Pairing: Adam Levine/Blake Shelton
Disclaimer: I have no connection to The Voice or NBC
Summary: Adam is not moping.
A/N: Super short drabble! Super fluffy and totally not what I usually write. Except for the emotional H/C--I am totally into that.
Adam sits in his trailer the night after the elimination show on Tuesday. He’s been doing this for the past couple of hours, lying somewhere between confused and a little hurt. But he’s not moping. Mainly he’s just sort of shocked.
There’s a knock on the door around 3am and it just occurs to him that he has to get up in a few hours to coach his team. Only to remember that he doesn’t have a team anymore. Adam isn’t one to wallow but it’s just that he thought he had this season in the bag. He thinks of all the people who trusted him with their careers and how he failed them. He wonders if he should have done something different and where he steered them all wrong. But he’s not moping.
The door opens which mildly alarms Adam until he hears the distinct, heavy steps of cowboy boots coming up the mini flight of stairs. “Take off your damn boots, you hillbilly!” Adam shouts before Blake can take another step inside. In response, Blake toes off his boots with exaggerated care and then lays them outside the door. “Didn’t your mama teach you any manners...?”
Blake continues to hum whatever dumb hick song he’s currently got blasting on his radio and ignores Adam’s hostility. Adam really doesn’t want to have to deal with Blake gloating and just being so... Blake-ish.
“How’re you doin’ there?” Blake asks as he plops himself down onto the couch beside him. It’s like he owns the place, the way he sprawls out and crowds Adam’s space.
Adam scowls in response and Blake puts a Starbucks cup in his hand.
“It’s Adam’s Special Latte.” Blake grins like he is just too funny.
Adam shakes his head and takes a big sip of the ‘latte’ which he immediately regrets. It’s pretty much just wild turkey with some coffee mixed in and whipped cream on top. Only Blake would actually enjoy this bastardization of a Starbucks drink, if it can even be called that. “My faith in America has been shaken,” he concedes after a minute.
Blake rolls his eyes. “Drama queen.”
“I’m serious though,” Adam seethes. “All of my contestants could have easily have won this thing... Where did I mess up?”
“You didn’t mess up.” Blake puts his feet up on the coffee table but removes them once he notices Adam glaring. “And your team didn’t mess up either, Adam. You know how voting works. People think that certain contestants are safe and don’t vote for them because they think they’re a sure thing.”
Blake reaches over and rubs the back of Adam’s neck. Adam continues to pout. “C’mon, grumpy.” Blake soothes and shifts closer so that he can wrap his arms around Adam. “My little rockstar,” Blake coos at him and Adam tries to escape his grasp as Blake smothers him in kisses. His beard scratches Adam’s pale skin and Blake blows raspberries against him until Adam begins to laugh, despite his better judgement. No need to inflate Blake’s ego any further.
“Stop..!” Adam whines.
With a final particularly loud and sloppy raspberry, Blake pulls back. “You okay now?” he asks, a hand still on Adam’s shoulder. Adam releases a sigh but nods. “Good, because I think Shakira and Usher are in worse shape than you and they need a ride home from the bar.”
Adam snorts, imagining a drunk Shakira. She’s probably shouting in Spanish about how unfair this whole situation is while still remaining unbelievably sweet. Usher’s probably just trying to hold her back from starting a fight. It’s a sort of funny image that makes Adam’s lips quirk up at the corners. “Fine...” he says as he follows Blake out of the trailer. Blake has both of the Special Lattes and Adam suspects that Blake never intended for Adam to drink his. “I hate you, you know that?”
“No, you don’t.”
Adam sighs. No, he doesn’t.