Les Misérables 1. Warm-ups

**_Grantaire_**

Being cooped up in the athletes' village was so far not one of Grantaire's favourite experiences. He longed to go out and see the city of Glasgow, to find out where the best pubs and pie shops were. To just get out and _wander for Christ's sake_.

As it was, he couldn't touch a drop of drink that wasn't H2O or a protein shake, couldn't eat anything that didn't taste like it had been made in a lab and could not _under any circumstances_ leave the complex, _or so help me Grantaire I will string you up and fucking murder you_. Those rules had been laid down by Grantaire's trainer and mentor Feuilly, an ex-Olympic boxer with 3 medals to his name; bronze, silver and gold. Grantaire venerated Feuilly, except when he was being a wanker like today.

He had to settle for jogging around the athletes' village to get some fresh air and when he wasn't training for his next match he spent it playing video games with Bahorel, a fellow boxer in the heavyweight division. It was one such morning whilst he was doing a couple of laps of the village compound that he stumbled across _him_.

It was guy in his early 20's doing warm up exercises on the little green between some of the flats of the village. Nothing really unusual about that, it was the fucking Commonwealth Games athletes village for God's sake, there were guys exercising _everywhere. _

But there was no-one like this guy.

He had curly golden hair which was pulled into a loose bun on top of his head and his face could have belonged to a statue. A very _ripped_ statue. Grantaire could only gulp as he stared at the man's shoulders and arms, _arms like that were not fucking legal_. He found himself not really breathing as he watched the golden man performed stretches that_, how the fuck does his body even do that?_

Grantaire slowed his running down as he jogged around the green to get a better look at the guy. He was unbelievably good looking; like an angel who had fallen from heaven. Grantaire didn't believe in love at first sight, but he was definitely experiencing lust at first sight. As he approached the nearest corner to the guy his heart rate started picking up and he felt a bit breathless but it wasn't because of the exercise. Like a magnet he wanted nothing more than to run up to the man and make contact, whether it was through hands or mouth he didn't care.

But couldn't abandon his own fitness routine however, so as he made to carry on past the green he cast one glance back and continued on his route. He was doing laps so he made sure to slow down on his next time around. Yep, the guy was still there. Now he was doing some weird looking handstand thing and fuck how can he be so attractive upside down? His face was serene in concentration as he lowered his arms and gracefully rolled out of the handstand and stood up.

Once again Grantaire's legs carried him past the open space and he continued on his run. Only, on the third time back around he took out a length of rope from his little waist pouch, so that when he reached the green again he came to a halt and took up a very strategic position for best ogling and started to skip on the spot. This time the guy had been joined by two others and they had all put mats out and were doing similar routines together. They seemed to be good friends as well as teammates evident by the smiles and laughs as they chatted. They paid Grantaire no notice so he was able to just stare at the guy with golden hair. Grantaire tried to work out what sport these guys competed in, it was obviously something that needed a lot of strength, but all of them were very fluid movers, so it wasn't something like shotput for example which needed brute strength. He wondered if they were swimmers, two of the guys, including the golden haired god- _he must be a god, no human has arms or pecs like that _–were pretty tall and slim like swimmers. They could be rowers, he mused, they definitely all had that upper body strength thing going on.

However, one of the guys, the smaller one with short hair at the sides but lots of dark waves on top suddenly ran and then did a front flip, followed by a somersault and then a twisty thing, landing on two feet precisely.

Grantaire rolled his eyes as he continued skipping on the spot; _fucking gymnasts_.

It wasn't that he didn't think the guys weren't talented, they could do lots of flips and tricks and stuff, but it wasn't a real sport. Not really. Not compared to boxing.

_Uh oh. _The short guy who had done the flips was coming over towards him. Grantaire tried to make his face blank and pretend that he hadn't just been checking out golden guy's arse.

'Morning' said the dark haired in greeting.

'Hullo' replied Grantaire not breaking a bounce in his skipping.

'What sport?' asked the guy

'Oh, er, boxing' he answered.

'Really?' said the guy, sounding surprised. 'Wow, you don't look like one'

Grantaire raised a dark eyebrow 'Oh yeah? Know lots of boxers do you?'

'No' replied the guy cheerfully 'Now I do though, I'm Courfeyrac.'

'Grantaire'

'I'd shake your hand but you're skipping.' said Courfeyrac smirking. 'Not very manly, skipping.'

'Says the dancer' Grantaire came back with.

'Gymnast'

'Whatever.' he replied.

Courfeyrac laughed at this, and gave Grantaire the once over 'You should come and meet the other guys.'

'I don't think so.'

'Oh, so you weren't checking out Enjolras just now?' asked Courfeyrac with a smile on his face.

'I don't know who you're talking about' puffed Grantaire.

'Enjolras. That's his name, the one with the yellow hair and freakish poise.'

Grantaire couldn't help but glance back up to where Enjolras was now doing the splits. _Oh mother of god help me._

'Come on' said Courfeyrac, 'Come meet the guys.' In answer, Grantaire just stopped skipping and moved to follow Courfeyrac, winding up the rope as he did so. _He was so going to regret this._

'Guys this is Grantaire.' Courfeyrac introduced him to the other two gymnasts who were both sitting in what looked like incredibly painful positions on their mats. 'He's _a boxer_' Courfeyrac said as if this was a very important fact the other two men needed to know.

'Hi mate, nice to meet you, I'm Combeferre' said the guy next to Enjolras. Enjolras just muttered a greeting of 'Hello' before he got back to completing his stretches.

Courfeyrac sat down and joined the other two on the mats and proceeded to ask Grantaire lots of questions about his sport most of which Grantaire answered in one word answers, whilst watching Enjolras.

Up close, Grantaire could see the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and over his nose. He was truly the definition of beautiful. As Enjolras continued his routine, it gave Grantaire the opportunity to see how his muscles rippled through a stretch. It was equally very good and not good at all. It was good because Grantaire didn't think he'd seen anything so arousing, it was not at all good because Grantaire hadn't ever seen anything so arousing and it was making him get quite hot and uncomfortable where he sat on the slightly damp ground, trying to hold a conversation with Courfeyrac but constantly being distracted by Enjolras's arms.

'So when is your next event?' asked Courfeyrac 'Or haven't you started competing yet?'

'I've had my first bout' Grantaire informed him 'but my second fight is tomorrow night'.

Enjolras snorted. Grantaire stared at him, 'Something to say?' he asked, annoyed.

'A fight. Exactly. You're not a sportsman, boxing isn't a _sport_. It's just two blokes hitting each other, how is that a sport?'

'What did you say?' said Grantaire.

'Enjolras' breathed Combeferre, 'You can't say that'. Courfeyrac joined him in looking at Enjolras in shock.

'Boxing is not a sport.' repeated Enjolras stubbornly.

'You're actually serious aren't you?' asked Grantaire in disbelief. How can this godly-looking guy say something like that?

'Of course I am.' replied Enjolras calmly. 'Boxing is brutal and messy and it's hurting people. Causing injury cannot be grounds for a sport.'

'Oh just keep on going then! You're forgetting the girls' pointed out Grantaire, 'There's women's boxing this Games too, Apollo, you going to say that that's not a sport too? After everything those girls have worked towards to getting boxing into the Games?'

'Regardless of gender, boxing should not be in the Olympics or Commonwealth games' answered Enjolras obstinately.

'I can't believe this' said Grantaire. 'Who are you to dictate what a sport is and what isn't? I could very well say that fucking gymnastics isn't a sport. It's just poncy posturing'

Enjolras opened his mouth to no doubt argue back, but Courfeyrac interrupted 'Hey guys! Let's not argue about who's sport is better or who's sport is a sport. Let's just agree that we're all here, representing our country in one of the biggest multi-sport events in the world…okay?' He glared at Enjolras as if daring him to argue. Enjolras just grumbled 'fine', but Grantaire could feel the anger coming off him in waves.

Courfeyrac turned to Grantaire then and said 'You don't really think gymnastic is poncy posturing do you?'

'Er well' said Grantaire reaching to run a hand through his dark messy curls, he was being shown up now and was regretting some of his earlier thoughts about gymnastics, 'I've never really seen gymnastics, apart from a couple of shots on T.V so I can only go on what I've seen'.

'Well you should come and see us!' cried Courfeyrac. At this, Enjolras's mouth gaped open and one of Combeferre's eyebrows went right up. 'Come and see us compete, we start in two days.'

'Errr, I don't know' stalled Grantaire. Courfeyrac was giving him puppy eyes and something within Grantaire very much wanted to say yes. Another part of him also wanted him to say yes, but Grantaire was going to think with his brain and not with his penis _goddammit._

'Well, if you came and saw us compete then, the least we could do is come and see you compete' suggested Combeferre. And now Enjolras was staring at Combeferre in horror 'I will NOT go and see two grown men who should know better knock each other senseless to prove who is the mightier' he said.

Really this was extra motivation for Grantaire. Getting to see Enjolras use those muscles he'd been stretching all morning and then having a chance to prove him wrong? What was not to like about this plan?

'Yeah okay.' He agreed.

'No' said Enjolras flatly. 'No, I won't allow it.'

'It's a free country Apollo, I can do anything I please and seeing you in tights will make my day.'

'They're not tights!' exclaimed Enjolras.

'Whatever.' said Grantaire, turning to Courfeyrac he said '7pm, SECC Precinct tomorrow evening, if you want to come.'

'Waaaaaht!' cried Courfeyrac, 'That's the same arena as the gymnastics! We'll only be next door!'

'No excuses not to come then' added Combeferre, 'We'll be there, all three of us.' Enjolras scowled at Combeferre.

At that moment they were distracted by a noise getting louder and louder.

'GRANTAIRE YOU PIECE OF SHIT WHERE ARE YOU!'

'Fuck' swore Grantaire as he hastily stood up and dusted himself off, 'Sorry guys that's my trainer, I've gotta go or else he'll castrate me.'

They could hear Feuilly hollering 'GRANTAIRE, YOU GET YOUR ARSE BACK HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD-'

Grantaire quickly shook hands with the Combeferre and Courferyrac (Enjolras turned his nose up snootily) and jogged off back towards Feuilly and the flat he shared with the other boxers.

He briefly wondered what he had let himself in for.


	2. Second Round

**_Enjolras_**

Stupid Combeferre and his stupid suggestion.

As if Enjolras didn't already have enough on his plate, what with the nation's hopes of a gold medal practically pinned to his chest; a heavy weight that seemed to drag him down every day. Now his best friend had to go and drag him to an overcrowded, sweaty, loud arena to see a godforsaken boxing match.

All he had been doing yesterday were his warm-ups, peacefully sitting outside in the patchy Glasgow sun, when Courfeyrac had to drag over that piece of unwashed scum. Grantaire had been mucky and sweaty and pungent, and so very very _raw_. Not at all like the refined, precise gymnasts Enjolras was used to hanging around with. His sport was at least aiming for perfection, whereas Grantaire's – and Enjolras refused to believe that boxing was a sport – _event_ couldn't be more base, more common, and more suited to Glasgow's streets than a world stage.

And he had just _sat_ there. Slumped like a sack of potatoes, not an ounce of grace or posture seemed to be in him. His shoulders were rounded and slightly lopsided, his back hunched over and his legs sprawled as if he was a rag doll and limbs were arbitrarily sewn on at different angles. His hair was a mess of tangles and he had a day's stubble on his chin. He was disgusting; the antithesis of elegant. It was almost physically painful for Enjolras to look at him.

The words that came out of his mouth weren't any better. He had a deep, coarse voice, and spoke with the rough, flat vowels and the characteristic drawn out aaa's of the Yorkshire accent. He argued like a tradesman, got riled like a dog and cursed like a sailor. There was absolutely nothing to like about him. And yet, Courfeyrac had taken to him like a brother. Enjolras snorted, Courfeyrac was an idiot, he loved him dearly, but he was an idiot. And he would realise it himself when he saw the _fight_ tonight.

The three of them, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras were sat in the stands of the boxing arena as it filled up with chattering spectators. St George's and St. Andrews's Crosses were being waved for England and Scotland respectively as the crowds showed allegiance to their countries; the usually United Kingdom reduced to warring clans, harking back to days of old. Their seats weren't too far from the boxing ring where the competitors would slog it out in the second round of bouts tonight. They would be able to get a good view of Grantaire when it was his turn to fight. According to Courfeyrac, his was one of the last matches.

'We also have to look out for a guy call Bahorel too.' Courfeyrac informed them, 'Apparently, Grantaire and him are sparring partners'

Enjolras snorted, 'This whole thing is repulsive' he said, 'How do we know it's over? When one of them is lying unconscious on the floor?'

'There are referees here' pointed out Combeferre, leaning over Courfeyrac to speak to him, 'and judges, a bit like how we have judges watching our routines Enjolras.'

'Oh _yes,_ gymnastics and boxing are _so similar_ because they both have _judges_' said Enjolras scathingly.

'Hey, you should give it a chance, Enj, stop being so dismissive of it' piped up Courfeyrac who was clutching his guide tightly.

'Why? _Why_?' cried Enjolras 'You do know boxing involves punching someone in the face Courfeyrac,'

'Oh stop it Enjolras' snapped Courfeyrac 'There are athletes here who have spent _years_ training for this, give them some credit.'

'Pack it in you two, Courfeyrac just concentrate on cheering for Grantaire, Enjolras shut up and cheer for him too' said Combeferre in his best authoritative tone. 'Do I have to sit in between you two?'

'No' replied Enjolras grumpily

'Yes' said Courfeyrac, 'I'm not sitting next to Mr. Douchebag here.'

There was some shuffling and Combeferre swapped seats with Courfeyrac. Enjolras huffed when Combeferre leaned over and said 'Seriously Enjolras, I understand why you don't like boxing but just accept that it _is_ _in_ the Commonwealth and Olympic Games and we know someone competing so put aside your objections and jump on the patriotic bandwagon and cheer for your country.'

Enjolras wrinkled his nose, but Combeferre was giving him his best _I am not putting up with your shit _look so he kept quiet and settled more comfortably in his seat to watch the evening's entertainment.

When the competitors came into the arena with a fanfare rivalling that of an American football game Enjolras questioned again why he even came here. He kept silent though, not wanting to provoke Combeferre's wrath again.

However, when the first pair of boxers stepped into the ring with their gloves strapped on, Enjolras sat bolt upright in his seat.

'They're… they're not wearing headguards?' he questioned, looking stunned at his two best friends.

Courfeyrac shook his head, 'Nope, apparently they've decided that head-guards cause more concussions than without, so they've scrapped them for the Games.'

'You're joking' said Enjolras.

'No I'm not!' cried Courfeyrac 'It says here in the guidebook' he passed over the booklet and Enjolras quickly read through the paragraph explaining the decision to do away with the head-guards in boxing.

'Jesus Christ' Enjolras breathed, 'This is going to be_ even_ worse!'

He could then only sit and watch as the first three fights went on and the competitors punched, jabbed and right hooked their opponents. It was everything Enjolras had been dreading, raw and primal, ugly and base. And yet how the crowds cheered; they screamed for more. Enjolras was reminded how crowds would gather in the past to witness an execution, baying for the blood of traitors. The raw, hungry, demanding needs of the crowd mentality were cruel.

And although the research seemed to suggest that boxers were less likely to get concussions without head-guards than with, the competitors now had no protection whatsoever against their opponents fists- that was, if they didn't keep their own up for defence. To Enjolras it was utter madness; without the head-guards the boxers were now vulnerable to getting cuts and grazes on their faces, and indeed one fight had to be retired because one competitor was bleeding so much from his chin it was likely he'd need stiches.

Safe to say, Enjolras was feeling pretty queasy by the time Bahorel walked into the arena.

'Oooh look! There he is!' said Courfeyrac excitedly, 'We need to cheer him on guys, he's friends with Grantaire!'

Bahorel looked like a machine. He was competing in the heavyweight division and Enjolras was fairly certain he was the human equivalent of a tank. The guy was pretty much just chocolate muscle from head to toe. Enjolras could feel Courfeyrac drooling all the way on the other side of Combeferre. 'I am so scared and so turned on right now' he said reverently.

'Courf, he could take you out with one swipe!' exclaimed Enjolras.

'Bloody hell' said Combeferre, eyes wide.

Courfeyrac's statement was proved to be true because in the second round Bahorel swung a punch to his opponent which knocked him to the floor. The ref counted for … 7,8,9, 10! Down and out. A knockout!

'Bloody hell' repeated Combeferre, stunned.

'Do you see now!?' said Enjolras gesturing to the dazed competitor who was being sort of carried and sort of dragged out of the ring, whilst Bahorel strode around the ring beating his chest like some wild mountain gorilla.

'Fuck me' breathed Courfeyrac, and it wasn't in disgust. Enjolras just groaned.

The next match was up and it was Grantaire's. 'Okay best cheering guys' said Combeferre, 'Enjolras you too, I want to hear you.'

There was no way on planet earth that Enjolras was going to cheer for a boxing match, it didn't matter who was competing. But, he reflected, Grantaire did look like he would need some sort of support to get him through this match. He looked pitiful next to his opponent, who, despite being in the same weight category, just seemed to take up more space than Grantaire. Also, after Bahorel, anyone was going to look tiny anyway.

Grantaire finished getting his last minute pep talk from his trainer who looked as scary as he had sounded yesterday, and stepped towards the centre of the ring to meet his competitor. Grantaire, recognisable with his dark, wayward curls was in blue, the lad from India was in red.

The first round was edgy, neither boxer landing many punches, both circling, trying to get a measure on the other, not wanting to get to close to the range of the other's gloves. After 2 minutes the boxers returned to their corners for a 1 minute break and to receive a talk from their coaches. In the red corner the coaches were gesturing wildly and egging their man on. In Grantaire's corner, his trainer was talking low and looking into his eyes.

'I wonder what he's saying' mused Combeferre.

'Probably smash the bastard's head in?' suggested Courfeyrac. Enjolras glared at him. 'What? It's a joke Enj, a fucking joke! Seriously through, Grantaire needs to get some punches in, it could go either way at the moment.'

Soon, time was up and they were back in the centre of the ring for the second round. Spurred on by his coaches, the Indian boxer went on the offensive striking left, right, high and low, Enjolras took in an anxious breath, _what? He couldn't help it! _This was endorsed violence and he didn't like anyone getting hurt….even Grantaire.

But Grantaire just weathered the attack, his arms up defensively, blocking the blows. Then, when the guy in red overreached on one of his swings, Grantaire bounced up with a jab to the chin and followed up with a left hook. Bang on target. Courfeyrac cheered, 'That's more like it! Bosh his face in Grantaire!' Enjolras was mortified, 'Sit down you idiot' he hissed trying to reach over Combeferre to tug Courfeyrac's shirt and make him sit down. Combeferre just sighed and separated the two, again.

There were not many more chances for Grantaire in the second round, but just before the bell he managed to get in another jab to his opponent's cheek. In return, the Indian boxer was unable to land more than a mild blow to Grantaire's torso. The second round finished on an uneasy lead for Grantaire.

They were sat quite close to the ring so Enjolras was able to see how much the second round took a toll on the boxer's bodies. Grantaire was now covered in a layer of sweat, his trainer was dousing him liberally with water from a drinks bottle, pausing only to pour some into Grantaire's mouth which he swallowed a little of then spat it out to the side. Enjolras screwed his face up 'That's just disgusting' he said.

'Enjolras, he's wearing a mouth-guard,' placated Combeferre 'I'm fairly sure they don't taste great so he's just washing his mouth out.'

Again, the break was up and the boxers back in the ring for the third and final round. This time Grantaire was on the offensive. All of the efforts by the Indian in the previous round had tired him out a lot more than Grantaire so this time the Englishman was able to land some good successive punches to his opponent's target area. 'Wooooooo, go Grantaire' yelled Courfeyrac along with the arena crowd who could sense a 'home' nation victory and were cheering him as well. It was soon clear that the red boxer had nothing else to give and Grantaire was motoring home to a victory when the bell rung and the noise in the arena erupted into cheers and claps for him. Combeferre gave Enjolras a pointed look, so he sighed and, with a roll of his eyes, clapped his hands…very…slowly. He still did not approve of boxing, he still didn't think it was a sport, it was still two men hitting each other, but perhaps some part of him was a teensy bit glad he hadn't witnessed Grantaire being taken apart by his opponent. _A very tiny part of him that is. _

The only thing left for Grantaire was the ref to raise his blue clad hand into the air and announce him the winner. A crooked smile broke across his face and he raised his hands to clap and acknowledge the crowd, then went to shake the hands of his opponent's trainers and the ref and gave his counterpart a brief conciliatory hug. He bounded over to his corner, gave the audience a quick wave and then ducked out of the ring to be escorted out of the arena.

'Blimey, they don't hang around do they?' said Courfeyrac, 'I was wanting lots more cheering and waving!'

'Well there are two other matches still to go tonight' replied Combeferre, 'And it is only the second round of the competition so far, so he's got a long way to go and needs to stay focused.'

'Ahh okay, he probably needs to rest up for his next fight' nodded Courfeyrac.

'Speaking of resting up..' chipped in Enjolras who was itching to leave the arena already, he had come for what he was supposed to see, now they could go, 'Can we head back already? I want to sleep well tonight for tomorrow.'

'Oh shit!' laughed Courfeyrac, 'I'd completely forgotten about tomorrow!' He stood up as the three of them edged out of their seats and headed for the arena exit, 'I was so excited about seeing Grantaire box I completely forgot!'

'How on earth could you forget that we're competing tomorrow!?' Enjolras said, exasperated.

'Well I remember now! I only temporarily forgot!' Courfeyrac said smiling, 'Chill Enjolras, it'll be fine, we'll get a good night's sleep and go get some gold coloured medals tomorrow.'

'That's easy for you to say' muttered Enjolras hunching his shoulders and looking down at his feet as they walked.

'Don't worry about it.' said Combeferre touching his elbow lightly, Enjolras appreciated the contact; it was warm and grounding. They left the SECC precinct and headed back to the athletes village. Combeferre kept chatting away to Courfeyrac, going over the fights they'd witnessed that evening, talking about Bahorel and Grantaire. Enjolras didn't join in, he was trying very hard not to think about tomorrow, and trying not to worry about it, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. And the more he thought about it, the more he worried about it. And then he remembered Grantaire was coming to watch him compete, and that worried him even more.

Eventually they arrived back at their little flat they shared and each said their goodnights as they went to bed. Enjolras was in his pajamas and just getting into his bed when there was a light knock at the door. It was Courfeyrac.

'Hey' he said quietly.

'Hey' replied Enjolras, 'What is it?'

Courfeyrac hesitated then said, 'Look I just wanted to apologise for being antagonistic tonight.'

'What?' said Enjolras, surprised sitting up on the bed with the covers around his waist. It was not like Courf to apologise for winding Enjolras up. It was part of their friendship; it was how they did things.

'Yeah, you heard right, I'm sorry.' Courfeyrac grimaced, 'Ugh I don't like apologising to you; it feels weird. But anyway, I also wanted to let you know that if you really didn't want Grantaire to come tomorrow evening then just say and I'll let him know. I don't want this messing with your head, I want you to be full on in the zone tomorrow because that gold medal has your name on it and you deserve it.'

'We all deserve it.' said Enjolras, 'It's a team effort.' He paused, knowing that Courfeyrac wanted an answer. He thought about whether he wanted Grantaire there or not. He really didn't like the guy and it made him a bit nervous thinking he was going to be there watching him. But, then, Enjolras had seen Grantaire (for want of a better word) _compete, _so he couldn't really turn around now and say no. Besides, here would be a chance to show Grantaire what a real sport was. Enjolras found himself liking that perspective more and more. _Yes, I'll show him what grace and poise and real strength looks like_, he thought.

With his mind made up he looked up at Courfeyrac and said 'No, I'll be okay with Grantaire there. Let him know the details and I'll prove gymnastics is not just _poncy posturing_.'

Courfeyrac grinned, 'Of course you will, brill! I'll let him know. Sleep well Enj.'

'You too' called out Enjolras as Courfeyrac exited his room and shut the door softly. Enjolras got under the covers, snuggling them up to his chin and settled down for sleep.

He found that he wasn't so worried any more.


	3. Mens' All-Around Team Finals

**_Grantaire_**

Grantaire was waiting in a queue to enter the SECC precinct and couldn't ever remember being this nervous. Not even for his first boxing fight, back when he was 14. _Nope, this was wayyyy scarier_. More terrifying even, than having Enjolras come and see him box yesterday evening. That he could handle, he was doing something he was good at, probably the only thing he was any good at-apart from drinking although he'd had to quit since he went serious about boxing- so yeah, boxing was about the only Grantaire was good at. And really, he hadn't thought much about Enjolras last night anyway, he'd been focused on the task at hand, which had been punching the crap out of his opponent. He couldn't afford to be thinking about very attractive guys watching him; Feuilly wouldn't let him for one thing. Grantaire told Feuilly everything and whilst he hadn't mentioned that Enjolras had been in the audience, he had told his trainer why he'd been so late off his warm-up run the other day. Feuilly had then told him in no uncertain terms that if he was going to let his head get turned by someone- be it a hot girl or hot boy then Grantaire could throw in the towel there and then. There was no room for 'squishiness' in Feuilly's boxing ring as he called it. Grantaire respected his trainer's rules, he really did, only he didn't respect them enough to stay away from Enjolras. Enjolras was like a sun, burning hot and bright and Grantaire was a comet, a crude, cold lump of metal and rock that was drawn into orbit around him. In short, nothing was going to keep Grantaire away from the gymnastics hall that evening, but it did mean his nerves were shot.

He didn't know what he was anxious about really, it was partly the anticipation of seeing Enjolras, seeing him compete and then a bit of worry about how good Enjolras was. _Because,_ thought Grantaire, _if he's any good then I probably won't be able to handle it and it might be the death of me_.

'Relax mate you're too wound up, I can see the tension in your shoulders through your hoodie.' Bahorel was stood behind him in the queue; Grantaire didn't know why he'd brought him along. _Oh yeah, because I might just die tonight, and I'll need someone to heft my corpse out of the building, _thought Grantaire.

They flashed their athlete passes to the door stewards and were waved through into the gymnastic arena. It was a large space with high ceilings and a complex looking layout where all the different apparatus were laid out in the middle of the hall. It was a far cry from the dark, close, boxing hall.

'Woah' exclaimed Bahorel at Grantaire's side, 'Look at this set up! It's fucking _huge_. Where are we supposed to sit?'

Grantaire fumbled for his phone in his hoodie pocket before drawing it out. He quickly brought up the message he'd received from Courfeyrac earlier. 'We can either sit by the pommel horse or by the floor section' he said to Bahorel 'as those are where the team put in strong performances.'

'Cool' nodded Bahorel, 'Only what the fuck is a pommel horse?'

'I think it's that thing over there' pointed Grantaire. Bahorel looked very sceptical, but the two of them meandered their way down to a pair of seats near to the funny-looking bench thing with handles.

'So this Courfeyrac bloke' started Bahorel once they'd settled in their seats, 'how do you know him again?'

'I told you, I ran into him whilst I was doing my warm-ups days before yesterday' replied Grantaire, 'him and his teammates were all doing their warm-ups and we just got talking.'

'Is Courfeyrac the one you like?' asked Bahorel.

'No' said Grantaire.

'Ah, so is he fair game then?'

'I suppose...' answered Grantaire.

'Can you ask him if he's single?'

'What?! No! exclaimed Grantaire, 'besides, they're on in 15 minutes'

'Awww come on mate' whined Bahorel. Grantaire hated it when Bahorel whined, it meant he had to do whatever Bahorel wanted because the next stage after whining was threatening…with fists. And although Grantaire was a pretty decent boxer, Bahorel was a heavyweight and could literally crush his skull between his hands.

'Fine but you won't get an answer' he grumbled, sending off a quick text to Courfeyrac.

**_G: Bahorel wants to know if you're single_**

He showed his text to Bahorel then hit send. He put his phone in his pocket because he wasn't expecting a reply as Courfeyrac was probably doing warm-ups or stretches or whatever it was the gymnasts did to prepare for their event Grantaire usually listened to music to get him revved up. _Oh_ _God, Enjolras is probably stretching right now, fuck, why did I have to think about that?_ Grantaire was now getting flashbacks from the other morning, seeing Enjolras's muscles ripple as he went through move by move. _Oh Christ._

Grantaire was startled from his daydreaming by his phone buzzing in his pocket. It was less than half a minute since he'd sent that text to Courfeyrac and here was the reply already?….or replies as it seemed.

**_C: Why does he want to know?_**

**_C: I am by the way _**

**_C: ;)_**

'Ugh… right, here you go' said Grantaire thrusting his phone at Bahorel. Bahorel read the messages and grinned. '_Get in'_ he said. Grantaire just rolled his eyes.

'Can you just take his number from my phone so I don't have to read all the inevitable sordid texts between you two?'

'Yeah hang on, give me a sec' said Bahorel, his bulky fingers skimming across the screen as he typed out replies.

'What are you saying?' said Grantaire leaning over to try and read his own phone screen.

'I'm asking him what he looks like.' Bahorel showed Grantaire his message.

**_G: Heyyy, this is Bahorel, on R's phone, what do you look like? ;)_**

'The fuck?'

'Hey they all came and saw us last night, right? So he's seen me but I don't know what he looks like, I really hope he's not a bum.'

'He's alright.' shrugged Grantaire, 'all three of them were pretty ripped.'

'But you liked what'shisname right?'

'Enjolras,'

'Yeah him…hah look!' Bahorel laughed a deep booming laugh and showed Grantaire Courfeyrac's message on the screen.

**_C: I'm so fit, if I were someone else I'd probably want to fuck me_**

'Jesus Christ' swore Grantaire as he snatched the phone back from his sparring partner. 'I'm texting you his number, do not contaminate my phone any further _please_.'

'I like him' announced Bahorel.

'Well I'm glad for you,' said Grantaire, 'Wish I could say the same for Enjolras'

'But I thought you fancied him?'

Just then Grantaire's phone buzzed. A message had come through from Courfeyrac, only, when Grantaire opened it- with Bahorel leaning over to peek- it read:

**_C: This is Enjolras, I am confiscating Courfeyrac's phone, he needs to focus. Tell your friend to stop flirting with my teammate, he is not available for the duration of the competition._**

'Fucking hell' breathed Bahorel, 'Why _do_ you fancy him? Sounds like a wanker'

'He is a bit' said Grantaire screwing up his face, 'But he's so fucking attractive like you wouldn't believe.'

'He's just got a shit personality' Bahorel nodded knowingly, 'Mate I've been there, only thing to do is sleep with 'em and move on' he said matter-of-factly.

'I don't have a fucking chance in hell' groaned Grantaire, 'Did I tell you he doesn't think boxing is a real sport?'

'You did mate, several times' said Bahorel, 'That's why we're here isn't it? Part of the deal right? He comes and sees you compete, you go see him compete.'

'Yes, well, I'm probably going to get a lot more out of seeing Enjolras than him seeing me.'

'What do you mean?'

'Mate, have you seen what gymnasts do? And _wear_?'

'Nope' said Bahorel smirking, 'But I _cannot wait_.'

It was at that moment that all of the gymnastics teams competing in the 2014 Glasgow Commonwealth Games walked out into the arena. Everyone in the crowd cheered and clapped as the Scottish team entered the hall alongside the various commonwealth nations. There was going to be fierce competition between the Scottish and English teams and the partisan spectators wanted to make their views known.

After the team announcements the groups of gymnasts all moved around to the various sections of the hall where they would be starting their bids for medals on different apparatus.

The English team would be starting on the vault which was diagonally across from where Grantaire and Bahorel were sitting. It wasn't the best view but Grantaire was able to point out Courfeyrac for Bahorel, whose smile just got wider and wider the more he stared. And then Grantaire pointed to Enjolras and Bahorel just whistled, 'Phew mate, you don't aim low do you?'

'Thanks for that, thanks a lot' said Grantaire sarcastically. He knew very well that Enjolras was way out of his league, but he didn't need people to say it out loud.

Enjolras was first up. He stood at the end of the runway in a tight vest and shorts. Short shorts, the sort of shorts athletes used to wear in the 80's. The ones that rode up at the sides when you did any sort of movement; the ones which showed an illegal amount of thigh on a man.

'Oh fuck' groaned Grantaire, hands over his face but fingers splayed so he could still see; he couldn't look away. 'Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck.'

'Good use of vocab' said Bahorel smirking and elbowing Grantaire in the ribs.

'Shut the fuck up. I'm trying to watch.'

Enjolras began his run. He ran at full pelt down the runway, jumped onto the springboard, planted his hands firmly onto the vault and launched into the air. He twisted, somersaulted and flipped into the air before landing, perfect on the line, on two feet, stretched up and presented his arms high. Triumphant. A fantastic opening.

'He's good' said Bahorel stating the obvious.

'Oh god this is unbearable.' said Grantaire, 'Why am I even here, he's so brilliant, I must look like an absolute sack of spuds in comparison.'

'Hey don't sell yourself short' protested Bahorel, 'You're an alright-looking, foul mouthed sack of spuds that can swing an almighty left hook.' He threw his head back and laughed at his own joke. This resulted in some hisses and shushes from fellow spectators, but Grantaire's best friend didn't care, and who was going to tell him to shut up? _A braver man than me_, thought Grantaire.

Next up was Combeferre, he ran and executed an almost equally impressive vault as Enjolras, his finish precise and calm. Finally, the third member of the English gymnastics team, Courfeyrac ran and only just managed to complete a flourishing vault, landing on both feet but having to take a large step back. He raised his arms with a sweep however and grinned to the audience and waved as he stepped down from the platform. It was clear that the English team were setting out to dominate the Commonwealth gymnastics team finals.

There was a bit of a break as the other teams attempted the vault, the Scottish guys looking the most threatening putting in strong performances. Then there was an interlude as the teams all marched around the hall to the next piece of apparatus. Bahorel and Grantaire looked on in amazement.

'This is hilarious' said Bahorel 'they're practically prancing around the hall in formation. Christ, imagine if we did that'

'Feuilly'd have an aneurism' stated Grantaire watching Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac strut across to the rings.

The rings were a brutal piece of apparatus. Two hoops suspended on ropes from which the guys hung and had to use all upper body strength to perform complicated swings and holds. Even Bahorel was impressed as the three English men performed routines which looked easy but in reality were almost impossible to achieve. Combeferre achieved the highest score out of everyone, securing England's place in the lead. Grantaire had been too nervous watching Enjolras during the rings to think about how attracted he was to him. Despite his teasing to Enjolras a few days ago when he'd said that gymnastics was poncy posturing, it had all gone out of the window now and Grantaire could only watch Enjolras's muscles tense and strain during the rings and hope that his core strength and determination didn't give way- it was a long drop down. Enjolras was nothing but not determined and so he had completed the routine and landed solidly but it was without and flourish or finesse; it was clearly a taxing apparatus. Courfeyrac was the weakest of the three and performed a safer, simpler routine and managed to land it fairly well, a step to the side was all.

'Mate, I don't think I'd even be able to just _hang_ from those rings, let alone do tricks on them' stated Bahorel.

'Yeah, I'm impressed' agreed Grantaire. The gymnasts were now all moving onto their next rotation of apparatus and this time it was the pommel horse; directly in front of where they were sitting. Courfeyrac looked up into the stands and spotted them, he waved enthusiastically, nudging Combeferre and Enjolras. Combeferre waved and gave a thumbs up to them, Enjolras merely glanced up, met Grantaire's eyes then looked away; aloof.

'What a wanker' whispered Bahorel who at the same time was gesturing 'call me' with his hands to Courfeyrac.

'He's a beautiful wanker though' sighed Grantaire. He was so fucked. Enjolras had changed into a pair of gym trousers which were loose and tight all at the same time. The ends hooked over his feet and when he pointed his toes the material went taught over all of the right, but so very wrong places.

'Oh fuck'

'You've just noticed the leggings?' asked Bahorel. 'They were all wearing them during the rings!'

'Well I had other things on my mind then' hissed Grantaire, 'Mainly praying that Enjolras wasn't going to fall and go splat on the floor, besides, they were all the way across the hall then. Now I'm front row to a _very_ attractive man wearing _very_ tight clothing, doing some sort of routine on a bench… with handles.'

'That sounds so wrong' pointed out his best friend. Grantaire could only groan.

Combeferre was up first for the English team and put in a solid performance, despite a couple of wobbles. Courfeyrac went second with a high complexity routine performed with what Grantaire could now see was his signature flair, he finished well and raised his hands high in the air to finish, then blew a kiss to Bahorel, who metaphorically snatched it out of the air and rubbed it onto his crotch.

'Jesus Bahorel!' yelped Grantaire 'You do know this event is being filmed on the BBC? You can't do stuff like that pre-watershed!'

'Oh stop it, you're too wound up, look your loverboy's up next' said Bahorel successfully distracting Grantaire who's head spun around so fast he thought he'd cricked something.

Enjolras stepped up onto the platform and hopped up next to the pommel horse. He grasped the two handles carefully, then his grip tightened as he swept himself up into the routine. Grantaire tried not to think of those hands grasping other things as he slowly became mesmerised by Enjolras's routine. It was quite hypnotic how he swung his legs up high, weaving over the pommel then sweeping low down the sides, never touching the apparatus. His hands beat out a rhythm on the leather as he travelled up and down the length of the pommel. He rotated around and around, intertwining figures of eight with 360 degree turns of his body, sometimes his legs followed him, sometimes they countered him. Sometimes his feet were glued together, other times they were wide, wide apart as his thighs stretched opposite to one another. Grantaire gulped, he needed to look away, this was too arousing, but he couldn't do anything but stare, transfixed. Too soon Enjolras was winding it up, legs swinging high into the air and he landed with a solid thud. Perfect landing, perfect performance and he knew it. His golden head lifted high as he stretch his arms high in the air to finish. Courfeyrac was wooping, Combeferre was clapping, even Bahorel was hollering next to him. Grantaire was aware that he had become quite uncomfortable in his jeans but that didn't stop him bringing his right hand up and, when Enjolras looked up into the stands directly at him, Grantaire saluted in response.

Enjolras looked shocked for a moment until Courfeyrac practically jumped on his shoulders in a tight embrace. Then a small smile, clearly only reserved for his friends broke out on that marble face.

'I don't even know_ why_ that was good, but that looked amazing!' cried Bahorel, clapping Grantaire on the back. 'You alright mate?'

'I'm great' said Grantaire through gritted teeth.

'Not sitting very comfortably I bet' Bahorel laughed, grabbing Grantaire's shoulders and shaking him.

'Oh fuck off' said Grantaire huffily as he extricated himself from Bahorel's gorilla arms. The teams were now moving onto their next rotation. It was the parallel bars, which was further around the hall from where Grantaire and his sparring partner were sitting. They didn't have a very good view of this piece; the angle was wrong to see the moves correctly. Grantaire didn't mind, this gave him an opportunity to calm down- to calm _certain parts_ of him down. _Fuck_. _Breathe. This idea of Combeferre's was such a bad, bad idea, _he thought. He should just get up and go, but he couldn't. He could only sit and endure the parallel bars, followed by the high bar; England running so far ahead with points that they couldn't possibly lose the gold medal now, and they were ending on the floor apparatus, one of their collectively strongest pieces.

Combeferre put in quite a conservative but well executed performance, Grantaire could now recognise each of the team members style. Combeferre was cool, calm and collected, precise as could be. Courfeyrac was flamboyant, enthusiastic, his routines were always greeted with cheers. Enjolras was aggressive, determined, and made a statement with everything he did, challenging those before or after him. He held his head high, daring the judges to mark him down.

He cut a striking figure on the floor, running and tumbling, twisting and leaping, a beautiful athletic Adonis. Where the vault was an instant, the rings were strength, the pommel consistency, the parallel bars symmetry, the high bar rotation; the floor was the chance for the athletes to show their personality, their creativity. Enjolras's personality shone through, he was uncompromising, tackling moves with high difficulty effortlessly, he was unwavering, he was fierce, he was magnificent.

Grantaire was so, so screwed.

As Enjolras landed his triple half twist with only a minor hop back the crowd cheered, and they wouldn't stop cheering until the gold medal was hung around the entire England team's necks. All three guys couldn't stop smiling. Combeferre wiped a little tear from his eye as Jerusalem rang out across the hall and the English flag raised in the air, followed by Scotland's and Canada's flags. Enjolras stood proud, Courfeyrac beamed.

After the medal ceremony the SECC crowd started to disperse; it was getting on for 10pm. Grantaire and Bahorel had to be heading off too; they had quarter-final bouts tomorrow evening and needed the rest. But when Bahorel suggested going down to speak to the guys, Grantaire could only nod numbly and traipse along behind him.

Enjolras's performance had left Grantaire shocked. He'd not been sure what to expect, he'd been nervous, nervous for both Enjolras and himself. But Enjolras had won the gold medal! And Grantaire had got to see him compete! Only thing was, he could feel himself moving away from pure physical attraction and edging closer and closer towards something else which was much more frightening. He'd been rooting for Enjolras the whole evening, but when he'd been nervous for the guy when he was on the rings and then when he'd been aroused by his performance on the pommel horse Grantaire had realised that his feelings were getting all muddled up. He didn't know what to think anymore; all he knew was that he needed to tread carefully so as not to end up caring for Enjolras or anything. Physical attraction was all it was; he could just about handle that.

He and Bahorel waited by the staff doors for about 20 minutes before the athletes began trickling out. It was another 5 minutes before the English team emerge from their changing rooms. By this time Grantaire was itching to forget the whole thing and just leave, he was pacing up and down, nervous to see the guys. Bahorel ordered him to chill, but Grantaire was struggling, he simultaneously wanted to see Enjolras but also didn't. Time was ticking on and Feuilly was going to have his balls for breakfast if he didn't get back soon. But then Courfeyrac's shout interrupted his thoughts and he was pulled into a hug.

'Grantaire! How are you? We haven't seen you since we met the other day, well we've seen you, cos we came to see you box, but we haven't spoken to you in agggeesss!'

'Hi Courfeyrac nice to see you too' gasped Grantaire under Courfeyrac's not very light weight.

'How are you from last night?' asked Combeferre coming to stand next to Courfeyrac who had finally released Grantaire from his hug.

'Not too bad, he didn't really get me to be honest, probably looked worse than it was. The bloke couldn't land a punch for liquorice' said Grantaire a hand going to run through his hair, it was a nervous habit of his and it was because he had just spotted a golden head of hair emerging from the athlete's-only door. Enjolras's curls were dripping onto his England t-shirt, he'd clearly just had a shower. _Do not think about him naked. Do not think about him….shitting fuck. _Grantaire blinked hard and tried to shake those thoughts from his head.

To distract himself he introduced everybody. 'Guys this is my mate Bahorel, Bahorel this is Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras'. Bahorel shook hands with them all, adding a wink to his lingering handshake with Courfeyrac.

Enjolras made a noise of disgust when he glanced over at Courfeyrac and Bahorel who'd started up an innuendo ridden conversation.

'Best just to leave them to it' said Grantaire as he put his hands in his hoodie pockets and started to move away from the pair and towards the athletes village with Combeferre and Enjolras.

'Mate do not be late or Feuilly will murder you' he called over his shoulder; Bahorel merely waved half-heartedly back, his attention focused elsewhere.

'Enjolras don't' said Combeferre as Enjolras opened his mouth to complain. 'Courfeyrac worked hard tonight, you know he's not competing in the all-arounds, only the individuals so leave him be.'

'What's that?' asked Grantaire.

'Ah,' said Combeferre, 'Well in two nights time we have the all-around finals, then two nights after that we have the individual apparatus finals. Enjolras is the only one competing in all three, I'm just in the team all around and the individual all-around finals and Courf is only in the team and in the individual solo apparatus finals, you see?'

'Sort of' replied Grantaire, 'Well done on your medals tonight by the way guys, I was really, really impressed'

'Were you?' said Enjolras sharply. He'd been walking back towards the athlete's village with Combeferre and Grantaire but had been a step or two behind them. He now drew level with Grantaire, looking at him straight and said 'Because I got the impression that you were mocking the entire thing'

'What?' said Grantaire confused 'How'd you get to that one?'

'You're stupid little salute' said Enjolras 'If it was not intended to mock then-'

'Hey' interrupted Grantaire 'I was saying well done okay?'

'Well it certainly did not come across that way' argued Enjolras.

'Jesus! It was just a way of saying well done! Well done, congrats, you were great. How explicit do you want me to say it?'

'I-' began Enjolras.

'No, I get it' carried on Grantaire, 'You thought I wouldn't be impressed by your sport, you clearly thought I would behave _like you_ and hate it. Well I don't give a fuck what you think Apollo, I came here tonight with an open mind and wanting you to prove me wrong, well you did it, well done. I was wrong gymnastics is a sport that requires strength and finesse. And you were brilliant. I only wish you could be so open-minded that you might try to see boxing as something worth doing. But clearly me and my sport just aren't good enough for you' Grantaire finished; breathless from his rant.

Enjolras just stared at him, but then he opened his mouth, to retaliate most likely.

'Save it Apollo' hissed Grantaire and with that he stalked off on another route back to his flat in the athletes village, resolutely trying not to feel hurt by what had just happened.


	4. Quarter-Finals

**_Enjolras_**

Enjolras rolled over and tried to punch his pillow into a more comfortable shape, but it was no use, he just wasn't going to get any more sleep. He should be blissfully dreaming right now, he'd just won a Commonwealth Gold medal! This was the peak of his career so far; the perfect stepping stone to the Olympics, he should be happy.

But he wasn't happy. He wasn't sure how he felt, he'd not really felt like this before, what was it? It was a sort of bad feeling, he felt like he shouldn't have made assumptions, particularly assumptions about a certain boxer. _No, it couldn't be. It couldn't…be…guilt? Am I feeling guilty? _

Enjolras thumped his head back onto the pillow. He felt disgusted, once he'd named it, the feeling had reared up within him, yes, it was definitely guilt. He'd never really felt guilty before. He grimaced; it was not a nice feeling. Enjolras reached out for his phone on the bedside cabinet and sent a quick text to his best friend. He wasn't expecting, but was hoping, for a reply.

**_E: How do you stop feeling guilty?_**

The reply came through a few minutes later:

**_Ferre: Say you're sorry_**

Combeferre didn't even need to ask what it was about, he knew. But his answer wasn't one Enjolras was happy with. He didn't want to say sorry to Grantaire, but he didn't want to feel like this either. He rolled over with a groan and sulked into his pillow.

Even though they'd already won a gold medal there was no let-up in training for the three English gymnasts. Courfeyrac was allowed a lie-in because he wasn't competing for another couple of days. Courfeyrac was also having a lie in because he hadn't got back to the flat until 4am in the morning. Enjolras didn't want to know what he and Bahorel had been doing, something awful judging by the huge smirk Courfeyrac had plastered all over his smug little face when he'd finally shown himself later.

However, Enjolras and Combeferre had to be in the gym first thing in the morning, with coach LeMarque putting them through their paces. Training was intense, but with the results paying off so spectacularly last night, Enjolras was determined to keep his body in peak condition to give himself the best chance of doing well in the all-around final. They wrapped up things around 12:30 and went to the athlete's canteen to get some healthy lunch.

'Have you apologised to Grantaire yet?' asked Combeferre when he sat down opposite Enjolras on one of the canteen tables.

Enjolras pulled a face.

'You need to you know, his next fight's at 3 this afternoon, you should tell him before he goes in the ring'

'I don't want to apologise and I don't want to go and see him fight' Enjolras said, 'This stupid little deal of yours has gone too far, we've seen each other compete, let's leave it at that, one each.'

'Hang on Enjolras, that's hardly fair on both counts' pointed out Combeferre, 'Firstly, you do need to say sorry to him, you assumed he was making fun of you when actually he was being sincere, I know he has an argumentative personality,' the _and-so-do you_ was heavily implied, 'but you should have given him a chance to show you how genuinely impressed he was. Secondly, he's seen you in a final, and he's seen you win it. You ought to at least go and support him in his matches until he goes as far as he can in his competition. Think about it, he saw you in six events last night; you've only seen one fight.'

'And that was one fight too many for me' replied Enjolras angrily. 'Do you not see how _brutal_ a sport boxing is? It's absolute madness!'

'Enjolras,' said Combeferre sternly 'You will apologise and you will come with me and Courfeyrac this afternoon.'

Enjolras just glowered, he hated being told what to do, but Combeferre could be downright dictatorial when he put his mind to it and there was no use arguing.

The three gymnasts were sat in the boxing arena a couple of hours later awaiting Grantaire's next match. It was the quarter-finals and the competition was heating up; Grantaire's opponent would be a former Olympic bronze medallist from Nigeria.

There wasn't much conversation between the gymnast teammates. Combeferre and Enjolras had both forbidden Courfeyrac from sharing details from the previous night and he was now sulking on Combeferre's right hand side. Enjolras was also being quite quiet that afternoon, but he wouldn't tell the other two what was up, and so the three of them sat mostly in silence waiting for Grantaire to appear from the wings.

His entrance was announced to loud cheers from the crowd. Unlike the gymnastics hall, the boxing arena was small and confined, there was a much more packed-in feeling, noises were louder, emotions ran higher.

Grantaire's trainer strapped on his gloves for him and gave him a slap on the back as the Englishman stepped into the ring to meet his opponent. Enjolras couldn't see Grantaire's face from where they were sat, but he looked up to the big screen to see a close up. Grantaire looked tense, Enjolras supposed there was nothing unusual in that- he was about to fight after all. However, it didn't sit well with his features and Enjolras felt a twinge of guilt at that.

The fight didn't start well at all.

The Nigerian boxer in red began on the attack straight away, putting Grantaire on the back foot, defences up. Grantaire was backed into the corner, no way out. His opponent didn't give him a chance to get any sort of counter attack in. Enjolras found himself holding his breath until the ref stepped in a separated the two, bringing the boxers back into the centre of the ring to start again. This time Grantaire managed to get a few swipes in, however, it only looked like one of them landed. Then, the Nigerian was back on the offensive and hammering into Grantaire once more.

'He's not giving him a chance to get anything in there!' cried Courfeyrac.

'This is not looking like a good start' agreed Combeferre. Enjolras remained silent.

The rest of the round was not good for Grantaire; the Nigerian boxer was completely laying into him and soon the two minutes was up and Grantaire retired to his corner looking tired already.

'This is not good' said Courfeyrac.

'Well he had a shaky start last time don't forget' pointed out Combeferre, 'Maybe he's just storing energy.'

Courfeyrac gave a smile which didn't show much confidence.

'You alright?' asked Combeferre turning to Enjolras quietly.

'Oh…yeah, why wouldn't I be?'

'Well I expected you to be moaning about the whole thing to be honest' said Combeferre, 'You're being unusually quiet.'

'I'm fine' he lied, he _was_ out of sorts but there was no way he was going to say so to his best friend, and no way he was going to say _why_ either.

Back in the centre of the arena, Grantaire's trainer was squatting down before him, looking him in the eye and talking forcefully probably hoping to spur Grantaire on to be more aggressive. The bell went and the boxers returned to the centre of the ring. Grantaire started the second round holding off the Nigerian with some well-placed punches and jabs but then it all went downhill from there, the Nigerian capitalised on a slight over-swing from the Englishman and retaliated harshly, practically pummelling Grantaire into the side barriers of the ring. Even when Grantaire tried his best to move out of the way of the Nigerian's arms the boxer in red followed him. It was soon clear that Grantaire was going to have a mountain to climb if he wanted to emerge victorious from this fight. The bell to end the second round couldn't come any sooner.

Courfeyrac groaned and put his head in his hands, 'Noooooo this is not looking good!'

Combeferre had gone tight lipped and was gripping the armrests of the plastic seats they were sitting on. Enjolras felt quite numb, Grantaire was getting _absolutely hammered_ out there.

'It's almost like he isn't even putting up a fight' said Combeferre. Enjolras stared ahead to the ring, he could see Grantaire's trainer practically shouting at him, gesturing wildly, but Grantaire's face was blank, resigned. His black curls hung over his face as he looked down at the floor.

'It looks like he's given up' said Courfeyrac, 'It doesn't even look like him out there.'

'No it doesn't' said Combeferre thoughtfully, 'Grantaire's usually so tenacious, why's he suddenly not…oh…'

'Oh what?' asked Courfeyrac, Combeferre had turned around to face Enjolras properly now. Enjolras refused to look at him. _Don't stare at me like that Combeferre._

_'_You didn't apologise did you?' said Combeferre astutely.

Enjolras ignored him. _Stop staring at me like that!_

_'_Did you?' asked Combeferre more forcefully.

'What didn't Enjolras do?' enquired Courfeyrac.

Combeferre explained, 'Grantaire congratulated us last night, but Enjolras thought he was making it up and called him out on it. Obviously Grantaire took offence because he was being genuine but Enjolras didn't believe him. This is on top of Enjolras's ridiculous attitude to boxing which Grantaire also got fed up with.' Courfeyrac looked shocked at this, and followed it up with a frown at Enjolras.

'I made a mistake, fine. Can we get on with watching this stupid match? Look they're back in the ring' said Enjolras trying to distract the other two. It didn't work.

'Enjolras how could you be so insensitive?' said Courfeyrac

'Insensitive to what?'

'That basically proves my point' said Courfeyrac throwing his hands in the air.

Enjolras didn't know why they were making such a big deal over this. He hadn't apologised to Grantaire despite him feeling guilty. He didn't like to be ordered about and his rebellious streak had risen within him resulting in him not wanting to send any sort of apologetic message to Grantaire. It hadn't helped, he still felt guilty, only now he was angry as well.

'Enjolras, don't you see what you've done?' said Combeferre sadly. 'Grantaire is going to lose this match because his head's not in the right place.'

Courfeyrac snorted, 'Lose? He's getting ripped to shreds out there!' The sounds of the crowd reflected this with the Nigerian fans going wild, sensing near victory amid groans of the English supporters. Enjolras couldn't look at Grantaire; there was a furious Combeferre in the way.

'Well maybe he's not trying hard enough!' yelled Enjolras, _It's not my fault he's losing!_

'What the hell Enjolras?! I cannot believe you!' shouted Courfeyrac over the noise of the Nigerian fans who were getting louder and louder.

'You've fucked up Enjolras' said Combeferre loudly. Enjolras was jolted from his seat; his best friend did _not_ swear; he was always so calm and collected. Now though, he was absolutely seething. 'I told you to apologise, after _you_ asked _me_ how to stop feeling guilty. I was so pleased you actually felt something, now you've gone and made everything worse. I hope you feel like shit.'

'Jeez 'Ferre' said Courfeyrac, 'When you let loose you _really _let loose... Not that I'm saying it's not justified' he added, catching Enjolras's eye and glaring at him.

'I….I….' Enjolras just stuttered. Both his friends had turned on him; he didn't know what to do. 'I…..um…' _I don't know what's happening, why do I feel like this?_

_Ding Ding! _

The bell.

Enjolras felt like the bottom had dropped away from his stomach, he lurched forward to get a view of the boxing ring. Grantaire was barely standing, he was hunched over, clutching his side. The Nigerian boxer was jumping up and down, punching the air and waving to the Nigerian fans in the stands. The ref reached out to grasp each of the boxers' hands and, after an awkward wait raised the red fist of the Nigerian boxer into the air. Grantaire's trainer rushed into the ring to help his boxer stand up. Enjolras couldn't see Grantaire's face; all he could see were the messy black curls. He wanted to see his face, to know that he was okay. But it was quite clear that he was not.

Enjolras felt like everything was rising up to smother him, a wave crashing over his head, he couldn't breathe. He watched Grantaire be heavily supported by his team out of the arena. Then, Combeferre was grasping his upper arm and practically dragging him out of his seat.

'What…where are we going?' asked Enjolras as Combeferre headed out of the stands although not towards the exit of the whole precinct but instead down several corridors towards the backstage area. Courfeyrac followed along behind them.

'We're going to see Grantaire.'

They continued on in silence after that. Enjolras's head was spinning, Grantaire had _lost_. Of all the things tonight, he hadn't expected that to happen. Grantaire was supposed to be good at boxing. Why had this happened?

_Was it really because of me?_ Enjolras really didn't want to answer that question, it made all the feelings rushing around inside him threaten to swell and he actually felt a bit sick.

_Is it my fault?_

They came to a halt in front of the England male boxers' holding rooms and Combeferre knocked a couple of times. There was a pause then the door was yanked open by none other than Bahorel.

'What…oh hey guys…what are you doing here?' his deep voice reverberated around the close corridor.

'Enjolras has something he would like to say to Grantaire.' Combeferre was stood stiffly and thrust Enjolras forward. Enjolras didn't appreciate being spoken about as if he wasn't there, but he knew he was in deep trouble with his friends so he didn't protest.

'Ah,' Bahorel looked down at Enjolras, which was saying something because Enjolras was pushing 6,4" himself. 'Right…well. I don't think that's the best thing for him right now, he's in a bad way, body and mind all over the place, Feuilly's going apeshit.'

'It won't take long' insisted Combeferre but Bahorel looked sceptical. He was dressed in his fight gear so he obviously had a match coming up later that afternoon.

'Please B' said Courfeyrac, coming to stand next to the other two. Enjolras was pretty sure Courfeyrac was pulling his puppy dog eyes on Bahorel and there wasn't a person on earth who could resist that.

'Alright, but it had better be quick,' Bahorel warned them as he stepped aside and held open the door for the three gymnasts to move through into the holding rooms. One wall was lined with lockers and there were seats as well as physio tables as well as training equipment strewn about here and there. Enjolras would normally turn his nose up at the untidiness of it all, but he was so shaken from everything that he found he hardly noticed or cared.

'He's through here' gestured Bahorel and he led them through a series of rooms, where the sounds of people arguing got louder and louder.

'Ow fuck….that hurts' came Grantaire's pained gasps.

'Well it better fucking hurt! What the fuck were you thinking? Did you even _bother_ to fight out there?!' came a loud voice, obviously Feuilly's.

Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac rounded the corner behind Bahorel to see Grantaire laid back on a physio table, shirt off and a medical attendant bent over his chest, stretching his arm up to get a good look at Grantaire' ribs which were starting to go a mottled dark colour already. Grantaire was obviously in pain because he had turned his face into the pillow and had his eyes screwed shut 'Jesus…._fuck_…' he groaned as the medic prodded his chest a little. With this going on, he hadn't seen the new arrivals, Feuilly had however.

'And who in God's name are you?' he rounded on them.

Grantaire's eyes flew open and he looked directly at Enjolras. His green eyes pierced Enjolras's blue ones and Enjolras felt something squeeze in his chest, Grantaire's look of shock quickly turned into pain, which could have been from his ribs but Enjolras suspected it was because of something else…._him. Great now I feel even worse. _He gulped.

Feuilly was stood before them, a shortish, ginger, Irishman dressed in the team England staff kit. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and his face was flaming red from either shouting, or anger, or quite possibly, both.

'Hello' started Combeferre pleasantly, 'My name is Combeferre, this is Courfeyrac and Enjolras and we're friends of Grantaire's, we would-'

'Enjolras?' barked Feuilly, looking at him sharply. Enjolras felt uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. Feuilly turned back to Grantaire on the bench, the boxer was still staring at Enjolras but quickly snapped his attention to his trainer. 'This him?' Feuilly asked to Grantaire who nodded, then winced.

This conformation was seemingly all Feuilly needed to then commit bodily assault on the gymnast. Enjolras found himself slammed into the brick wall, held up by Feuilly's meaty hands gripping his sweatshirt. He had all the wind knocked out of him and was gasping, panting for breath.

'Hey!' shouted Bahorel stepping into stop things. Feuilly held up one hand and Bahorel stopped in his tracks. Enjolras realised then how much power Feuilly had and started to feel a little scared. The boxing trainer was very much the one in control here.

'Now, you.' Said Feuilly in a snarl, 'Would you like to explain to me what you have done to debilitate my star boxer so he can no longer even function?'

'I…I..I..' Enjolras was stammering again. Twice, in the same afternoon, he had been so thrown off balance- one time actually thrown into a wall- that he had lost basic cognitive function. _This is not good._

'Mr Feuilly sir' began Courfeyrac in a small voice.

'Shut up boy' growled the trainer. There was silence, apart from Grantaire and Enjolras's shallow breathing, both of them having difficulties but for different reasons.

'Sir..I don't know what you're talking about' said Enjolras, trying to wriggle so he was more comfortable, but Feuilly's grip on him would not budge.

'Don't lie to me!' shouted Feuilly, 'What did you say to him, what did you do?'

'I didn't do anything …Grantaire and I had a disagreement last night. That was all' protested Enjolras raising his hands in a submissive gesture. Feuilly didn't look convinced.

'Sir, you may want to put down the English gymnastic gold medallist,' pointed out Combeferre who was standing next to Courfeyrac looking worried.

'Feuilly put him down' wheezed Grantaire from the table. 'It's got nothing to do with him, it's my fault, I'm the one who lost.'

'You weren't in your right mind today' grumbled Feuilly to his mentee, his hold on Enjolras slackened a little bit, 'You're the best out there Grantaire, when you put your mind to it, but you were lousy today, something got to you and if it's this boy' Enjolras was unceremoniously bumped into the wall again just to emphasis the trainer's point, 'then he should know he's cost you a medal'.

'He hasn't cost me anything' Grantaire replied, but even Enjolras could tell he was lying; the way Grantaire's head ducked, curls covering his face, the biting of his bottom lip. It hit home to Enjolras just how awful his attitude towards the boxer had been. Right from the start he'd disliked him, he hadn't even given Grantaire a chance! And now, now, he was battered and bruised and had nothing to show for it. Enjolras knew how important it was to be in the right frame of mind for a competition and he had been deliberately argumentative and narrow minded towards the dark haired man. This was Grantaire's career and Enjolras had continuously looked down on him throughout their short acquaintance, how could he be so cruel? _Very easily _he thought, _you didn't even care did you?_

'Can..Can I please have a word with Grantaire alone?' he asked, trying hard to keep his voice level. Feuilly looked at him in disbelief, 'If you think for one minute I'm going to leave you alone with-'

'Feuilly it's okay,' said Grantaire, 'Let him have 5 minutes.'

'Come on coach' said Bahorel, putting a hand on Feuilly's shoulder and encouraging him away. Feuilly acquiesced, hands dropping to his sides, but he glared at Enjolras the entire way out of the room. The medic, who hadn't bothered to say anything the entire time, followed with Combeferre and Courfeyrac right behind. Courfeyrac said quietly 'We'll be right outside' as he pulled the door to.

'Well..' said Grantaire from where he was lying prone on the physio table, 'You've got 5 minutes, make it quick.'

Enjolras just sagged against the wall. It hurt a lot when you got slammed into one, but then again, Grantaire had just been beaten up so he couldn't really complain.

'You're trainer's tough' he half laughed.

Grantaire didn't buy the interlude, 'What is it Apollo?'

Enjolras took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, he tugged his sweatshirt down straightening it out. 'I'm sorry' he said sincerely.

Grantaire just stared. 'That's it?'

'What's it? Oh, yeah, I….um…I'm really sorry, about last night, about everything really. I'm sorry for being narrow-minded and saying that boxing wasn't a real sport and saying that you weren't a sportsman. You are good at what you do, and I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to prove it tonight' Enjolras was thumbing the material of his sweatshirt as he stumbled on the words, _why is this so difficult to talk to him? _

Grantaire was still staring at him, 'Are you…are…did you hit your head or something Apollo? Did Feuilly give you concussion? What did…what are you saying?'

'I'm apologising!' Enjolras almost shouted, 'Why can't you just accept that?'

'Jesus Apollo, I accept your apology! Alright?' Grantaire was trying to sit up as he spoke but was having difficulty. Enjolras moved forward to help him; he grasped under Grantaire's left shoulder and placed another hand on his waist to steady him and together they got him up into a sitting position. Enjolras stepped back and removed his hands from Grantaire's skin very quickly, he was hot and sweaty and when Enjolras had leaned in to help him up his face had come close to Grantaire's neck, and he had smelled really, _really_ good.

_Well that's confusing._

_'_Okay, well, great thanks' said Enjolras trying to appear as if he was fine and hadn't been at all affected by touching Grantaire's very naked chest. He tried not to look at him, at the dusting of dark hair over his torso and he definitely _was not looking_ at the darker trail of hair going lower over Grantaire's abdomen and disappearing into his shorts. _This is very very confusing._

'Did what I say really impact on your performance today?' Enjolras asked. Both Feuilly and Combeferre had said that but he wanted to know from Grantaire, maybe this was just twisting the spike of guilt inside him even deeper but he wanted an answer.

Grantaire screwed up his face in reply. Enjolras's heart sank. 'Maybe, I don't know Apollo, my head was all over the place. But' he said in a more panicked tone, he must have seen Enjolras's face 'It was me in the ring, I am the one responsible for my actions not you, and I was not on top form today.'

'Grantaire, I am so sorry' said Enjolras, his voice breaking. _God what is wrong with me? '_Why did you even listen to me? You should have just ignored me!'

'Hah' laughed Grantaire which caused him to tense up in pain. Enjolras stepped in closer to him, he didn't know why, it was a knee-jerk reaction; he wanted to be able to help. 'You're pretty hard to ignore Apollo.'

'What… what do you mean?' said Enjolras scouring Grantaire's face for an explanation. Grantaire just looked up at him, eyes wide, impossibly green.

'Enjolras…..' said Grantaire almost reverently, his tone making something stir in Enjolras's gut. 'Enjolras you-'

But then the door to the room crashed open making both of them jump. Courfeyrac came stumbling in, 'Grantaire!' he cried.

'Shut up, I'm telling him!' yelled Feuilly striding into the room. 'Get up kid, you're going to the semi-finals!'

'The fuck?' exclaimed Grantaire.

'The Nigerian lad just failed his post-match drugs test' announced Bahorel also entering the room with Combeferre who was beaming. 'Evidence of doping detected, he's been disqualified which means you advance to the next round instead.'

'The fuck?' repeated Grantaire looking from face to face as if he was waiting for someone to declare the whole thing a joke. He glanced back up to Enjolras shock on his face. Enjolras smiled down at him and extended his hand, 'Congratulations' he said and they shook on it.


	5. Mens' All-Around Individual Final

**_Grantaire_**

They'd said he hadn't broken his ribs, they were only bruised. _Great, that makes me feel a whole better, _he'd thought sarcastically. His side hurt like a bitch; even just breathing was painful._ Thank fuck for cocodamol._

He was currently propped up in bed, several pillows supporting his weight, he had exactly 24 hours from now until his fight tomorrow in which to recover enough to beat his opponent. But confined to bed rest he was so _bored_.

Feuilly had found out about the deal between Grantaire and Enjolras and had predictably banned him from attending the gymnast's remaining events. Grantaire had fully planned on sneaking out of his room in the athlete's village (with the assistance of Bahorel of course) and making his way to the SECC precinct to uphold his side of the bargain. However, his plan had been scuppered when not only Bahorel but the entire England men's gymnastics team had turned around and forbidden him from coming. Grantaire groaned, this was so unfair, why were they ganging up on him?

'Look' Courfeyrac had said, 'There's no point risking your health and fitness to just come and see us, it's all on the BBC red button, just watch us on telly.'

And when Grantaire had protested furiously at this, Enjolras had crouched low and said to him 'Grantaire, you've been given a second chance, don't be stupid and waste it because of the deal. Watch us on TV and then we'll come and support you tomorrow night.'

There hadn't been much Grantaire could say to that, mostly because he'd just been floored due to Enjolras saying he would come and _support _him, not come and see, not come and reluctantly watch, no, come and _support _him.

Ergo, Grantaire was propped up in bed, protein shake and celery sticks (yes celery sticks) on his bedside cabinet in case he got peckish _I'm not a rabbit you twats_, and the gymnastics all-around individual men's final on the telly.

It was simultaneously worse and better than being there to see it live. Worse, because the cameras kept cutting away from the English gymnasts to focus on other competitors; _as if there are other competitors_ thought Grantaire, rolling his eyes. _Come on, focus the cameras on Enjolras!_

However, it was far, far better because of the super-slow motion camera replays and the close ups that the BBC cameras allowed. Grantaire was able to see every emotion flash across Enjolras's face as he performed on each apparatus. He could see the focus, the tension, the strength, the determination, the strain and finally the triumph as Enjolras wiped the floor with the other competitors.

The close-ups also meant he got an incredible look at Enjolras's arse and thighs and _fuck_ arm veins.

Combeferre was also doing well, he was looking set to be in the medals too, only there was fierce competition for second and third place between him and the Scottish champion, who of course had the Glaswegian crowd backing him all the way.

Also, because he was watching it on the television, Grantaire had the advantage of the commentators, he listened out for what they said and found himself learning more and more about this sport. It was athletic, required strength and poise, precision and control. Enjolras was the true embodiment of all of these that evening.

Grantaire munched on his celery sticks, _yeah whatever,_ and tried to not get too turned on by what he was seeing.

He was roused from his avid watching by someone banging on the door to the flat.

'Hold on!' he called out as he slowly rolled to the side and sat up out of bed. He carefully padded over towards the door and unlocked it to find Courfeyrac on the other side.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' he blurted out.

'I'm here to keep you company as you ogle Enjolras's arse' replied Courfeyrac cheerfully.

'I'm not….oh for fucks sake, just come in'. Courfeyrac was giving him a knowing smirk so Grantaire turned his back on the annoying gymnast and said, 'Can I offer you anything? Protein shake, carrots?' he brandished a bag of sliced carrots from the kitchenette counter.

'Ugh fuck no' answered Courfeyrac as he followed Grantaire through the flat, 'I brought my own snacks to share'. Grantaire looked back and saw that Courfeyrac was drawing out a bag of popcorn and several bags of sweets from his jacket pockets.

'Cheers mate' said Grantaire, 'Come on, telly's this way, I better get back in bed or Feuilly really will break one of my ribs.'

'Right you are!'

The two of them ended up both sitting on Grantaire's bed as it was the only comfy thing in the sparsely furnished room. Grantaire was propped up by the pillows and Courfeyrac sat further down the bed his back leaning against Grantaire's brought-up knees. They swapped the popcorn and sweets back and forth between them as Courfeyrac passed excellent commentary on what was happening on the screen in front of them. Until: 'Combeferre you dick! Focus on what you're doing!'

'What's happened?' asked Grantaire worriedly.

'He's let the Scot get to him that's why, he's not completely in the zone, you can tell because his left arm is giving way, it's his weaker side and it gives a bit if he's not totally focused on counterbalancing it.'

Grantaire wouldn't have been able to tell at all, he was a complete novice when it came to gymnastics, he was still at the awestruck phase of 'ohmygod they're strong _and _flexible!'

'How bad is it?' he asked the gymnast.

'Hmmm' pondered Courfeyrac, he was chewing on a strawberry lace with eyes fixed on the screen, 's'gonna be a few hundredths off I think.'

'A few hundredths?' Grantaire exclaimed, 'Man, I thought you were saying he'd lost a medal or something!'

'In gymnastics a few hundredths can separate the top 20 competitors' pointed out Courfeyrac.

'Oh'

'Yeah, it's not like boxing, the margins are much, much narrower'

'You shouldn't simplify boxing' said Grantaire taking his eyes off the screen to look down at Courfeyrac, 'But I get the point, it's going to be close'

'Exactly'

'How's Enjolras doing?' asked Grantaire

'Ah! Well_, finally_ he asks!' Courfeyrac twisted to flash a grin back at Grantaire, 'He's doing perfect as always, the _bastard_, doesn't even make it look hard, the gold medal is his for sure.'

'Oh, I meant in general, how….how is Enjolras in general…outside of gymnastics?'

'Oh' Courfeyrac paused in thought for a second, then brightened up, 'He's good you know, he was nervous about the games but he's manage to lose his doubts. He's also been…well I don't quite know how to put this…he's been different since meeting you.'

Grantaire snorted, 'Yeah, more obnoxious, more arrogant-'

'Well yeah, at first' interrupted Courfeyrac, 'But over the past couple of days he's been different. I think he really got shook up the other night you know?

'Yeah Feuilly can do that to you'

'No, not Feuilly, _you_' said Courfeyrac, 'It's good you know, he's finally thinking about the consequences of some of his actions, he's never really had to do that before, it was always pretty much accepted that he was right. For him to be wrong about something; it's had an impact definitely, it's made him think'

'Bullshit'

'No it's true' protested Courfeyrac, 'Ask Combeferre! He'll say the same thing, only probably better than me.'

'I don't know mate' said Grantaire unsure,

'Fine' pouted Courfeyrac, 'don't believe me then. But don't think I don't know how you feel about him'

'I..don't…I don't feel anything!' objected Grantaire.

'Sure you don't' smirked the gymnast who then had the nerve to wink at Grantaire, before settling back to rest against his legs again. Grantaire just leant back on the pillows feeling very grouchy. _Jesus was he that obvious?_

They continued to watch the final as it headed towards its conclusion. The gymnasts all reached the final piece of apparatus which was the high bar. They all went in reverse order due to the running order of points. It meant Enjolras would go last and perform the final routine to seal the gold. _No pressure then._

There was a tense battle for silver and bronze and Grantaire and Courfeyrac both cheered Combeferre as he executed his final routine. However, it wasn't enough and the Scottish gymnast had done the damage earlier on and so only had to perform an average routine to secure the marks needed to get the silver. Still, it was a result for the English team, a definite bronze. Now, could Enjolras win the gold?

Grantaire held his breath as Enjolras dusted chalk onto his palms as he prepared to perform.

Then, he was flying, flying with Enjolras as he leaped into the air and swung around the bar, looping over and over, turning in on himself, flipping over and doing half twists. Courfeyrac nearly scared the life out of him when he gasped as a plume of chalk went up and Enjolras landed one of his twists in the air.

'Don't do that to me' hissed Grantaire, hands clutching his sore ribs. 'I can't take it'. _Physically as well as emotionally_ he thought.

'Sorry'

Enjolras was now into the full swing of his routine, winding and coiling over and over, weaving in and out of his own arms, letting go of the bar and twisting over, catching with one hand, catching with both hands reversed. It was magnetic, Grantaire could feel his eyes watering because he dared not blink, blink and he would miss it. Enjolras's perfect form encircling the bar, once, twice, thrice as he prepared for his huge dismount. Then he was twirling through the air.

Boom.

Landed, square, feet flat, knees bent. He stretched up and punched the air with both fists. A great smile broke across his face in relief.

Courfeyrac was cheering and wooping. Grantaire closed his eyes to take a moment and smile to himself,_ Enjolras had done it! A second Gold medal!_

He opened them again and clapped Courfeyrac on the back then yelled out as the gymnast tried to hug him by throwing his entire bodyweight on the boxer.

'Fuck, fuck, get off you wanker, my ribs!'

'Sorry!' squealed Courfeyrac as he settled for hugging Grantaire's neck instead. 'I'm just so happy! A Gold and a Bronze! Oh my god! I should call them!'

'I doubt they're going to be picking up their phones right now' Grantaire interjected.

'Fine! I'll text them then! You do it too!'

'What? I can't! I don't have their numbers…wait, is this a way for you to give me Enjolras's number?'

'Mayyyyybe' replied Courfeyrac grinning, 'It miiiight be a way for you to _legitimately_ text Enjolras, you know, a little message of congratulations or something….just a suggestion.'

'You are a sneaky piece of work you are' accused Grantaire. Courfeyrac just looked incredibly pleased with himself at this as he grabbed Grantaire's phone off the bedside table and quickly typed in Enjolras's number. Once he'd done that he glanced back at the telly and said 'Well, I'd best be off Grantaire, if I leg it now I might make it in time for the medal ceremony, and to say congrats to the other two in person. It's been fun hanging out, we should do it again'

'Yeah, mate you've been good company' Grantaire agreed, 'Thanks for coming over, it's been good.'

'No worries. All the best with your fight tomorrow' Courfeyrac did some enthusiastic punching gestures in the air which caused Grantaire to roll his eyes. 'I'll see you there!'

He then grabbed his jacket from where he'd left it hanging over the door knob and left the room.

'Don't forget to text him!' Courfeyrac cried just before he slammed the flat door. Grantaire groaned in response. What the fuck should he say? _How do you even text someone who has just won two gold medals for his country?_

15 minutes later, during the anthem of Jerusalem, Grantaire sent, and Enjolras received, a text.

**_Congrats Apollo,_**

**_Guess you're not too bad at poncy posturing,_**

**_ R_**


	6. Semi-Finals

**_Enjolras_**

He carefully folded up the ribbon and then carefully tucked the heavy medallion alongside the other, before pushing the drawer closed. He rested his hands on the top of the chest of drawers and leaned on them, closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath he squashed thoughts of a third gold medal, it was not good to chance fate, the toughest competition was yet to come. Enjolras straightened up, dragging his hands over the wooden surface until the dropped off the edge and came to rest down by his sides. He turned, grabbed his team England jacket from where it was laid on the bed, and left the room.

He had somewhere to be.

They sat closer to the ring this time, Enjolras picked out the seats and the other two didn't question it. They sat down and sat through several different division semi-finals including Bahorel's. Once again the boxer looked unstoppable as he powered through into the heavyweight final.

As the boxer stamped around the ring in a sort of ungainly victory dance, Enjolras leaned over Combeferre to say to Courfeyrac: 'And this is the guy you chose to sleep with?'

Courfeyrac didn't take his eyes off Bahorel as he answered 'Enjolras we did many things and let me tell you, sleeping was not one of them'

'Woah, okay, enough information Courf,' interjected Combeferre.

'Oh God!' groaned Enjolras, 'I am getting terrible mental images, Courfeyrac! I did not need that!'

'I hope you're including my six-pack for the image of me in your head' said Courfeyrac, 'and I hope you're making my dick true to size too-'

'Oh God no! No!'

'Just saying, you've both seen me naked so you don't have to imagine-'

'Stop talking. Right. Now' growled Enjolras. Courfeyrac just looked back at him like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Enjolras gave him the middle finger and he had the cheek to look offended.

As Enjolras tried to clear his head of Courfeyrac naked, another figure came into his mind. The toned chest of a certain boxer. _Oh no. Nope. Not thinking about that. Go away._ How the dark curls on his head were mirrored on his chest, were they like that lower down too? _NO. Stop it. _What would Grantaire look like naked? _Oh now you've done it. _

Enjolras was torn from his thoughts by two things, firstly, Grantaire had entered the arena, and secondly he realised he might be half hard. _Oh God. This is not good._ He tried to be subtle as he shifted in his seat into a more comfortable position, he really didn't want to look at Grantaire right now, but Combeferre had nudged him with his elbow.

'Enjolras are you looking? Grantaire's here.' _Combeferre I really don't like you right now._

Enjolras raised his head up in time to see Grantaire undo and shrug out of his robe and step into the ring. Enjolras swallowed; from this close distance he could see Grantaire's arm muscles very clearly. The boxer bounced on his feet from side to side to keep warmed up and to settle into the atmosphere.

There was a renewed interest in boxing due to the controversy of Grantaire's former opponent being under investigation for use of performance enhancing drugs. Hence, there was more of a spotlight on this match and Grantaire was under a lot of pressure to prove he deserved a place in the semi-finals. He had even been interviewed by the BBC regarding the whole situation. Enjolras had been mid-way through his breakfast when the interview had aired. He'd dropped his spoon into his bowl with a clatter as he'd stared open mouthed at the screen.

Grantaire had looked _handsome_.

The people at the BBC had done something, maybe given him a _wash_ or something, a shave? No, he had stubble in the interview, _sexy stubble_, and his hair had been sort of tamed. _Fuck,_ _he…he looked good. _And the way he'd talked in the interview, how he'd shared his backstory, his eyes had shone with passion as he described how boxing had brought him out of a difficult situation at home, how it had helped him at school, in life. He said that boxing had saved his life.

Enjolras could only sit there and watch this guy tell stories of how he'd been by all accounts a 'terror' when he'd been younger and how he owed everything to his trainer Feuilly who had taught him to be a man. The interviewer had asked whether boxing had helped Grantaire's relationship with his family, 'To some extent,' Grantaire had replied, 'It helped me see that that wasn't a good environment for anyone, let alone a kid, so as soon as I could I got myself out of there.'

'So the only support you have is your trainer Feuilly?' the interviewer asked.

'Yeah, him and the rest of the extended boxing family' Grantaire had answered with a smile.

'Any romantic relationships?'

Grantaire had laughed at this, and it could just have been Enjolras's imagination but was he embarrassed? 'No, no….well, maybe…I don't know…it's complicated'. The interviewer had raised an eyebrow but Grantaire wouldn't be pressed for any more information so Enjolras was left to wonder what 'complicated' and 'maybe' meant.

Consequently, due to the interview and the consternation surrounding the boxing quarter-finals there were a lot more England supporters in the crowd this evening and the fight was being showed live on BBC1.

Feuilly strapped Grantaire's gloves on and put in his mouth-guard for him, the boxer was in blue for the third time in the competition.

'Is he going to be alright?' Enjolras asked, 'He was pretty beaten up last time we saw him.'

'Yeah, I told you, I saw him yesterday and he was resting up, they'll have strapped him up good today, besides, he's a fighter. Not much can keep Grantaire down!' said Courfeyrac.

'He'll be fine' reassured Combeferre.

It made Enjolras feel a little better, but he still got nervous when Grantaire stepped out into the middle of the ring to face his opponent from Trinidad and Tobago this time. Enjolras could see the concentration in Grantaire's green eyes as they narrowed to focus on his opponent. The ref counted down, annnnnnd BOX!

The two boxers circled each other a couple of feints and then the Trinidadian was throwing punches left, right, left, but Grantaire just dodged out of the way, hopping to the right where he was able to land a heavy left swing to his opponent's side.

The crowd erupted with cheers. Grantaire was starting well; he looked light on his toes, balancing perfectly, Enjolras noted. Grantaire got another two good punches to his opponent's head before dancing out of the way again. There were another couple of swings from both boxers but no more hits on target for either of them before the round ended.

Grantaire retired to his corner and sat down, Enjolras thought he saw him wince at the movement, _how much pain was Grantaire really in? _Feuilly had entered the ring whilst talking to him. Enjolras could only make out the odd word the trainer was saying, it seemed encouraging. He was able to relax a little bit more in his seat next to Combeferre, until he saw Feuilly spraying water over Grantaire to cool him down. _Nope not good. _Grantaire's arms now glistened with a mixture of sweat and water, _oh dear god he is not allowed to have arms like that._ Grantaire threw his head back so some of the spray could reach his neck. Enjolras absolutely did not imagine licking a stripe up the exposed skin covered in a sheen of water. _Oh god, breathe Enjolras, breathe, you are in a public place, you cannot react like this. Like what? Turned on? _Enjolras had never really experienced this sort of thing before. No one had ever aroused such feelings within him. _Aroused. Yeah, not good._

He squirmed in his seat, furiously hoping Combeferre couldn't tell what was going on in his head or how his body was reacting to Grantaire.

The break was up and round two commenced. Both boxers were much more aggressive this round, punches were flying thick and fast. At several points the boxers got tangled up, chests pressing, arms interlocked, neither wanting to move back, to break away because this would leave them vulnerable to hits. The ref had to step in each time and separate the pair. The third time this happened he gave both boxers a warning.

'Well that's just blatantly not fair!' said Enjolras loudly and almost rising out of his seat, 'Anyone could see that it was the guy in red's fault!'

'Enjolras calm down, the ref is the professional' said Combeferre.

'Yeah Enjolras, how come you're getting into the match so much?' teased Courfeyrac, 'I thought you didn't like boxing?'

'I dislike the principle' answered Enjolras, crossing his arms, 'But it exists, nothing I can do about that, so then I must work within the practical parameters and see that the limited rules are upheld.'

'Mmmmhmmmm yeah, whatever, couldn't have anything to do with a certain someone could it?' Courfeyrac asked slyly.

Enjolras was not blushing, it was just very warm here in the packed arena.

They settled down to continue watching the second round of which there was about thirty seconds left, when suddenly the Trinidadian competitor swung a vicious hook at Grantaire's left temple. The impact was instantaneous, Enjolras could see the blow ripple across Grantaire's face, and then there was blood spurting everywhere.

A gash had been opened above Grantaire's left eyebrow and it was bleeding profusely. Enjolras stood up in reaction, he didn't know why, he wanted to get a better look, to see if Grantaire was okay, to be closer to him? _Oh Jesus, there's blood everywhere._

Grantaire staggered back, flicking his head to clear some of the blood which had run into his eye. The ref was ordering the Trinidadian back to the red corner. Feuilly had clambered into the ring and was guiding the Grantaire to his corner. The crowd in the boxing arena had called out when Grantaire had been hit but now there was an eerie silence as they all watched what was happening in the middle of the hall.

'Enjolras, Enjolras?' Combeferre was tugging on his jacket sleeve, 'Enjolras it's okay, he's okay, face wounds always bleed a lot, it's just a scratch that's all.'

'A scratch?' Enjolras found his voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting. 'Ferre that is not a _scratch_.'

'It'll be fine, he's okay, come on sit down…' Combeferre encouraged him to sit back on his seat, his hand came up to rest on the armrest under Enjolras's. Enjolras was grateful, he squeezed Combeferre's hand as he looked back at Grantaire.

There were two medics surrounding the boxer with Feuilly directing them. One had an icepack wrapped in a towel over the whole side of Grantaire's face to staunch the blood. The other was getting out supplies from her kit. Feuilly was busy sponging blood off Grantaire's shirt and neck, talking to him all the while.

People in the crowd resumed low talking to one another as this was going on.

'Will he be able to continue the fight?' asked Courfeyrac worriedly.

'I don't know, depends if he needs stiches,' answered Combeferre. Enjolras gripped Combeferre's hand tightly in response. _Why was this bothering him so much? Grantaire will be okay, he'll be okay._ Enjolras just carried on observing what was going on in the English corner. The towel was being lifted off Grantaire's face and the blood being cleared up. The second medic lifted up a can and began to spray it over the cut above Grantaire's eye.

'Oh that's cool' said Combeferre.

'What. What's cool?' said Enjolras.

'They're using this spray, it's a disinfectant and plaster all in one. They're patching him up, probably so he can continue the fight, then they'll look at it properly later. It can't be too serious then' Combeferre smiled, _well if he's happy_. Enjolras relaxed a little bit now. _He's okay, he's going to be okay._

With the wound on Grantaire's forehead sealed for the time being and most of the blood cleared up –although Grantaire's blue shirt was a lost cause so he'd had to swap it for a new one- Grantaire stood up. The crowd in the boxing arena cheered and applauded. Grantaire flashed a small smile before bouncing on his toes and stepping forward. There was only 20 seconds on the clock remaining for the second round so both boxers merely circled each other, neither making a move to engage particularly. The bell went and the boxers returned to their corners again.

'Right, he's just got to land a couple more punches and stay out of the way of beefy over there's fists.' Summarised Courfeyrac, 'Shouldn't be difficult'

'Grantaire is doing much better this round despite the head wound' said Combeferre thoughtfully. 'I reckon he could win this fight.'

Enjolras really hoped so.

The medics were once again inspecting Grantaire's forehead. They seemed satisfied that the spray on bandage was holding. Feuilly nodded to them as they stepped out of the ring. The trainer gave Grantaire some last minute tactic advice and then left as well as Grantaire stood up and approached the centre of the ring.

After the ref announced the start of the last round, the boxers circled each other, mirroring their last actions at the end of the second round. Then the Trinidadian stepped forward as Grantaire dodged around, he'd left himself exposed and the Englishman struck three quick successive jabs into the abdomen of his opponent.

The Trinidadian stumbled back a pace and Grantaire seized the advantage moving in for the kill. He landed several big hits until the ref ended the onslaught. Grantaire moved back a bit, but kept moving, bouncing from side to side, keeping his adrenaline levels up. The ref counted out 5 to the boxer from Trinidad and Tobago, giving him a breather. Then the bout continued. Grantaire now clearly had the upper hand within this round and kept pressing, kept hemming his opponent in, not giving him chance to retaliate or land anything meaningful.

Enjolras glanced up to the counter, 20 seconds left, 15, 10. The arena crowd was now counting down, they could sense Grantaire had done enough to put himself in the boxing final. Enjolras bit his lip as the seconds eroded on the clock.

Ding ding! The bell.

Enjolras sighed in relief.

So did Grantaire, he sagged down, resting his hands on his knees as the crowd chanted 'ENGLAND! ENGLAND!'

The ref was grabbing out to catch Grantaire's wrist as the three of them in the ring awaited the judges announcement. The crowd hushed, waiting to hear the verdict. Then the ref was hoisting Grantaire's arm in the air in victory.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood up to applaud Grantaire as he walked around the ring, arms aloft. Grantaire started a little as he saw the three gymnasts, his eyes widening when he caught Enjolras's gaze. He stood, routed to the spot as his green eyes stared into Enjolras's blue ones. Enjolras smiled and then lifted a hand to his forehead as he saluted the boxer. Grantaire's mouth fell open. Enjolras laughed at that, he was such a picture: sweaty, stubble –ridden and covered in barely wiped away blood stains and, on top of that, now looking like an idiot. Enjolras found that he wanted to cause more reactions from Grantaire like that.

The moment didn't, couldn't last long. Feuilly was now ushering Grantaire out of the ring and the medics were swarming around him as they escorted him from the building to no doubt get his head looked at.

Enjolras felt like he needed his head to be looked at.

**_Next time, try not to let the other bloke hit you so hard you need medical attention, _**

**_Enjolras_**


	7. Mens' Individual Final

**_G:11 stitches and I'm going to have a cool scar_**

**_E:Getting hit in the face is not necessarily something to be proud of_**

**_E: Are you cleared to fight tomorrow?_**

**_G: Shush, scars are way cool, and yes I am._**

**_E: Good._**

**_E: Are you coming tonight?_**

**_E: You don't have to_**

**_E: You probably shouldn't, better to rest up_**

**_G: Shut up Apollo, I'll be there_**

Nothing was going to stop Grantaire from being present at the individual gymnastics final. He'd already had a massive argument with Feuilly over it.

'You are in the boxing _final_, Grantaire, what part of the word _final_ do you not understand?' Feuilly had yelled.

'I _know_, alright I know!'

'Then why are you insisting on going to watching a fucking gymnastics routine? What is this boy to you?'

Here, Grantaire had faltered. He couldn't very well 'fess up and say that Enjolras was the sun to his moon. Feuilly might have an aneurism.

'I..just, we had a deal alright?'

'Yes I know. A bloody stupid idea if you ask me.'

'Well, I'm going Feuilly. I want to see Enjolras and the guys compete, so I'm going.'

'No' Feuilly had countered. He'd stepped into Grantaire's space, his presence looming even though he was roughly the same height as the boxer.

'No?'

'I won't allow it.'

'You won't allow it? I don't care, what you do and don't allow! Stop telling me what to do! You're not my dad! I want to go. So I'm going.' With that, Grantaire had stormed out of the training room and had made his way back to the flat he shared with Bahorel. He put together a few things in a sports bag, grabbed his warm jacket and locked up. Bahorel was still in training, his fight was going to be the last one on the bill tomorrow and he was determined to win.

Grantaire wanted to win as well. The thing was, he just couldn't believe he was in the _actual final. _Maybe that would help, treating it just like any other match. _How the fuck did I get into the final? That's a guaranteed silver medal for fuck's sake. Jesus Christ. _It was people like Enjolras that won medals. Grantaire had been shocked to even find he'd made it into the English boxing team, he really didn't think he was that good. He trained, he worked hard but boxing was almost natural to him. Dodging, weaving, ducking then striking when his opponent's weakness showed. That was second nature, he'd grown up having to dodge his father's blows, he'd learnt to stand up for himself against school bullies, the only way to get them to leave you alone was to hit them back harder than they hit you.

And now here he was, on the brink of winning the Commonwealth Games. _Shit… best not to think about that._

His feet took him towards the flats where the gymnasts resided. _Why did he come here?_

He knocked on the door to the men's team flat. There wasn't any answer for the longest while. Grantaire thought they must have gone down to the precinct for early training or something. The competition didn't start for another couple of hours.

Just as Grantaire made to leave to who-knows-where, the door opened. A sleepy-looking Combeferre stood in the doorway, hair mussed up, wearing a t-shirt and boxers.

'Grantaire' he yawned in greeting.

'Oh shit, sorry mate. Did I wake you?' Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

'Yeah you did' answered Combeferre, 'Don't worry about it though; I was only having a nap. How can I help? Enjolras isn't here, he's down at training.'

'Oh, I wasn't…um..I don't really know why I'm here' mumbled Grantaire. He'd just wandered here, not really thinking.

'Well why don't you come in?' suggested Combeferre kindly.

'…okay…thanks' Grantaire stepped into the flat. It was a little larger than the one he and Bahorel shared, but seeing as it was for 3 athletes that wasn't surprising. The kitchen was definitely neater and actually contained food rather than empty protein shake flasks which scattered the surfaces in the boxers' flats.

'Do you want a cuppa?' offered Combeferre whilst searching the cupboards for mugs.

'That would be great thanks' replied Grantaire. He sat down at the breakfast bar and put his bag down on the seat next to him. Combeferre made cups of tea for them both before sitting down opposite Grantaire and saying, 'So what's up?'

Grantaire sighed, before explaining: 'Had an argument with Feuilly. He didn't want me to come and see Enjolras tonight. I said I was going and left. _Oh God'_ he groaned, 'I really didn't want to argue with him, he's…he is like a father to me, more than my dad ever was.'

'I'm sure he'll understand' said Combeferre, 'Sometimes our parents don't always know what's best for us, sometimes they have to let us do our own thing, or else, we'll never learn.'

'Mmmmm' said Grantaire, not really convinced.

'Don't worry about it. Hey, why don't you text Feuilly and let him know what time you'll be back tonight and then leave it, don't brood on it anymore.' _That is actually pretty good advice_, Combeferre laughed when Grantaire told him so. The gymnast finished his cup of tea before standing up.

'Well you're welcome to stay here for a bit, then we could head down to see Enjolras and Courfeyrac together? I'm probably going to try and catch up on a bit more sleep, you could watch telly or have a nap too?'

'A nap sounds good' said Grantaire.

'Well there's Enjolras or Courfeyrac's rooms?' proposed Combeferre gesturing to each.

Sheer panic ran through Grantaire at the thought of sleeping in Enjolras's bed. That was really_ really _not a good idea. _Think with your head not your penis. Think with your head…_he repeated to himself.

'I…..I'll just stick to the sofa thanks' he croaked out.

Combeferre nodded but didn't say anything about it, _thank fuck._ 'Okay well, I'll set an alarm for a couple of hours and then we'll head out, alright?'

'Sure' Grantaire replied.

Around 2 and a half hours later Combeferre and Grantaire set off from the gymnast's flat and headed towards the SECC precinct for the last gymnastic final.

Grantaire had actually by some miracle managed to get about an hour's snooze time. He'd thought he wouldn't be able to sleep at all due to you know, being in the space that Enjolras was currently living in. But surprisingly, he'd drifted off relatively quickly. The sofa wasn't particularly comfortable but it was infinitely better than sleeping in the alternative. He could have slept in Courfeyrac's room he'd supposed but why his and not Enjolras's? No, better to sleep on the sofa where he couldn't think about Enjolras's body lying in the same space, maybe with very little or no clothing?

And there he was, thinking about Enjolras naked. _Stop it! Fuck fuck fuck. _Now he couldn't think about anything else. How Enjolras's chest would look, how his cock would look, how his cock would feel in Grantaire's mouth. _No. Nope. Stop it. _He couldn't get hard in Enjolras's flat! With only Combeferre for company! What if he walked in?

Anyway, despite nearly getting a hard on for Enjolras he had managed to settle down and get some shut-eye. He felt much more rested now and had taken Combeferre's advice to message Feuilly with a time to expect him back at the flat. Once he'd sent the message he then spent some time scrolling through the series of messages he and Enjolras had exchanged.

They made him feel warm inside. _Is that a good thing? _Especially the one which just said: **_Good. _**Enjolras had only ever praised him once before and that was when he had apologised for pretty much being an arsehole. This however, was praise on its own, no strings attached, so that one word meant so much. Grantaire smiled to himself.

Combeferre caught him smiling at his phone and nudged him, causing his concentration to break.

'Enjolras is piss poor at texting. You have to read between the lines all the time, he never says what he really means to say.'

Grantaire clutched his phone to his chest and stared at Combeferre. 'How did you know Enjolras and I were texting?'

'Because he was staring at his phone for ages last night, he was pulling all sorts of faces. I saw him write a dozen different messages and then delete them. I guessed it had something to do with you.'

'He was deleting his messages without sending them?' asked Grantaire puzzled. 'Why would he do that?'

'I told you, Enjolras never says what he means to say. He's not great at social stuff. Give him a vault or a bar and he's the best, talking about feelings? Not really him.'

They wandered along in silence. Grantaire thinking about what Combeferre had said. Enjolras had also asked if Grantaire was coming to see him compete tonight. And then, well Grantaire hadn't been sure, but with Combeferre encouraging him to read between the lines, Enjolras had seemed flustered about it. _Why would Enjolras be flustered?_

They soon reached the precinct and entered the gymnastics hall. They met Bahorel on the way in, unmistakeable as he towered above everyone else; a human mountain. He'd come to cheer for Courfeyrac so Combeferre directed him to the opposite side of the arena to seats by the pommel horse which was the apparatus Courfeyrac was competing on. Bahorel set off with a cheery wave and Combeferre then led Grantaire to some seats very close to the floor apparatus which was Enjolras's speciality piece and where he would be performing his routine in order to try and win the Gold medal.

'Both Enjolras and Courfeyrac are scheduled to be competing at the same time unfortunately, so it's going to be hard to keep track of both of them, but at least Courf has Bahorel supporting him and we can cheer for Enjolras here' said Combeferre.

'Okay' replied Grantaire. He was feeling a bit queasy now; feeling nervous to see Enjolras perform especially due to the 'flustered' texts before.

'Will Enjolras mind me being here?' he asked the gymnast sat beside him.

'What? Oh Grantaire, of course he won't. I'm pretty sure he wants you to be here.' Combeferre smiled encouragingly. 'You know, you've really had an impact on him, in a good way I mean.'

'Yeah….Courfeyrac said something similar' admitted Grantaire.

'It's been good to see' said Combeferre smiling again before leaning forward in his chair to get a glimpse of the gymnasts entering the hall. Grantaire strained his neck to see, they weren't at a good angle to see the entrance from where they were sat. But soon enough he could see Enjolras approaching in his kit, bag slung over one shoulder. He came and sat down with the other gymnasts all competing on the floor. He didn't glance up at them, Grantaire supposed he was in the zone and needed to concentrate.

Conversely, Grantaire couldn't concentrate at all; his heart-rate had picked up the moment he'd laid eyes on Enjolras. It was like that morning, all those days ago when he'd seen him for the first time. Enjolras's hair was tied up the same way and he sat upright, back ramrod straight, reminiscent of the damp Glasgow morning when they'd first met. _Jesus was that less than a week ago? Oh my fucking God, I've fallen heavy and fast. Fuuuuuuuuck._

The seeding for the individual floor final was similar to the all-around final in that the leader went last so Enjolras had the unenviable task of watching all his competitors go before him.

'He can handle the pressure like no-one else though' said Combeferre as he and Grantaire saw several of the athletes put in strong performances. Across the hall there were cheers and claps to announce the end of Courfeyrac's routine on the pommel horse. Grantaire and Combeferre glanced up to see their friend on the large screen, he had his trademark smile on and was waving to the audience. There was a nervous wait as the judges deliberated their scores and then the result was announced over the loud speakers. Courfeyrac was running around yelling; he'd got a silver medal! He looked overjoyed as he bounded around in celebration.

Beside Grantaire, Combeferre laughed and shook his head at his best friend's antics. Grantaire couldn't help but smile too, now it was only Enjolras to go. Could he do it?

They didn't have to wait long, soon Enjolras was making his way up onto the platform, he dusted his hands lightly with chalk and raising a hand, presented himself to the judges. The entire hall had gone quiet to witness his performance. Out of the corner of his eye Grantaire could see Courfeyrac legging it around the arena to get to the edge of the platform where the floor apparatus was.

Enjolras paused, maybe to gather his thoughts, maybe for effect. He had the attention of everyone in the hall and was going to make the most of it.

Then, without warning he launched into his floor routine.

Running full pelt diagonally across the floor he hurled his body into a series of no-handed flips and twists landing squarely out of them to loud applause. Gathering a breath he sped back in the direction he'd come from performing more flips, somersaults and twists to land perfectly again. Then, Grantaire watched, mesmerised as he gracefully almost breakdanced on his hands, legs outstretched, feet pointed never once touching the floors. The upper body strength and finesse required to perform that move was unbelievable and then, the star move, a quick one handed air flair as his lower body rotated around. There were gasps and oooh's and cheers from the crowd at that. Then he went into the same weird handstand Grantaire had first seen Enjolras execute outdoors on his mat just days ago. 'A Japanese handstand' Combeferre answered when Grantaire enquired what it was.

Enjolras just rolled out of the position gracefully, paused once more and then completed another tumble only this time it was on a short diagonal of the floor apparatus. According to Combeferre this was a required move for all gymnasts in the competition.

This set Enjolras up for his remaining two tumbles. Once again he performed breath-taking twists, twirling high in the air, snapping out of them to land well. The bell went to announce he had 10 seconds left to complete his routine as he set off on his final tumble, flipping, somersaulting and then accomplishing a triple twist to finish off the routine! Unbelievable! A solid landing and he was clear!

The crowd erupted in tumultuous applause and cheers. Enjolras punched the air with a wide smile across his face and made his way back to the seating area, down from the platform. Courfeyrac launched himself at the gymnast and clung on like a limpet when Enjolras tried to disentangle himself. He didn't look annoyed though, just elated.

At that moment, the news came across the speakers and on the screen that Enjolras had scored a 15.533, a staggering result, leagues ahead of the competition and securing him the Gold medal!

Grantaire had just witnessed perfection. Never had he seen something so determined, someone so indomitable. As he had realised earlier when watching the other finals, each apparatus allowed the gymnasts to show off different skills; the floor accentuating the gymnasts' personality. Enjolras had not only completed the moves- technically very difficult moves according to Combeferre- he had done so with a blazing fervour. The way he tore up the floor as he ran, the way he threw his body into the sequence of moves, the way he paused, head held high, challenging.

No-one could have watched that routine and not have experienced Enjolras's passion bursting forth. Grantaire could only greedily lap up the brightness, the energy, the zeal practically pouring out of the young Apollo; it satisfied the ache inside of him, the ache he'd always carried with him, the part so integral to him he didn't even notice its toxicity anymore. Enjolras was like a balm, no, like a cauterising iron, burning and healing him all the same.

Grantaire realised in that moment he was in love with Enjolras.

Throughout the medal ceremony Grantaire remained quiet and the anthem of Jerusalem was muffled in his ears. He was quite numb. His realisation had stripped away the rush of feelings he'd experienced when watching Enjolras's performance. Now he was left with just one thought.

_I am in love with him. I am in love with Enjolras._

It was only later, when Bahorel, Combeferre and himself had made their way down to the entrance to the athlete changing rooms to meet the newly decorated gymnasts that Grantaire realised he'd left his bag at their flat. _Shit._ He'd need to go get that. _Oh fuck,_ and Courfeyrac had appeared and was talking about going for a drink with everyone in celebration.

'Guys,' he interrupted suddenly, 'I've left my bag at yours…sorry, I was an idiot and forgot it.'

And then Enjolras was there, _where the fuck had he come from? _

'I'll go with you and let you in' he said, 'I'm not up for a drink anyway.'

'Awwww whyyy?' pouted Courfeyrac. Enjolras shrugged in response, Grantaire had never seen such a graceful shrug, _god what is in his DNA?_

'Grantaire's got a big day tomorrow and Enjolras had a lot on today so they need to get back and rest' explained Combeferre

'_I_ had a lot on today and besides, Bahorel's not resting' pointed out Courfeyrac.

'I'm coming, but no alcohol for me' said Bahorel, 'I value my testicles thank you very much, I don't want Feuilly scissoring them off tomorrow if I come back reeking of spirits.'

_'Fine' _said Courfeyrac throwing his hands in the air and the three of them set off in the direction of the nearest Glasgow pub.

'You good to go?' asked Enjolras.

'Yeah' Grantaire replied, just realising that he was alone with Enjolras. Alone. Well, at least he had his shirt on this time. Last time it had just been the two of them he'd nearly got a hard on when Enjolras's hands had touched his bare skin. _God he had smelt so good. Best not to think about that._

The two of them headed back to the athletes village in an awkward silence before Grantaire had burst out with 'Congratulations, by the way. Wow, three gold medals' he whistled softly at that.

'Oh…yeah' said Enjolras looking down to see the medal still hung around his neck. He lifted the ribbon up to take the medal off quickly and made to roughly shove it in his bag.

'Wait!' interjected Grantaire, 'Be careful with that! It's a medal for Christ's sake.'

'Oh…right…sorry' Enjolras folded the ribbon more carefully until he suddenly held it out to Grantaire, 'Do you want to see?'

'Oh no I couldn't, it might jinx something' said Grantaire putting his hands up to wave it away. Enjolras put it into his kit bag taking a lot more care this time.

Before long they reached the athletes village and made their way to the flat Enjolras shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Enjolras struggled to find his keys in his bag and then fumbled with the lock before eventually letting them both inside. Grantaire immediately made his way to the breakfast bar where sure enough his bag was resting on one of the chairs. He swung it over his shoulder and turned to leave but found an Enjolras blocking his way.

'Apollo, you'll need to move if you want me to leave' he said.

'Oh, ummm… yeah…' said Enjolras, but he didn't move. Grantaire realised then how close Enjolras was, also how much taller he was, also how fucking attractive he was. His chest ached with feeling. The gymnast was looking down at him; blue eyes clouded with… something. Still he didn't move out of the way.

'Ummm Apollo?'

'Thanks for coming tonight' breathed Enjolras quickly and _fuck,_ Grantaire could feel his breath wash over his face. He needed to back up here because Enjolras was clearly not moving and it was really difficult being this close to him.

'S'alright' shrugged Grantaire- much less gracefully than Enjolras had done, he was sure. 'I wouldn't have missed it for anything, you're really something you know that? Well of course you know that, you just won a gold medal, and now you have three gold medals.' _Fuck he was rambling, but what do you even say to someone who has three gold medals? _'I'm just gonna go, okay?' he made a move to force himself past the gymnast, although Enjolras actually stepped to the side to let him pass. But just when Grantaire had nearly crossed the kitchen to the door, he felt a hand grab his upper arm.

He looked back; Enjolras was biting his lip _and Christ that's hot_. Then Enjolras was crowding his space again, only closer, his body flush against Grantaire's. _fuck fuck fuck what is he doing?_ Enjolras lowered his face, swooping in but pausing for a fraction of a second to quickly shoot his eyes up to meet Grantaire's. Grantaire was rooted to the spot, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. Enjolras must have seen something in his eyes because the next thing he knew the golden haired gymnast's lips were covering his.

_Holy mother of god shitting fuck._

Enjolras's lips were warm and soft. They lingered on his until the pressure was increased and then a tongue ran lightly over Grantaire's bottom lip. He opened his mouth in a gasp and Enjolras took advantage licking his way in short strokes into Grantaire's mouth. Then his tongue was reaching out and rubbing over his, then running along the roof of his mouth. Grantaire's body then seemed to respond, whilst his mind was in meltdown physical instinct took over as he groaned and pressed his tongue back against the one in his mouth. Enjolras moaned lightly in response and then blood was rushing to all different parts of Grantaire. He could hear veins throbbing in his temples as they cried out for oxygen. He gasped against Enjolras's mouth, breathing in sweet air before reaching his hands up to run fingers through his golden hair. The bun fell apart in Grantaire's grip as he grasped curls even as he curled his tongue around Enjolras's. Grantaire was kissing him greedily now, pressing up into his mouth as Enjolras's arms came to encircle the boxer's waist, gripping him in place.

The kiss grew wilder as the two men swayed; holding onto one another to remain standing such was the force of their passion. Grantaire could taste Enjolras, could feel the heat within his mouth, a glorious, wet heat. Grantaire moaned as he kissed and kissed the gymnast, and in response Enjolras let out shallow pants of breath as he weathered the onslaught.

But then Grantaire found himself tearing his mouth away from Enjolras's. He could see how the man's lips were red and swollen, saliva coating them in a sheen. He'd never seen anything so arousing. But this was all wrong. Enjolras didn't like him and Grantaire liked him too much. It was all wrong. What was he doing?

_Why is he looking at me in panic? He regrets it. It was a stupid mistake. Oh fuck. It was just a mistake. Jesus fuck what have I done?_

_'_I'm sorry!' he blurted out and fled the flat.


	8. Reps

To say that Enjolras was confused was an understatement.

He didn't quite know what had just happened. One minute Grantaire was there, the next he was gone.

He had been so so close, and he looked so good and he smelt so…and then this feeling had overtaken Enjolras; had taken possession and all he could do was go with it.

He'd kissed him.

_Oh God… he'd kissed Grantaire._

And it had been so, so good. Grantaire's lips were chapped and rough. His cheeks and chin had been scratchy on Enjolras's because of his stubble. And when Enjolras had pulled him closer, had taken him by the waist it felt so right.

But then Grantaire had left. He'd looked at Enjolras, wild panic in his eyes, had cried out an apology and then just _left._

_But he kissed me back._

Enjolras was more than confused, he was hurt. Had he misread things? He did tend to do that, but _Grantaire had kissed him back_, he had kissed him with such a force Enjolras had truly thought he meant it.

But he can't have meant it if he left.

_Maybe I'm just a really bad kisser._

But the boxer had moaned so sweetly when Enjolras had kissed him _and he'd kissed me back._

Why did he leave?

This was so confusing.

By the time Combeferre and Courfeyrac came back around 2am Enjolras was sitting curled up on the sofa not having moved for about an hour. His eyes were red and he stared out of the window at the patchy sky, stars hard to see because of Glasgow's light pollution.

'Enj?' asked Courfeyrac, confused because he was happy and drunk.

Combeferre came down to crouch in front of Enjolras. 'What's up?' he asked kindly.

Enjolras looked at his best friend, 'I..I kissed him' he blurted out.

'What?' exclaimed Courfeyrac dashing over to the sofa but tripping on the way so he ended up spread-eagled over the back of the settee.

'I..yeah' stuttered Enjolras.

Combeferre smiled encouragingly, 'What happened then, after you kissed him?'

'He kissed me back?' whispered Enjolras. He'd thought about it so much, maybe he'd just imagined it, maybe he'd just made up Grantaire sighing into his mouth, his tongue pressing against his, his hands threading through his hair. Maybe it wasn't true.

'Well that's good isn't it?' asked Courfeyrac sitting up from where he'd landed on the sofa.

'He just left' said Enjolras, voice hoarse as if he'd been crying but he hadn't, not yet. 'He just said 'sorry' and then _left_'

_'_Oh Enjolras' said Courfeyrac wrapping his arms around him.

'Did he say anything else?' asked Combeferre still kneeling in front of him.

'No!' said Enjolras indignantly.

'Have you talked to him since?'

'No, he won't answer my texts or calls' Enjolras was trying hard not to cry right now. 'What did I do wrong?'

'I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong' soothed Combeferre.

'He really likes you, you know' added Courfeyrac. _But_ thought Enjolras, _that can't be true, if it was, why did he run away? _Enjolras just stayed silent. Still in his gym kit from earlier, he sat on the sofa, curled in on himself.

'Okay well, I'm going to get us all a glass of water and we're just going to sit here for a while, we don't have to talk if you don't want to but then we'll go to bed okay, because you really need to sleep Enjolras' said Combeferre standing and making his way to the cupboards and sink to fill three glasses.

'Okay' Enjolras sniffled, as Courfeyrac snuggled into his side a bit more.

Enjolras slept right through until lunchtime the following day. He woke up in his own bed, not remembering how he got there. He felt strangley rested. They hadn't talked much more last night, but the company of his best friends had eased some of the pain and confusion he felt over the kiss with Grantaire.

As Enjolras got up to shower and get dressed he could hear Combeferre and Courfeyrac talking in low voices in the living room.

When he finally emerged, feeling fresher and more awake the other two looked up from the sofa where they'd been sitting chatting with similar expressions on their faces; like they needed to talk to him but didn't want to upset him. Enjolras recognised it for what it was; wariness. He went and sat down on one of the armchairs across from the sofa.

'What is it?' he asked.

The other two remained quiet, until, just as Enjolras was just about to get annoyed and yell at them, Combeferre spoke up.

'Well, we were just thinking about what happened between you and Grantaire' he started.

Enjolras took a deep breath 'Look, it's fine' he said, 'I've thought it through and it was obviously a mistake, he clearly doesn't like me that way, can we just pretend it didn't happen?' he asked a bit desperately.

'But Enjolras he does like you!' exclaimed Courfeyrac, 'How can you not think that?'

'Um, because he just _left_?'

'He's scared Enjolras! He thinks you don't like him so he thinks he mucked up, that's why he left'

'He thinks_ I_ don't like _him_?'

'Yes' said Courfeyrac exasperatedly.

'But I kissed him'

'But did you tell him?' asked Combeferre.

'I…no…I just kissed him….it seemed like the right thing to do at the time!' said Enjolras defensively. Courfeyrac had thrown his hands up in the air.

'Oh my _God,_ you two are hopeless!'

'You need to tell him very clearly that you like him' said Combeferre, 'Or else he's not going to believe it, because he thinks you hate him.'

'But I don't'

'Yes_ we_ know that, Enjolras' said Combeferre.

'Why does he think I hate him?' asked Enjolras.

'Well you did used to not like him, you had that massive rant about boxing remember?' pointed out Courfeyrac.

'But…but I apologised for that!' said Enjolras, 'And I came to his matches, I supported him, I cheered for him and I've been texting him!' he said desperately.

'Yes, and to us, because we know you, we can tell that's a lot for you,' said Combeferre patiently. 'But it's not enough for Grantaire, you need to be explicitly clear with him.'

'Oh' said Enjolras, realisation dawning on him, 'Maybe I should have told him before I kissed him.'

'_Finally_!' blurted out Courfeyrac.

'Yes maybe you should have' nodded Combeferre, elbowing Courfeyrac in the ribs to shut him up. 'But it's okay, you can go and tell him now.'

'Oh okay, yeah, maybe I should go and talk to him' said Enjolras, thinking hard. 'What do I do? Just tell him I like him?'

Courfeyrac was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head or something.

'What?' asked Enjolras, puzzled.

'Oh my God, _yes,_ yes you should tell him but be more, I don't know…romantic about it?' said Courfeyrac exasperatedly.

'Just be yourself' said Combeferre.

_Okay_, thought Enjolras, _I can do this._

_I can't do this._

Enjolras was pacing outside the England boxing training rooms. He walked up and down the corridor ruffling his hair, pulling at his jacket and wringing his hands. To say he was nervous would be lying. He was _really, _really nervous.

When he'd kissed Grantaire last night it had been a spur of the moment thing, the instinct to be closer to Grantaire, to touch his lips with his. He hadn't planned any of it.

Now, with the words he wanted to say running through his head, his stomach was in knots. He hadn't heard anything from the boxer since he'd fled that flat last night so Enjolras had no idea where things stood between them, but he wanted to fix it. He was going to do this properly.

Before he could lose confidence, _come on you idiot, you're a triple Commonwealth Gold medallist for God's sake,_ he marched up to the door, pushed it open and made his way into the training rooms.

It was probably the smell that overwhelmed him first; the heavy pungent smell of sweat and leather. There was even a sort of sweat haze in the series of rooms, bedecked in boxing equipment, gloves, pads, head-guards. The rooms were crowded. All of the men's boxing finals were taking place today and everyone was getting some last minute training in. Enjolras even saw a couple of boxing ladies doing warm-ups and reps here and there. He didn't get much attention from the boxers and staff as he made his way through the complex of rooms further in, probably because he was wearing his England jacket still. He continued through this warren of training spaces trying to spot the one person he desperately needed to talk to.

He spotted Bahorel off to one side, viciously attacking the pads and attendant was holding up. Enjolras waited until Bahorel had finished his drill and the boxer spotted him.

'Enjolras!' he boomed, 'Thank fuck you're here!'

'Oh?'

'Grantaire's through there and to the right,' he gestured, 'please, for the love of God, go and talk to him, he's been in a state since last night, won't tell me what's up, but I guessed it had something to do with you.'

'Oh erm…' started Enjolras, not quite sure what to say.

'You didn't mess him around did you?' asked Bahorel suspiciously, straightening up and moving towards Enjolras a bit too menacingly for his liking. Enjolras was quick to dissuade the man towering over him, he really didn't fancy getting beaten to a pulp.

'No, no, nothing like that, I just need to sort- um...I just need to talk to him.'

'Oh okay, well go ahead then' said Bahorel, bumping his fists together to straighten out his gloves and then he was back to the jabbing drills. Enjolras felt sorry for the trainer holding up the pads.

Weaving in and out of the boxers and trainers, Enjolras moved in the direction Bahorel had pointed out and then, in a little room, right at the back on his own, he finally spotted Grantaire.

The boxer had his back to Enjolras. He was shirtless and aggressively attacking a punching bag. Enjolras could see every muscle in Grantaire's back ripple as his arms went through the motions. There was sweat running down between the boxer's shoulder blades which undulated every time his arms swung back and then forward, over and over, and over and over. Enjolras could only stand, rooted to the spot as he watched, mesmerized.

But as he watched he noticed that Grantaire's rhythm began to falter, his punches became unsteady, desperate movements. His breathing was all over the place Enjolras realised, Grantaire was giving out heavy exhales which sounded like sobs. It wrenched something inside Enjolras and before he knew it he'd run forward and grasped Grantaire's right arm on the withdrawal of a strike and then Grantaire sagged and collapsed onto his knees on the floor and Enjolras managed to hold him up a bit so he didn't go down as heavily. And then then were both on the floor and Grantaire was shuddering and gasping for air and Enjolras dropped the boxer's arm and gently held Grantaire's face in his hands, one either side of his head and brought him up so he could look at him.

As Grantaire's eyes met his, the expression on his face changed into something like horror and he tried to struggle from Enjolras's arms but the gymnast just brought him in closer, tugging Grantaire so he was practically lying in his lap.

He made shushing noises as Grantaire still tried to extract himself from Enjolras's embrace but he was exhausted and Enjolras just held him as he got his breath back.

When Grantaire's panting had reduced to just a few heavy breaths he opened his mouth and asked 'What are you doing here?'

'I came to see you'

'Why?'

'Because we need to talk' said Enjolras.

'Look if this is about last night then, I was being an idiot and I'm sorry and-'

'Stop talking' commanded Enjolras and Grantaire did, 'Let's go somewhere where we can talk privately' said Enjolras, moving to stand up. Grantaire awkwardly rolled off him and Enjolras held out his hands to help him up and something within him fluttered when Grantaire's hands grasped his. Although, he soon dropped Enjolras's hands once he'd stood up and Enjolras tried not to feel too disappointed about that.

'Where can we go?' asked Enjolras.

'This way' said Grantaire, still a bit unsteady on his feet but leading Enjolras around a corner and through a door…which led into the boxing arena.

'Oh' said Enjolras, a bit surprised at what was on the other side of the door.

'What? There's no one here' said Grantaire. He led Enjolras up to the top of the stands, the furthest away from the ring in the centre of the hall. The lights were on dim in the arena, only the boxing ring lit up; waiting for the boxers to come out and fight in a couple of hours' time. Where Enjolras and Grantaire were, right at the top and back of the hall, was very dark and Enjolras struggled to make out Grantaire's face as he sat down on the back row of spectators' chairs.

'Right…' started Enjolras, thoughts rushing through his mind as he tried to remember what he'd come here to say. It was proving difficult to concentrate because Grantaire was still shirtless and sweaty and sitting next to him and it was all Enjolras could do to not reach over and touch him.

'I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding last night when we um… when I…-'

'Look it's okay Apollo' interrupted Grantaire. He was sat hunched over, arms resting on his knees, head down looking at the ground, hands rubbing together. 'I know I acted really stupid and I only went back to your flat to get my bag and I don't want you to think that I had planned it or anything and it was just a stupid mistake okay?'

'Um, well, the thing is' said Enjolras quietly, _and oh god why was this so hard to say? '_It wasn't a mistake'

Grantaire just lifted his head up and looked at him without saying anything.

'I realise I've done this the wrong way around, and I'm sorry for the confusion but-'

'What do you mean it wasn't a mistake?' breathed Grantaire.

'I…um..I' and then it was all coming out in a rush before he could stop himself… 'I really like you Grantaire and I tried to show you that by kissing you, but then you just left and you might think it was a mistake but I don't-'

'Shush' said Grantaire, sitting up straight and looking into Enjolras's face, 'You, don't think it was a mistake?' Enjolras shook his head, unsure of whether it was okay for him to talk, 'You meant to kiss me?' Grantaire whispered in awe. Enjolras nodded.

And then Grantaire was on the edge of his seat, his face very close to Enjolras's and Enjolras couldn't breathe because every time he inhaled he could _smell _Grantaire, and it was doing things to him which he hadn't really experienced before.

'You like me?' asked Grantaire softly.

'Yes' replied Enjolras.

'I like you too' breathed Grantaire, warm air blowing onto Enjolras's face.

'Kiss me?' whispered Enjolras. Grantaire obliged.

It was just as good as last time, only better because they both knew the other wanted it. It started softly, Grantaire pressing chaste kisses to Enjolras's mouth, to the corners of his mouth, along his jaw. Enjolras didn't know what to do, he tried to concentrate on breathing but it was proving difficult. As Grantaire made his way along Enjolras's jaw up to his ear Enjolras gasped and reached out to grab Grantaire's arms only to remember that he wasn't wearing a shirt. _And oh_, Enjolras could feel the muscles in Grantaire's arms flex as the boxer drew Enjolras in, pulling him closer, mirroring what Enjolras had done last time. Grantaire's skin was radiating heat, still damp from his workout in the training rooms. Enjolras ran his hands down the boxer's arms and back up again, hands tightening on his triceps as Grantaire playfully nipped at his earlobe.

'Oh' managed Enjolras breathlessly.

'Mmmmm like that?' asked Grantaire, _and oh God his voice was several octaves lower_, Enjolras was blinking hard, trying not to just spontaneously combust. Grantaire chuckled and sucked Enjolras's earlobe into his mouth _and God that should not be allowed_, before releasing it and then moving back to the gymnast's mouth.

Enjolras met Grantaire's lips greedily, and Grantaire let him, sighing as he allowed Enjolras to slip his tongue into his mouth. And it had been less than 24 hours but Enjolras had missed this! The wet heat of Grantaire's mouth, the way his tongue gently stroked his.

And then Grantaire's hands had decided to follow Enjolras's lead as the boxer got grabby and started carding his fingers through Enjolras's hair and _God, it felt good. _He moaned into Grantaire's mouth to try to communicate non-verbally how much he liked it, and Grantaire seemed to get the message because Enjolras could feel him smile into the kiss, as he pulled Enjolras's face closer to his using the hands in his hair.

They parted for air at some point, both short of breath and breathing in lungfuls of oxygen.

'You taste nice' said Grantaire in between pants, 'Like mint'.

Enjolras smiled and kissed Grantaire softly, 'You smell nice' he replied.

Grantaire wrinkled his nose at that. 'Ugh, I can't possibly, I'm all sweaty and,' he only just realised '_Christ _I'm not even wearing a shirt!'

Enjolras laughed and kissed Grantaire on his indignant mouth. Grantaire stayed looking annoyed for all of 3 seconds before relenting and sighing into the kiss, deepening it when Enjolras lapped at his mouth again. This kiss started to get deeper and more ragged as the moments went by and Enjolras definitely felt blood rushing to between his legs as things progressed. There was heat pooling down in his belly and he started to make little moans in response to Grantaire's hands running through his hair, and then down his torso, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, fingers edging towards the skin underneath. Enjolras in return was running his hands all along Grantaire's back, his mind thinking back to when he'd first spotted Grantaire in the training rooms, back taut and shiny. He gently traced over Grantaire's exposed shoulder blades thinking about how powerful his back and arm muscles were, he shuddered a little at thinking about how dangerous Grantaire was. It sent a thrill running through him and his cock responded.

Curious to see how Grantaire was reacting Enjolras ran his hands down Grantaire's back which earned him a groan, _good,_ but then Enjolras brought his hands down into Grantaire's lap. Fingers trailing across his shorts and _yes_, he could feel that Grantaire was at least half hard himself. Enjolras brushed his fingertips over the bulge between Grantaire's legs, which caused Grantaire to almost launch himself at Enjolras. He was now practically sat in his lap which was not great because these fold up chairs were not built for this sort of thing but Enjolras didn't really care right now because the angle of the kiss had changed and Grantaire was now above him kissing down, Enjolras let him take over the kiss because he had better things to be doing, mainly untying the draw cord which held Grantaire's shorts up and-

'GRANTAIRE! Where the FUCK are you?' yelled a terrifyingly familiar voice.

'Shit!' hissed Grantaire, wrenching his mouth away from Enjolras and detangling their limbs as they separated.

Feuilly had stalked into the boxing arena and was scouting around trying to spot Grantaire.

Grantaire shoved Enjolras to the floor where he was hidden by the rows and rows of plastic chairs overlooking the arena. Grantaire stood, whispered 'Sorry' and stepped over Enjolras as he headed down the gangway in the direction of his trainer.

Enjolras just lay where he was on the concrete floor. He was incredibly uncomfortable, not only was he lying awkwardly on his arm, his half-hard cock was making life difficult for him as well. _But,_ he figured, _it's better than having Feuilly catch me and Grantaire snogging in the stands; God only knows what he'd do to me._ Enjolras was pretty sure Feuilly thought that he was a complete waste of space and hated him for distracting his star boxer, Enjolras most certainly did not want to get caught with Grantaire's tongue down his throat and his cock in his hand- which is where they had definitely been headed.

_Oh God._

Enjolras had nearly given Grantaire a handjob in the boxing arena- a very very public space and _oh_ J_esus, there are cameras in here._

Enjolras lay, trying to collect his thoughts as he listened to Feuilly telling Grantaire off and the thud of a door as the trainer probably dragged his protégé back into the training rooms. Once he was sure the coast was clear he descended the stairs two at a time and snuck out of one of the fire exits. He took his phone out of his jacket pocket and sent a quick text to Grantaire, although he wasn't he'd get it, so he sent another to Bahorel as well.

**_I will see you tonight,_**

**_Good luck, you will do great,_**

**_E_**

**_Can you tell Grantaire we'll be there tonight, and to wish yourself and him good luck?_**

**_Thanks,_**

**_E_**


	9. Lightweight Boxing Final

One two three. One two three. Duck. Weave. Jab jab jab, one two three. Swing. Duck. One two three. Wham!

'Okay that's enough. You're good to go' Feuilly brought Grantaire into a one armed hug, holding him tightly before releasing him and bending down to look straight into Grantaire's eyes.

'Now listen to me' the Irish coach started, 'I don't know what's going on in that head of yours R, but listen. You can achieve anything. You're proper good, you hear me?' Grantaire mutely nodded in response. 'You are going to go out there and win this.'

And when Grantaire's eyes widened Feuilly, grasped the back of his neck and forced him to stare back, meeting him on the level.

'You are. You are going to win… Now get going.'

Feuilly pushed him away, Grantaire stumbled back, then, lifting his head high, he walked through the door and into the arena.

He didn't hear the noise from the crowd, he didn't see the lights flash, he didn't see the giant screens which were showing his face. He only saw the ring, right in the middle, where everything would be decided.

He slipped under the railings of the ring and bounced from side to side on his toes. He was pumped; ready to go. He had never felt like this before, he was so ready for this, there was something inside him a feeling that he couldn't lose. Was it confidence? Grantaire didn't know.

Feuilly strapped on his gloves for him, he patted them together a couple of times, trying to calm himself down, get himself in the zone. He found it surprisingly easily, that space in his head where everything was calm, was analytical, searching for weaknesses, calculating moves and counter moves. Usually getting in the zone was tricky and that's why he didn't always start fights well, he was still trying to get his mind in order. However, he was soon in deep concentration. The ref signalled him to move forward and he eyed his opponent up; a boxer from Northern Ireland- tough competition.

And then the ref said 'Box!'

Grantaire kept light on his toes, he ducked and dodged the Northern Irishman's swings and jabbed a quick one, two, three to his upper torso. It was a good start and Grantaire felt on a roll; soon he was getting in hits everywhere, his opponent barely putting up any resistance.

Grantaire felt like laughing, this was easy. He felt high and the bell dinged far, far, too soon; signalling the end of round one.

He sat down and Feuilly climbed into the ring. He sprayed water on Grantaire's face, it felt like heaven.

'You've got him on the back foot' Feuilly was saying, 'Just keep the intensity up, don't let up on the pressure, keep hammering him, pen him in, don't give him room to get to you. Just keep you're left hand up though, he'll be looking to strike you there in the head; it's a weak spot' Feuilly ran fingers over the gauze covered stiches above Grantaire's left eye. It seemed to be holding. Grantaire hardly felt it anymore; the medics kept spraying it with anaesthetic so it wasn't distracting him. It didn't impede him in anyway; apart from keeping him from raising a sarcastic eyebrow but, really, that was a small price to pay for a punch narrowly missing his eyeball.

'The crowd is getting rowdy, they want a show and they're getting it'

Grantaire made to look into the throng gathered around the ring, but Feuilly grabbed his chin and forced his head straight, 'Don't look!' he hissed, 'I'm only telling you so you don't get distracted, shut them out, R, you hear _me,_ you don't hear _them_.'

Grantaire nodded. The break was over and round two was about to start. It was just him and the other guy.

Round two and O'Connell put up a bit more of a fight this time, but it was easy for Grantaire to stop the attack in its tracks. He shut his opponent down quickly, not giving him any room to counter. Somehow, some force was enabling his punches to make contact, his feet moved quickly and lightly. His arms felt light- but light in that same way titanium was light. Every time his fist made an impact it was on target, it was clean and it was one heck of a punch. At one point the ref interrupted one of Grantaire's attacks to check that his opponent was alright. The Northern Irishman looked like he needed the breather, but Grantaire didn't feel tired at all. He felt wired.

He didn't question it when the bell signalled end of round two. Feuilly gave him a drink and poured the rest over Grantaire's head. It was glorious.

Feuilly said only five words to him.

'Son, go and finish it.'

Grantaire was unassailable. He fought with a controlled ferocity that simply outclassed his opponent. He _boxed_.

The bell went.

Grantaire experienced a weird sensation; it was as if someone had suddenly uncovered his ears and the wave of pure sound that crashed over him brought him to his knees. It was deafening; a roar of 10,000 people all cheering for him. It was overwhelming.

Grantaire felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't take it in. What had just happened?

A hand was held out, it was O'Connell, he grabbed Grantaire's wrists and hauled him up, giving him a quick hug as he then retreated to his corner.

Grantaire was now standing but his head was still bowed. He raised it up slowly, taking in the entirety of the crowd. Everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping for him, a sea of St. George's flags waving back and forth in celebration.

The ref was then talking to Grantaire; he needed to take off his gloves. He removed them and tossed them to the ground and the ref then grasped his right hand along with O'Connell's left. A bit of tradition then, to formally acknowledge the winner. As Grantaire's right arm was hauled into the air the crowd erupted thunderous again.

A laugh burst from his chest. His mouth widened and he was smiling and laughing. He turned, looking for Feuilly. He found his trainer's face, Feuilly was red faced and crying as he clapped his hands together loudly. Grantaire threw himself into his mentor's arms and Feuilly drew him into an intense hug.

'You little shit!' he was crying, 'You won, you won, you won!'

'Fucking hell' Grantaire rasped, 'I've got a medal!'

'Gold one as well, you tosspot' said Feuilly clapping him on the back.

'Fucking hell' repeated Grantaire.

'Now get up on that podium son' ordered Grantaire's mentor.

Standing on the podium, Jerusalem ringing out and the English flag being raised in the air made Grantaire feel patriotic. He'd never been one for King and country and all that, but, hey when the situation demands…Grantaire was grateful for this country, it was where he'd been born. Where he lived, it was his and he belonged to it in turn. The crowd certainly thought so. They hadn't shut up all evening, still cheering and clapping for him. It was enough to make him feel loved.

Speaking of…..

Grantaire had had to put a certain someone out of his mind. He couldn't afford to be distracted for the match. But instead of it being a painful ache, like a migraine always pressing at your temples no matter what drugs you take, how it had been when he'd thought Enjolras hated him. Instead he felt a fluttering feeling inside him, like a small flame keeping him warm, it was comforting, uplifting. Grantaire had no doubt that it had contributed to his performance tonight; his feet had practically skimmed the floor surface, making him light, effortless. Grantaire grinned, maybe not as elegant as Apollo, but graceful in his own boxer's way.

Grantaire hadn't been able to spot Enjolras and the others in the crowd, the lights were shining down too bright to make out anything other than smudges of faces. As the national anthem came to a flourishing end, Grantaire shook the hands of his fellow medallists, and then invited them up to the top step to pose for photos for the press. Oh god, there were going to be more interviews weren't there? That BBC one had been a nightmare, they'd done something to his face and hair; he hadn't liked it.

There was only a quick interview with Sky Sports where he admitted that he couldn't really remember much of the fight and couldn't believe he'd actually won before Feuilly ushered him out of the arena. The crowd was still cheering.

Once they were back in the training rooms Grantaire looked down at the gold medallion hanging around his neck. It was heavy.

The medics gave him a quick once over and he quickly went into the toilet to piss in a pot for the post match drugs test.

'Brill' said the medic putting the sample in his case, 'Now, I don't want to give you too many painkillers now but here's this for your ribs. They're okay still strapped for now, but I want no strenuous exercises for the next couple of days. Have some time off, you've earned it.'

'Thanks' smiled Grantaire.

'Ah, there's no such thing as time off boy' interjected Feuilly.

'Oh shut up Coach' said Bahorel walking past, 'Mate come here' and he opened his arms wide for a hug. Grantaire hugged him tightly back.

'Congrats you wimp' said Bahorel.

'Hope you lose dickhead' replied Grantaire as Bahorel was backed towards the doors to the arena.

'You know I won't' his sparring partner called back, before striding into the arena like the motherfucker he was. Feuilly made to go after him but eyed Grantaire for a moment 'I suppose it's too much to hope that you're gonna go back to your room now and sleep like a good boy?'

'Feuilly, who do you think I am?' asked Grantaire grinning.

'A fucking gold medallist that's what' replied Feuilly, 'And you're about the only person who I know won't let that go to their head, God only knows you need some proof of what you're capable of. You never believed in yourself'

'You always believed in me' said Grantaire

'Grantaire, if my belief was strong enough you'd have sailed through this competition, you 'd be world champion already, cos that's what you're capable of, but no, I think you've found someone else who believes in you and that might just be enough to convince you that you're worth something…'

'Um…what?'

'Son, I was not born yesterday, necking in the back of the arena is not exactly a new one for me.'

'Oh shit.'

'Just don't do it on my time, alright?' Feuilly asked gruffly.

'Okay'

'Now go an celebrate like the champion you are'

'I'm really not-'

'-Son, just… just don't' Feuilly interrupted '…. you were magnificent tonight. I'm so proud of you'

Grantaire's eyes started pricking, 'Thanks Feuilly' he said thickly.

'Don't stay up to late' Feuilly warned, giving him a small glare before heading back into the arena to cement his status as the coach of boxing champions.

Grantaire opened the training room door to find himself crushed by a Courfeyrac.

'Oooof Jesus Christ!' he swore, almost collapsing under the weight.

'Courf! Watch out! He's still got damaged ribs!' cried Enjolras, tugging his teammate off Grantaire.

'Thanks Apollo' said Grantaire, straightening up and wincing a little. He caught Enjolras's eye briefly before he was distracted by Courfeyrac gushing 'Oh R! You were amazing!'

'Oh...thanks'

'You were resplendent' added Combeferre, coming from behind Enjolras to stand in the corridor at the back of the SECC precinct.

'Yeah…' said Grantaire nervously, raking a hand through his hair. He really wasn't sure what to do now. What did you do once you'd won? Maybe he should ask Enjolras seeing as he'd won like a gazillion medals. And, yeah, Enjolras was standing right there and God, what should he do, should he say hi? Were they friends now? Were they going out? He hadn't seen him since the gymnast had been trying to get his hand down Grantaire's shorts and _oh fuck,_ his cock twitched at the thought. He glanced towards where the tall blond was standing.

'Um…hi' he said.

Enjolras just bent down and kissed Grantaire full on the mouth.

'You were brilliant' he said pulling away after a moment.

And Grantaire was sure he'd died and gone to heaven. Greek gods didn't just go around kissing people in random corridors and in front of their teammates. Speaking of teammates….Courfeyrac had squealed and Combeferre just shook his head grinning.

'About time'

'Shut up' said Grantaire, grinning to himself.

'Are you coming to celebrate with us? said Courfeyrac, 'After Bahorel's fight I mean'

'Yeah, he's out there right now, why aren't you watching him?'

'We wanted to see you' said Combeferre over the top of Courfeyrac swearing, 'OH SHIT, why didn't you tell me he was next!?'

'I just did' said Grantaire, but Courfeyrac was already sprinting down the corridor heading back into the arena.

'Are you coming out?' asked Combeferre.

'I…don't really know…I mean...I'm kinda tired, besides I'm on quite heavy meds, might not be the best thing…' it as strange, Grantaire was usually the first to want to go out, to find the best bars and pubs, but after this evening, he just felt worn down and weary.

'Fair enough, alright then, I'll head back in and watch Bahorel with Courfeyrac, you coming Enjolras?' asked Combeferre.

'Um…no…I think I'll walk Grantaire back' replied Enjolras.

'You don't have to do that' Grantaire protested

'I want to,' came the insistent reply.

'Okay, I'll see you later then' said Combeferre with a smile and a wave before he walked back into the arena.

'You ready to go?' said Enjolras, and Grantaire was suddenly hit with such a strong deja-vu, only it was different this time because Enjolras's hand had slipped into his and he was leading him away.

They walked in silence, their only communication being their fingers entwined together and Enjolras's thumb rubbing over the back of Grantaire's hand. It was doing strange things to him and he really couldn't think of anything else apart from how good that little movement felt.

Reaching the flat which Grantaire shared with Bahorel, they paused in front of the door. Grantaire reluctantly let go of Enjolras's hand to find his key to open the door. He hesitated, turning to look back at Enjolras, standing on the porch looking like he didn't belong in the mortal realm.

'Do you um..' Grantaire cleared his throat, 'Do you want to come in?' his heart was pounding in his chest, he prayed Enjolras would understand what he meant.

Enjolras frowned 'If you're really tired Grantaire, I should probably leave you to get some rest...'

'I'm fine Apollo, really, I just said that to get rid of Combeferre, I'd really like you to come in.' he said the last part of the sentence quietly, praying, hoping….

'I…um... yes'

Grantaire smiled. He opened the door and stepped into the flat's little kitchen. Enjolras followed, closing the door behind him. Grantaire dropped his bag on the floor and turned around to face Enjolras. Enjolras, who was suddenly there, crowding his space, a head taller than him. Grantaire swallowed, _the things he does to me…_

'Can I kiss you?' Enjolras whispered.

'Christ, _yes_, you never have to ask Ap-' but Grantaire's sentence was cut off as Enjolras's lips came crashing down on his. And it was perfect, it was intense, passionate and …perfect.

Grantaire pushed Enjolras's lips open and slipped his tongue into his mouth. His hands threaded in the blond's hair, tugging his head down, closer to him, changing the angle so he could properly explore the inside of Enjolras's mouth. And _fuck_, Enjolras was moaning and the noise caused a jolt to run down his spine to his groin. And he was getting hard embarrassingly quickly, but he couldn't care, he was kissing _Enjolras._

_And it had only been a fucking week._

Admittedly it had been a very eventful week but seriously, a week?

_But then, who cares?_ thought Grantaire, _I'm kissing Enjolras!_

The kiss was getting messy, Enjolras was pushing him backwards, backing him up against the counter, _and god, they could fuck on the countertop._ A knee slipped in between his legs forcing them apart and Enjolras's thigh was brushing his erection and Grantaire couldn't stop himself grinding down on it just a little.

His breath was coming in pants as he broke away from the kiss to take in much needed oxygen, but Enjolras just moved onto open mouthed kissing on his jaw and no, he needed that mouth on back his. His hands, one of which had dropped from Enjolras's hair to grasp his shoulders moved up to bring his face back into alignment so Grantaire could take Enjolras's bottom lip between his own, sucking, then nibbling on it and the groan it caused from Enjolras made Grantaire's knees buckle and then his crotch was in contact with Enjolras's thigh and the friction was so fucking good.

The kissing continued, Enjolras reciprocating Grantaire's actions, his tongue sliding into the boxer's mouth and it felt so good that it caused Grantaire to moan loud and long.

Enjolras broke away, short of breath he said 'I…we…fuck…' and Enjolras didn't really swear, and god that was a turn on, 'can we continue this in a bedroom, because, oh god, I might have to get you to fuck me on the counter.'

_Jesus Christ_

_'_Yes, yes' said Grantaire hoarsely, 'bed, you, me, now' and he lightly pushed Enjolras off him disentangling their legs as he took his arm and led him into his room. It was fairly dark inside, the sun was beginning to set, so Grantaire moved to turn on the bedside light and close the curtains. Behind him, Enjolras closed the door and then the gymnast was on him, tugging at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.

'Are we… are we really doing this?' Grantaire asked not quite believing what was happening.

'Yes' Enjolras breathed, coming in so close he could see each one of the blond eyelashes framing those impossibly blue eyes.

'Okay, that's good, that's fine, um…okay' and _God why was he nervous_?

'I mean, only if you want to' said Enjolras backtracking, sensing something.

'I want to' Grantaire almost whimpered, 'I…just…do you want to?'

Enjolras rolled his eyes, 'Grantaire, I like you very much, I'm very very attracted to you and I'd like us to have sex' he said matter-of-factly

'It's just, have you ever had sex?'

Enjolras now looked a little less sure, 'It depends on what you define as sex' he said slowly.

'Handjobs?'

'Yes'

'Blowjobs?'

'Yes….. but nothing really more than that'

'Okay'

'Okay?' Enjolras seemed nervous now, where before he hadn't, still Grantaire was glad they were having this conversation. 'Yes, okay, Enjolras that's fine, I don't mind, I just want to know if it's your first time then we just need to go a bit slower that's all.'

'You don't mind?'

'Why would I mind?'

'I don't know, you seem very experienced'

Grantaire snorted, 'Hardly, you don't get much spare time when you're an athlete and besides, how many openly gay boxers do you know?'

'But still, you've…fucked.'

'Yeah, but I haven't fucked you.' he replied and it was such a stupid reply it made Enjolras laugh and lean in to kiss him again.

They soon got caught up in the moment again only now there was much more of a purpose; it was building up to something. Between them they soon divested Enjolras of his jacket and shirt, leaving him topless and yes, his abs were spectacular. Grantaire gently backed him towards the bed, encouraging him to lie down because holy shit he needed to get his mouth on that chest.

Enjolras's torso was almost completely hairless, which wasn't too much of a surprise because he looked like he didn't even need to shave he was that blonde and boy-faced. As Grantaire straddled the athlete lying on the covers beneath him and leaned down to kiss him, the gold medal which was still around his neck swung forward and hit Enjolras in the chest.

'Ow!'

'Oh shit! Sorry! I forgot about that!'

'How could you forget you had a gold medal around your neck?!'

'Well you didn't notice either'

'You were distracting me!'

'Yes, yes I was'

'Don't be such a smug bastard' complained Enjolras.

'Sorry' grinned Grantaire, he leant back up and made to take the medal off, but Enjolras sat up and put his hands out to stop him.

'No, leave it.'

'What?'

'Leave it on, I like it.'

'You kinky son-of-a-bitch' exclaimed Grantaire, but he was shut up by Enjolras grasping the gold medallion and tugging it forwards so he could kiss him.

Running his hands along Enjolras's bare and _very_ toned shoulders was heaven, pure heaven. He could feel the muscles swell and contract as Enjolras put his arms around Grantaire and brought him flush against his chest. He was still straddling the gymnast and took the opportunity to grind down a little and to his joy he could feel Enjolras's hardness below him, he ground down a little harder and Enjolras growled.

'Shirt. Off. Now.' he said, tugging at the hem of the boxer's top, somehow managing to take it off without strangling Grantaire with the medal still around his neck. Once the fabric was over Grantaire's head he made to lean back in to capture Enjolras's mouth with his own. But a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

'Jesus Grantaire, how are you even breathing?' Enjolras swore, looking down to survey Grantaire's chest. He glanced down to see what the gymnast was looking at. There was bright blue strapping all around his torso, keeping his ribs stable. Peeking out of the bindings was a mosaic of bruising, mottled black, purple and green. It did look pretty-not-good and it did hurt like a bitch, but thanks to the painkillers from the medic earlier, Grantaire couldn't really feel much apart from a general soreness which always followed a tournament or fight.

'It's fine' he shrugged.

'No it's not' Enjolras retorted, 'Should you even be out of bed right now?'

'Well I am sort of on my bed' Grantaire smirked

'Don't be a twat' said Enjolras sharply, 'You should be resting Grantaire, what did the medics say?'

'Something about no more fighting or strenuous exercise' Grantaire struggled to recall, it was difficult with Enjolras's erection pressing into his thigh.

'Okay, look' said Enjolras pinching the bridge of his nose, 'Maybe we should call it a night'

'What? No!' protested Grantaire

'Yes! Look Grantaire you're not in any condition to… to be having sex right now'

'Oh come on!'

'I don't want to hurt you, or for you to hurt yourself' said Enjolras.

'I can't feel a thing! I'm all drugged up!' cried Grantaire trying to calm Enjolras down.

'Are you even able to give consent right now?' asked Enjolras horrified, _okay so that backfired….._

_'Yes'_ he said as calmly as possible, 'Enjolras, listen to me, look at me!' he commanded and his eyes were met with Enjolras's blue ones. 'Enjolras I'm fine, seriously I am fine, I am a bit achey, but I am fine. I'm good, I want to have sex with you.'

'But you can't!' Enjolras objected.

Grantaire put his hands out to grasp Enjolras's bringing them to his chest.

'I can' he said, sure of himself and looking into the gymnast's eyes. 'Believe me, I am fine and I can, besides', he said, a mischievous grin coming to his face, 'It depends on what you define as sex…'

He really hoped Enjolras would get his meaning.

Luckily, Enjolras wasn't just all beauty and no brains; he gasped and kissed Grantaire hard on the mouth, 'If you're sure?'

'Yes!' laughed Grantaire

'_Fuck,_ please, _please_ let me blow you' Enjolras practically begged and Jesus Christ, Grantaire's cock which had kind of been forgotten about now regained full hardness and it was almost painful how much he wanted that.

'Fuck yes' he replied kissing Enjolras back, moaning into it, showing the other man how much he craved it.

They changed positions, Enjolras treating Grantaire more carefully, but thankfully no longer wanting to end the evening early. He carefully leant over the boxer, trailing light caresses along his sides, avoiding as much of the bruising as possible. Grantaire was glad it wasn't a complete turn-off, his chest did normally look a lot better, but his muscles and flat stomach were mostly hidden by strapping so he was glad Enjolras still seemed attracted to him. Light fingers continued to trace over him and it wouldn't normally be so arousing for Grantaire, he was more of a quick and hard sort of guy but maybe it was because it was Enjolras, but the fluttering touches were setting him on fire. Fingers reached out and arranged the medal hanging from Grantaire's neck so that the ribbon was lying flat against his skin and the medal was sitting on the middle of his chest. And it wasn't anything Grantaire had ever thought about before, but hey, if Enjolras liked it, he could get on board with it.

Then those same fingers were undoing the string holding up his shorts and slipping the material down his legs. Grantaire had been staring up at the ceiling but now he tilted his head up and looked down to see Enjolras divesting himself of his tracksuit bottoms and underwear and then he was stroking Grantaire's cock through his boxers, whilst entirely naked.

Grantaire thumped his head back on the pillow, it was too much! But hang on; now he couldn't see Enjolras, so he forced himself to look down again, okay he was never looking away again. Enjolras was sat straddling his thighs, cock jutting upright proudly, but his gaze was trained on the bulge underneath Grantaire's boxers. He stroked Grantaire's cock again and oh god there was a damp patch spreading on the material because of the pre-come leaking from the tip.

Grantaire whimpered, 'Enjolras…._please_...'

It caused the gymnast to glance up, Grantaire didn't want to imagine what he looked like but it seemed to please Enjolras who smiled and then moved up to kiss Grantaire again before moving another pillow under his head, so he wouldn't give himself neck strain.

'Are you comfortable?' he asked sweetly, as if they both weren't naked, or nearly naked and he wasn't about to give Grantaire a blow-job.

'I'm fine' Grantaire said through gritted teeth as his stomach muscles rippled with desire.

'I have to ask…' paused Enjolras, 'Are you clean?'

It took Grantaire a moment to realise what Enjolras was talking about but then 'Yes' he replied 'Or at least I was, day before yesterday.' The best thing about post-match drugs tests was that they tested for _everything_. 'You?' he asked in turn, Enjolras replied in the affirmative.

'Do you want a condom?' he asked, reaching out an arm for his bedside cabinet.

Enjolras shook his head and then kissed him again in reply before moved down so his head was between Grantaire's legs.

'I'm good' he said.

Grantaire breathed in deeply 'Oh God' he whined.

Enjolras was pressing open mouth kisses along his thighs whilst his fingers delicately trailed through his pubic hair, swirling around the base of his cock without actually touching it.

'Oh fuck…..fuck…stop being a fucking _tease_' Grantaire begged, but although Enjolras didn't respond outloud, Grantaire could feel him fucking _smile _against the crease where his inner thigh met his groin.

_Jesus fuck._

Enjolras nosed against the base of his cock and the tiniest of touches was enough to reduce Grantaire to a panting, incoherent mess. His skin was burning up, heat was pooling in his lower abdomen, his hands were gripping the bed sheets tightly because he didn't know what else to do with them and his feet were struggling to find a purchase on the surface of the bed. Enjolras's wicked fingers were still stroking up and down his inner thighs which rose and fell off the bed as he tried to simultaneously escape and seek out the caresses.

'Please, please Enjolras…..just…fuck' he managed to get out in between breaths and god his chest was tight, but there was no way he was telling the gymnast now, not when he was this close.

Then Enjolras suddenly licked a hot, wet stripe up from the base of his cock to the head causing Grantaire's hips to buck violently off the bed. He hissed in response, words failing him. Enjolras shifted forward a bit so he could brace his forearms on Grantaire's hips, forcing him into place; making him stay still. He then proceeded to lap at the head of Grantaire's cock, swiping up the precome and swirling a tongue under his foreskin. The weight forcing his hips down meant that Grantaire couldn't try and seek release by thrusting upwards, he was trapped and the punishment Enjolras was dealing out was excruciatingly arousing.

Enjolras then took the tip into his mouth ever so slightly and sucked and the heat and sensation was fucking glorious.

Grantaire keened.

His hands scrabbled on the sheets, gripping so tightly it was likely he'd rip them.

Enjolras released the head of his cock and then the bastard blew ever so softly cold air onto the red, wet, skin.

'Oh you….fucking..._wanker_' Grantaire cried, throwing his head back onto the pillow in frustration.

'Good?' murmured Enjolras in a light tone, like he was amused.

'Where the fuck did you learn all of this?'

'Oh here and there…'

'_Jesus fuck'_

_'_Mmmm, enough talking I think' said Enjolras as he returned to his earlier ministrations with vigour.

He swallowed the head of Grantaire down, and then continued down taking in an impressive amount. After a pause he then he hollowed out his cheeks and rose back up. And it was almost enough to make Grantaire come then and there.

'_Mmmm,_ really…._fuck_…not going to… last long' he gasped.

'Good' came the reply as Enjolras released his cock which was now shining in a coat of his saliva, 'Now shush' and God, was Enjolras bossy in bed.

Grantaire shivered, he quite liked it. _Who knew?_

Enjolras now started up a slow sort of rhythm, head bobbing up and down between Grantaire's legs and it was a good thing his weight was pressing down on Grantaire's hips because the boxer had lost any sort of control he had and kept trying to thrust upwards and down Enjolras's throat and he really didn't want to hurt the gymnast.

Enjolras was fast on the downward stroke but rose up the length of him with agonizing slowness, the suction caused by his cheeks creating the most glorious sensations along Grantaire's cock. This wasn't just a blowjob; this was a fucking stupendous blowjob. Enjolras was a secret master of giving head and _fuck_ Grantaire was in such a good place right now.

He could feel his orgasm building somewhere low down in his stomach, gathering pace as all the nerves along his arms, chest and legs seemed to converge on this one point currently deep in Enjolras's fucking magnificent mouth.

He tried to warn Enjolras but his own mouth wasn't working, he could only breathe in quick quiet gasps, all sound escaping him. The only thing he could do was thread his hands into Enjolras's hair and try and tug gently, letting him know that he was about to come. Enjolras didn't seem to get the message though so Grantaire, with a lot of effort managed to finally pant desperately 'Enjolras…I'm…really_, really..._close'

Enjolras then seemed to understand and with a final swirl of the tongue rose up off Grantaire's cock before pumping it quickly a couple of times with his hand.

And that's when Grantaire's orgasm hit him like comet. He closed his eyes and let out a groan as he saw stars behind his eyelids. His body felt like it was floating as his climax washed over him, he could distantly feel hot splashes of come land on his chest as his cock throbbed and pulsed with his release. His whole body thrummed with the force of his orgasm it was a deep tingling that he felt all the way into his bones and he knew without a doubt that it was the best one of his life.

It took a little while before he felt himself returning to the mortal world. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking a little bit as his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness and he had to take in what he could see before him.

It was possibly the best thing he'd ever seen and if he hadn't just already come it would definitely be enough to push him over the edge. It was Enjolras.

Enjolras was kneeling up, his thighs as far apart as they could go in between Grantaire's bent legs. He had one hand braced on Grantaire's upturned knee as the other was pumping vigorously around his cock. His head was bent over, eyes were closed and Grantaire could see the gymnast's abs ripple with each thrum of desire he was feeling.

There was a god masturbating over him.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

'Enjolras' Grantaire whispered, but it was loud enough for the other to hear.

The golden head looked up and the blue eyes met green before shuttering closed as Enjolras reached orgasm from looking into his eyes.

Hot stripes of the gymnast's come splattered Grantaire's torso, his hand continued to encircle his cock as he drove every last drop of sensation from it. His face was a wonder, his mouth forming an O as he gasped as his release tore through his body. It was the most pornographic thing Grantaire had ever seen. _And it was because of me_.

As the last spurt of come came from his softening cock Enjolras collapsed onto all fours above Grantaire. He was panting, his eyes still closed.

But then he sat back on his haunches looking at Grantaire spread before him.

Grantaire held his gaze, trying to work out what was in the gymnast's head, but there was no way he could have predicted what Enjolras did next.

He trailed a hand up Grantaire's abdomen, causing the muscles to clench in reaction causing a small wave of pleasure to roll through him.

'Mmmmm' Grantaire said in response, not really capable of making words still.

The Enjolras's fingers were dipping into the mess of come on his torso and swirling the streaks together mixing both their releases, _and fuck that is so hot, why is that so hot?_

Maybe it was the lazy way Enjolras was doing it, but it was also purposeful. The blond's gaze was trained on his fingers, now coated with his and Grantaire's come and then he-

Jesus Christ, no.

He was painting the come onto Grantaire's gold medal.

Grantaire stared in horror, as Enjolras's sinful fingers left streaks of mixed come on the medallion still lying on Grantaire's bruised and strapped-together chest.

Grantaire glanced up to see Enjolras's face, they gymnast was concentrating on what his fingers were doing, he had quite a nonchalant air, as if he really didn't care that it was _a fucking gold medal what I just won_.

'Oi' Grantaire protested quite half-heartedly, because really, he'd just had the best orgasm of his life thanks to this man, so really who was he to tell him off?

'Sorry' said Enjolras in a tone which said he really wasn't sorry.

'That's my medal, you bastard, go deface you own, God knows you've got enough of them'

'Sorry' said Enjolras again, but this time with a little smile, 'It's a nice medal'

'Well not any more it isn't' pointed out Grantaire looking down to see drying white streaks all over the gold.

'Well you'll just have to go and get some more then won't you?' said Enjolras, and Grantaire wasn't quite sure what to make of this post-coital, blissed out Enjolras.

'Maybe I will' he replied wryly.

'I really like you' blurted out Enjolras, his eyes wide as they met Grantaire's.

Grantaire chuckled and reached out his hands to trail down Enjolras's unbelievably good-looking arm muscles before finding his hands and intertwining them.

'I really like you too' he said in return.

They stayed like that for a little while longer until their breathing returned to normal and Grantaire's ribs stopped aching. Then Grantaire rose and padded to the bathroom to get a washcloth and clean them both up- although it was mostly him. He managed to get most of the come off the front of the medal but some of it had got on the ribbon and Grantaire knew that would be trickier to get out.

'You've properly desecrated this you know' he complained to Enjolras.

'Oh shush' said the gymnast from where he was tucked up under Grantaire's sheets, 'Just come to bed.'

'I will in a minute, give me a moment…Jesus Christ there's come all over this you absolute heathen' said Grantaire disgruntled, 'That was beyond a doubt the dirtiest thing I've ever _seen_ let alone participated in.'

Enjolras just made a sleepy, grumpy noise from under the covers; he seemed to have turned into a very pliant, needy sort of person and he grabbed onto Grantaire as he tried to slide under the covers and join him.

'Hey! Hey!' he cried, 'Let me get settled, Christ you're clingy'

Enjolras just snuggled up to Grantaire, wrapping his legs around the boxer's under the covers and lacing his finger's in Grantaire's hand. With his free hand Grantaire stroked the top of Enjolras's head, winding the curls around his fingers.

Grantaire tried to process everything which had happened in the past week. From meeting Enjolras, to challenging him. From seeing him the first time to seeing him the last time. From his first boxing match to the last. From nothing, to a gold medal. A medal that was now sitting on his chest of drawers, the gold reflecting orange from the streetlamps outside.

Grantaire tried to reflect on the week but it was really all a bit too much for him. He just decided to get some sleep and try and sort out his new life in the morning.

His new life with Enjolras, his new life as a Gold Medallist, Commonwealth Champion, his new friends and his oldest one, and his beloved mentor too.

Yeah, let's wait until tomorrow.


End file.

Les Misérables, Romance