Chapter Text
Blake can feel himself vibrating with stress. And he thought Season 1 was bad. He certainly doesn’t remember them running out of time so much during the Lives back then. Jesus fucking christ. He wipes the sweat off his brow with one hand, trying not to throw up in the backseat of the SUV currently taking him back to his stupid lifeless rented house. Fuck.
***
25 minutes earlier
God damn it, Adam is right, Blake thinks to himself just as Carson throws to commercial. He has several minutes to make up his mind about who to send home tonight. Christina sure got the better end of that deal, what with her having some extra time to think during Bieber’s promo.
Last night was bad enough. They hadn’t been told about the rule change in advance, so when he and Christina found out they would have to cut two people this week—one Monday and then another Tuesday—they lost their shit. But it had been decided and there was nothing to be done. So yesterday he let Jordis go and the poor girl was so upset she didn’t want to even talk to him after the show went off air (later she texted and apologized and said she was profoundly grateful for the opportunity, but it didn’t make him stop feeling like a total piece of shit). And now he will have to let another girl on his team go, Jermaine having been saved by America.
And Raelynn, beautiful, strong, country Raelynn… Adam was right, the inflections were over the top and took him out of the song a little bit. Erin did great, although he expected more urgency and emotion from her, too. They hadn’t been told about the songs their contestants were gonna go with for the saves in advance, so now he has like two minutes to make a life changing decision for one of them. Or, rather, it will be a life changing decision for both of them, but for one of them it will be the bad kind of life changing decision.
They come back from commercial and he still doesn’t know what to do. He’s trying to articulate his thoughts out loud but suddenly they are out of time and Carson is hurrying him the fuck up to “give a name, give me a name, Blake, just give me a name quick.” He laughs nervously and slaps the desk and looks at the other coaches and licks his lips and feels that his heart is about to jump out of his chest and yet he still hasn’t made up his mind and they are clean out of time.
Erin lost her father this year, just as he did, and she kept kicking ass on the show anyway. And she kicked ass tonight. This girl has been going above and beyond in this competition. He has gotta save her.
“I’m saving Erin.”
The words are out but his anxiety is just ramping up. Carson tells them the broadcast has been cut before Blake even has time to make it out of his chair to come up and give Raelynn a goodbye hug. He hugs her the tightest he can, tries to give her the most encouraging words he can come up with, and she doesn’t seem all that upset anyway, yet he still feels like he’s gonna die by the time he’s leaving the stage (he also gave Erin a hug and a “see you in a couple of days, sis”).
He somehow makes it to his trailer, barely seeing or hearing any of the post-live-show hustle and bustle, collects his shit as quickly as he can, and then he’s outside looking for his chauffeur.
***
As soon he’s inside the house, he drops the already-loosened tie somewhere on the floor and then throws the vest someplace else and heads straight to the bar. He doesn’t have much in this house that he hates in this city he hates, but he sure has plenty of alcohol. For exactly such occasions as this.
Sometimes he wonders what went wrong. His life is simultaneously the best it’s ever been (he’s on TV, his songs are all number one, his tours are all sold out), but it’s also absolutely horrible in other aspects (fuck knows what’s happening with his marriage, they are barely talking anymore; and then day after day he has to come to an empty house and feel terribly lonely and drink until he’s ready to pass out). And sure, he’s friendly with the coaches and Carson and the contestants and some other people on the show, but he spends most of his evenings in almost suffocating solitude. And no one has any fucking idea just how much he’s hurting.
Not much time has passed since he lowered himself on the couch with a random bottle of rum and now half the bottle is already gone and the doorbell is ringing. Maybe it’s just in his head, he wonders for a second. But no, the doorbell is really ringing. He leaves the bottle on the coffee table and makes his way to the front door.
“Hey, man, you alright?” Adam’s worried gaze meets his when he opens the door.
Adam is also still wearing his show clothes, he notices, but then a grey t-shirt and a pair of black slacks is not really something one has to change out of when the episode’s done, so it’s not that weird. Blake is so surprised by Adam showing up that he barely remembers he needs to answer his question.
“I’ve been better,” Blake replies, trying to be truthful but also not come across as completely pathetic. He steps aside to let Adam in.
“God, that was a mess. I said earlier that I prefer the choice being up to me rather than the viewers, but I’m not so sure anymore.” They’ve made their way to the living room and Adam spots the half empty bottle of Bacardi. He turns to look at Blake. “So you are as stressed as you looked back there, huh?”
“What are you doin’ here, Adam?” Him and Adam are good friends, but Adam isn’t really a type of guy to do house calls—he only visited the Tish ranch once, and this right now is maybe his third time at Blake’s LA house (and Blake’s had this place for a year now).
“I was worried. I saw you kinda lose it making that decision, and I couldn’t find you afterwards.” He pauses. “Besides, I know something that works real well for stress.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?” Blake asks, not sure where Adam is going with this, the rum making him kinda slow.
“Well, me and Anne V broke up last week,” Adam starts, and at first looks like he’s going to say more, but then he doesn’t.
“I would say ‘I’m sorry’, but I don’t like where this is goin’,” Blake replies, and he’s suddenly annoyed, yet trying his best to keep his expression blank. He’s pretty sure he knows what Adam is saying now. Is he really doing this right now? The audacity of that guy.
“You don’t?” Adam looks actually taken aback. “We’ve known each other a year. I’ve seen you looking at me. There’s no way you are fucking straight.”
“I have a wife,” Blake states simply. Their marriage doesn’t mean anything to Miranda and it doesn’t really mean anything to him anymore, so he’s not sure why he’s even bothering to voice an argument this meaningless.
Adam is predictably unfazed and chuckles slightly. “Oh yeah, and how’s that going?” He shakes his head and adds, “Come on, it’s me, man. I know you.”
“Yeah, you feelin’ sorry for me sounds real sexy. Sorry I’m not fallin’ over myself at the thought of a pity fuck.”
Adam actually fully laughs this time.
“‘Pity fuck’? Shelton, I swear to god, what are you on?” Adam asks rhetorically, running his hands over his buzz cut. Blake gets distracted by the display for a second. Adam continues, not having noticed: “I believe people call it ‘friends with benefits.’ We are both as good as single, me more so than you maybe, and I want you, and I’m pretty sure you want me—and I really doubt I’m completely off base here—and this show is proving to be a big pain in the ass… Forgive me if I see the benefit in some nice cardio. And we are friends, last I checked.”
It’s Blake’s turn to chuckle.
“That is one hard come on. Did all the Victoria Secret models drop dead this morning and I just didn’t hear?”
Adam steps closer, now all up in Blake’s personal space.
“Maybe I saw you be all out of your element during the end of the show tonight and thought that I wanna be the one to make you lose your mind,” he murmurs seductively.
Adam’s unselfconscious persistence is beginning to do it for Blake. He won’t lie to himself and say that he hasn’t thought about something like this in the—completely batshit insane—year that he’s known Adam, because he has, many times. The amount of rum he’s consumed is making him kinda doubt all of this being real and actually happening to him. But, damn it all to hell, Adam fucking Levine is standing in his living room, propositioning him, and Blake doesn’t have the self-restraint to tell him no. He hopes this isn’t just an alcohol-induced fantasy.
“One last chance to admit this is all just an elaborate prank?” Blake asks half-jokingly, a low growl nevertheless coloring his voice.
“Trust me, I did not drive all this way-“
Whatever he was gonna say next is interrupted by Blake smashing their mouths together. Adam quickly gets with the program, opening his lips slightly, allowing Blake to deepen the kiss and explore. Blake sucks on Adam’s lower lip, eliciting a moan from Adam, who then bites his lower lip in retaliation.
Blake withdraws just enough to get out a not-super-convincing “Hey, no bruisin'.”
“Fuck your stupid rules,” Adam breathes out somewhat impatiently and tries to recapture Blake’s lips again. When Blake doesn’t let him, he adds, “OK, yes, of course, no bruising. Happy now?”
Blake just picks Adam up, guiding him to wrap his legs around his hips, and starts heading in the direction of the stairs. “Bedroom,” he explains.
“Fucking finally!”
“I swear to god I will drop ya if you don’t stop bein’ this pushy,” Blake grumbles.
“No, you won’t,” Adam retorts confidently.
“No, I won’t,” Blake admits finally. “But there are other punishments.”
“Is that meant to be an unappealing threat?”
Blake throws Adam on the bed unceremoniously. At least he kept his word and didn't drop him on the stairs. He should've guessed that the man is even more of a handful in bed than he is on set of a TV show. Duh. “Thank god I finally know how to shut you up.” He climbs on the bed, looming over Adam. “Now, where were we?”
The kiss that follows is even better than the one he interrupted a couple of minutes ago.