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The thing about Adam and Blake together is that they learn to appreciate the little things. Stolen moments to themselves in public are few and far between, and it becomes something of a game to see what they can get away with in front of people who don’t know that they are, in fact, a couple.
Adam knew how affectionate Blake was, not just with him, but everyone; he’s (good-naturedly) hugged, kissed and groped his way through every country act on the circuit, as well as a number of mainstream acts, as Usher and Shakira can only too readily attest. So it was easy, at first, for Adam to dismiss his actions, to ignore kisses for the camera, lingering looks that trail up and down his body, arms wrapped around his waist just a little too long…
Anyway, while Adam had finally caught on to Blake’s true feelings, it seemed the rest of the world had not; as such, they’ve realized that they can get away with pretty much anything. Adam can hang out in Blake’s lap for half a day in front of a full studio audience and all anyone will say “Aw how funny!” It’s the flaw in the system they’re only too happy to exploit.
“You’re sure you want to do the carpet together, right?” Adam asked, minutes before they’re due to meet the press at a post-show event.
“I thought you didn’t care what the press thinks,” Blake grinned. “’Let ‘em come to their own conclusions’, I think you said.”
“I care about what you think,” Adam said, grabbing Blake’s hand. “When you’re not being an idiot, I mean.” His hand was strong, and surprisingly soft for a guitarist, his calluses having hardened over the years, like his own.
“That’s right. Me dumb you smart,” Blake quipped, one eyebrow raised rather mockingly as he squeezed Adam’s hand, only for Adam to pull away and swat his arm.
“Shut up!” He went in for a second punch but Blake caught his hand again, intertwining their fingers in a vice like grip.
As the car began to slow, Adam leaned in to press a firm, quick kiss to Blake’s lips; it would be their armour, his reminder to Blake that no matter what happened with the press, the public, they would both have to try a lot harder to fuck up what they have. In response, Blake went on grinning, and as they exited the car, kept such a firm grip on Adam’s hand that he couldn’t shake him off.
“What are you doing?” Adam hissed as a murmur went through the press, word spreading of their arrival.
“Doing what I want to,” Blake whispered back. “I never want to let go of your hand if I can help it. Oh don’t worry,” Blake said as Adam glanced over, the furious sound of clicking filling the air as the cameras went off. “Let them come to their own conclusions.”
In spite of their mutual anxiety (and yes, Adam knew it was mutual because as confident as Blake seemed, no one’s palms could be that naturally sweaty), and the eye rolling disapproval from their publicist, they continued to hold hands down the red carpet, throughout each interview, each one a victory that sent a thrill down Adam’s spine. The comforting weight of Blake’s hand in his own that squeezed back as if to remind him that, yes, this was happening and they were getting away with it. Adam couldn’t help but laugh; trust Blake to turn something as innocent as holding hands into the ultimate rebellion.