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"My team is going to win this year," Adam says, circling the piano.
"Uh huh," says Blake.
Adam taps the last piano key, twice, in rapid succession. "That means your team is going to lose."
"Mm."
"Because you suck," Adam elaborates. "Your charming country bumpkin accent and dimple can get you only so far."
Blake closes the lid over the keys and turns, shifts so that he's facing Adam. "I see."
"Anyone can win three times. It's the fourth that makes you."
Blake tilts his head. "You didn't win three times." His lips twitch. "I did."
"Yes," Adam says through a heavy breath, fingers tapping against the piano top, "but you won't win a fourth. That's what I'm trying to say."
"Right, right, of course," Blake says, nodding. "Continue."
Adam's eyes narrow, and then he's suddenly in Blake's space, legs astride the piano bench. "Because I am going to win. And you're going to lose."
"Yeah, you said that," Blake says. Adam's wearing his glasses today, and Blake reaches up, slides them off his face and sets them carefully on the piano top.
"Because I mean it," says Adam, blinking, adjusting to the change in vision.
"You can try," Blake says, lips finally giving into the smile, small as it may be. "You always put in great effort."
Adam's nostrils flare and then he's surging forward, mouth crashing down on Blake's, and his hands fist themselves around the open flare of Blake's plaid button up, pulling him closer. He groans, and Blake's hands slide down his sides, curve around his ass before settling just below it, gripping hard to the muscles of his thighs and lifting him forward.
Adam's beard scratches across Blake's face as he turns out of the kiss, gasping, hands clinging to Blake's shoulders. It's a delicate balance, both of them half on the narrow piano bench and half off, before Adam's feet settle firmly on the ground, legs dangling on either side of Blake's.
"You might win," Blake says quietly.
"Yeah," Adam says, tilting his head back. Blake presses a series of hot, open mouthed kisses down the front of Adam's neck, only stopping when he reaches t-shirt. "Blake –"
"But you won't," Blake says, louder, mouth no longer anywhere near Adam. He lets go, and Adam has to flail his arms out for the piano so as not to fall to the cold floor. "Because you can't beat me."
Adam pushes himself to full height, and his erection is obvious as he backs away. "I will," he says, voice low and with a slight rasp. "And then you'll be sorry."
"I'm shakin' in my boots. You know, my real cowboy boots, not whatever those things you're wearing are."
"Game on, Shelton."