Klaine AU Friday | Olympic!Klaine

Kurt Hummel is the famous USA boxer, who’s trainer is the one and only Sue Sylvester. His opponent on his last match is Great Britain’s champion, Blaine Anderson (who’s trainer is the also famous Cooper Anderson).

But before the two men could fight for the gold medal, their trainers find out that they met long before their competition and know each other very well. Maybe too well…

The hotel room is dark, small, and simple; it’s everything they need for the next eight hours, and everything they craved for in the last couple of days.


Well, maybe not everything, but the gold medal is something both men agreed to leave out of any conversation they may have until tomorrow morning.


They’re lucky their coaches trust them, Blaine thinks as he slides the keycard in, the tiny green light granting him permission to push the door open and let his companion slide inside before him. He isn’t sure if other coaches would have let their champions wander alone the night before the big match. But Cooper, his coach and essentially also his brother, trusts him to do whatever he can to calm his nerves before the big day. It’s not all about the physical, but it’s about the mental, as well, Cooper always says.


"Are you coming inside?" A soft voice asks, almost whispering in the dead silence of their surrounding. Blaine knows the hotel owner, and his daughter Sugar is a long-time friend of his, so he can count on them to let no one know of the two men sneaking inside at night. The press would latch onto that piece of gossip like meat to a starved dog if they knew.


"Of course I am, love," Blaine answers with a soft smile, reaching forward to run his fingers lightly down the other man’s cheek and jaw. He is so gorgeous, his face as well as his body, that Blaine finds himself often wondering if he is dreaming it all up. He spends many hours a week watching previous boxers’ fights, and he knows that besides a scary amount of muscles, they aren’t usually very attractive.


"Stop admiring my face," the man chides, but the moonlight is pouring through the wall of glass in the hallway behind him, and Blaine can see the man’s cheeks flushing. He is standing on the doorstep, Blaine finally notices, and he hurries to step in and shut the door close behind him, grabbing his companion’s wrist and dragging him towards the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.


"My apologizes, I can’t seem to help myself," he whispers as soon as they are perched on top of the bed, Blaine on top, straddling the man’s hips. "You are just so, so good-looking, Kurt."


Kurt Hummel is many things. He is fierce, and quick, and strong, and good-looking, and witty, and smart, and he belongs to Blaine for as long as the latter can convince him to keep the title; but he is also the USA boxer, and he is going to fight for the gold medal the next day — which normally, would be fantastic news, if it isn’t for the fact that his opponent is in fact the man currently lying on top of him, kissing down his neck.


Needless to say, the number of people who knows of their unique situation is very limited; it includes, in fact, the two men themselves and Sugar, along with her father. Anyone else is just unimportant.


"You’re thinking too hard," Kurt observes, and although his voice is slightly breathy, he is in enough control to grab Blaine’s shoulders and flip him upside-down so Kurt is now on top. "Relax. Tonight is about letting everything else go and calming ourselves down."


Blaine exhales slowly, shifting closer to Kurt and nuzzling his nose between the other man’s jaw and shoulder.


"Are you claiming I calm you down, love?" He whispers, his hand lazily making its way down Kurt’s body. "Because it seems to me that I only hype you up."


Kurt inhales swiftly, closing his eyes and pinning Blaine’s body down into the mattress. “Shut up, you jerk. You calm my mind and soul down, okay? Not my body.”


Blaine nods in the dark, but adds nothing else. They haven’t talked about it, not really. This whole thing started from the time they were left alone, fire burning in their eyes as they sneered and spat and fought; it took them ten minutes to realize how close their bodies were at the time, and about three and a half seconds more to crash their lips together and slam against the closest flat surface they could find. It was only sex, for a while after that. But when sneaking around and fucking each other’s brains out dissolved into laughter and post-orgasms cuddles and candles-lit dinners, both men knew they had long since passed the point of no return. They have just yet to truly discuss the nature of their feelings out.


Between mouths sucking on bare skin and bodies pounding into each other, they manage to decide each would return to practice at six a.m. in the morning after. Their match is in the afternoon, and among eight hours of practice and lunch, they can fit in one last chance to see each other as who they truly are before ducking under the ropes and entering the ring.


The whole world sees them as who they say they are; boxers, champions, rivals. Two men who greatly dislike each other, at the least. When together, they don’t say anything about who they are; they just let the other figure it out on their own.






"Jesus Christ, would you please make the light go away?" is the first thing Blaine mutters in the morning, although it’s a bit unintelligible and more than a bit muffled by the pillow thrown over his face. The body curled up half on top of his chest shifts, uttering something hardly resembling words, and then snuggles back into the crook of Blaine’s neck, falling easily back to sleep. Blaine, however, mentally gives up and sleepily reaches up, grabbing the pillow and throwing it to the floor. The bright sunlight shines over his eyelids and he squints, moans unhappily, and eventually raises his body by a little, supporting it with his elbows.


"C’mon, Kurt, it’s five-thirty," he whispers once the haze lifts and he can think more clearly. Kurt’s head is resting on Blaine’s chest after it slid from between his neck and shoulder, and Blaine isn’t surprised to find out that even after his body woke up, one of his arms is still automatically wrapped tightly around Kurt’s shoulder. He wasn’t aware he is a particularly cuddly person until after he met Kurt, but around the other man, there is always the urge to keep his body as close as possible.


The taller boxer shits again, his eyes blinking open as he glances up into Blaine’s own pair of eyes; his cheeks are flushed and his eyelids are hooded, Blaine notices, but he’ll be up within seconds and his body will wake up with him. He can most definitely understand the desire to stay in bed all day, but then he remembers the upcoming match, and butterflies flutter all over his insides. It’s the big day, and regardless of what anyone might think, he is excited for it; it doesn’t matter who he is competing against.


"Blaine?" Kurt mutters, his voice hoarse and sleepy. He straightens up, shifting so he is sitting between Blaine’s spread legs, and reaches up to rub his left hand across his face. "What time is it?"


"Five-thirty," the British man answers, and in one swift movement he stretches his hand across the nightstand to grab his cell-phone and turn off the vibrating alarm-clock. "We have thirty minutes to dress and head back to the village. Do you want to stop in the kitchens for breakfast?"


Kurt shakes his head, and throws his legs over the edge of the bed before standing up and stretching his body like a cat. “No, I’m good — Sue will probably have coffee and food waiting for me when we get back. We should dress, though,” he says, bending over to pick up his underwear from where they were carelessly thrown at on the floor.


Blaine nods in agreement despite knowing Kurt can’t see the motion, getting up from the bed as well to collect his pieces of clothing from across the room. His socks are by the bed, shirt dangling from the dresser, but even after picking up everything he can find, he is still standing in the middle of the room with bare legs.


"Love, have you seen my trousers?" He wonders out loud, so Kurt can hear him from where he is, inside the bathroom. "I can’t find it anywhere!"


Kurt marches from the open bathroom door, hair combed and outfit perfected to the finest little detail. No one, unless they are Blaine who was there, could possibly tell he was engaged in passionate acts of sex the previous night.


"Try somewhere ridiculous," Kurt offers, approaching Blaine and buttoning up his shirt. "We were pretty enthusiastic." He smirks at Blaine who rolls his eyes in return, and doesn’t let the shorter man reply before adding, "Also, it’s called pants. I know they say 'When in Rome, act like a Roman,' but really, your language is just absurd.”


He finishes up the last button, pets Blaine’s chest, and then looks over the latter’s shoulder at something that makes him smirk. “I found your trousers, by the way.”


Blaine turns around to look at the same direction Kurt is looking at, and truly, his trousers are hanging from the window’s handle. He considers snorting out loud at the odd location, but stops himself, choosing to focus on Kurt’s previous statements instead as he reaches up to grab the missing article of clothing.


"You should have more respect to our language, you know," he says as he slides into the worn-out pair of jeans. "It existed far longer than your verse of English has."


Kurt huffs out a laughter as he shrugs on his red-white-blue jacket, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh, Blaine, I knew you guys are still upset over the whole colonies thing. Don’t worry, look at the bright side! We have actual coffee with tons of unhealthy fast-food and high levels of crime, and you have tea, and high levels of boredom.”


Blaine titles his head back and laughs; two minutes later the men are fully dressed, freshened, and closing the hotel-room’s door behind them, ready to leave a 'thank-you' note for Mr. Motta.




Cooper Anderson likes to believe he is a good brother; he is an excellent coach, and an amazing past-boxer, but above all, he is Blaine’s brother.


At least when they’re out of the training room.


"Harder, harder! Push with everything you have, B! Right hook, now! Think of everything you hate — bullies, homophobes, places with no reception — I don’t care, imagine them and push yourself to the limit!


Blaine grunts but does as he’s told, which is why he is such an amazing boxer. He has natural instincts and he relies on his senses, but he isn’t afraid to listen to someone else’s advice — it’s a fantastic quality when Cooper is the one who is in charge of training him.


Cooper nods approvingly as he watches Blaine moves, punching the bag back and forth so hard it takes it longer than two seconds to swing back. He crosses his arms and sits back down on the bench ten feet away from his little brother, his eyes never leaving the bouncing figure of the boxer in front of him. He still has no idea where Blaine has gone to last night, but he doesn’t push it like he’d usually do. Blaine looks at his best tonight, both mentally ready and excited to go out there and physically, and that’s all Cooper needs. As long as Blaine wasn’t out using drugs — which he knows for certain he didn’t — he doesn’t care what the kid does to calm him down. Not now, at least.


Blaine's bag is thrown on the bench, right next to him, Cooper notice when he finally let his eyes wander away from Blaine. The younger man has walked into the training room first thing in the morning, two minutes early, without asking for anything but a glass of water. His bag was left there, untouched, and it seemed as if it was going to fall to the floor any moment. Acting before it can happen, Cooper moves over and reaches out to grab the bag; he is surprised to feel it vibrating in his hands, but wastes no time reaching into it and fishing Blaine's cell-phone out. The latter can't read his messages for himself, but maybe Cooper can read it out loud for him while he's training.


The startled noise of shock Cooper makes when he slides the screen open makes Blaine looks over to him. The older man is still staring at the screen, however, or more specifically, the text message and the name of the contact-member of said message —



From: Kurt


Don’t start without me… ;)



It is the following of three more texts, the first of which sent by Blaine, asking, 'Will you meet me in our usual place?’, only to be answered by Kurt’s, 'I'll be there after training', and again Blaine’s, 'Can't wait to see you again!', with a honest-to-god heart sign. Cooper can feel Blaine’s wide eyes staring at his face, but he can’t bring himself to look up from the chain of texts. Maybe if he will stare longer, it will disappear, or he will magically remember a man named Kurt that Blaine knows — a different Kurt, any Kurt but the man Blaine is supposed to step into the ring with in a couple of hours.


"Cooper…" Blaine’s quiet, slightly edgy tone snaps him out of his trance, looking up to see Blaine’s narrowed eyes and clenched fists. "What are you doing with my phone?"


Cooper blinks and wordlessly brings up the phone, letting Blaine see the four messages. He knows Blaine can’t possibly read the tiny letters from this distance, but seeing as he was the one to text first and reply later, he’d probably recognize them.


Blaine swallows audibly, his Adam’s-apple bobbing, and he opens his mouth. “It’s not — I —”


"Please tell me," Cooper finally lets out with a lungful of air. "That this is another Kurt. I don’t know which Kurt, Blaine; I honestly don’t. But please tell me it’s not the Kurt I’m thinking of." He looks up, seeing Blaine’s still-wide eyes, and slowly asks, "What is this Kurt’s last name, kid?"


The quiet, dejected voice Blaine replies in tells Cooper all he needs to know even if he didn’t know the name.



08.10.12 ♡961
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    Et si les adversaires du prochain combat, les célèbres boxeurs Kurt Hummel (entrainé par la téméraire Sue Sylvester) et...
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