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It might be one of the dumbest things he has ever done.
No, seriously, how did he ever think he could get away with this? He’s barely disguised, still in his trademark jeans and plaid; he had opted for long sleeves at least, to hide the tattoo that might id him at close range, and his baseball hat is pulled down low over his eyes. Thankfully, no one seems to care about the 6’5” dude shuffling his feet on the outskirts of the crowd. It’s an L.A. venue, so the place is filled to breaking point, a good majority of them women, some singing and dancing to the opening act, other chatting excitedly and taking pictures with their friends. At best, Blake could be someone’s Dad forced along for the show.
He really hopes Adam won’t be able to see too far from the stage.
He knows what to expect from a Maroon 5 show; he has seen them perform countless times before. When the lights dim again, the crowd goes fucking insane; Blake regrets not bringing earplugs for a second, until Adam’s voice cuts through the din and suddenly nothing else matters. He’s grinning and staring up at the stage, following Adam jump around the stage to their opening number. If someone did spot Blake for who he was, he didn’t care. They could start snapping pictures of him with their phones and sell them to Us Weekly, Blake wouldn’t even move; watching Adam is like watching a swinging pendulum – he was hypnotized by the moves and the music.
The whole reason he came here tonight, in amongst the crowds and not backstage, was to experience Adam and the band like he did for the first time – as a stranger, as someone who didn’t know the person behind the voice. So much has happened between them in the last few months – getting together, breaking it off, and then Adam surprising him at his own damn show, well. Blake grinned at the memory.
The concert goes on, Adam’s voice fighting for dominance over the crowd’s screaming and singing. Blake remembers when he had spotted Adam in the crowd at his show out of sheer luck, and wonders if Adam might be looking in his direction. Blake isn’t as well placed as Adam had been – he’s more on the side of the stage than the front of it, near the exits in case he does get mobbed and has to make a quick getaway. Adam does seem to be playing to his side of the audience a little more, though, and Blake can’t help but wonder.
He knows most, if not all of the songs. Some of them are a little older and harder to place, but they all make him beam fondly for the band’s success. The boys are all good people – and thankfully don’t seem to have a problem with Blake, which makes the decision to go backstage after this show even easier. He figures if he leaves now before the encore, he’ll be able to convince security he isn’t a perverted stalker, and have enough time to pull Adam aside for at least 5 minutes to themselves.
He doesn’t have any trouble convincing security of who he is – they almost seem to be expecting him. They tell him to wait by the side of the stage where the equipment is and a few tech guys are standing in case something goes wrong with the boys’ equipment. Blake doesn’t really pay any attention to them now that he can see Adam up close, can see the sweat dripping down his face and neck from performing under the hot lights. The last song fades out and the stage goes dark, the crowd screaming for more. Blake cranes his neck and suddenly Adam is there, out of nowhere, grabbing his face and pulling it towards him. Blake is so surprised he almost forgets to savour the taste of sweat and sweetness that is so very Adam, feels his lips part, pliant under Adam’s own demanding ones. Unbelievably it only lasts a couple of seconds, as Adam pulls away and says, close to be heard over the screaming crowd, “You stick out like a sore thumb, Shelton.”
Blake blushes, and grins sheepishly. “Well I had to return the favor didn’t I?” Adam’s fingers play along the back of his neck, and Blake starts to lean in again.
“Nuh-uh,” Adam stops him. “You’re here, you’re gonna work. You owe me, remember?”
“For what?”
“For letting me break up with you in the first place”. Adam pulls him in again for a quick kiss, then says. “Encore time. Don’t chicken out.”
Blake has no idea what Adam means by “work” as he walks back out onstage, followed by the rest of the boys, all of whom either grin at or high five Blake on their way. The lights are back up then and some very familiar notes fill the room and the crowd goes fucking nuts. It’s the song, and the fact that a tech hands him a handheld mic, that makes it click.
The band doesn’t usually use This Love for an encore; newer songs have taken its place in the rotation, but Blake could kill Adam for bringing it back tonight. Because of course he has to go out onstage and sing it with him. Of course the crowd and press are going to have a field day. And of course he doesn’t care.
It’s the price to pay for doing a very dumb thing.