Chapter Text
You and I go hard, at each other like we going to war
You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slammin' the door
You and I get so damn dysfunctional we stopped keeping score
You and I get sick, yeah I know that we can't do this no more
But baby there you go again, there you go again – making me love you
The studio was a flurry of activity, bodies darting in and out of every corner backstage, the control room a hub of activity. Drumbeats pounded in chests as more than one PA downed an Advil to stop the matching pounding in their heads. On stage, the lights cast the studio audience in shadow as they beat down on a young talent, hopeful as she awaited criticism from the four superstar judges; The Voice was mid show, and the smack talk had already commenced.
Rivalry was fairly common between talent show judges – the producers believed it created “drama” for the audience (and the press). Adam Levine did not like to play any idiotic Hollywood games; he believed that taking the high road was a good practice in self-preservation. That was until he had met Blake Shelton.
“That is bull crap, and you know it buddy,” Blake’s deep, Southern drawl snapped from across the stage back to Adam, the man kindly reigning in his cussing for the benefit of the live television audience. Adam threw up his hands, throwing an apologetic look to the competitor, a young 20-something girl who had chosen Adam as her mentor, and made it to the top sixteen. Adam liked her; she was cute, funny, and talented as hell, so it pissed him off whenever one of the other judges (namely Blake) went after her voice, saying it wasn’t up to scratch, claiming that Adam didn’t know talent from a hole in the wall. He was starting to think that signing up to judge a talent competition hadn’t been the best idea.
“Sorry you feel that way Shelton,” Adam countered as he sat back in his chair. He had learned the secret to dealing with Blake – don’t provoke him. Blake may have a few inches in both height and width on Adam, but Adam probably could have taken him. However much he may want to deliver a swift, quick kick to Blake’s nads, though, sometimes you can’t fight fire with fire. For now, Adam was more than happy to sit back, kick up his feet, and watch Blake burn.
Adam just didn’t get it; when he’d first met Shelton, the guy had been fine, completely nice, endearing; all the qualities of good ol’ boy that Adam adored without the inbred racist or homophobic tendencies. It was only lately that Blake’s inner dick-ishness seemed to rear it’s ugly head. Whatever, fine, Adam was cool with it. He had worked with enough to people to know that he would never be able to get along with everyone. Adam just could not understand why he had this intense need to get Blake to like him, or at least agree with him once in a while. Hell, five minutes without a passive aggressive comment would be a step in the right direction.
The show went on; Blake lobbed a few more verbal grenades towards Adam as the latter diffused them, one after the other, winking and joking and charming the audience onto his side. Adam reveled in it, cackling evilly to himself as Carson signed off and they all waved goodbye to the audience as the four judges headed backstage, intent on seeing their teams, doling out support and congratulations for the ingénues. Adam could feel the mother hen instinct coming on as he hugged and joked around with his team of four. He was so proud of the progress they’d made, and it killed him knowing that three of them wouldn’t make it to the end. Perhaps that’s why he got so defensive in front of Blake; cutting someone down on primetime national television wasn’t something to revel in.
With one last wave to the team, Adam headed towards his own trailer to pick up his stuff. He was exhausted, in every sense. The show didn’t even leave him time to write anymore. Thank god for the boys; they had been writing music for their next album during the day while Adam sweated in the studio, but now they needed lyrics, and Adam needed inspiration. However, right now, all Adam wanted was a cold beer, a babe, and a bed, not necessarily in that order.
Lost in his wishful thinking, Adam rounded the corner and collided with what seemed to be a solid brick wall; stumbling backwards, he realized that it was not a wall, but Blake, looking irritated at having his hall-stomping session interrupted. Once he realized just whom he had banged into, Blake’s expression softened, much to Adam’s surprise. “You okay?” Blake asked, the southern drawl resonating in Adam’s chest. It would have been comforting if he still didn’t want to punch the guy.
“Yeah, fine.” Adam replied. “See you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Blake sidestepped to block Adam’s escape. “Look, I’m really sorry.”
“Dude it was an accident, whatever, it’s fine.” Adam said, his attempts to get around Blake proving futile.
“No, I mean,” Blake ducked his head with a deep exhale. “I mean, I’m sorry I’ve been attacking you lately. I’ve been…well, I’ve been a jackass the whole time when I actually I admire the hell out of you.”
Adam wondered if he hadn’t actually been knocked over and hit his head on the ground. Blake’s apology was one thing, but for the guy to actually like him? There was only one thing he could do.
“Come on. You owe me a beer.”
***
Two hours later at one of L.A.’s pseudo seedy bars, Adam found himself still engrossed in the world of Blake Shelton. Being in the presence of an honest to goodness redneck, Adam posed questions on everything from hunting (“Don’t knock it till you try it”), to moonshine (“I may be a hick, but I don’t have a death wish”), to pick up trucks (“It’s not a cliché if they’re useful, city boy”). Their relationship had gone 180 degrees from where they’d last stood, from facing each other in the boxing ring to sitting ringside laughing it up. Blake, for his part, truly was sorry for “being a dick”, as he had put it; he seemed interested in everything Adam had to say, from growing up in L.A. to the meaning behind his tattoos. He even wanted to know what the band was up to, and when their next album would be out.
“We’re still kind of riding the last one right now. I think we’ll put another one out next year, but it’ll take a while to finish, what with all this judging crap and the boys want to take a break.” Adam inhaled sharply, under Blake’s heavy gaze. “To be honest,” he continued slowly, “it’ll probably be our last one for a while.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Blake’s face fell, and clapped a hand on Adam’s back; the weight felt reassuring and comfortable as Adam gave a small, sad smile. “Nah, man it’s fine. We’re all still friends and stuff; it’s just that I don’t know how long I want to do this for. I want to try writing stuff other than music, and acting, and I don’t even know what else. I love music, I just – “
“ – Don’t know if this is what you want to be doing for another twenty or thirty years,” Blake finished, his smile creeping back onto his face as he took another swig of his drink. “I get it. I never thought I’d be good for anything but playing music, but this judging thing has been such a trip. Shows me there’s a whole other world out there.”
“Hollywood is definitely it’s own planet, I’ll give you that,” Adam grinned; at last, he felt comfortable with Blake as they found common ground. One glance at his watch told him it couldn’t last, not tonight anyway.
“I’d better take off,” Adam said, draining his glass. “Don’t you have rehearsal tomorrow morning for the show?”
“Yeah,” Blake affirmed and stood up, pulling on his jacket. “The team and me are going to do a song tomorrow night.” As they exited the bar, Blake paused, turning back to Adam. “I actually think you’re going to like it.”
“What song did you pick?” Adam asked, suddenly curious by the tone of Blake’s voice.
“Oh no,” Blake clapped a hand on Adam’s back. “Got to leave it as a surprise, rock star.” With one final squeeze of the shoulder and a wave, Blake wandered off in search of a cab.
Adam stood stock still on the pavement; he wasn’t sure how many more surprises he could take.
***
24 hours later, Adam sat in his big red chair, Cee Lo and Christina next to him, Blake having vacated his spot to wait backstage for his performance with his team. As the audience wranglers worked the crowd into a frenzy, Carson introduced Team Blake. As the first notes of the Maroon 5 song, “This Love”, played, Adam wasn’t sure if he wanted to bury himself into the ground, or Blake.
I am seriously going to kill him, Adam thought, though his smile was genuine as Team Blake came out and sang his own words to him. It would have been bearable if Blake himself hasn’t descended the staircase, maintaining eye contact with Adam, singing those highly suggestive words; Adam could barely breathe.
As the song came to an end, Adam gave a standing ovation of the traditional kind (a “standing ovation” of a more scandalous type would happen later when he reflected on the performance). Comments were said and jokes were made, though the minute Blake made his way back to his chair, he stopped, leaned into Adam, and whispered, “That was for you.”
Adam’s breath hitched, and he laughed and punched Blake on the arm to cover. All he could think as Blake walked back to his own chair was, I am so screwed.
***
The weeks went on and the competition was close to end; everyone was preparing to head out on tour, or start recording, or finish up various other projects. For Adam, it meant a press tour for the new single and a few shows; for Blake is was back up to Oklahoma for a break. “I didn’t even get a decent honeymoon, Miranda would kill me if I scheduled a tour right after all this.” The mention of Blake’s wife sent Adam into a tailspin; it wasn’t enough that he had some kind of obsession with a straight dude – it had to be a straight, married dude. It was as though the universe was tempting him with the wrong kind of bait, and he was still stupid enough to try and go after it. “Just stick a ‘Kick Me’ sign on my back and be done with it,” Adam grumbled, his pleas apparently going unnoticed as he stared at the Mr. Lambert for the umpteenth time that day.
Still, his friendship with Blake was at an all time high; they still teased and prodded each other, but they both knew now not to take it personally. Adam had no hesitation in jumping on Blake’s shoulders, just as Blake saw every opportunity as time for a hug (which Adam completely reveled in); it was easy; friendship not rooted in any real similar traits or interests (because outside of music, they hardly shared any); it was rooted in understanding, in the ability to listen, learn, and sympathize. It was simply friendship at its most basic core.
The finale was all too soon in coming; it was fitting that it should come down to Adam and Blake’s contestants. As they waited for the final verdict that would change the lives of the young artists, Adam caught Blake’s eye for a single moment. Blake smiled and nodded, as if to say “Good game.” Adam smiled until a camera wheeled around to face him, forcing him to put his attention back on the stage. Moments later, Javier was crowned winner, and Adam felt complete validation, not to mention pride in Javier’s abilities. Confetti rained down on the audience as congratulations and hugs were handed around. Adam was suddenly rushed by Blake, and found himself in the middle of the tightest, warmest, happiest bear hug he had ever received. He could feel the reverberation in Blake’s chest as he shouted words, but Adam failed to hear anything; it was sensory overload as the room filled with music and joy and laughter.
As the party shifted from the stage to another area of the studio, Adam found himself at the bar, in desperate need of a drink.
“You couldn’t hear me on stage could you?”
Adam turned quickly to find Blake leaned against the makeshift bar, smirking at him. “Uh no,” Adam replied sheepishly. “It was a bit loud. What did you say?”
Blake looked down into his beer bottle. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just wanted to say congratulations.” He smiled at Adam, clinking bottles together in a toast. “I’m actually heading out of here in a few minutes,” Blake told him.
“Never known you to leave a party early while there’s still booze, Shelton!” Adam teased him, nudging his shoulder as it lay even with his.
“Too true,” Blake grinned. “But I want to get back up north as soon as I can. I think I’ve had enough of Hollywood for a while.”
Adam tried not to let his disappointment show. Crush or no crush, he really did consider Blake a friend first; he’d miss the bastard, when it came right down to it.
“Besides,” Blake interrupted Adam’s thoughts. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick of me.”
“Actually impossible, Shelton,” Adam said, no trace of irony or humor in his voice; he meant it, and he wanted Blake to know it.
“Good.”
As they surveyed the sea of people talking, dancing, and surreptitiously moving to the dark corners to be alone, Blake and Adam drank silently, content enough for now to watch rather than participate. There was one question that had been niggling at Adam, but he wasn’t sure what to expect if it was answered. With another sip for courage, he turned to Blake. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.” Blake grinned and took another swig.
“Don’t be a dick,” Adam swatted at him. “Seriously. Why were you so angry with me in the beginning? You fought me on pretty much every decision I made as a judge. I just want to know why.”
“Oh,” Blake seemed surprised. “Well, you know how when you’re a kid, and you pull the pigtails of the girl you like to get her attention?”
“You were just pulling my pigtails?”
“So to speak,” Blake chuckled. “You’re a little intimidating, Adam, whatever you say. I figured some good ol’ fighting would at least get us a reason to talk.”
“You’re an idiot.” Adam laughed.
“Right back at’cha,” Blake grinned. “See, you’ll miss me now with no one to pester the fuck out of during the hiatus.”
“More like you’ll miss having someone to call “jackass” all the time.” Adam retorted.
“Nah, I’ve got a donkey in Tishomingo.” Both men laughed, when Adam had a thought.
“If you miss me that much,” he said “I guess I could make a trip up.”
Blake’s smile widened. “Really?”
Adam shrugged, “Sure. I can deal with cow shit or whatever. But if you think I’m going to go out and shoot Bambi’s mom, then the deal’s off.”
Blake laughed outright at that, and it made Adam’s heart sing. “It’s a date.” Blake said. Adam just smiled, and an idea came to him.
“Though I think if I have to subject myself to the great outdoors, I think you really need one more city experience to last you a few months.” Blake’s eyebrow raised as Adam went on. “Come on, stay in L.A. one more night. We’ll drink whatever they have here, we’ll go to the Brass Monkey and do karaoke, then get some really bad food somewhere.”
Blake eyed him like he’d gone nuts. “Karaoke? Seriously?”
“I may or may not have had a karaoke team at one point or another." Adam said, coyly. "Come on country, live a little!”
Blake stared at him, seemingly baffled by the request. “You’re certifiable, you know that right.”
“Yeah yeah, my straitjacket's in the other room. What do you say?"
Blake huffed, and with a long chug to finish off his beer, he turned back to the bartender. “Hey dude,” he called out. “Set us up, would ya?” Blake grinned at Adam. “You’re on buddy. One more night, that’s what you get.”
Adam laughed, grabbed a tequila shot to toast Blake, and threw it back.
Here we go again.