner during the Vietnam War. Though, I think Mainstream will definitely take Best Picture."

"I agree with Billy that Waylon will take home the prize for Best Actor, but I doubt Mainstream will see anything as prestigious as Best Picture," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "Underneath it all, it's still a film about the porn industry, and that's never been a favorite of the Academy."

Billy and Aiden leaned together, pooling their cash and discussing the details of their bet.

"And if he does win?" asked Chris, interlacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles, "you gonna be okay with that?"

"I think so," said Eddie, smiling. "I genuinely want him happy."

"But what about your happiness?" asked Chris, not unkindly. "That Academy Award is the whole reason you took this part, and you've been wanting it for so long."

"I think I've wanted Waylon for longer," said Eddie, chuckling. "I needed someone like him in my life, and I didn't even know it."

"Okay, so, the reason I called you guys here," said Billy, straightening the papers in front of him, "was that I wanted to share the great news."

"Billy-boy is finally dating someone?" asked Aiden, smirking.

"I might be officially dating someone soon," said Chris, grinning.

"Would you two be serious?" snapped Eddie.

"Okay," said Billy, smiling. "I got information today, and I haven't gone through all of it, but as we're the supporting counsel on the Jeremy Blaire defendant's case, I was given some information about the case. And guys, you gotta listen to this..." Billy clicked around on his phone for a moment, "it's being released to the public, but I wanted you guys to hear it first."

The recording started abruptly, the voices muffled, though one was clearly a woman and the other a man.

"Just come back to my office..." said the man, and Eddie recognized the voice. Jeremy Blaire.

"I don't want to come back to your office," said the woman. Her voice wasn't well known and carried an accent Eddie couldn't place.

'Come back to my office, so we can discuss this issue in private..."

"I don't want to go back to your office because last time I went back to your office you tried to touch my breast and..."

"Look, you can come back to the office, or you can walk away from this project, you're replaceable."

"Why did you grab my breast?"

"Come back to my office."

"I told you yesterday that I did not want you to grab my breast and still you were trying to and you were told no but..."

"Listen to me, I have an entire afternoon booked with women that enjoy some attention, that like to play along, and do what it takes to get a part. If that's not you-if you don't know your place, then you can walk out, and don't call me again-I certainly won't call you."

"Are you saying I have to have sexual relations with you to secure a spot in your movie?"

"I'm saying you come back to my fucking office or you get the fuck off the lot, I'm calling security."

"But..."

"Excuse me, now you're just wasting my fucking time..."

"But, Mr. Blaire..."

"Unless the next words are that you wanna come back to my office, we're through..."

The recording ended abruptly, and Eddie glared at the phone.

"Disgusting," said Chris.

"What a piece of shit," said Aiden.

"Still," said Eddie, sighing. "He never explicitly said anything completely damning. He invited her back to the office, he never said she had to, he never said she had to have sex, there's too much there that could be disputed in court..."

"It gets worse," said Billy, starting another recording on his phone.

"What about Claire?" asked a man's voice on the phone.

"What about Claire? I don't wanna hear that name again," said Jeremy Blaire, voice clearly identifiable on the speakers.

"I thought we were considering her for the role of Sarah Douglas?" asked the other man.

"Not anymore," said Jeremy, snickering on the recording, "dumb cunt wouldn't go back to my office."

"What do you mean, she wouldn't sign onto the film?"

"No, she wouldn't go back to my office. If you know what I mean. These girls, and some guys, I mean, they'll do anything for a role. They're the ones that get the role. As long as we keep rewarding the ones that are willing to put out, they'll continue to have to put out. That's how this works, that's how we need to make this work. So no, don't say the name Claire to me anymore. She didn't know her place."

The recording stopped and Eddie realized his hands were shaking. He quickly shoved them into his lap.

"I can't believe Waylon had to...had to deal with that asshole..."

"I think this is enough," said Billy, a grim smile on his face. "I think we'll get a sentencing from this evidence."

"Then we can start working through Hope Agencies to find the rest of these assholes," said Chris, holding his water up in a salute. "You two are doing good work."

"With this evidence, and the testimony of so many people, he'll at the very least see an end to his Hollywood career, and with the number of lawsuits we are filing against him..."

"Hit 'em in the wallet," said Aiden, nodding. "That's sometimes the only place these assholes feel anything."

"I'd say, no matter who wins the Oscar in a couple weeks, as long as Jeremy Blaire goes down, we're all winners."

Waylon's leg bounced next to Eddie's, causing the entire limousine to jiggle.

"Darling, would you please relax?" asked Eddie.

Relax. Relax. Sure. Because Waylon wasn't on his way to his first Academy Awards where he was a nominee for Best Actor or anything.

"How are you so calm? You look like you go to the Oscars every day."

"I do go there, once a year, as a past nominee and working actor…"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, this is my first time, and I'm nervous," said Waylon, biting his lower lip. Great. He sounded like one of his videos from the NaughteeBoy days.

"You don't need to be nervous," said Eddie, leaning in to put an arm around Waylon's shoulders. "You look dashing in your suit."

Waylon adjusted his tie for the hundredth time that evening. He'd chosen a bright blue suit with a metallic silver tie, and Eddie had gone with a classic black suit and black silk tie.

"Dashing" Waylon laughed, leaning his head to rest on Eddie's shoulder. "Dashing makes me sound like a reindeer."

"Dapper?"

"What the hell is with you and these words…"

"You look debonair? Svelte? Handsome?"

"I wanna look sexy," said Waylon, craning his neck to look at the side of Eddie's face. "I wanna look hot. Not Devon-air."

"Debonair, darling, it's…never mind," said Eddie, shifting to turn to look at Waylon without removing his arm from around his shoulder. "You look sexy. Delicious. I want to rip that suit off of you and throw you down on the floorboard of this limousine."

Waylon squirmed in his seat.

"I want to open you up until you're begging for my cock, and then I would give it to you—give it all to you, filling you up, making sure you spent the entire eight hours of this boring awards show twisting in your seat from how sore I would leave you."

"Eddie," breathed Waylon, grasping the lapels of Eddie's suit and using them to pull him down for a searing kiss. Waylon sighed into the kiss as Eddie allowed it, putting forward no resistance when Waylon's tongue traced his lips.

The kiss parted for air, and Eddie smiled. "Feel better now?"

"Almost," said Waylon, leaning in for another kiss. Eddie's movements were controlled and warm, but Waylon wanted him out of control—and much warmer. He released Eddie's lapels and instead trailed his hands down Eddie's chest, taking in the muscles beneath Eddie's dress shirt and black silk tie.

"You need to behave," said Eddie, the words spoken directly against Waylon's lips and punctuated with heavy breathing.

"You really wanna do those things to me, Eddie?" asked Waylon, jerking his chin toward the front of the limousine where David drove behind the partition. "You wanna fuck me right here in the limo before we get to the show?"

"No, darling it was a thing to say to make you feel sexy and wanted," said Eddie, sighing against Waylon's cheek. "We can't have sex in the limo, we're wearing Armani suits and the photographers will be waiting as soon as we…"

Waylon kissed Eddie, again. He started at the mouth but quickly pulled away to drag his lips lazily over Eddie's freshly shaved cheeks, his stern chin, and then down his neck while pulling at his black tie.

"Waylon…" Eddie's growl was meant as a warning, but fuck if it didn't fuel Waylon further.

"I want you to fuck me, Eddie," said Waylon, sliding down from the limousine bench and down to his knees on the floorboard. The gentle hum of the wheels on the road beneath him was a distant vibration. "I want you to make me yours, so I know when you're up there making your speech, winning your award, I know that you're thinking of me, spread and cumming hard in the limo…"

Waylon's fingers easily located the zipper expertly hidden and sewn into the front of Eddie's suit and pulled it down. He shoved his hand inside of the opening and found Eddie's cock, hard and twitching through silken boxers. Waylon maneuvered until Eddie's free of the boxers, guided his cock through the zipper hole, then sat back on his heels to enjoy the view.

Eddie's face was flushed, his eyes sharp, and not a single hair displaced in his undercut. He stared down at Waylon, crouched on the limousine floor. His black suit fit like a dream, and his thick cock revealed through the zipper opening was obscene perfection.

Waylon licked his lips before leaning forward and teasing the lightest brush of his tongue along the underside of Eddie's cock. He opened his mouth and took in just the tip, sucking gently and laving the sensitive skin.

"We shouldn't do this before the awards," said Eddie, eyes never leaving Waylon's mouth. "We'll be arriving shortly, and besides, I fucked you hard in the shower this morning…"

"Are you saying you can't go again, old man?" asked Waylon, challenge flashing in his grin before he placed a wet kiss on the tip of Eddie's dick.

Eddie growled and shoved his hips forward, cock sliding against Waylon's mouth and cheek. Waylon grinned as he nuzzled against Eddie's shaft, kissing and breathing warm air against him before grabbing the base with a tight fist.

"That's what I thought," said Waylon before working his mouth down on Eddie.

Practice made taking Eddie easier—but he was always a challenge. The thick pressure against the back of Waylon's throat, the tight stretch of his lips, and the heavy weight against his tongue. Waylon put everything into sliding his mouth up and down.

A sudden bump rattled the limousine and Waylon's concentration broke for a second while his teeth grazed along Eddie's cock, eliciting a sharp inhale. Waylon pulled off with a loud pop.

"Sorry!"

"Dammit David," said Eddie, triggering the partition to begin lowering between the driver's area and the back cabin.

"There's some debris here, not sure what happened, but we're almost…"

"For the love of god, David, keep the partition up," said Eddie, putting his hands on the back of Waylon's head as though that could somehow hide what was happening. David's eyes had already gone wide in the rearview mirror.

The partition quickly squeaked back into the upright position.

"You better be prepared to finish what you started before we get to the awards…" Eddie's hand found the back of Waylon's had, and pushed down.

Waylon leaned forward, slowly, allowing Eddie's cock to sink into the back of his throat. An insistent push kept him from pulling back, instead pressing forward. Deeper. Firm pressure. Finally, a pop gives way as Eddie breached Waylon's throat before finally releasing his head.

Gasping, Waylon pulled back, drool running down his face. Eddie quickly swiped away the saliva, smirking with pink flushed cheeks. "You mustn't make a mess, darling. We have to look presentable." Eddie pushed again and Waylon obeyed.

With renewed motivation, Waylon took Eddie into his mouth—his throat. He pushed past his limit until his nose is buried against Eddie's suit pants and his tongue swirling through the wiry hairs at the root of Eddie's cock.

Eddie's deep groan was Waylon's favorite reward. "You're a filthy slut, darling. You love sucking cock so much that you need it, even at a time like this?"

Waylon's moan was a sob, a desperate sound, before being muffled once as he struggled to take Eddie deeper than before. Eddie's thighs tensed beneath Waylon's fingers and he heard the rustling in the cabinet near the drinks near his shoulder. He pulled away to watch Eddie digging for their emergency stash of condoms and lube kept in the limousine for when they are traveling.

Waylon smirked. "I knew keeping that in here would come in handy one day…"

"Turn around," said Eddie, his cock bobbing wet and hard in front of Waylon's face. Waylon frowned before leaving a last stripe on the swaying member.

"Sure you don't want me to suck you off?" asked Waylon. "That could make us both happy."

"I want you to feel me when you're up in front of all those people, giving a speech…"

"You know I didn't come up with a speech," said Waylon, whimpering softly as he turned away from Eddie and put his hands on the edge of the limousine bench that ran lengthwise up the cabin. "There's no need since you're going to win."

Eddie responded by reaching around and undoing Waylon's black belt, button, zipper, and rucking his pants down to his knees.

"In a hurry?" asked Waylon, completely breathless.

"We'll be there, soon, darling," said Eddie. The bottle of lube clicked and Waylon kept his eyes trained forward on the clocked partition. Poor David. At least he was spared the view of Waylon's ass bare and Eddie's swaying cock.

The finger that pressed against Waylon's exposed hole was slick and warm. Eddie had obviously coated his finger and rubbed them together for friction warmth. It felt luxurious when he rubbed the pads of his fingers in a circular motion around Waylon's hole.

"You're filthy darling-sinful," said Eddie, leaning forward to nip at Waylon's ear while his fingers circled his opening in long, lazy strokes. "You're going to cum all over yourself then walk up there to win an Academy Award..." Eddie pressed in and the tip of one finger breached Waylon's slick hole. "Is that the kind of whore you are?"

"I'm your whore," said Waylon, moaning as he arched his back and pushed toward Eddie's caress. "I'm only like this for you, and when you walk up there to accept your award, you won't be able to stop thinking about me on my knees in this limousine."

The sentiment ended when Eddie sunk two fingers deep inside of Waylon, the lubrication helping them slide easily into his ass. "You're such a slut, still stretched out from this morning in the shower, but still begging for more."

"I can't get enough of you, ever."

Eddie pushed up on his knees behind Waylon and the sharp sound of a condom wrapper ripping open breaks the spell in the cabin. Eddie rolled the condom over his dick and slicked it up with excess lube from his fingers. Then, Waylon felt him line up his cock with his bare hole.

Waylon groaned as Eddie's cock head butted up against his ass before sliding past his rim and sinking deeper inside.

"Such a good little slut," said Eddie, hips jutting forward as he reached maximum depth. "All for me."

"Only you, Eddie,"

"You're all mine."

Eddie thrust forward, hands gripping tight into Waylon's hipbones and ramming deep inside. It was pure bliss. Waylon never got enough of having Eddie inside of him. Even with a condom between them, Eddie's cock is thick and the stretch felt almost too much even with Waylon's tolerance. The heavy drag of Eddie in and out quickly transformed Waylon into a moaning mess.

Unfortunately, just when Eddie started to thrust steady inside of Waylon, the limousine pulled up to a large crowd of people.

Waylon prayed to the gods of window tint and limousine suspension.

"Looks like we're here," said Eddie, slowly driving his cock in and out of Waylon's ass while maneuvering him to face out the side window of the limousine toward the crowd.

Waylon groans as Eddie picked up the pace, pushing him slightly forward on his knees with each push. The scratch of the fabric of Eddie's suit against Waylon's' bare asscheeks makes everything more obscene.

"They have no idea you're in here getting fucked," said Eddie, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Waylon groaned and struggled to push back, but Eddie's hand on the back of his head pressed him forward instead. Until Waylon's head was butted up against the limousine window.

"Please, Eddie…"

"They have no idea you're in here begging like a little whore," said Eddie, grinding his hips deeper and harder, suit fabric rubbing against Waylon's ass.

"Guys, we're third in line for getting out here at the venue," said David, over the intercom. His voice managed to sound shaky even over the tinny speaker.

Waylon moaned loudly in response.

"Two...more...minutes," groaned Eddie. His hips speared deeper into Waylon, causing him to rock forward, face squishing against the glass with every motion. Eddie offered no recovery, only driving forward with punishing thrusts, racing toward his own release.

Waylon's eyes squinted to take in the view of reporters, fans, and industry people alike milling outside the window. Oblivious to the fact that he was feet away getting plowed by heartthrob Eddie Gluskin.

It was too much. Waylon's mind flew into a panic. He fumbled with his hand and came in contact with one of the empty glass cups in the limousine. He clutched it tight and moved it in front of him, taking his cock in the other hand. Without his arms to brace himself, he fully laid against the window, breath fogging up the glass.

Eddie growled into his ear, hands groping up along Waylon's suit and tugging violently on his tie. "My good little slut. Are you going to come for me? Come hard and think of me all night long?"

Waylon cried out when he spilled, being crushed between Eddie and the limousine door. He milked himself into the limousine's glass, moaning as he felt his hole clenching down on Eddie and sending him into a frenzy.

It felt like an eternity before Waylon's cock stopped twitching into the cup, and Eddie's movements slowed as he fucked through his own orgasm. He leaned forward, kissing and nuzzling into Waylon's sweaty curls as he held himself inside.

"The way you clamp down," said Eddie, kissing behind Waylon's ear. "The way your rim flutters against my cock...so perfect."

The limousine crept to life, moving inches forward in the long line of cars.

"Guys, we're there, they're expecting you to exit soon…"

Eddie sat back, sliding out of Waylon with a satisfied sigh. Waylon heard the sounds of him removing and tying off the condom. It was seconds before Waylon had enough strength to push away from the door and stared down at the glass in his hand. The bottom was coated with a thick layer of cum and smears dripped down almost all of the sides. Waylon set the masterpiece aside in the cupholder of the limousine with a frown.

"We need to make sure David doesn't clean up the limo…"

"We need to hurry, darling, our public awaits…"

Waylon glared back at Eddie, somehow looking polished save for the flushed complexion on his face. He zipped up his pants, adjusted his tie, and looked ready to face the masses.

"Come on, darling, we're next…"

David opened the door to the limousine, and the photographers took off. Probably no one noticed the flaming red embarrassment visible on David's ears-or if they did, they assumed he was shy of the camera flash.

Eddie emerged, first, standing tall in his black Armani suit with a black silk tie. He waited with his hand outstretched to help Waylon out in his similar Armani suit in bright blue with a metallic silver tie.

Eddie held tight to Waylon's hand, and their eyes focused on one another. The flashbulbs and screams might as well have been from another planet for all the attention they paid.

There were handlers on the carpet directing them towards press set up along the way to the entrance to the venue. There were no requirements to speak with the press, but Waylon knew that Eddie would speak to a few of the larger news agencies, and those with which he had a good rapport.

One over-zealous reporter managed to shove a microphone into Waylon's face. "How do you feel about Jeremy Blaire being behind bars?"

"That's where he belongs, but eight years isn't long enough," said Waylon, shrugging aside the reporter.

"You don't have to answer them," said Eddie, pulling him close and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. "You just say "No Comment."

"Waylon! What do you say to Jeremy Blaire's accusations that you and Eddie Gluskin were only dating to promote the movie Mainstream?"

Waylon stopped walking, causing Eddie to halt next to him. He shifted his eyes left, then right, leaned in close to the microphone and whispered, "No Comment."

The confused reporter was left standing with his mic in hand and jaw dropped as Waylon walked away, trailing Eddie behind him.

"You're a natural, darling."

"Oh, hey! Look, it's Miles," said Waylon.

"Ugh, do I have to talk to him?" asked Eddie.

"You two have to be friends if we're going to stay together," said Waylon, grinning, "But I know you have other people to talk to. Don't go in to sit down without me."

"I wouldn't dare," said Eddie before making his way toward a line of major TV News outlets set up in a major area of the red carpet.

"Miles," said Waylon, jogging over. "How ya like the new job? It's so weird to see you going mainstream, instead of hanging out in the alleys with the paparazzi."

"Yeah, I'm dead inside," said Miles, sighing into his microphone. "Listen, can you just tell me who you're wearing and fuck off?"

"Miles."

"Sorry, but I got like, another twelve hours of this shit before I get to head to this after party by some producer, I don't' really know the guy, but I'm going as plus one to that hot MMA guy you introduced me to…"

"No, Miles," said Waylon, frowning, "you're not allowed to date Chris."

"Aw, sugarplum, you worried about me dating someone else?" asked Miles, fluttering is lashes. "Or are you jealous?"

"No, I'm worried about Chris—he's too good for you."

"Ouch," said Miles, holding his hand up over his heart, "you're cold, butterbean. Anyways, I gotta ask you some minimum amount of questions or something…"

A woman in a dress suit wearing a headset leaned closer to whisper something into Miles' ear. It sounded distinctly unhappy.

"So, Waylon, what are you wearing?"

"My suit is Armani," said Waylon, preening slightly.

"Are you excited about going in there to win an Oscar?"

"I'm excited that Eddie is going to be winning an Oscar."

"How are things with you and Eddie?"

"Better than ever," said Waylon, smirking. "We fucked in the limo on the way over here."

"Oh, yeah? Is his dick bigger than mine?"

The same female in the dress suit covered Miles' microphone and screamed, "Stop being inappropriate or you are fired, immediately, I don't' care who speaks up in your defense, understood?"

"Well, Waylon, best of luck in there, good to talk to you," said Miles, holding the microphone as far away as humanly possible in his mostly healed hand, "and you're totally telling me about the dick thing later."

"Later, Miles," said Waylon, walking back in the direction he had seen Eddie take. He spotted him in the distance, speaking with a pair of news anchors while cameras rolled.

"Mr. Park," came a small voice from the side of the red carpet. Waylon wandered over and smiled at the tiny girl holding up a microphone and a handheld recorder. "Hello, do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

"Sure," said Waylon, smiling. "Are you a real news reporter?"

"Yes, I'm with Hollywood Reality Online," said the girl, defensively. The website sounded fake but then again most did. "How do you feel Mainstream's chances are here tonight?"

"I'd say pretty good, we have a great team, wonderful director, and we're up for six categories including two for Best Actor so I would say there's a good chance we are leaving here with some gold."

"You had a crush on Eddie Gluskin long before you two met, how does it feel to be dating your idol?"

"Good," said Waylon, grinning. "Really good. I mean, they always tell you some nonsense like, don't meet your idols, they'll just disappoint you. But Eddie really was better than I anticipated, and even though we've had our ups and downs, I think he's the greatest thing in the world still, more now than I did then. I love him so much."

"Do you have any response to those that support Jeremy Blaire's stance that you slept with him to get the part and to secure a spot as Eddie Gluskin's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, my response is Fuck Jeremy Blaire." Waylon smiled sweetly before walking to join Eddie, in the middle of another interview.

"It feels like we're seeing a different Eddie Gluskin, this feels more like you in the early 2000s…"

"That's because I don't feel the need to censor myself as much, now that I'm with Waylon. I can be myself. And it's very nice."

"Are you two nervous? Is there going to be fighting in the Gluskin household tonight?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Waylon, walking into the camera frame to put an arm around Eddie's waist. "When Eddie Wins…"

"If, darling, you are likely to win," said Eddie, turning to stare only at Waylon, ignoring the cameras.

"When Eddie wins, I'm gonna be the happiest man in the room, cheering louder than anyone else…"

"And when Waylon wins, I'll be the one helping him walk up to accept his reward, because I know he's going to be too shocked to move…"

Waylon laughed, turning to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck and pull him close for a soft nuzzle. "Win or lose, either one of us, I already know I'm taking home the biggest prize of all." Waylon kissed Eddie, and the cameraman hummed out loud.

"I know, they're disgusting," said the reporter woman laughing as the camera refocused back on her and away from the public display of affection. "Good luck to both Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park, both nominated for the Best Actor award for their movie Mainstream, also up for Best Picture. Go get 'em, boys!"

The Awards were more boring in person. Instead of commercials, there were long drawn out set changes and even longer periods spent announcing technical awards for films and makeup and everything associated with movies.

Songs and performances were more entertaining, but they were so complicated with their set up and commencement that Waylon found himself nodding-off. Except for the moments when Mainstream made the billing.

The first major award came up for Best Original Screenplay.

Waylon had met the men that were responsible for writing the screenplay for Mainstream on one occasion. They were eccentric and funny. The fact that they had come up with such a compelling screenplay about the industry meant they both had backgrounds in pornography and filmmaking in general. They were good guys.

Eddie kept a straight face when the announcers came up and gave their speech about the importance of original screenplays in the industry.

"This is a big one," whispered Waylon, leaning in.

"Shh, darling," said Eddie, without moving his head and only barely moving his lips," they might show us on camera because it's about our movie."

"So what, I can't ask you a simple question?" asked Waylon. "Do you think they'll win?"

"Shhh!" Eddie's last admonishment echoed when the announcers began their final speech.

"And the nominees for Best Original Screenplay are…"

Each name was followed by a snippet from the movie, played on a giant screen for the entire assemblage of accomplished actors and movie personnel. Waylon blanched when he saw the chosen scene from Mainstream.

"You were the one who told me I was worth something, even when everyone else threw me away," said Waylon, as Randall. "I should have fought, run, I don't know…"

"Don't throw me away, Felix…"

"No…I could never…"

The scene ended to raucous applause, and Waylon watched all of the others. None of them moved him as much as the quick clip from Mainstream. That could only mean one thing.

"The winner of the Academy Award for Best Original Screen Play is…"

Waylon held his breath, and squeezed Eddie's hand…

"…Vietnam Morning…"

Waylon's heart sank.

"Oh God," said Waylon.

"It doesn't mean anything about your category," said Eddie, clapping politely while the cameras panned around, showing the reaction of the crowd. "Please, clap, darling…"

And Waylon forced himself to clap, but he realized he could be sorely mistaken. Perhaps Mainstream wasn't the sure-thing he had anticipated. Maybe Eddie wouldn't win the Best Actor award. What would he do if he had to console Eddie after a tragic loss to Vietnam Morning?"

The remainder of the categories turned into a blur. What could possibly happen at the end of the night if Mainstream won none of the major awards? Could they really fall back on their nominations? Sure it was an honor just to be nominated, but Eddie had been nominated before and been in several movies that won for other categories.

But he'd never brought home the main prize.

Waylon knew it had to be the night. There was no doubt in his mind. Everything was a blur until he heard the announcement for the presenters for the category of Best Actor in a Leading Role.

The previous year's winner took the stage and began his introductions, just as Eddie leaned in closer. "Breathe, darling, you look constipated."

"I feel constipated."

"The cameras will be on our faces when they announce, and when you win, you'll have to stand up and I hope you were joking about not having prepared a speech…"

"You know I didn't prepare a speech," said Waylon, chuckling softly to himself before turning to look at Eddie, "you're going to win."

"Now the nominees for Best Actor in a Leading Role…"

"…Eddie Gluskin in Mainstream…"

The scene opens on Felix, opposite his wife, Sarah, standing in their rundown living room.

"When were you gonna tell me?" asks Sarah, voice quiet.

"I don't see how my financial success is any of your business," says Felix with a scoff. "You're tha one that kicked me out of tha house-you said I wasn't going nowhere, you said I couldn't make nothing of myself—but you were wrong, Sar. Wrong.

"I got a client now, and he ain't gonna stop until he's at the top, he's about to land a real movie deal, and I'm a real manager. You were wrong, facts is facts."

"Not that," says Sarah, eyes flashing as she glares at Felix, standing near the door. "When were you gonna tell me that you were gay?"

Felix stiffens. His entire body tenses and visibly turns cold. He puts one hand on the door and starts to open it before pausing to turn over his shoulder and replying in a hard whisper, "Who I decide to be with is none of your business—it stopped being your business when you kicked me out and served me the papers. And if I decide to be with a man, it's because that man deserves all of my love, and I gotta work hard to be the man who's worthy of his love in return…"

The door opens, and slams shut behind him

"…Waylon Park in Mainstream…"

"I didn't want it," says Randall, whispering the words like a mantra, "I didn't want it, I didn't want it, I only want to be with you."

Felix pulls Randall tight against his chest as Randall devolves into a sobbing mess. Randall's shoulders shake and his body heaves as he cries into Felix's shoulder.

"I know," says Felix, shushing softly, "I know."

"I hated it," sobs Randall, fingers clutching at Felix's silky shirt. "I hated it, I hated it." A loud, keening sob breaks off the litany.

"I know, baby," says Felix, rubbing his hands up and down Randall's back.

"I did it for you, I did it because I wanted to stay with you, and I shouldn't bother, I shouldn't even try, I don't deserve you…"

There were other actors, other clips, other men in attendance considering that evening the most important night of their lives. But when the cameras zoomed in on the faces of the contestants, broadcasting their faces onto the screens, Eddie and Waylon stared at each other, causing their projected images to seem to be staring.

"And the winner…

Waylon squeezed Eddie's hand on the armrest between them.

…for Best Actor in a Leading Role…"

Eddie leaned over and whispered, "I love you, Waylon."

"goes to…"

Waylon's jaw dropped as he stared at Eddie. He loved him. Eddie Gluskin loved him. He had suspected, but Eddie had never said so in so many words. And suddenly, nothing about the night and the ceremony mattered. The man he loved and had admired for years, loved him back, despite everything. Despite Jeremy, and porn, and jealousy, and all of the mistakes they'd made during their first months together.

Waylon sobbed out of happiness and threw his arms around Eddie's neck.

"I love you too, Eddie, I love you so much, I love..."

"You need to go and give your speech, darling…"

"You mean, you need to go and give your speech…"

Waylon's name was emblazoned across the screen.

He won. He was the winner. Eddie loved him, and he won an Oscar.

Turning in his chair, Waylon pressed his lips to Eddie's and before he closed his eyes he saw them kissing on the big screen out of the corner of his eye. He kissed Eddie like he never wanted it to end…

A/N: Thank you to Ria'Latsyrc, this work is dedicated to you on since you were my only reader and reviewer most of the time. You have no idea how much that means to me. I'm thankful that when I post to a less popular venue I still have someone here to read along and get excited about the updates so THANK YOU, a million times, I hope you enjoyed the ending and found the story to be a good read. Much love, Peg