#December Day 16 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wowbright · 3 months ago

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Chapter 21: Picture, Again

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

~~~

Blaine was warming up on the ice. He looked even more stunning as he moved than Kurt had anticipated, the costume highlighting the strength of his thighs, its blue bringing out the glossy blackness of Blaine's hair, the flared openings of the sleeves and ankles fluttering like wings as Blaine flew over the ice.

Sue was standing next to Kurt, scowling. Her hands gripped the railing. “I thought we were on the same page, Porcelain,” she said without looking at Kurt, her eyes fixed on Blaine.

“I know you usually prefer a more fitted sleeve, but I think—”

“I’m not talking about the costume. Your eye for design is flawless, as usual.” It didn't sound like a compliment. Sue’s tone was bitter. “But your behavior isn’t. You've gone against our agreement. You told me you'd keep your distance, and then the two of you come waltzing in this afternoon like Torvill and Dean.”

“I didn’t say I’d keep my distance. I said I wouldn't be a problem. And I won't.”

“Ha! You're getting him all hot and bothered for you, when what I need him to be hot and bothered for is winning. Cool off.”

“Maybe cooling off isn't what Blaine needs.” Kurt meant it factually, logically—a simple expression that people need different things at different times, and sometimes what they need is not what you expect. But the phrase cooling off triggered the thought of heating up, and then the sensation of Blaine’s chest against the back of his thighs, warmth radiating off his skin and into Kurt’s muscles, and the flames of desire spreading from Kurt’s center through his body, leaping from his fingers and toes back into Blaine, flickering up Blaine’s torso and neck and into his face, his eyes clenching with the heat of his orgasm, his muscles stiff, his mouth hanging open from an ecstasy so brilliant it was almost too much to bear, and again that same face this morning, impossibly intense and as clear as a picture, Kurt clinging to Blaine’s hips as he drove into him as deep as their bodies would allow, driven to madness by Blaine’s cries of yes yes I need you, I need your cock, give it to me Kurt, love me with your gorgeous gorgeous cock, oh yes oh yes love me, love me Kurt, love me with your big cock, I love your cock, I love, I love, I love—

“You played with his poodle, didn't you?” Sue wasn't watching Blaine anymore. She was glaring at Kurt, shooting arrows from her eyes.

They bounced off him like raindrops. “I don't know what you mean,” Kurt lied. He was starting to get the hang of Sue’s strange way of speaking. But he refused to acknowledge what was none of her business. “Blaine doesn’t have any pets. He travels too much.” Kurt turned back toward the rink, toward Blaine. “Speaking of distractions, shouldn't you be paying attention to him? He's about to start.”

Blaine was standing in the center of the ice now, the other skaters cleared from the rink. His head was bowed. His chest expanded as he inhaled deeply. He looked up and his eyes met Kurt’s. It was only for a brief moment, but Kurt felt a new kind of energy crackling between them. It wasn’t sexual—or if sex was part of it, it wasn't at the forefront. It was a new flavor of connection, an exchange of pride and hope and joy.

“You're distracting him again, Porcelain.”

Kurt didn't let the smile drop from his face. “Your harassing me is going to distract him. Stop scowling and give him a thumbs up.”

To Kurt’s surprise, she did exactly that as the music started up.

Blaine was beautiful. Of course he was. And it wasn't just Kurt’s hormones talking. It was objectively true. Kurt could see it in the faces of the skaters and coaches on the other side of the rink. He could hear it in the way Sue was breathing. Kurt had seen this routine before, but he'd never seen this level of passion in it. It looked effortless, almost as if it wasn't Blaine moving across the ice and through the air, but like they were the ones carrying him along: a bird catching the updraft.

“Goddammit,” Sue muttered under her breath when the music stopped and Blaine stood triumphantly at the center of the ice, beaming at the two of them. “That might be the best I've ever seen him.”

Kurt hooted and hollered and clapped as Blaine skated toward them. As soon as his blade covers were on, Blaine kissed Sue on the cheek and tackled Kurt, hugging him so tightly he almost lifted him off the ground.

Kurt watched as Blaine sat down to take his skates off and Sue hovered over him. They were murmuring back and forth in that secret way coaches and athletes have with each other. Kurt watched Blaine’s face for signs of conflict, but he just kept nodding and smiling—genuinely, his eyes alight—and Sue was smiling too.

~~~

The whispering continued as Kurt accompanied Blaine to the locker room. Kurt wondered if Sue was planning to follow Blaine in, like she often had back at the Olympic Training Center. Kurt wouldn’t love that; with Blaine’s meetings this afternoon and the opening ceremonies tonight, this was Kurt’s last chance to be alone with him today. Still, Kurt wasn't going to protest. Blaine was here to win medals, not to be on a honeymoon with Kurt.

Sue slapped Blaine’s back with a parting finality as they approached the locker room. “Remember, we meet in less than an hour with the rest of the team to go over strategy. Be there early.”

Blaine nodded. “Of course, coach.”

“And Porcelain—” She caught Kurt’s elbow. “—I need to talk to you for a sec.”

“Can it wait? I need to help Blaine with the costume.”

“It’ll only be a minute.”

Kurt looked at Blaine for rescue, but Blaine only nodded—reassuringly, but still—before disappearing into the locker room.

“Sue, I don’t want to fight over—”

“Shh, Porcelain.” She pressed her index finger to Kurt's lips. Wow. This woman knew no boundaries. “I've spent the last two years giving Blaine my blood, sweat, and tears, trying to get him back to performing the way he did today. Jean—my sister—she kept telling me that maybe it was Blaine’s time to retire, that his body was done and could only go downhill. But I knew she was wrong. The problem wasn't physical. It was in his head. I did everything I could to put the fire back in him. You couldn’t expect me to just stand by and watch you ruin the tiny bit of progress we’ve made—”

“But I haven’t. You said yourself—”

“Shut up. I’m not done. Every man Blaine has dated, I have hated down to my core. Well, except for the one that tragically turned out to be straight. He was willing to put up with the kind of sacrifices an exceptionally talented person needs to make in order to succeed. He understood that, ultimately, there was only one person who could define Blaine’s purpose in the world.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “Blaine himself.”

“No. Me. Sue Sylvester. That’s what made the others such losers. They didn't get that Blaine was put on this earth to obliterate the competition. And they made Blaine forget it, too. So you'll understand if I wasn’t happy with your blossoming romance. I'm used to him falling for guys who care more about what they want out of Blaine than what he was born to do. Who suck the life and creativity out of him. But you’re not like the others. If you were, he wouldn't have skated the way he did today. You, Porcelain, are not a leech.” Her voice was never gentle, but on this last sentence, it became more gentle than Kurt had ever imagined it could be. She set her hand on Kurt’s shoulder the same way she did when congratulating Blaine on a good job.

“I don't know how you did it,” she continued. “Whether it was your costumes or your ethereal good looks or biting charm or your penis. But whatever it was, you reminded Blaine of who he is. His fire is back. I envy your power.”

“It wasn’t my—” No. Kurt was not going to legitimize her mentioning his penis by repeating the word. “Those feelings have always been inside of him. I didn't create that.”

“Of course you didn't. I did. But he’d buried them deep enough that I couldn't pull them to the surface anymore.”

Obviously, Sue was deluded in thinking she’d created Blaine’s sense of self. But in terms of his skating, she had done something just as important. “You’re the one who’s kept him going all these years, Sue. You pushed him to get better even when he didn’t care. He told me. And there's no way I could do that. If he looked at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and told me he didn't feel like doing something, I’d surrender in a split second.”

Sue shook her head. “That much is apparent. Even my threatening you with a kitty cat failed to fortify you against the power of those amber orbs. Good thing I'm immune to emotion.”

“I still don't understand how the kitty cat thing is a threat.”

Sue looked Kurt up and down, her eyebrows scrunching together as if she were trying to assess his sincerity. “Really? You don't seem like someone who would be that slow on the uptake.”

“Really.”

She leaned in and lowered her voice, as if sharing a powerful secret that could be misused in the wrong hands. “Porcelain, you're obviously someone who likes to be in control. But you can't be in control with a kitty cat. The kitty cat controls you.”

~~~

“What did Sue want to talk to you about?” Blaine asked when Kurt found him in a secluded corner of the locker room, the closest human off in the showers singing “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid in a language that sounded like German, still far away enough that Kurt only caught half the tune. Blaine turned so Kurt could unfasten the zipper hidden in a back seam.

“You don't know?”

“Not really. I mean, I figured she wasn't going to eat you alive, or I wouldn't have left you out there alone. But she didn't tell me what she was going to say.”

“She didn't eat me alive. I think she gave us her blessing?”

Blaine’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Well, she said I'm not a leech, and I haven’t gotten in your way. Those are compliments coming from her, right?”

“Glowing ones.”

“And she seems to think I’ve helped you get your fire back.”

“You have.” Blaine’s voice was soft and full of conviction. He blinked, his mascara-heavy eyelashes fluttering pleasantly as he peeled off the top of the suit, revealing his broad shoulders and the various bundles of back muscles that were merely an undifferentiated mass in most people. “In more ways than one.”

Kurt wanted to plant a line of kisses from Blaine’s eyelids to his neck and across that beautiful back. But this wasn't the place for it. Instead, he held a sleeve in place so Blaine could wriggle his elbow free. “I can't take that credit. I'm glad to be of service, of course, but the talent and the vision and the work you've put in—that's all you, Blaine.”

Blaine met Kurt’s eyes. His own were filled with steady conviction. “Maybe both things are true. Maybe it all comes from inside of me, and maybe knowing you helps me express it. Maybe the sum of us is greater than its parts.”

Kurt's heart swooped. Seriously. How had Blaine ever thought he was bad at romance?

Kurt's body buzzed with it, urging him to curl his hands around Blaine’s jaw and press him against the locker with his kisses, convey them both back to the deep intimacy they had known in his hotel room.

Instead, Kurt sank to his knees to begin gently peeling the costume further away, uncovering the tops of Blaine’s statuesque buttocks. It didn't lessen his desire, but it gave him something else to do with his hands.

“She said something to me, too,” Blaine said. “She likes you.”

Kurt scoffed. “I think that's going a bit far.”

“No, really. I mean, those weren't the words she used, of course, because she's Sue. But she does.”

“What exactly did she say?” Kurt wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, but he needed something to distract him from the incredible muscularity of Blaine’s glutes and thighs and the memory they evoked of their intimacy this morning, when those muscles squeezed around Kurt as Blaine rode him, murmuring praise to Kurt and his cock, wringing unimaginable pleasure from both their bodies.

“Um … I'm not sure me repeating the words would be helpful. A lot of what Sue says gets lost in translation.”

“You realize that saying that only makes me want to know even more.”

“Okay, but—” Blaine rested his hand on Kurt’s shoulder for balance as he stepped out of the costume, leaving him a naked Adonis except for the dance belt covering his genitals and splitting his buttocks into two perfectly risen buns. “—it's going to sound crass. But for Sue, it's a ringing endorsement.”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Fine.” Blaine grabbed a towel and modestly wrapped it around his waist before removing his dance belt, a courtesy that felt simultaneously merciful and cruel to Kurt. “She said she knew we were ‘making the beast with two backs’ but she wouldn't hold it against us if I kept performing like that.”

“Wow. Ringing.”

“It's a lot better than what she said back in Colorado Springs.”

“And what was that?”

“Nothing bad about you. Just more ridiculous. She was worried about us getting together before the Olympics because your testosterone might show up on my doping tests and get me in trouble.” Blaine giggled and rolled his eyes. Kurt was used to people who rolled their eyes having disgusted expressions on their face, or at least disapproving ones. But Blaine’s expression looked almost fond.

“What? That doesn't make sense.”

“Nope. But apparently she thinks semen is an illicit testosterone-containing substance and the testosterone somehow enters the bloodstream?”

Kurt burst out laughing. “Ah! So that's the real reason the Olympic Committee hands out condoms.”

“Apparently. I honestly think that was her main concern about us. Well, that and she thought you were the reason I forgot about that meeting on your last day there, even though I explained to her it was the stress of …” Blaine hesitated. “Of all the media interviews that day. Otherwise, I think she’s liked you from the start. You're the only guy I’ve dated she’s called handsome, unless you count Jesse. And all her nicknames for you are based on her favorite fictional characters and celebrity crushes.”

“Which one of those is the Pillsbury Doughboy?”

Blaine shrugged. He looked so comfortable, standing there in nothing but his skin and a tiny towel and sweat-damp swirls of dark hair across his chest and trailing down his limbs while Kurt was covered neck to toe in textiles. “Not sure, but she and her sister have been collecting the figurines since they were little. They have a case full of Pillsbury Doughboy collectibles in their house right next to the trophy case.”

“That … is not something I would have guessed.” Kurt looked down at the costume, paying attention to the way he was folding it as much to distract himself from Blaine’s gorgeous body as to protect the fabric from damage.

“She's often mentioned his stunning blue eyes. Maybe that's why you remind her of him.”

“And here I thought it was because I was pasty.”

“You're not pasty. You’re …” Blaine traced a finger along Kurt’s jaw, coaxing Kurt to look away from the costume and into Blaine’s beautiful brown eyes. “Alabaster and coral.”

“You're not allowed to flatter me when you’re naked except for a towel around your waist and there’s nothing I can do about it because we’re in a semi-public locker room.”

“I wish we weren’t, though. I could go for an encore of this morning. I’m going to miss you so much tonight.”

Kurt glanced over his shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips. “When the competition is over, we can shut ourselves in a hotel room for a week and do nothing but that.”

Blaine smiled. “Sounds better than a gold.”

~~~

Kurt loved a spectacle, so the opening ceremonies were right up his alley: floating landscapes, a flying girl, a choir of hundreds of singers in traditional garb ascending from the clouds. Kurt tucked his opera glasses back into his coat pocket and snatched the binoculars from Sebastian’s lap. He needed something more powerful to pick out the details of the singers’ costumes. Each was made of white fabric with gold trim, but every single one was different—different hats and headgear, different cuts and lengths, some with bibs or aprons and others without, each decorated in elaborate patterns sewn by hand. The costume budget must have been massive.

Kurt would have been enjoying himself even more if Blaine were there, explaining what the heck the floating armada and flying volcano had been about. Kurt knew little about Russian history beyond what he’d learned when costuming for Chekhov’s Three Sisters and studying Soviet realism in design school. For each cultural reference that confused him, he knew there were dozens more he wasn't even noticing.

“Do you understand any of this?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian looked up from his phone. He had been glued to it since before the start of the ceremony. That was the life of a manager, Kurt supposed—always on the phone, texting and sending emails, arranging appearances and interviews and lunches and who knew what else. It was getting close to midnight in Sochi, but it was still prime working hours in the United States.

“The Russian landmass is fifty percent permafrost,” Sebastian said. “I think that's what the snow is about.”

“Very helpful,” Kurt said.

When Putin got up to speak, Kurt took the opportunity to check his vibrating cell phone. It was Blaine, who was waiting somewhere in the wings of the stadium and apparently had no interest in paying attention to Putin either. I can't wait until you see our uniforms. They will astonish you.

In a good way or a bad way?

You’ll find out!

Blaine was right. The outfits did astonish Kurt—with their hideousness. Ralph Lauren had been going down the tubes for a while, but this was abominable: saggy white athletic pants; a sweater covered with so many letters, numbers, flags, and logos it looked like a race car; and knit caps whose only saving grace was their size prevented the same excess of symbols that plagued the sweaters.

“Are you going to give me back my binoculars?” asked Sebastian.

“Nope. I’m trying to find my boyfriend,” Kurt said, not lowering the binoculars from his face as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the opera glasses and hand them to Sebastian. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I'm not sure why I thought Blaine’s influence would turn you into a nicer person.”

“It hasn't turned you into a nicer person, has it?”

“No. But I'm not sleeping with him.”

“Oh! There he is! Next to the giant!”

Blaine was cute as ever despite the abominable uniform, waving out to the crowd with a huge smile on his face as he walked between an equally bubbly Sam to his right and, to his left, Mike Chang with a ponytailed Kitty Wilde on his shoulders. She was holding her smartphone up to record the crowd, panning up and down the rows of seats, when she suddenly stopped, lowered her phone, and waved vigorously at Kurt and Sebastian before leaning over to pat the top of Blaine’s head and point him in their direction. He found them and his smile got even wider. He balanced on his toes and waved energetically.

“There's something wrong with these opera glasses. It looks like Blaine is having some sort of fit.”

“He's waving, dumbass.”

“And now he's blowing kisses! Let’s hope Putin doesn't arrest him for that.”

“Seriously, Sebastian. Do you have to ruin everything?”

“Yeah, sorry, that was … not funny. I only said it because I don't think there's any risk of him getting arrested for that. Does that make it any better?”

Kurt ignored Sebastian and watched Blaine turn the corner of the track. Blaine's back was to him now, but Kurt could catch the side of his face when he turned to the side with more waving and kiss-blowing.

“Ooh, Kurt,” Sebastian hissed dramatically. “You might want to look away. He’s blowing kisses to Billie Jean King now. Do you think he’s turned straight? Ow, the betrayal.”

“Oh no, a figure skater blowing kisses to members of the general public,” Kurt deadpanned. “Totally slutty and out of character. I'm devastated.”

Sebastian chuckled. But when Kurt turned to look at him, he saw that Sebastian was not laughing over what Kurt had said. He was looking at his phone again, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he thumbed a message into the screen.

~~~

Sebastian's texting went on through the entire opening ceremonies. Kurt loved his phone as much as the next person, but he was at least trying to enjoy the show. Besides, it wasn't like he could be constantly texting Blaine. It would look bad if, every time a rogue television camera landed on the section of the stadium holding the members of Team USA, Blaine was staring at his phone screen like a bored teenager. Meanwhile, Sebastian was thumbing something into his phone every five minutes. There was no way it was all work, because at least half the time, it was accompanied by the kind of giggling Kurt associated with chatting about celebrity crushes with Rachel and Mercedes in high school.

“I don't understand why you wanted to go to the opening ceremonies at all if you're going to spend the whole time on your phone,” Kurt said on the way back to their hotel. It was a rental car, and Sebastian was driving.

“I wasn't planning to be on my phone the whole time. It just … happened.”

“Work emergency?” Kurt knew that wasn't the answer, but sometimes guessing the wrong thing was the best way to get Sebastian to tell you the truth. Wrong impressions were like pebbles in Sebastian’s shoes. He had to get rid of them or they would drive him crazy.

“No.” Sebastian chewed on his bottom lip. “I … Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise not to be super gay about it. Because I'm driving, and that would be distracting.”

“What do you mean by ‘super gay’?”

“You know. Dramatic. Shrieking like a little girl.”

“Oh, Sebastian. Do we have to have another talk about internalized homophobia?”

“Just promise, okay?”

“I promise not to shriek like a little girl. I don't promise to not be super gay though.”

“Whatever. I … I met someone.”

Kurt inhaled sharply. He kind of wanted to shriek, or at least yell What? extremely loudly. But he had made a promise. “When? Wasn't it like, a week or two ago when you were crying in my hotel room about—”

“I thought we agreed to never mention that again.”

“You said not to mention it to other people, not you.”

“Fine. And yes, since then. Yesterday, to be exact. Or maybe this morning, if you want to be technical about it?”

“You met him last night and you already want to have kids with him?”

“I didn't say that! I just said ... I met someone. Who is interesting and that I actually like to talk to even when we're done fucking. I mean, usually after I have sex with someone I'm through with them, at least until the next time I want to have sex—”

“And you wonder why I never slept with you.”

“—but this guy … I wasn’t hurrying to leave the room. And it wasn’t just because you and Blaine were doing God knows what in our suite. It was … I don't know how to describe it. Like, the noise that's usually crowding my head was gone. I wasn't thinking about work or the things I would need to do today or going through a point-by-point postgame breakdown to compare him to my previous fucks or glean learning points for my arsenal of future sex strategies.”

“Were you high?”

“No! I wasn't high! I don't do drugs when I'm traveling in authoritarian states.”

“Just thought I'd check.”

“And he kept looking at my face, and I admit, I do have a great looking face, but usually it's weird to look at each other's faces too much when you're having sex—”

“It is?”

“—but it didn’t feel weird. Which was weird in itself. It was weird and it should have been a total turn off—”

“Really?”

“—but it just felt ... what's the word?”

“Good?”

“Something like that. So I … I stayed. And I fell asleep. And when I woke up he asked if I wanted to have breakfast, and I … I said yes. I've never said yes to breakfast. And I went back to our suite to change, which gave me the perfect opportunity to stand him up, but did I stand him up? No. Because I … I wanted to talk to him. How crazy is that?”

“For you? It sounds pretty crazy.” Since Kurt had met Sebastian half a lifetime ago, he had come to rely on the fact that, no matter how many months or years passed between them seeing each other, Sebastian never changed. Now, suddenly, Sebastian was changing. Kurt wasn't sure what to do with that. “So, are you going to tell me anything about this guy? What makes him so magical?”

“No. I don't want to curse it. Not that there's much to curse. I mean, I've known him for less than twenty-four hours. And he lives on this side of the pond. I'll be lucky if this lasts the full two weeks of the games.”

“Still, that's new for you, wanting something to last even that long. You're a different man than the one I thought you were, Sebastian Smythe.”

“That goes for both of us.”

#december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 16: picture #wowbright writes fic #Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU #klaine fanfiction

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wowbright · 3 months ago

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Chapter 20: Picture, Part 1

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt drifted off after their second go-round of the morning. He was so magnetic, even in his sleep—his hair love-mussed, his bare arms stretched across Blaine, the sheets so low on his hips Blaine could see the top of the slanted line where the muscles of abdomen and thigh came together.

Kurt would be hungry when he woke up. Blaine’s own appetite was starting to kick into gear, a sign that it was finally starting to acclimate to the new time zone—or maybe just that he had expended a lot of energy during their lovemaking. He smiled at the thought, kissed Kurt on the forehead (Kurt made a soft murmur in response) and stepped into the shower before putting on the same clothes he’d worn to the hotel the night before.

He decided to stop at the café in the hotel lobby to grab some tea and check his emails before venturing out in search of authentic Caucasus delicacies for Kurt’s breakfast. When he stepped inside, he was surprised to find Sebastian was also there, sipping coffee by the window over a plate of syrniki.

Sebastian didn't see him. He was looking out the window, watching the scenery dreamily. It was strange to see Sebastian still and contemplative. In all the years they had known each other, Blaine had only seen Sebastian slow down like this a handful of times. If Blaine caught Sebastian alone, he was usually on his smartphone—and before those had been a thing, his dumbphone or his PDA or his laptop—making plans and schmoozing the right people to get one step closer toward clinching a deal or achieving some other clearly defined goal.

Blaine was wondering if he should go over and say hello now, or wait until Sebastian had naturally exited his reverie, when a man with fashionably disheveled dirty-blond hair walked right up to Sebastian's table as if he belonged there, pulled out the chair opposite Sebastian, and sat down. Sebastian slowly turned from the window and when he did, it was apparent from the expression on his face that the stranger did, in fact, belong there. Sebastian smiled with a childlike delight Blaine had only observed the few times he’d seen his friend and manager on ecstasy.

The two men began chatting—only from the tones and expressions and the mostly-empty plate with one piece of toast that sat on the stranger’s side of the table that Blaine only now noticed, it became obvious to Blaine that it wasn't a beginning. It was a continuation of a conversation that had started long before. They were laughing about something, and Blaine picked up snippets like “boarding school” and “first” and “vanity” and “America” and then, with less laughter, “picture-perfect life, but it was all in my head.” The man’s accent was English, with ‘r’s that were soft and ‘t’s that caught in the back of his throat, reminiscent of the way Adele or Billie Piper spoke.

Sebastian spoke, too, the English guy watching him with interest. He must have been about their age, or maybe in his mid-thirties, but the contented expression on his pleasantly chiseled face made him look younger. He wore an earthy green henley and, around his neck, something that looked like a dog tag but wasn't quite the right shape.

“You’re building a fire, not inventing it!” The English guy had launched into a Scottish(?) accent with hard ‘r’s and aspirated ‘t’s, and it took a few seconds of watching Sebastian crumple up into giggles before Blaine realized it was an impersonation of Mrs. Hughes from Downton Abbey—Sebastian watched Downton Abbey?—for Blaine to realize he was staring like a total weirdo.

That realization prompted Blaine to walk over and say hello like a normal person. “Hey, Sebastian.”

Sebastian startled and blinked his eyes. “Oh, hey Blaine.” Something about Sebastian’s expression made Blaine feel the way he had the time he walked into the wrong church in Paris and found himself being stared at by a sanctuary full of people confused to find a guy in mustard yellow chinos standing where a bride should be. “I forgot— I mean—” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Adam Crawford, this is Blaine Anderson, the client I mentioned. Blaine, this is Adam. He’s a journalist. He works for … Oh. Did you say?”

Blaine was confused. What kind of breakfast was this? They were talking like old friends, but also this guy was a journalist? No. If this guy was a journalist, that meant this was a business breakfast, and Sebastian was just buttering the guy up, trying to get an interview set up to keep Blaine in the spotlight. Except, if this was a business breakfast, Sebastian was being unusually terrible at business. He should know what venue the guy was from. That was the first thing you asked a journalist, if the journalist didn't tell you first.

The Adam guy laughed as he shook Blaine’s hand. “Maybe not. We’ve had more compelling things to chat about. It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Anderson. Your fame precedes you.”

“—and Blaine, this is Adam. He lives in London, originally from Essex, went to school in New York. Prior to becoming a television presenter for—” Sebastian raised a questioning eyebrow at Adam.

“The BBC,” Adam supplied.

“—he worked on Broadway and off-Broadway and TV and …” Sebastian started to rattle off a bunch of shows and small indie movies Blaine thought he might have heard of but certainly had not seen. It quickly veered off into more discursive speech, which turned into a bout of story swapping between Adam and Sebastian in which their only goal seemed to be to out-delight each other, and ten minutes later Blaine was still standing there without any tea.

He regretted ever coming over here in the first place. But what was he to do? He had to stick around. He was clearly the whole reason Sebastian and Adam were having breakfast in the first place. Blaine pulled up a chair, signaled the waiter, and ordered his tea along with some blini, because if he was going to be stuck here, he needed some sustenance.

“So, you two are setting up an interview? When for? What about? And how long will you need?” Blaine asked when there was finally a pause in the back and forth, well after his plate of blini had already arrived.

They stared at him blankly.

Blaine, confused, barreled onward. “Also, it would be helpful to understand why the BBC wants an interview with an American figure skater when UK Sport barely supports its own and the BBC itself doesn’t broadcast the British or European Figure Skating Championships or even the Worlds anymore.”

Again, that stare. Was Blaine coming on too strong? He had a reputation among reporters for being sweet, and maybe listing the UK’s sins against figure skating didn't come across as sweet. Okay. He’d be more diplomatic.

“You know what? If I can bring more attention to the sport in the UK, I’m all in. Just, please, give more airtime to Matthew Parr than to me. Maybe you could interview the two of us together? We could talk about the differences in support in our respective countries, and what the UK might do to grow competitive figure skating.”

“Oh.” Finally, Adam said something. “Oh! I didn't even think of that. But it would make sense, that I might want to interview you. Because you're a famous Olympic athlete, and I’m here covering the Olympics.”

“You’re not— You’re not …?” Blaine looked at Sebastian for help. He was so confused.

“Oh, Blaine. My sweet summer child. This isn’t a business breakfast. Adam’s staying at the hotel. We met in the lobby.”

The gears turned in Blaine’s brain and something clicked into place and he finally understood why this entire situation was so weird—why he had stared for so long before saying hello, and why he had felt so out of place since making his presence known. This was a date, or whatever Sebastian wanted to call breakfast with a conventionally hot guy he’d recently met in a hotel lobby. Except, Sebastian didn’t do dates. He thought it was too much light courting: old-fashioned, time-consuming, and completely superfluous to the acquisition of sex. And yet, here Sebastian was, eating breakfast and flirting with Mr. Chiseled Face.

“Should I move to another table?” Blaine asked.

Sebastian and Adam both laughed. They insisted he didn't have to. And it would have been just as awkward to move tables as to stay, and rude to the waiter. So he stayed. Besides, it was interesting, watching Sebastian be all smiley and flirty, with no signs of intoxication nor a hint of manipulation. What was the world coming to? Blaine was going to have to tell Kurt about this.

~~~

Blaine forgot all about it by the time he arrived back at the hotel with fresh-baked pogacha, a small jar of local honey, some Circassian cheese, and three kinds of churchkhela for Kurt to sample. He cracked Kurt’s door open to find him still asleep in bed and went back to the suite’s entryway to get the espresso started. He already knew how much his boyfriend(!) loved caffeine, and he figured Kurt would want a double shot at minimum to get started after his travel and their active night. He popped the first pod into the espresso machine.

It made a loud, heinous screech.

Blaine leapt to the bedroom door and grabbed the handle. But the damage had already been done. Kurt turned over in the bed and grumbled, pulling the covers over his face. “Sorry, honey,” Blaine whispered. “I forgot how loud these espresso makers are.”

Kurt lowered the blanket, revealing half-open eyes. “Honey?” The corner of his mouth twitched in suppressed amusement. “I’m your honey now?”

“If you don’t like that, you could be my darling, or my sweetie—” Blaine settled on the edge of the bed, kissing Kurt’s shoulder between each endearment “—or my soltsne, or my milyi, or my lyubimyi.”

“Mmmm,” Kurt sighed and pulled Blaine onto him, squeezing him into a full-body hug. “Is it safe to assume all those Russian ones are complimentary, mon petit chou?”

“As long as you’re okay with sunshine, favorite, and—” Blaine contemplated which translation to go with for lyubimyi, and decided to be daring “—loved one.”

Kurt giggled. “No one's ever called me sunshine before. Especially not when I just woke up.”

“Well, you’re mine, soltsne. Now, let me serve you breakfast in bed.”

Blaine finished making the espresso, then poured in a little milk and heated it in the frother. Not the world's fanciest latte, but it was made with love. He removed the tray from under the espresso maker, set the coffee and the bounty from his morning shopping expedition on it, and brought it to the bed. Kurt devoured the pogacha, tearing the rolls in half and topping them with cheese and drizzles of honey, but he was more hesitant about the churchkhela.

“Are you sure I'm supposed to eat those? They look like candles.”

“Actually, the process for making them is a lot like dipping candles. They string together nuts and then they dip the string in grape juice or mulberry juice that's been cooked down until it's the consistency of caramel, and when they hang it to dry it cools into this. You can pull out the string and break it into little pieces like this—” Blaine demonstrated with the sweet churchkhela made of hazelnuts and white grape juice “—or—” he picked up a string of walnuts coated in sour red grape juice “—bite into it and pull it off the string with your teeth. It’s like—” Blaine had to pause for a moment because he had bitten off a piece and the churchkela was like taffy, sticking in his teeth “—really thick fruit leather.”

“Oh!” said Kurt after trying a bite of the sweet one. “It tastes much better than it looks. Not like wax at all.”

They chewed contentedly, sometimes quiet in the pleasure of being in the same space and sharing something good, sometimes making a small observation that seemed much larger and more significant when it was shared. Later, while Kurt cleaned up and dressed for the day, Blaine read Russian news on his phone and noticed he hadn’t received any new texts from Cooper about Russia's new anti-LGBT law—or with an apology.

When Kurt reemerged from the bathroom, it was with the energy of a whirlwind. “I haven't even shown you yet! I have to show you!” He rifled through his suitcase, pulled out a muslin bag closed by a drawstring, and handed it to Blaine. “For the team event. After you told me about the music, I remembered a particular blue fabric I had in my stash and I was struck with inspiration. I only had time to cut the pieces in New York but not finish it on the machine, so I basted it by hand and did the trimmings on the airplane and in layovers. Be gentle with it when you try it on. I mean, unless you can tell right away that you don't like it. In that case, it doesn't matter what happens to it.”

Blaine’s place in the team event had been secured before they left Colorado Springs. During the meeting Blaine had almost missed because he was too pissed off from the interview with his brother to remember where he was supposed to be (and so naturally had gravitated toward the comfort of the costume room and Kurt), Sam's knee had already started to swell up from his earlier crash. By the next morning, it was the size of a grapefruit half. Even with cortisone shots, there were concerns about the effect on his performance in the team event, which was right at the beginning of the games. That wouldn't just affect Sam, but Mike and Kitty and Mason and Madison and everyone else participating in the team event. Sam himself was worried about the risk of worsening his chances for medaling in men’s singles if he pushed himself instead of letting himself heal up fully. He’d given Blaine his blessing, in his insecure way: “It's smart to save the top figure skater for the singles event, anyway. We don't want me wasting all my energy on the team event when I'm the USA's only chance for gold. With you in the line-up, the team might still get bronze. That's one thing you can say for old geezers. They're dependable enough.”

Blaine had texted the news while Kurt was flying from Colorado Springs to New York: Good news and bad news. Bad news is Sam hurt himself worse than we thought. Good news(?) is that now I'm doing the team event. I don't feel like I earned it, but I want to skate like I did. I haven't talked about this with you—or anyone, really—but the past season or two, I was starting to feel so burned out. I mean, Sam hasn’t been completely wrong when he’s accused me of being old and washed up. That’s how I was acting, and how I was feeling inside. I didn’t really care anymore. And then you showed up, and you cared so much about your own work, and about bringing my vision to life, and I remembered that I had a vision. That there was something I wanted people to feel and experience when they watched me skate, and that there are kids looking up to me who just want to see somebody like them doing something meaningful. I remembered what it felt like to care, and that what I'm doing in Sochi matters. So, thank you for that.

“Oh, Kurt!” Blaine felt the precious weight of the costume as Kurt placed it in his hands. They hadn't talked about Kurt making another costume. Obviously, Blaine couldn’t wear his old one by he-who-must-not-be-named because of the weird contract, and he wouldn't wear one of the others Kurt had made because they were specific to the programs they were designed for. He’d figured he’d wear something off-the-shelf, and had in fact packed several choices for Kurt to give his opinion on. But this—another entire costume from scratch. “You didn't have to do this. But I’m so glad you did. You amaze me, Kurt.”

“You haven't even opened the bag yet, silly,” Kurt teased, but he looked inordinately pleased by Blaine’s reaction. “You need to try it on first to see if I deserve any of your praise.”

The costume was a beautiful azure that reminded Blaine of Kurt’s eyes, and when he put it on, a fine plume of tiny, lightly colored rhinestones trailed up Blaine’s left thigh and up toward the center of his chest where his heart lay, expanding into a fine spray over his shoulders that Blaine knew would look like sparkling dew drops from far away from the stands or a camera lens. He stood in front of the mirror, the winter sunlight streaming in and illuminating the tiny prisms.

“A bluebird reference,” Kurt said, touching his hand to Blaine’s wrist, where the fabric flared out like wingtips. “I mean, I know the version you're skating to has the lyrics taken out because the International Skating Union wants to wait until next season to catch up with the modern world, but this is a way to bring them back. And the rhinestones—obviously I couldn't wrap you up in a big rainbow flag, but—” Kurt guided Blaine to twist toward the window.

“They’re a rainbow!” Blaine gasped as the rhinestones refracted the light into green and purple and red and yellow. The costume was beautiful in its own right, but in the context of the music and his life and Sochi, it transcended mere beauty. It was perfect.

How did Kurt understand him so well? By what magic did he take Blaine’s dreams and longings and express them in something tangible? “We didn't even talk about design ideas, but you understood everything. I …” Blaine felt tears pressing against the back of his eyes. He wanted so intensely to tell Kurt that he loved him, the way he'd wanted to half a dozen times during their lovemaking that morning, when instead he’d bitten his tongue to keep himself from blurting it out in the heat of passion because it must be too soon, because he might be falling in love, but surely he couldn't have arrived there yet.

But Blaine was already there, wasn't he? Had been there since Kurt’s first day at the Olympic Training Center, before they'd even shaken hands. Up until now, he’d thought of his feelings as falling in love, the falling separate from the love itself as journey is from destination. Even when Kurt had confessed his own state of falling the night before, Blaine had interpreted it to mean that Kurt was hurtling toward love, but hadn’t arrived quite yet.

But now, Blaine understood that, at least for him, the journey and the destination were the same thing. He loved Kurt. That love had plenty of room to grow, but it was still love.

“I couldn't have you wearing something off the rack or a costume meant for a different song and a different program,” Kurt said. “It would bring me professional shame. Besides, you inspire me too.”

The moment passed for Blaine to say anything. And maybe that was just as well. Blaine wanted to speak the words in a place and moment where Kurt couldn’t mistake them for misplaced horniness or gratefulness or sentimentality. He wanted Kurt to know that he meant it with his whole heart.

Kurt got out his travel sewing machine. As he sewed over and flattened his basted seams, they discussed whether they should do anything to avoid Sue’s suspicions. They would be riding over together with Sebastian, but that didn't mean they had to enter the skating arena together. Of course, Kurt would need to help Blaine with his costume before he went out, and Sue knew that. So maybe it would be weirder if they appeared separately, an obvious signal that they were trying to fly under the radar.

“Ugh. This is stressing me out just thinking about it,” Blaine said, flopping backward onto the now-made bed—not because housekeeping had been there, but because Kurt was apparently the kind of guy who made his bed every morning even when he didn't have to. “I'm terrible at lying. And sneaking around isn't technically lying, but I can't see how it would be any less stressful than getting Sue’s wrath. I think it would be more stressful. But also, I want you to be comfortable, because I don't think I can be comfortable if you're not comfortable …”

“I'm not really worried about Sue,” Kurt said. “She predicated punching me in the face on so many variables. If I avoid Provincetown, I should be good.”

“She specifically threatened to punch you only in Provincetown?”

“The circumstances were even more specific than that, but—” Kurt waved one hand in the air, dismissing whatever convoluted picture Sue had painted during her threat. “I just don't want to make trouble when you two need to be on the same page.”

“Sue and I are rarely on the same page. That friction is one of our strengths. She sees things I don't and I see things she doesn't. But I promise you, whatever happens, she's not going to punch you in the face. She wouldn’t risk the possible damage to her fingers. Besides, the U.S. Figure Skating banishes members who commit violence on their colleagues. Heck, it even banishes members whose abusive ex-husbands hire someone to commit violence on their colleagues. She’s not stupid.”

“You think my face would damage her fist?”

“The hardest bone in the human body is the jawbone. Hitting it with your bare fist is like trying to smash a marble statue with toothpicks.”

Kurt looked up from his sewing. “You seem to have given this a lot of thought.”

“Well, I do come from a hockey family,” Blaine laughed. “But also, I use to kickbox.”

Kurt peered at Blaine. “Really? Sue was okay with that?”

“Oh, it was way before Sue. I was 13 when I came out to my parents. My dad thought I should learn some self-defense skills.” At least, that's what Blaine’s father had said. At the time, Blaine couldn't also help but feel that his dad hoped getting him involved in something a little more masculine than figure skating might change him. All these years later, it was still difficult to tease out what his father meant from what he said.

Maybe that's why Blaine liked Sue so much. She usually meant what she said, and when she didn't, it was because she was being over the top, exaggerating her feelings instead of trying to hide them.

That thought decided things for Blaine. “We should be ourselves around Sue,” he said. “She’s the one making trouble where trouble doesn't belong. She'll come to see that.”

#wowbright writes fic #december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 16: picture #my klaine advent #klaine fanfiction #Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU #These last chapters are getting longer so posting schedule will probably just be one or two chapters a week.

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