Blaine stumbled through the swarm of athletes backstage, searching for his own red, white, and blue group. Unfortunately the United States wasn't the only country present with those colors, and now his desperate trip to the bathroom was looking like it had been a very bad idea.

He checked his watch as he ducked around a small group in khakis and Hawaiian style shirts, and then cursed himself because he still hadn't bothered to reset the device to his new time zone. The place he'd be calling home for the next two weeks come victory or defeat. After thirteen years of struggling, training, and pushing himself to the brink he'd finally made it to the Olympics. He'd finally turned his long, but not forgotten days of being bullied in elementary and middle school into something incredible for himself. And it was all thanks to his older brother's suggestion of taking up boxing that Blaine was now in London for the 2012 Summer Olympics.

The opening ceremony had started a few hours ago, and the parade of athletes had started, but the area where the countries were organized and waiting for their own entrances was still crammed full of people and flags. One such flag, Venezuela unless Blaine was mistaken, flapped out unexpectedly and got tangled around his head as he pushed through another group. Caught and disoriented, Blaine gave a shout of alarm, stumbled as he tried to untangle himself, and then tripped when his foot snagged on someone's ankle.

His head slipped from the flag's cloth, and he toppled over backwards, his arms flailing uselessly. He was going to fall flat on his ass and–

Two strong hands grabbed him from behind, digging sharply into his armpits and the hard muscles over his shoulders. Blaine stopped falling though, and for that he was grateful. As the stranger helped him regain his footing, Blaine glanced up and his breath caught in his throat.

"I– um– you– "

"You've got terrible balance for an athlete," the man deadpanned.

Blaine could feel himself blushing as he stood up and turned to face the stranger. He was from the host country. His accent had told Blaine that much. The man was also gorgeous despite the contemptuous look he was giving Blaine as he eyed his attire.

"American, huh?" the man asked.

"I– oh, yeah," Blaine answered, glancing down at his clothing for a second before returning his gaze to this beautiful man. "T- thanks for catching me, um– "

"Kurt," the other man offered, still eyeing the length of Blaine's body carefully. "You ought to be more careful," he added, his voice softer than before.

"Yeah, sorry, I got lost on the way back from the bathro– er, loo," Blaine corrected sheepishly, trying to remember all of the British terms he'd read over before his Olympic team had made the long trip across the Atlantic.

Kurt laughed loud and open at his use of the term, and gave him a real genuine smile. Blaine's stomach did a cartwheel at the sight, and his blush grew warmer, spreading down his cheeks to his neck. It wasn't everyday that Blaine found himself in the present of a man as stunning as Kurt, and with his soft, but angular features, bright blue eyes, and perfectly coifed brown hair Kurt was just that.

"I'll, um, thanks for catching me, Kurt," Blaine stammered sincerely, a little spark shooting down his spine as the other man's name rolled off his tongue.

"I try to make a habit out of catching the handsome ones," Kurt returned, his bright smile turning sultry.

Blaine's mouth fell open at the line, because he hadn't thought that Kurt was gay as well, but apparently–

"Hey, Anderson! Get your ass over here so we can march!"

A firm hand attached to a mo-hawked head yanked him away from Kurt and the rest of the Great Britain crowd. After a few moments of being tugged along Blaine found himself back with his own group, all talking excitedly as they steadily approached the front of the queue.

"Already trying to seduce the enemy?" Sebastian, one of Blaine's old high school friends, asked. "I thought we agreed to at least wait until the opening ceremony was over. Give us a chance to scope out the sexy ones."

"It wasn't– I tripped," Blaine snapped in annoyance. "How many more until us?" he questioned, trying to change the subject.

Both Sebastian and Puck ignored him. Puck turned back to stare into the Great Britain crowd for Kurt, Blaine's body tingled as the name ran through his mind.

"Tripped right into a hot piece of ass," Puck remarked, carefully fluffing up the front of his mo-hawk. "For a guy, at least. I'd rather have a go at that blond beauty he's talking to."

Blaine ground his teeth together as Sebastian and Puck continued to assess the attractiveness of the Great Britain athletes. Sometimes he really hated how much his two closest friends focused on that over something real like romance or love. None of them knew a whole lot about either of those, though. Not with the rigid, long training schedules they had to keep for their sports.

As the line shuffled forward again, Blaine chanced a glance over his shoulder and his heart fluttered as Kurt's gaze locked onto his. A flirty little wink was thrown his way, and Blaine spun back around, trying and failing to stop his blush from returning. Maybe Sebastian had had a point on the plane ride the other night. It had been a long time since any of them had even had a fling because of training. It couldn't hurt to let himself be seduced by this Kurt guy, especially since Kurt seemed quite eager to do so.