Chapter Text
The second that Blake's fingers wrapped in a vice-like grip around his wrist, Adam knew that he had gotten what he wanted. The whole night, he'd timed his teasing perfectly, plenty of subtle, pretty glances, mixed with a lesser amount of lusty, desperately sensual ones. He was relatively soft-spoken that night, focused on pruning his team for victory, rather than engaging in verbal foreplay with Blake.
But when Blake sat in his gaudily oversized chair, wracking his brain over a difficult choice between Christian and the Swon Brothers, stated that "nobody had crapped the bed", Adam couldn't help himself.
"Blake knows a lot about crapping the bed. He's like an authority on that," Adam quipped, eyes glinting with lust that he made sure Blake could see. So overcome with desire, Adam didn't recall catching Blake's response.
Now, with the country singer's guitar-callused fingertips leaving bruises on his wrist, Adam's slacks felt just the slightest bit tighter around his skinny hips. Blake dragged Adam out the back of the studio, throwing a glance at Shakira, who smiled and gave him a knowing nod. The show had just ended, and the two were relatively safe, as they both knew that any person holding a camera would be swarming the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of any exiting singers or coaches.
Adam could make out the sharp, slick exterior of a black SUV through the foggy night, and knew better than to struggle against Blake. Blake shoved the smaller coach against the side of the car with a feral growl, and seamlessly made his way to Adam's earlobe, giving it a fierce nip.
Adam whined, trying to grind himself against the solid, hot sign of Blake's desire pressed against him.
"You filthy slut," growled Blake, using his weight to pin Adam down. "Giving me those fucking looks. And don't think I didn't forget about your little 'crapping the bed' comment. That smart little mouth of yours is going to get put to better use tonight, and you know that, don't you?"
Adam swallowed harshly and nodded, biting his tongue to keep from crying out as Blake continued his assault of Adam's ear and neck. Adam loved this, Blake's gruff, needy voice, the way it sounded just for him, the southern twang almost completely gone, replaced by an addictive gruffness that made Adam's blood boil.
"Get in the fucking car, Adam. You're going to suck my cock on the way to the hotel, and once we get there, I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want to you."
Blake climbed into the car, and went to work shoving down his jeans. Adam scurried into the passenger seat, bending over and allowing Blake's arms to reach over him. Adam's mouth went dry. He loved Blake's cock, every thick pink inch of it. He knew every vein, every curve. He knew that Blake liked Adam to lick up and down like a cat, and then suck the tip, and then take him all the way down his slender throat, and to hum. Usually a Maroon 5 song, occasionally one of Blake's own. He cocked his head and studied it, standing proud and solid, a tiny bead of moisture growing at the tip. Adam leaned over and licked it off, and relished the salty taste.
Blake grabbed Adam's styled, soft mop of brown hair and pulled his mouth down onto him. Adam yelped at the sudden force, and gagged as Blake shoved his cock down the pop singer's throat.
"Y'know, you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock, Adam. Keep sucking, slut," he groaned. He pressed his foot down on the gas, and the car jolted to life, swerving down the bustling city street.
Adam kept his head down and sucked fiercely, bobbing his head and slobbering hard, his chin soaked with spit. He started to hum. His head was cloudy with lust, he wasn't sure what song he was humming, all he knew was that he needed to cum.
Soon.
"Fuck, Adam," Blake moaned, his voice going an octave higher. "Keep sucking, whore. Keep fucking using those lips of yours, do your fucking job...."
Adam prepared himself, and when Blake let go, when he came hard and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, he swallowed every drop. He licked Blake clean, and sat back in his seat. He groaned as his own swollen, throbbing dick rubbed against his expensive linen pants. He needed to get them off, soon, or he was going to have to do a lot of explaining to Wardrobe.
Blake grabbed Adam's face between his thumb and forefingers, holding Adam's gaze with his own stoney, lust-drenched one.
"Go up to Room 152. Don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone. Take off your clothes, and bend over the bed. I don't want you to move, because if you do, you're going to get it much worse," Blake said, slipping a key card into Adam's sweat-drenched palm.
Adam moaned softly and nodded, quickly getting out of the car and walking briskly into the hotel. The woman at the front desk was preoccupied with attempting to communicate with a guest who was talking in garbled Spanglish, and paid Adam (and his extremely apparent arousal) no attention, for which he was incredibly grateful.
He quietly slipped into the elevator, jabbing the fluorescent "1". As the elevator doors opened, Adam clamored out and rushed to room 152, the glittering gold letters sticking out gaudily against the chipping white door. He stuck the key card into the scanner, and the light flashed green and beeped softly.
Adam shut the door behind him and all but tore off his blazer, unbuttoned his polo and threw it on the floor beside him. he kicked off his glossy black dress shoes and maroon socks, and shoved down his pants and boxers. He almost wept with relief as his still-hard cock sprang free from confinement, and he throbbed again with the knowledge of what was coming for him. He bent over the bed, making sure to face away from the door, like he knew Blake liked.
He spent what felt like an eternity in that position, naked and shamelessly aroused in the dark, waiting for the punishment he so desperately needed. He jumped as the door opened and a cold draft filled the room from the hallway. Adam remained silent.
"How badly did you want my cock today, pet?" crooned a familiar voice as he moved closer to Adam, stopping right in front of Adam's gorgeously arched back, tracing a line down his spine.
Adam shivered. "So badly, Blake, so badly. Please let me cum, please, I need to...."
Smack.
Adam cried out as he felt a sharp slap against his ass. Blake pulled Adam back by his hair, impossibly arching his back.
"Sluts don't get to make orders. You know that," Blake said, chuckling softly. He continued to smack Adam's ass, relishing the cries and moans that he let out, feeling himself harden at the sight of the usually milky, cream-white skin marred and inflamed with angry red handprints.
Blake hovered over Adam and bit the shell of his ear. "I'm going to fuck you now. I'm going to fuck you until your voice goes hoarse. Forget singing for a few days. You're going to scream my name out, and you're going to cum for me. As many times as I feel like it, you'll cum for me. You'll be sore and you'll hurt, but you'll still beg me for more, you'll still beg me to fuck you again, because you're a whore. You're MY whore, and you'll do as I say. Isn't that right, slut?"
Adam moaned and dug his nails into the pressed, fresh-smelling white sheets.
"Yes, sir."