A little late to the game, but I think it's still cute!
Kurt barely noticed the front door of their apartment opening, too focused on the fancy cream-colored invitation in his hands to care about anything else.
"Kurt? Babe, are you home?" Blaine's voice sounded as if it was coming from a distance, though Kurt could see him come to stand in front of his own place on the couch. "Why didn't you answer my texts about what to have for dinner?"
"I can't," Kurt trailed off, still frantically reading and rereading the text. "I just."
Blaine knelt down and made eye contact with Kurt, bracing himself by placing his hands on Kurt's knees. "Sweetheart, you're scaring me. I need you to use full sentences, please."
"Here!" Kurt thrust the invitation at Blaine, who scanned it quickly before double-taking and rereading it with more vigor.
"We got invited to the Met Ball?!" he said, looking up at Kurt with wide, excited eyes. "We - this isn't-"
"I can't believe it either!" Kurt said, almost squealing the words. "I think I blacked out for a second when I opened the invitation."
"I understand why you couldn't text me back now," Blaine said. He pushed himself up to sit next to Kurt on the couch. "Oh my God, how did we even get on the guest list?"
"I don't know and I don't care," Kurt said. "All that matters is that we're in!"
"I assume you want to design our Jazz Age looks?" Blaine asked, a playful twinkle in his eye.
"Like I would let anyone else be in charge of our Met Ball apparel," Kurt scoffed. "Honestly, Blaine."
"I expected nothing less," Blaine said with a smile. "I do have one request, though, if I may be so bold."
"I'm listening," Kurt said slowly.
"No fancy hats or neckwear that will keep me from whispering in your ear about all the cool celebrities we'll see," Blaine said. "I realize the Met Ball's unofficial motto is 'go big or go home,' but getting stabbed in the jugular by one of your accessories would definitely get us permanently uninvited."
"I'll see what I can do," Kurt said, winking. He leaned in to kiss Blaine blissfully. "We're going to the Met Ball!"
"This calls for a celebration," Blaine said. "Screw cooking, we're ordering in tonight."
"Can we get-"
"-Spicy Bob's?" Blaine finished. "We deserve the greasiest pizza we can find for this."
"It's like you read my mind," Kurt said, smiling happily at his husband.
"And then tomorrow we start watching what we eat?"
"Oh God yes. I will not be bloated in front of Anna Wintour at the biggest fashion event of the year."
"Couldn't have said it better myself."
Kurt couldn't help but laugh at Blaine's pouting face.
"I can't believe you wouldn't let me help you get dressed," Blaine moped. "You made sure I was there to help you when we got married, for crying out loud, and that's supposed to be bad luck!"
"I was afraid Sue had put some kind of aphrodisiac in our suits, and I wasn't about to be chemically coerced into loving up on Santana," Kurt said, straightening Blaine's bow tie. "Besides, you helping me get dressed mostly involved you groping my ass 'to make sure my pants weren't wrinkled,' B. We don't have time for that tonight." He finger-quoted when he repeated Blaine's flimsy excuse, giving him a knowing look.
"Still," Blaine grumbled, losing any chance at credible anger when a smirk developed around the corners of his mouth. "How is this not you just groping my chest and shoulders to make sure my lapels aren't crooked?"
"I never said it wasn't," Kurt teased. He squealed when Blaine reached forward and started tickling his ribcage. "Fine, fine, you can help me next time we have a major event!"
"That's all I ask," Blaine said, smiling playfully. "So can I see what I look like yet?"
"Let me just - fix this lapel," Kurt said, adjusting the silk on Blaine's jacket. "Okay. Go."
Blaine moved over to the full-length mirror to take in his suit. The look of awe on his face made Kurt's heart swell with pride. "Wow. Babe, I don't even know what to say." He turned to give Kurt a teary-eyed look. "It's finally hitting me that we're going to the Met Ball tonight."
"Don't remind me. I feel like my heart stops every time I think about it," Kurt said, coming to stand behind Blaine and check out his own suit. He'd pulled out all the stops for this night - classic black tailcoats with silk lapels (black and embellished with pearls in his case, a striking silver in Blaine's), close fitting trousers, a cream colored bow tie for himself and a black one with vague hints of silver woven in on Blaine. He grabbed his pearl-adorned top hat from the dresser and placed it carefully over his coif, loving how it tied his look together. "If I die tonight after rubbing elbows with the likes of Beyonce, make sure I'm buried in this suit."
"I'd prefer you remain alive, but duly noted," Blaine said, turning to plant a quick kiss on Kurt's lips. "Ready?"
"Can you ever be ready to attend the Met Ball?"
"Excellent point. Fully dressed and hygienic, at least?"
"I can say that much, yeah."
"Then let's go!" Blaine said, taking Kurt's hand in his and almost running for the door.
"If you make me wrinkle my suit, I'll kill you!" Kurt yelled, unable to keep in his laughter.
"I guess I'll just have to help you straighten it out once we arrive," Blaine said with a wink.
"Fine, but if the paps catch us in a compromising position, you get to explain those pictures to our parents."
"Buzzkill."
"Somehow I doubt that'll stop you for long." Kurt leaned in and planted a deep kiss on Blaine.
"Y-you may be right," Blaine gasped.
Thankfully, their hired car honked before any serious damage to their clothing could be done.
Kurt felt like he was having an out-of-body experience as he and Blaine walked the red carpet at the Met. Paparazzi were practically tackling each other to get photos of them, both separate and together, and they'd even been roped into a photo with Beyonce and Jay-Z.
"Did that photographer just say we were the East Coast equivalent of them?" Kurt hissed in Blaine's ear after that op. "Holy shit."
"Oh my God, you heard it too!" Blaine whispered back. "I thought I was hallucinating!"
"Wonder what they'd say if I told them I won our only football game my sophomore year by dancing to Single Ladies," Kurt said, making Blaine snicker.
"Hey, lovebirds!" another photographer yelled. "Mind kissing for the camera? It would be real cute."
Kurt looked at Blaine inquisitively. When Blaine just smiled back, he responded, "I suppose we could handle that."
He couldn't tell if extra flashbulbs were going off when they kissed or if Blaine was still capable of making him see stars after all these years. It didn't matter - nothing could top the high of that moment.
At least, not until he was named honorary chair of the next year's gala.