#1970 elvis x oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

Save Me

Written for the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

1976 Elvis in a leather coat for my beloved @vintageshanny This one got away from me, there's so much more to come!

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, you are the best, funniest, kindest and most awesome people.

The air shimmered and glittered across the tarmac of the highway, promising oases, lights and civilisation, all of which would turn out to be mirages, as Cindy had discovered after walking five miles in the unrelenting searing wind wearing cowboy boots. The lukewarm can of coke she had been nursing the entire way was bone dry now and she had to admit that she was beginning to panic.

It made no sense, this highway was usually jam packed with people heading to and from LA for the weekend, but there had only been a smattering of traffic heading in either direction, and none of the hoity toity rich folks had apparently felt inclined to stop for a dusty, sweaty woman standing by the side of the road.

No one at home would even realise anything was amiss before Monday when she was supposed to be at work. They’d probably call home to find out why she was missing her shift, and her dad would think she was pulling a sick day and cover for her, not knowing… God, she was going to end up being eaten alive by buzzards. She squinted up at the sky, paranoid that she could see shadows circling overhead.

The cream car slid through the glimmering haze like it was heaven sent, its gold-plated grille and finishes adding to the surreal quality as it sped on, looking like it was going to rush past her in a fog of sand and exhaust fumes like all the others. It was heading in the wrong direction anyway, she told herself. Though there was no wrong direction away from death by overheating and scavengers.

The sound of tyres skidding in grit behind her made her turn and she saw the car had stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road. She paused, surprised, then broke into an anxious jog, almost sliding over in the roadside dust, her boot soles worn to slipperiness.

Coming to the driver’s window, she hesitated as, instead of the usual well to do middle aged couple or family, she came face to face with a car full of men. They were all wearing sunglasses and, frankly, unwelcoming expressions.

“Uh, thank you for stopping,” she mumbled, her tongue dry and oversized in her mouth. “I was starting to get worried.” The moustachioed man at the wheel just stared at her from behind dark brown lenses.

“Where you headed, honey?” asked a soft voice in the backseat. She frowned, shooting a last look at the blank faced driver before side-stepping to the window behind. She blinked rapidly, sure that what she saw was the result of dehydration, heatstroke and probably the remnants of the acid she had ingested at the beginning of road trip yesterday.

“Uh, well, I was heading back to LA,” she managed, nodding her head in the opposite direction, “but right now I’d settle for a ride to the nearest town with a phone.”

“You got car trouble?”

“In a way,” she shrugged, not wanting to go into her pathetic predicament with him, of all people. She didn’t miss the way that the other men in the car were looking at each other, sharing some sort of communication, and it made her question how desperate her situation really was. Maybe she could wait for the next car…

“You know, my guys here think that we should’ve driven right on by you. They said you could be dangerous like one of those Manson chicks. You know what a honeypot is, darlin’?” She could hear someone sniggering inside the car.

“I’m not anyone’s chick,” she retorted, rubbing sand out of her eye. “And definitely not that psycho’s. Look, thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.” She stomped off, heading back to where she had been standing.

Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to force her heart to stop pounding. She would be fine, someone would come along, a nice family with a dog she could pet. It would all be fine.

She clenched her jaw as she heard a car door click shut and then heavy footsteps crunch towards her.

“Goddamn, it’s hot,” said Elvis Presley as he stopped at her side wearing a knee length leather coat fastened and belted in the California desert. He must’ve caught her look because he hiccupped a laugh and glanced down at himself. “Well, the car has air conditioning… A-a-and not all of us can look as good as you do in little shorts, honey.” She snorted in spite of herself, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

“Look, I was only teasin’ before,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses and jutting his jaw pensively. “You’re a good girl, I know. I can tell that about you. I have a sense for these things.” She glanced over at the car and the two big, older guys who were leaning against it, arms crossed to show off their shoulder holsters. “And them- Well, they all do and think what I tell ‘em to, so…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I’m probably better off waiting for a car going the other way anyway.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, sweetheart, Highway Patrol closed the road about twenty miles that way.”

Well, that explained that.

“Oh God,” she groaned, bending forward at the waist and just dropping like a rag doll until her hair poked into the top of her boots. “Why is this happening?! Wait, if the road’s closed, how come you’re here?”

Well, it’s closed for the public,” he answered, like this explained everything. At her questioning look, he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat and flashed her a shiny silver badge. “I ain’t the public.” Her eyebrows knitted tighter together and, after a moment, she reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I had to check.” He smiled, but it took him a minute and he was still rubbing his arm like she had stabbed him rather than given him a little pinch. “You are Elvis, right?”

“Last time I checked, but keep your voice down, honey, I’m travelling incognito.” He gave her a wink and she found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. “Now, look, let’s get in the car before I melt like a goddamn snowman and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“My house in Palm Springs.”

As she was deliberating, another fancy car pulled up alongside the cream Cadillac station wagon and a smaller, lean man with a moustache hurried out of the driver’s seat to them.

“Hey, what’s going on, why are y’all by the side of the road?”

“Just rescuing, er- What’s your name, honey?”

“Cindy.”

“We were just rescuing Cindy here. This here’s my cousin, Billy. He might look like a marble-eyed sonovabitch, but-” The other man, Billy, gave Elvis’ arm a punch, but even Cindy could see that there was barely any force behind it, and certainly nowhere near what Elvis retaliated with. Both men burst into laughter, though Billy’s seemed pained.

“I can’t ride with you,” she tried one last time. “There isn’t any space for me, your car is full.”

“Huh, you’re right. How are we going to solve this problem? Hey, Sonny, Red!” The two big men looked over, straightening. “You guys ride in the Stutz with Ricky and David. Billy and Jo are coming with us.”

“Hey, E,” the dark haired one started in a disgruntled voice. Cindy didn’t miss the way that Elvis’s face snapped towards him and whatever expression he had put an end to the complaint.

“I’ve been defending myself from little girls for over twenty years, man, I’m sure I won’t have any problems here.” Lowering his voice, he finished so that only Cindy and probably Billy could hear, “Don’t exactly think I wanna defend myself anyhow.”

Travel arrangements made, Cindy followed Elvis’s broad back on her way back to the Cadillac. She questioned what she was doing, wondering what he was expecting from her in terms of gratitude. Then she shook her head. This was Elvis Presley, after all, he was probably dripping in beautiful models, he didn’t need to pick up damsels in distress by the side of the road to get lucky. He looked different to how she thought though, heavier for sure, that leather coat seemed uncomfortably tight, pale too, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed. Of course, she was in no position to judge since her skin had acquired a new layer of dirt and dust and her hair was ratty from sleeping in the van the night before.

The car was deliciously cool as promised, and she sighed as she climbed into the soft leather back seat. Elvis managed to summon up a cold bottle of Mountain Valley spring water and his mouth quirked at the corner as she moaned a little gulping it down.

Billy and a dark-haired woman, who was apparently his wife Jo, sat in the front seat, leaving them alone in the back. It was quiet at first. Cindy gripped the glass bottle in her hands, savouring the cool surface against her hot, sweaty skin. She shifted slightly on the seat, hoping that she wasn’t marking it with her grime. It figured that she would finally meet her first famous person looking her absolute worst.

“So, uh, what happened to your car?” Elvis asked, turning a little so that he was inclined towards her. Her eyes fell on the three- three- thick gold chains around his neck that rested in the dark hair on his chest, disappearing beneath the lapels of his leather coat and the light blue tracksuit jacket was wearing underneath. She blinked and looked back up at his face.

“Well, nothing. It’s still at home back in the city,” she replied. “I- uh. See, I was out in the desert with some friends… camping.” She nodded, yes, ‘camping’. “And there was a misunderstanding between me and one of my friends. She thought I was into her boyfriend and she got mad and- They left me behind.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She was looking into his eyes, partially hidden by the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and asking herself why the hell she was laying out the events of her pathetic life to Elvis fucking Presley. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “You weren’t fooling around with your friend’s boyfriend?”

“No,” she demurred. “No, he’s an idiot.” Elvis grinned and nodded, which somehow made her smile right back without thinking about it.

“You’ve had yourself an awfully bad day, haven’t you, Cindy honey. I, myself, have not been having a great day either. Kinda lucky of us to cross paths out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

“Why are you having a bad day?” she asked.

“Don’t matter now,” he replied, giving her hand a quick pat. “So, where d’you live in Los Angeles?”

It went on like that, him questioning her and Cindy answering before returning the question back to him. Sometimes he’d answer, but most of the time he would just ask another question. She felt like she was being interviewed for a job she hadn’t applied for.

As the car drew up to a low, white Spanish style house, she was beginning to wonder if she might want the job after all, whatever it was.

Billy opened the car door and Elvis climbed out with a grunt, reaching out a hand to her. It felt like climbing out of a carriage, only she was the regular Cinderella before the fairy godmother had shown up, all covered in dirt and ashes. His fingers curled around hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, and he didn’t release it once she was by his side.

“So, here we are, little honeypot,” he said with an endearing smirk, “come on in.”

Stepping into the house was like walking into a meat locker after the heavy, dry heat of the afternoon. She wanted to pause and bask in it, but Elvis still had hold of her hand and he was not stopping. He gave her the tour, introducing her to the cook, while the other men arrived in the black car and there was a flurry of activity, cases and bags being deposited in the foyer and quickly whisked away.

The whole time, Elvis was walking around, talking about views and telling her a funny story about the time a photographer tried to climb the canyon to get pictures of him in the backyard and he and the guys scared the man so bad that he dropped his camera down a steep incline.

“Bought him another one, of course,” he shrugged with a small smile. “Still, taught him a lesson about being sneaky. Can’t stand sneaky sons of bitches, just come and ask me if you want a picture, don’t- don’t be all underhanded about it.” He stared off out the window at the rocky canyon beyond and she watched and waited, wondering if she was supposed to respond. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and flashed a grin at her, looking at her sideways. And that moment was over.

“So, I’ve been thinking, Cindy honey,” he began, leading her to an upright chair by the window and gesturing for her to sit down. “About you having a bad day and me… And it seems like there’s more to this than meets the eye, I think what we have here is a touch of divine intervention.”

Mouth open, she parsed his words, trying to understand what she was being told. She didn’t.

“Ain’t no way we should have met, you being a little girl pretty much as far from Beverly Hills as you can get and me not going nowhere else, but somehow we did meet. I saved you, and maybe… maybe you can s- you can help me… too.”

“Well, what do you need help with?” she asked. He grinned his famous lopsided smile, reminding her that she was sitting in front of a musical legend, one of the most famous men on the planet, just like he was a regular person.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t like being on my own much and- and my date for the weekend kinda flaked out.” He huffed an awkward, endearing laugh. “You think you might wanna hang around, honey?”

“Well, I have to be at work on Monday,” she said dubiously, feeling a pang at the way he was looking down at her, like she had power.

“I’ll get you to work on Monday,” he replied emphatically. “I can promise you that.”

“But I don’t even have any of my things,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “I left them all in the van and-”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anything else? C’mon, while we’re on a roll, throw something else at me, honey.” She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze that he returned.

“Can I use your phone?”

“You got a guy you need to call?” he asked flatly.

“Sorta,” she shrugged. “My father- he’s sick and I don’t like to make him worry about where I am.”

“My daddy’s been sick too,” he murmured, “but he’s getting better.”

There was such determination in his voice that she felt like she had to nod back like she was convinced.

He took her into his bedroom, which she knew must look out over the pool from the layout of the rest of the house, but the curtains were already pulled tightly closed and it felt, if possible, even colder in this room.

“You can make your call in here,” he said, squeezing her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed next to the phone. “No one’ll bother you. I’m just gonna make some arrangements, deal with some things. I’ll be back.”

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, and reflected on the weirdness of everything that had happened in the past few hours. She reached for the phone, but stopped.

As far as her dad knew, she was camping with some girls from work. It had been hard enough to reassure him that she would be okay doing this. If she called him now and said that not only had those girls ditched her in the middle of nowhere, but that she had been picked up by Elvis and whisked away to this house in Palms Springs… Well, he might have the stroke that was going to finish him off, the one they had been warding against for five years.

There was a tap at the door and it opened before she could respond, but it was not Elvis. Jo, the woman married to his cousin, was standing there looking at her like she was a naughty child who had refused to tidy her room.

“What size are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Size. I’m guessing a…” Her eyes flicked up and down with disinterest. “A six?”

“Four on the bottom half,” Cindy returned. “Why-“

“Shoes? What shoe size are you?”

Baffled and feeling a little bit harried, Cindy gave her the information she asked for, wondering if the woman was lending her some clean clothes or if maybe Elvis Presley of the famed pelvis, who reduced women to screaming, creaming morons with just a jiggle of his leg, had a special wardrobe for all his conquests.

“Okay, so you need to shower,” the older woman continued, directing her to a bathroom away from the bedroom. “Everything you need is just in here. Make sure you wash your hair, clean your nails, brush your teeth. Everything. He likes girls to be clean.”

What do you say to that? Cindy wondered, staring blankly as Jo repeated the instructions like it was normal, like this was an every day occurrence. To be fair, it probably was.

“Today is so weird,” Cindy murmured to herself as she stepped into the bathroom, holding the large, white terrycloth robe Jo had shoved at her. There were toiletries in a big basket, all brand new and unopened. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotions. A toothbrush still in its packaging, razor, and hairbrush and combs. It was like visiting a hotel, an expensive one too, not just a roadside motel.

Turning on the shower, she spotted a little pink transistor radio on the vanity and she switched it on. She couldn’t shower in silence, she needed something to drown out her singing other than the noisy spray. Warbling along to whatever the DJ played, she did everything she had been told, scrubbing and rubbing and rinsing over and over until she finally felt like she had exfoliated the desert from her skin and her mind.

Wrapping the oversized robe around herself, she sashayed like it was a fur coat and she was walking past the velvet ropes at Studio 54, hoping to catch Jagger’s eye. She opened the bathroom door and stumbled back with a muffled shriek when she found a man about her age standing outside. He had shaggy dark hair and was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she appreciated.

“You done?” he asked, eyes sliding up her bare legs like a snail leaving a trail across a rock. “You brush your teeth? Clean your nails?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she returned. “Yes, I brushed, I cleaned, I buffed myself to within an inch of my life! God!”

“All right,” he shot back. “I was just checking, because the Boss likes girls to be-”

“Clean, yes, I’ve got it.” She was starting to wonder whether it was Elvis or Howard Hughes who had picked her up.

The man directed her back to the living room, which was dim and shaded now with the curtains pulled across most of the windows against the late afternoon sun.

“Just wait here for a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Cindy shifted from bare foot to bare foot, looking up at the low, sloping ceiling and the immaculately clean fireplace. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and the thick stack of bills placed neatly there.

She wandered over as if called, eyes bugging when she saw that the pile was topped with a hundred. If they were all hundreds, there had to be five thousand dollars there, easy. She thought about all the hospital bills that kept coming to the house, red overdue stamp looking like blood. Then she thought about her dad finding out that she had stolen money to pay them.

Sighing, she forced her feet away from the coffee table and stalked over to the couch, throwing herself down. Having a conscience could be a curse sometimes.

A little while later, the door opened and the man himself finally appeared. He was wearing a short sleeve light blue leisure suit and his hair looked washed and blow-dried. He didn’t look well, she decided, but she couldn’t decide why that thought had popped into her head.

“You look like you’re being eaten by a cloud,” he observed with a little smile, exhaling sharply as he dropped onto the couch beside her. He nudged his leg against her, but didn’t seem to notice, almost like he couldn’t keep still. “You get everything you need, honey? You speak to your father?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied.

It was probably a good idea to make him think that people knew where she was, she decided. He leant back, stretching his arm like he had a twinge in his shoulder and then resting it along the back of the couch behind her. She had to work hard not to giggle. It was like being back in middle school.

“Why d’you wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, wincing at her words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry, that was rude-" He laughed softly and shook his head; his arm slid forward slightly against her shoulders.

“No, no, it’s fine, honey. I, er, have to wear ‘em because I got sensitive eyes. The light messes with ‘em sometimes, that’s all.”

“It’s not very bright in here,” she observed, glancing around at the lengthening shadows around the room.

“Yeah, well, I- I kinda need ‘em to see as well,” he admitted, ducking his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” His smile widened and she felt his fingers wrap around the top of her arm.

Sitting so close to him felt like sitting with her side to the Sun, he gave off so much warmth and also a sense of power, like he was the centre of the whole galaxy. He was stroking her arm with his fingers, and she could feel the rough end of his rings scraping the folds in her sleeve and she shivered.

He smirked and, despite the fuller face and the beginnings of a double chin, she could see the man who had made her feel tickly in her tummy during the Saturday matinees her dad had taken her to. She was looking into his eyes through the pinkish tinted lenses of his glasses, their faces drawing closer, when there was a tap on the door.

“Goddamn it,” Elvis muttered under his breath, probably louder than he thought he was. “Come in!”

Billy appeared with several bags, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Elvis’ obvious annoyance.

“Here ya are, got what you asked for,” he said, lifting the bags.

“Well, just leave it by the door,” Elvis snapped back. “And why the hell d’you leave this cash here? You just throwing my money away now, man?”

There was a weird note in the exchange that Cindy couldn’t quite figure out, but Billy gathered up the money without argument and left, dropping the bags by the door.

“Families, huh,” she observed as he huffed an exasperated sigh, his round stomach rapidly expanding and deflating. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Yeah, so they tell me,” he returned, shooting the door one last look of annoyance, before turning back to her. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you, Cindy honey.”

“For what?” Grabbing a ride? Taking a shower?

“For staying. It’s real nice of you."

Her mouth twisted into a baffled smile as her brain puzzled over whether she had heard him right. He did know who he was, right? He rubbed her arm over the terrycloth sleeve and twisted towards her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and, though they looked a little dry, they were plump and inviting. Soft too as he pressed them against hers.

It was a chaste, sweet kiss, he didn’t even try slip her any tongue. Cindy never made it to a dance in her sophomore year, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like. She reached up to hang her fingers from his neck, surprised again by how warm his skin was. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and his breath wavered as she ran her thumbs curiously through his long sideburns. They felt soft and coarse at the same time and she couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, I think someone or something has put you in my way for a reason,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her lips as he pulled back. She could feel herself begin to broil under his gaze. He pecked her lips again, pressing his weight against her. “Let’s get you ready, honey.”

Elvis led her around by the hand like she was a cross between a little child and a delicate princess. They went back into the kitchen where he told the cook that he wanted fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, reminding her that the gravy wasn’t thick enough last time. He turned to Cindy, asking what she would like to eat.

“Aren't I having the same as you?” she asked. Asking for two different meals seemed… rude, somehow.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have-” He ducked his head and smiled. “She’ll have the same, just a regular size, okay?”

The woman smiled at Elvis the way that most women smiled at him, indulgently and kind of wistful. It was a strange thing to experience and then to see.

“Okay, lil honeypot, let’s get you dressed and ready for dinner,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her back to the bedroom.

The bags that Billy had left in the living room had been transported here and Elvis gestured to them. She peered inside, finding a white dress, underwear, and even shoes. She hadn’t worn so much white since her mom passed and her dad had turned everything grey with a misplaced sock when she was ten. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted her to put on a show, to earn them, but after she had waited for several minutes, he lifted a hand to the adjoining bathroom and motioned for her to go.

Wavering on the white, naturally, platformed heels, she tottered back into the bedroom where Elvis was reclined against the pillows reading a book. He glanced up over the top and gave an exaggerated double take.

“Who’s this sweet lil angel who’s showed up in my bedroom?” he asked, dropping the book on the bed and clambering up.

He crossed the room to her a little unsteadily and suddenly threw his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could barely breathe with how close he was holding her, his arms pinning hers to her sides, his stomach tight against hers, constricting her air. Even his thighs were hard against hers. She didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her arm as much as she was able to stroke the small of his back.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, when he finally drew back, running his thumb over her lips in concentration. “We’ll get Jo in here to do your make up and you’ll be perfect.”

“I can do my own make-up,” she insisted, not wanting to be a source of irritation for the other woman yet again.

“No, honey, Jo knows how to do it the way I like it,” he replied, biting on his lip before leaning forward and kissing her, lingering on her lips this time, almost as if he wanted to deepen the kiss but lost his nerve. “I want you to look like you’re all mine.”

He ducked his head down bashfully in the way that she was already getting accustomed to, but this time there seemed to be more of a purpose to it. She glanced down too when she felt him fumbling with her wrist and she watched as he fastened a thick, heavy gold ID bracelet around it. On the front, Elvis was spelled out in large diamonds.

“There,” he mumbled, sounding self-satisfied. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this, not in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she was already feeling an overwhelming need to protect him, this much older, richer, more powerful man.

Jo didn’t really speak to her as she did her make up. Cindy could barely open her eyes with the weight of the eyeliner and mascara they had been coated in. She barely recognised the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, especially not when she lifted her arm to peer at the bracelet. Such a weird day.

The table was full of men at dinner, with only Jo and Cindy adding some much-needed female companionship. Elvis and the other men laughed and chatted through the meal, arguing and guffawing over old stories; stories that always seemed to feature Elvis doing something insane, dangerous and/or reckless and somehow getting away with it. He grinned at her at every conclusion, looking pleased with himself and she tried her best to look impressed and amused.

Cindy understood what Elvis had meant when he instructed the cook to make her meal regular-sized. He and the rest of the men devoured prodigious amounts of food and it felt like dinner went on for hours waiting for them to finish.

As soon as she put down her knife and fork, Elvis reached over and clasped her hand with his, maintaining that hold even as he was eating and talking to everyone around her. It was like sitting with a spotlight on you, seen but unseen, valued but ignored.

After dinner, Elvis led her over to the piano. A couple of the guys, one of the large ones with all the guns, and a small one, picked up guitars and perched on a footstool and the sofa around him. He insisted, though there was barely enough room, that she sat next to him on the piano stool. She leant into his side, trying to maintain her balance.

“What d’you wanna hear us sing, Cindy honey?” he asked, like she would be fine with that, like she would casually accept Elvis Presley asking for requests.

“Lawdy Miss Clawdy?” she asked. It was one of two Elvis songs her father had played her religiously on a Saturday afternoon when they needed to jump around and use up some energy.

“Aw, that’s so damn old,” he remarked. “Can’t you think of nothing from this century?” He hiccupped a small laugh, which his guys echoed far louder, but she could sense that she had upset or offended him somehow. Probably by making him feel that only his old songs were the best, she guessed. She had hurt his feelings.

“You should sing what you want to sing,” she said quickly, rubbing his jiggling knee. “Anything you sing will blow me away.”

The smaller guy with the guitar suggested ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing’, but before he had even finished his sentence, Elvis was pounding the keys of the piano in the very familiar introduction to ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’.

Everyone who had ever listened to an Elvis record always felt like he was singing directly to them. That was part of his magic and charm, but Cindy now knew that that feeling was nothing compared to knowing that he was singing directly to you. Her face was throbbing with heat as the blood rushed there. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, clasping them in her lap like she had to hold in her vital organs or she would die. He frowned over the piano as he sang, but every now and again, shot her a look from the side of his eye, his cheekbones round and prominent as he held back a smile.

As the last chords of the piano faded out, he cleared his throat, making fun of how much higher his voice used to be. Cindy clapped, ignoring the eyerolls and looks of derision that some of the men were throwing her. She had never been able to get to a concert. They usually sold out in hours and there was no way she could skip work to queue overnight and all day. So this was probably the closest she was ever going to get to seeing Elvis live, and she was making the most of it.

“Thank you, honey,” he mumbled, angling his face so that he could kiss her cheek. He grabbed her hand that was still clapping and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a soft peck also.

Forgetting all the eyes, the uncomfortable shoes, the skimpy dress that made her shiver in the air conditioning, and the mask of make-up she was wearing, Cindy ducked forward and kissed him. She almost missed completely, catching only the corner of his mouth, but he rescued her for the second time that day, wrapping his arms around her, hot palms against her back and turning his head, sliding his tongue in to brush against hers. Maybe he was right, they could both save each other.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #1970s elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

168 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 8 months

Text

Paisley Dreams (Part 2) 🏵💛🔥

Pretty sure there's only a small handful of you still reading my nonsense, but to those who are, thank you for your patience. Also, special thanks to those who kept me going after various blocks and meltdowns over finishing this (among other things). Would've thrown in the towel completely if it weren't for y'all. You know who you are and I love you. 💗💗💗 Anyway, sorry, this is probably a bit of a mess, but so am I... 😬

If you need a refresher, here's Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵

TW: SEXXX, a little macho-possessive!elvis, the usual era appropriate female frustrations.

August 1970

If Pepper didn’t know any better, she would think she dreamt up the surreal encounter with Elvis that happened a few days ago. The only thing tethering the experience to reality is the yellow shirt he left her with, the one she’s a bit ashamed to say she’s been wearing to bed the past three nights, just so she can languish in his scent a little longer.

Of course, she hasn’t heard from him. It would be absurd if she had, or at least she keeps reminding herself of that when she finds herself spacing out during the slow moments at the diner or when taking off her stage makeup after the show. Elvis Presley is a busy man, and it’s likely he hadn’t given her a single thought since he left her pining and wanting in her drab little apartment.

Sure, he’d been good in the moment in making her feel special, and she can’t help thinking about all the little vulnerable snippets of him he showed her, all the strange things they seem to have in common…

Stop it. This is stupid. I’m never gonna see the man again.

It’s been a mantra in her head for days now, but unfortunately her touch-starved body hasn’t gotten the memo. If she had any sense, she’d drop her delusional fantasies and move on with her monotonous life.

“Hey, Pepper! Some guy is here to see you. Says it’s urgent,” Paul, the show’s stage manager, tells her briskly as she put the final touches on her face.

With no clue who it might be, a tightening in her belly warns it could be another overzealous “fan” like the one who caught her out the other night. But Paul is skilled at getting rid of the creeps, so it leaves her wondering as she makes her way backstage to the green room.

“Oh, thank God,” the short man sighs with palpable relief when she walks through the doorway. He looks incredibly familiar.

“Who…wait. Charlie?” she gasps in surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

The man looks so glad to see her it takes her aback. “You are a hard woman to track down. Aren’t you ever home?”

“I…uh, I work two jobs, so not really,” she finds herself explaining. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

“Well, the boss wants to see ya tonight, needs ya to come to his show,” he says, pushing a large white box into her arms.

“The boss?” she asks, confused. He can’t possibly mean who she thinks he does.

“Elvis. Elvis wants you at his show tonight, so here I am to get you there. And that’s for you, to wear,” Charlie says with a knowing smile.

Pepper thinks that maybe exhaustion has caught up with her because there is no way this is real. She laughs a little, a giddy feeling pulsing through her veins, until the cold wash of reality douses her.

“That’s nice, but I have a show of my own to do, Charlie,” she says, sweeping a hand over her revealing costume. Her heart sinks and she’s a little angry Elvis presumed she could drop everything to be at his beck and call. “Thank Elvis for the invitation but remind him I really can’t afford to lose this job.” She hands the white box back to Charlie, unopened.

He sputters a little with panic. It makes sense—most women probably bend over backwards to accommodate a man like Elvis, but she has other things to worry about. And Elvis knows this, which makes her even more irritated.

“But…but he really wants you there, Pepper,” Charlie says in a futile attempt to persuade her. “He’ll be mighty disappointed if you don’t come.”

Her heart kerthunks at the suggestion Elvis has been thinking about her at all, much less for him to be disappointed by her absence, but it doesn’t quell the anger starting to build in her chest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, but it’s too short of notice and I have a show to do. Tell your boss it would be good for him not to make assumptions.”

Charlie looks like she’s slapped him. She almost feels bad for him because she gets the impression, as wonderful as Elvis was with her the other night, he is not a man who likes to be told “no.”

“I need to be on stage soon. Bye, Charlie,” she says, fighting the urge to cry both with irritation and disappointment. She can’t afford to ruin her makeup this close to showtime and walks out before she can change her mind.

The smile she plasters across her face during the dinner show covers her aching discontent. She’s almost glad for the distraction—it takes her mind off the fact she’ll likely never hear from Elvis again. There is certainly no reason for a man like him to chase a woman like her, especially when she’s rejected him.

Lost in her dismal thoughts, she doesn’t hear Paul when he comes up behind her after the show. She jumps out of her skin when he touches her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Pepper, but you’ve got someone important on the phone for you,” Paul says, looking at her a little incredulously with a quirked brow, “and that little guy is back.”

What?

She makes her way back to the green room for the second time tonight, a racehorse running laps in her heart as she huffs down the hallway in her heels.

Charlie’s eyes brighten when they see her and he says nothing; he just holds out the phone receiver towards her. Trepidation makes her shake when she grabs it because as much as she wants to deny it, there’s no doubt who it could be.

“Hello?” she squeaks out, then races to clear her throat and relax her voice. “Who is this?”

“Peppercorn, you best be gettin’ that cute lil’ butt of yours down here, ‘fore I gotta come getchu myself,” Elvis familiar drawl growls commandingly in her ear.

It’s unfair the way it makes her toes curl and her thighs tighten, especially when a certain sense of fury at his orders slices through her arousal. If any other man talked like this to her, she’d hang up on him, but Elvis Presley is not just any other man.

“Well, hello to you, too, Elvis,” she says with ire. “I told you, I have my own shows and I can’t just up and leave on a whim.”

“Don’tchu worry about none of that, darlin’. I’ll take care of everything,” he says so smoothly it almost covers the impatience in his tone.

“What does that even mean?”

He sighs on the other end. “Honey, money ain’t an issue. I’ll give you more money than they’d pay you tonight to come to my show.”

The force of his words hits her square in the chest, her hand tightening around the phone. “And what about when they fire me for leaving without notice, hmm? You just gonna pay for my bills from now on? I’m not a whore, Elvis Presley. And I don’t want your damn money.”

That stubborn streak her mama always took her to task for has her seeing red, but somehow she has enough sense not to hang up on him directly. Instead, she just thrusts the phone into Charlie’s hand and storms off, not listening to the crackling voice yelling through the receiver.

Oooh, the nerve of that man, she thinks, her blood boiling at his insinuations. He’d been so nice and thoughtful the other night, not this demanding cad offering to pay her like some hooker off the street. For a man like that, offering what he did, it is blaringly obvious that there would be strings attached to such an arrangement, and she isn’t going to be some kept woman.

The audacity of his actions and words has her raging the more she thinks about him. The late show barely takes her mind off it, the entire exchange sending waves of adrenaline through her blood every time it pops back into her mind. By the time she is back home, she’s exhausted but wired, upset that her daydreams about this man were just that—fantasies.

Pepper convinced herself he wasn’t like any other man—that he was sweet and kind and didn’t just want her for her body. What a joke.He may be rich and powerful, but he certainly made his intentions clear with his demands.

Once in bed, she doesn’t bother to stop the tears leaking from her eyes and dripping into the mattress. A sick feeling of regret churns in her stomach as her rage cools and she begins second guessing all her choices. How she managed to ruin her chances with Elvis.

Buck up, kiddo, he’s just a guy. A famous, talented, and ridiculously handsome one, maybe, but still just a man in the end. He doesn’t matter. Your family does. She may not have much, but at least she has her dignity.

Or so she hopes, a certain yellow paisley shirt clinging to her body when sleep finally takes her.

An incessant pounding rouses Pepper from a fitful slumber. At first, she thinks it might be a whopper of a headache she’d felt coming on after last night’s events, but as she forces her gritty eyes open, she realizes it’s not that at all.

Someone is pounding on her front door.

Adrenaline kickstarts her body, despite the sleep that tries to reclaim her, and a quick look at the alarm clock on her nightstand shows it’s not quite four in the morning. She is cautious and more than a little scared as she slips her too flimsy robe on over her nightgown, pattering through the apartment with bare feet. Approaching the door with an element of stealth, which seems awfully stupid when she thinks about it, she peeks through the peephole, praying it’s not some drugged out creep looking for a good time or a maniac she needs to call the cops on.

But there is no mistaking the shock of black hair and the purple tinted sunglasses of the man causing such a racket on the other side of the wood. Her stomach drops and her heart flips.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She takes a shaky breath and opens the door before he can continue his barrage.

Elvis starts a bit when the door opens suddenly, his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. For a second, he almost looks self-conscious about his behavior, but it is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed glare before she can dwell on it.

“You gonna let me in, sweetheart, or are we gonna do this out in the open for everyone to see?” he drawls, but it has a cutting edge to it she doesn’t recognize from their first meeting.

Now that he’s here in front of her, her earlier stubbornness is hard to locate behind the butterflies in her stomach and the sudden apprehension she feels about him being here again. He sucks all the air out of the room after she wordlessly opens the door further to let him stride through.

Pepper pulls her robe tight across her body, trying to cover herself as though he hadn’t already seen her bare, as if he hadn’t knelt in front of her to dress her in that dark alley. The thought, along with the waft of his cologne as he passes by her, makes her knees weak.

“Wha—what’re you doing here, Elvis?” she asks, the words sticking in her mouth with sleep and confusion as she flips on the lamp near the couch.

She realizes the mistake the moment it happens. Now she can truly see him in all his glory—his post-show glow giving him an other-worldly quality she didn’t know was possible. His tan skin and lustrous dark hair are indulgent to her senses and it’s almost painful how endless his sapphire eyes are when he takes off his tinted glasses and rakes those eyes over her body.

It sends a shiver right down to her toes.

“Peppercorn, you’re one helluva stubborn little girl,” he says huskily, pointing a long finger at her, “makin’ me come all the way down ‘ere to talk some damn sense into ya.”

It’s piercing and heated the way he says it and she feels somewhere between a scolded child and a wounded lover, neither of which fits the strange (non-)relationship she has with him, but she feels it all the same. Logic tells her he has no right to come in here like this, but the fact that he’s here at all, looking ethereal like some sort of angry god, has all logic flying out the window.

Digging her toes into the wood floor to keep herself grounded, she finally finds her voice again, “Excuse me?”

“And all this nonsense ‘bout ya being some kinda ‘whore’,” he barrels on, “and I ain’t never said no such thing, would never say such a thing aboutcha.” The vehemence with which he says it makes it sound likeshe was the one who offended him and not the other way around.

Pepper is confused for a second because of this, as her first instinct is to apologize to make him feel better, but then she remembers why she was mad in the first place.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t offer to pay me to spend time with you and be there to satisfy your every whim, I wouldn’t think that’s what you meant,” she says quietly, her voice shaking only slightly, as she throws it back at him.

His eyes flash and narrow while his cheeks redden underneath his tan. The divot in his jaw ticks with tension, and for a split second she regrets her words.

She can’t for the life of her understand why he cares and has gone to all this trouble and seems so upset. She’s nobody of consequence, and God knows any number of women are lined up at the ready for him if he wants company. And yet he’s here.

This doesn’t help the way her heart knocks against her ribcage, though, and she squeezes her hands tight to try and control her rapid breathing.

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth, lil girl,” he growls, stepping towards her, backing her into the wall. Only the tiniest part of her is frightened despite his size and anger because his proximity and intensity ignite something molten in her veins. Her mouth parts but the quippy reply dies on her lips.

“Why don’tcha wanna come to my show?” There’s an element of hurt in his voice that surprises her, and it tugs at her heartstrings. He looks down at her and it nearly causes her knees to buckle. “I-I-I jus’ thought—”

“I would love to come. It breaks my heart that I can’t,” she whispers mournfully, the words popping out before you can think better of them.

An impish little smile plays at his lips. “It does, does it?”

Pepper can’t help but roll her eyes, tilting her chin to the side, mostly to avoid being swallowed up by those churning eyes of his. “Of course.”

“Then why you gotta be so stubborn, baby?” he replies, gently scolding her. His slender pointer finger grazes her jaw, then turns her chin back towards him.

She hopes he doesn’t feel the way she shudders from the contact. It’s embarrassing enough that she can’t seem to hold her ground with him in front of her like this. That she’s melting at his slightest touch. She struggles to get the words out, feeling heady with the heat of him so close.

“I don’t…it’s important for me to be able to take care of myself. I’ve had to for a long time. And you don’t need to give me anything for me to want to come see or spend time with you—you shouldn’t have to. Besides,” she adds quietly, looking down, “I’m not really the kind of girl who…um…takes advantage of things like that. So, as much as I want to, I can’t—"

The rest is swallowed before it can come out by the sweet softness of his plush lips pressing against her own. She gasps in surprise, but that, too, is consumed by his mouth. His hands cup her face, tilting it up towards his and Pepper flails for a moment in confusion until the gentle insistence of his kiss subdues her completely.

Warmth spreads through her limbs, followed by electric tingles which bounce around her stomach and suck the breath out of her lungs. Her hands land on his chest, feeling heat and dampness from sweat, his heart thrumming underneath her palm. It’s faster than she expects and in disbelief, she wonders if it’s because of her.

When he pulls away, lashes fluttering up to meet her gaze, it’s as if a rocket implodes inside her chest. She’s a goner—if she’s honest with herself, she has been since the moment he defended her in the alley—and she knows it’s a bad place to be with a man like Elvis. She struggles valiantly against her baser instincts.

“Wh-why did you do that?” she chokes out, still confused about the fact that Elvis Presley just kissed her.

His eyes go dark. “Did ya not like it?” he asks, concerned.

“N-No, no, it isn’t…it was lovely, I just—I mean, why me?” She looks up at him with earnest eyes.

Relief spreads across his face and he runs his knuckles over her cheek. “Honey, you are the realest person I’ve met in this godforsaken town—hell, anywhere, as a matter of fact—a-an’ the only one who ain’t asked o-o-or expected a damn thing from me in a long time. You jus’…understand.”

Surprisingly, she does.

“Now, with that said, I like ta—" His head comes down, pressing the sweaty warmth of his forehead against hers. “—give gifts and help those I care about.” He nuzzles his nose into hers. “You gonna let me help you, Peppercorn?” he whispers against her cheek.

Her mouth parts by its own accord as her insides go gooey, and those soft lips devour hers again before she can reply. Fisting the lapels of his jacket in her hands, she barely recognizes the moan that escapes her as being her own.

He pulls away slightly, pressing kisses into her jaw and down her neck. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“Elvis…” is all she’s able to groan out. He’s an assault to her senses in the best way, causing every nerve ending to go into overdrive, logic and caution be dammed.

“Gonna be good f’me?” he rasps, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers down over her breast. She gasps and her nipple pebbles hard in response under the silky friction of the fabric of his yellow shirt. Back arching, her body seeks more of him.

He hums, pulling her up into a blistering kiss that sets her on fire. Mind wiped clean, she leans into his touch when he palms the underside of her breast.

“Thought you was mad at me and here ya are wearin’ my shirt to bed,” he drawls with a knowing smirk, his finger toying with the top button. “Now why would ya do a thing like that, huh, darlin’?”

“I…” she says breathlessly but stops when she has no defense. Her cheeks turn fire-engine red, both from being caught out and from the fact he is much too deftly popping the first button, which due to the size of the shirt lies squarely between her cleavage, open. The fullness and heaving of her breasts push the fabric further apart.

“Hmm, I see,” he tuts. His finger traces its way down to work the second button. “Were ya dreamin’ about me, honey?”

Pepper whimpers and her thighs clutch together involuntarily at his whispered words, and he doesn’t miss this little tell, not by the little smirk on his face. The second button pops and the shirt falls open more.

He swoops her up against him for another kiss, his tongue swiping through her lips and rolling against hers. The rapidly-firming outline of his cock pressed against her belly is not lost on her, either.

“My lil’ Peppercorn, thinkin’ she’s gotta be all rough and tough all by her lonesome,” he murmurs as he makes quick work of the other buttons, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her abdomen. She trembles at his touch. “Don’t gotta worry no more, baby, I gotcha,” he purrs. In any other situation, she might find it condescending, this way he’s taking her to task for being cautious and independent, but she can’t quite bring herself to care so much anymore.

Elvis steps back a little, those shining blue eyes flaring a bit when he gets a look at her in her simple white cotton panties. He looks almost gleeful which banishes her self-consciousness at not wearing something sexier to bed. God knows the last thing she expected last night after she showered was Elvis Presley admiring her choice of underwear.

“Lemme take care of ya?” he asks dreamily, and the words go straight to her core, tingling her swelling lower lips in anticipation of what she hopes he is going to do to her.

All she can manage is a low whine of consent, nodding her head furiously just in case it isn’t clear how badly she needs him to touch her.

Elvis smiles and flits his fingers over the cotton covering her mound. The slightest brush of his finger against her clit sends her spasming like a live wire. It’s embarrassing, yet by the boyish dimple in his cheek, she reckons he’s pleased as punch.

“You been touched like this before, baby?” he asks quietly, circling over her so lightly she feels she might explode from want.

Blinking rapidly, she tries to focus enough to reply. “N-not in a long w-while,” she admits, relishing the sensation of him brushing over the soaked center of her underwear. She can’t help the roll of her hips towards his hand, desperate for more.

“Mmm,” he tuts, nodding to himself. Thankfully, he obliges her by pressing slightly upwards, pushing his panty covered finger up into her hole just a little, the palm of his hand putting pressure on her sensitive clit.

He only gives her a second of this, just long enough for her to gasp out, before he’s moving along. Her knees threaten to buckle and she whines. Then his mouth his on hers again, inhaling her exhale as he kisses her into complete submission.

Pepper loses track of how long they kiss, only that her lips are swollen and that she aches for him with every fiber of her being. The rhythm of his mouth is hypnotic and when he slides his hand down the front of her, into her damp curls, and finally gives attention to the place she wants him most, she cries out in pleasure.

Her legs falling open, he takes the cue and teases the hood of her sex. Nothing has prepared her for this—not her imagination nor her few previous experiences with men could ever match up to the blinding arousal she’s feeling right now.

Surprising her, he bends down, continuing his kisses down her chest, over the rise of her breasts and down her stomach. When he kneels in front of her, a waft of déjà vu comes over her, except this time he is undressing her instead, making the entire scene so erotic with his kiss-swollen lips and bedroom eyes and his hair falling in his face that she feels a needy, throbbing desire between her legs.

His tongue traces her belly button, distracting her from the fact he’s pulling her ruined underwear down her legs to puddle at her feet. It’s not until his lips are pressing into her mound that she realizes his intentions.

“Oh!” Her eyes flying open, she squirms a little in panic—she’s never had a man kiss her down there, and sure as hell didn’t consider that Elvis would want to do such a thing, but there he his, looking up at her, one eyebrow cocked. His eyes don’t leave hers as he swirls that tongue of his around her bud.

“Oh—omigod,” she cries, breath hitching. Her body goes into overdrive at all the new sensations, and he just smiles against her, snacking and lapping away at her, as happy as can be. The surreal nature of it all has her questioning her sanity, but the fleeting thought is quickly overwhelmed by the coil rapidly tightening in her belly. She hurtles towards an orgasm she’s not entirely ready for because she desperately doesn’t want this pleasure to end. Mewling and begging, it only takes one slender finger sliding up into her snatch coupled with the delicious, tongued assault on her clit to send her catapulting over the edge.

Her body tenses, then shudders violently against him as a silent scream catches in her throat. The heat rushing over her has nothing on any climax she’s ever had before which becomes evident in the way her legs shake and threaten to give way completely. Thankfully, Elvis holds her steady by the backs of her thighs, not letting her slump down to the floor like a sack of potatoes as her body relaxes. She can barely breathe for the way he licks her through the end of it, his enjoyment of her arousal obviously not just for her benefit.

Pepper vaguely registers her soft moans and her shivering limbs as she comes back into herself. Her head clonks back into the wall while she tries to get ahold of senses. She can’t seem to come down, though, not with this gorgeous man prostrated at her feet, enjoying her as though she were water in the desert.

Everything goes blank, everything but him.

Then he’s upright again, pressing his body into her, into the wall, his head nuzzling the soft spot under her ear. “Ya like that, honey? That okay?”

If she were more cognizant, she might think more on how he seems almost unsure of his abilities, but as it is, she barely manages a nod.

“S’wonderful,” she slurs, though she’s completely sober.

He smiles against her neck, chin sticky with her arousal. She doesn’t care. At this moment, all she wants is to be consumed by him, crushed by him, taken care of by him. All earlier arguments are forgotten, especially when he ruts against her bare leg, his erection hard and seeking.

“Can I, darlin’?” he whispers imploringly with a punctuated roll of his hips. “Hims need her bad.”

She wants to giggle at the cuteness of his baby talk and at the gallantry of his asking rather than taking—as if she would deny him—so instead she just nods yet again, pulling at the confines of his suit jacket.

In a near-frantic battle with his elaborate outfit, his belt finally clanks to the floor along with his pants and discarded jacket. When his cock springs free, unencumbered due to the lack of underwear, she is almost shocked, but is too distracted by what seems to be a wholly perfect representation of the male form.

It makes her look him up and down with an awed and heated gaze, somewhat disbelieving this otherworldly man wants her. By its own accord, her hand palms the heavy heat of him, sending a thrill though her when he groans out her name.

Needy and already dripping from the slit in his angry pink tip, he thrusts his cock into her hand. “Please, baby,” he breathes and all at once she realizes he is as desperate to have her as she is to have him.

She’s never fucked standing before and if she were in her right mind might be a little concerned about the mechanics of such a thing, but nature has a way of prevailing and without much to-do, Elvis lifts her long legs around his waist and braces her against the wall.

They both groan as he enters her. She’s more than wet, but his size and her lack of recent experience creates a stretching burn, nevertheless. It makes her hiss and bite down on her lip and being the observant lover he has turned out to be, he freezes partway in.

“You okay?” he asks, worried, and she nods emphatically because no, she doesn’t want him to stop but yes, it has been awhile since a man traversed this part of her. The bite of her nails on his shoulders is enough to remind him to go slow, despite the desire to fuck each other into oblivion.

With the utmost patience he works his way in with shallow, gentle thrusts as she coats him with her slick and relaxes enough to let him burrow deeper. The tight fit is delicious on his cock, which he makes note of in a string of murmured baby talk praises in her ear of what a good girlshe is and how tight she feels and how he’d just make a home in her pretty lil’ beaver forever if he could.

All this has her tingling and radiating warmth from the inside out and she begins to roll her hips to let him know she’s ready. It’s not long then before he’s nestled deep inside, his sweaty forehead pressed to hers before kissing her deeply. She tastes the tang of herself on his tongue, something that shouldn’t make her moan into his mouth, but she does, clinging to his shoulders as he finally begins to move in earnest.

And consumed by him she is—by his smell, his taste, the hard and soft planes of his body sliding against her own so deftly, thoroughly slotted as if made for each other. His rings cut into the bottom of her thigh as he grips her there in such a way that suggests he thinks she might float away and disappear without him there to anchor her.

He might very well be right.

Boldly, she meets his increasingly deep and pointed thrusts with the snap of her hips, as best she can at least, considering her lack of leverage. She chases him and he her, like some sort of erotic ouroboros eating its own tail. There is nothing but him and her and the joined chorus of breath in their near-frantic lovemaking.

Pepper has never come twice in a row with a man, not ever, yet as he plunders her just the right way in all the right spots, the telltale signs of that tension in her core spring to life again. He’s skilled in making her body sing, considering he barely knows her—or perhaps he knows her better than anyone else in his gilded town. Regardless, he coaxes her back to the edge with him with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the caress of his fingers and hands in her most intimate places.

Skilled but sweet. Confident but desperate. The dichotomy of this man confounds her. Her back scrapes against the wall in time with the piston of his perfect hips, and the music of his soft moans has her near orgasm once again.

The build is slower this time and she relishes in every sensation, trying to commit them to memory. When she finally shatters around him at the crest of it all, Elvis shudders with a low groan and thrusts impossibly deep before pulsing hard, filling her with cum.

They collapse in on each other then, a panting silence filling the space around them. His breath is wet and heavy in the crook of her neck. She mindlessly runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, which is damp with sweat.

Oh, she’s in deep trouble with this one and she knows it. Part of her wants nothing more to stay like this forever, back scraping against the plaster, collapsed in a satisfied heap in Elvis’ arms.

A pleased hum comes from him, vibrating her sensitive skin, as he nestles deeper into her, despite the softening of his penis. It is needy and cuddly and unexpected based on the way he barged in earlier. But he continues to hold her tight, and she is powerless to deny him such a comfort.

She doesn’t want to.

“Come back with me, honey,” he whispers into the shell of her ear, causing her skin to pebble. “Please.”

Pepper wants to cry at the vulnerable way he says it and how it leaves her feeling so special because it seems to prove this was not just an angry, possessive fuck from a man who always gets what he wants. No, it feels charmingly sweet and melts her heart and body in all the right ways. It would be so easy to go, so tempting to fall into his arms again and again.

But things have never been easy for her and her damn pragmatic mind won’t let it rest why he showed up here in the first place.

“I—I can’t leave my jobs,” she whispers, her fingers carting through his dark hair by their own accord as his lips tackle her pulse point. She feels him smile against her skin, an action which shoots straight into her core, as if he hadn’t left her sated twice already.

“Well, I thought ya might say that, but it jus’ so happens the Hilton has a book-keeping openin’, if ya want it,” he says dreamily.

It takes a moment for her post-coital brain to make sense of what he’s saying. She pulls back.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replies, forcing his pleased grin into a serious scowl.

Her heart pounds even more than it did when his lips were on her. She knows jobs like this are hard for people like her to come by. Most casinos don’t want to take a chance on a showgirl doing their books.

This could change everything for her.

“I…but I don’t have much experience and they’ll never—” she babbles, sending herself into a panic.

“Baby,” he shushes, finally removing himself from her and setting her down gently, “you’ve already got the job.” He smooths her hair, lulling her into relaxing.

She shakes her head in disbelief. Part of her wants to balk against the kindness, telling her she didn’t earn it for herself. Elvis gleans this, however.

“Let me help you, darlin’,” he coos at her, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please. Let someone else take care of ya for once.”

Tears spring to her eyes. She can’t help it. The rollercoaster of the last few days has left her raw.

“You didn’t have to—it’s too much,” she sniffles, blinking back the tears.

“Wasn’t nothin’, baby. And you’ll be great, workin’ with all those numbers,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “And, it ain’t entirely selfless,” he muses, “considerin’ you’ll be workin’ in the same place as me and they don’t need you to start for a couple weeks. Those hours give you plenty of time to come see me. To be with me.”

She can’t help but chuckle at that. “But I have to—”

“Good thing about that signing bonus, too. Means ya won’t have to worry ‘bout leavin’ those other jobs of yours,” he says nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nope, no siree.” His eyes twinkle at her.

Her guarded incredulousness disintegrates when she realizes he listened to her. Despite the misguided way he went about it, he figured out her need to be self-sufficient, solved the problem holding her back from him, and managed to get her a job she could barely dream of a few days ago.

It’s infuriating to her head-strong nature that he’s so deftly wheedled around all the obstacles and that she wants nothing more than to be in his arms and hear his vulnerability and go to his damn shows.

“Whadya say, Peppercorn? Will ya come be with me?” He says it with only the slightest tremor of doubt, those soulful eyes of his searching hers, dredging up feelings she knows will likely bite her in the ass later.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine,” she tries to say with a hint of frustration, but she’s unable to keep her hopeful smile from raising the corners of her mouth.

The dimple carved out beneath his apple cheeks makes it all worth it and sends a shower of tingles through her body. He swoops her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and hugging her so tight she can barely draw breath.

Suffocated by Elvis Presley’s kisses wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, she thinks humorously as he takes her breath away.

“I should go clean up and pack some things,” she pants when they finally tear themselves away from each other.

He nods, looking mussed and blissful, his bedroom eyes heavy as though the night’s events have finally all caught up to him. Holding her hand until the last possible second, she’s near convinced that he’s about ready to fall asleep standing up.

She’s halfway down the hall when he calls out to her, voice husky. “Hey, honey.”

Pepper turns back to look at him.

“Bring the shirt,” Elvis says, his dark brow quirking suggestively, “I like it on ya.”

He gives her an idea, a bold one she acts on before she can think too much on it. “Bet you’d like it off me even more,” she says, sliding the already open shirt off her shoulders. It falls in a soft heap around her feet.

His eyes go wide and take in her bare form from head to toe. “Damn, woman, I think ya might be right.”

And with a growl, he charges her, sending her into shrieking giggles as she flees into her room. Tapping some hidden reserve of energy, he lifts her and throws her on her unmade bed, and then climbs in on top of her, showering her with kisses everywhere.

Loving the way his long body presses her into the sheets, she feels utterly content for once in her life to let loose a little and live in the present without a care in the world.

“Gonna take care of ya,” he whispers, running his hand reverently over her naked curves.

And she knows he will.

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon) 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#paisley dreams #paisley dreams part 2 #elvis smut #elvis presley #elvis #elvis x oc #elvis x peppercorn #elvis presley fanfic #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis imagine #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fic #elvis 1970 #las vegas #showgirl

101 notes · View notes

thatbanditqueen · 1 year

Text

No One Walks Out Ch 4

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 4: Kaleidoscope

Summary: Elvis convinces Becky that this is actually a romantic gesture, and he brings her to Graceland to meet his family and spend some time together as he prepares to have his daughter come to Memphis. A fluffy, smutty nuzzlefest with some foreboding and Jerry shenanigans.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, vaginal sexual penetrative intercourse, cursing, drug use and alcohol, and, because it's Elvis, weird mind games and jealousy. Some historical inaccuracies.

Words: 18.6K EVERYTIME. Every. Goddamn. Time. With every fic. I tell myself, this time, 10 K is enough. And then I write more than i did last time. I think I loose readers every time it gets longer... but .. fuck.. I don't know. It's hard to kill your darlings.

I made a playlist just for this chapter in order of the songs that get sung or played.

I'm so bad at attention to detail, sorry for the typos.

This chapter is part of my on going fic about 1975-era Elvis and a single mom he meets after a concert in Jackson, MS. If you haven’t read it, you can here:

Catch up on Chapter One here

Catch up on Chapter Two here

Catch up on Chapter Three here

Thanks to everyone who has commented, sent asks, and supported this story. If you enjoy it, please, for the love of big daddy, reblog, comment, share. I always like hearing what works and what doesn't, because it gets into my fingers and shapes the way they write. Pretty sure the smut is ridiculous here....

Sunday, June 14th

1 PM, Pop’s Gas Station

Somewhere in Mississippi

The coffee was hot as it rolled down Jerry’s throat, and he shifted against the raw wooden grain of the bench outside Pop’s Gas Station, somewhere off Highway 61. It was bright in the muggy, midday heat of Mississippi, and Jerry adjusted his sunglasses, intentionally turning his head away from the yellow Cadillac parked askew twenty or so feet to his right. Lush green trees lined the two-lane highway, and Jerry stared at the overgrowth, trying not to focus on Elvis’ laugh bubbling up as it was interrupted by yelps as Becky hit him again and again on his upper arm. Jerry made no visible acknowledgement that he could hear or see everything being said in the car twenty feet away.

"Elvis THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Turn around and take me home… I don’t appreciate being taken against my will…”

“Thought you liked being taken by me, ouch…. last night you said you wished you could co—”

“No, I never said—”

“Yes ya did, ya said,” Elvis’ eyes laughed and his lips pouted while he spoke in a high falsetto, “Oh Elvis you big strong manly stud, I wish I could stay like this forever, naked in your arms…c—”

“No, no, no, now.” Becky flipped her long, dark auburn curls over her shoulder and looked out the window at Jerry, still aloof, disinterested, his eyes focused on an indeterminate point in the distance. “I didn’t say it like that, I was caught up in the moment and I said ‘this is nice, just being here like this, together.. wish it could last forever,’ the kind of stupid thing weak-willed women like me say after making love….I never said I wanted you to go——”

“Well, I saw it in your eyes… and again this morning, when you were trying to play it cool while ya wa warshin’ my clothes for me, ironing ma pants…” His fingers rubbed the side of her arm, stroking up to the top of her shoulder then back down to her elbow, trailing lightly along her thigh. Becky settled a little as Elvis’ voice rumbled into her ears. She stopped punching him and crossed her arms with an exasperated sigh. Elvis leaned in closer, still a few inches from her ear, murmuring while his hand circled the top of her left knee. “C’mon woman, ya really don’t wanna spend a few more days with me?”

Becky crossing her arms even tighter, and a guttural growl emerged from her throat with a “Humpf… Elvis…. I can't disappear on a whim just to be your fuck buddy for a week…”

“Whoa now, first a all, this ain’t just about screwing around-”

Becky arched an eye brow.

“Maybe for you, ya wanton woman…”

“Ha!”

“No, now a man can only do so much a that… now just come here a second….”

Elvis's hands pulled Becky across the front seat of the car and into his arms.

“Now honey, I like you, we have fun in each other’s company, hmmm?” He kissed the top of her dark curlscand her skin smoldered under the heat of his large hand massaging her shoulder. The bottom of his glasses bumped along the top of her head and she took another deep, protracted breath, uncrossing her arms.

“Mhmmmm… I… it’s not ok to go behind my back just because you want something to happen a certain way…it doesn’t feel good to be tricked into something…”

“Ok, ok… ya right…. See, I … I knew you was too shy to ask your folks… ” Becky jabbed him softly, playfully, moving her elbow up and down along the soft cushion of Elvis’ belly. “Ok, ok, simmer down, I’m sayin’ you are right, honey, I'll never trick you again or do something without asking….promise…I’ll never not consult you again when I’m planning a grand romantic gesture that sweeps you off ya feet…”

“HA … that what this is? Awfully optimistic of you, thinking anything like this will ever happen again .. I have a mind to make you drive me back to Jackson on principle…”

“OK, well, now, look, we’re only ‘bout on hour from Graceland, let's head in and if ya still set on leavin’ in the morning,” Elvis winked as he said this. “I’ll have Jerry drive you back…”

Becky softened and leaned into him, her hand worked its way around Elvis’ waist. “Oh no, no Jerry, no Joe, you’re not gettin’ your friends to do your dirty work for you - you did this to your self, and you need to be the one sufferin’ the six hours driving me to Jackson and back…”

“So what I’m hearing is that you want the maximum time ta cuddle with me … I gotcha, I gotcha… so come an’ get it now, silly woman!”

Elvis’ right hand tightened around the edge of Becky’s shoulder, his thumb gently swiping up her shoulder blade as she scooted into him, releasing all of her resentment about this surprise trip to Memphis. Becky made a mental note to save any indignation that remained for Ida as she snuggled into Elvis chest, giving into it’s warm comfort and burrowing her nose into his breast. Becky smiled as Elvis let out a deep hiss as the tip of her nose traced over his nipple. Her hand moved down to tease him along the crease of his pants where his belly met his thigh. Slowly, her fingers crept further along the ridge of his tummy and onto the top of his legs, just to the point above his crotch, then giggling softly as Elvis gasped and exhaled with a low exclamation.

“Gawdddddammit… lil gal… gonna loose my foot tryin’ to get us back to Graceland…show you that sound proof….roommmmmm,” his voice purred as Becky’s fingers needled the round flesh at the top of Elvis inner thigh.

The friction created a heat between them, and Elvis fingers started to rub Becky’s shoulder with a blistering need. He kissed the top of her head, and Becky watched him push against her in the rearview mirror. Her chest filled with warm exhilaration at the sight of Elvis’ lower lip hanging down, his eyes blown wide with earnest, needy lust. She watched his lips smoosh sideways as he kissed her forehead, maintaining a charged eye contact with her through his glasses. The intensity of his stare was overwhelming, it made her heart beat so quick that she heard it in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of Elvis’ left hand rolling down the window to yell out for Jerry to get back in the car, never breaking the bond between his chin and her forehead.

Elvis blue eyes simmered as they stared her down through the mirror, and Becky couldn’t stop herself from biting her lip. His fierce stare was juxtaposed by the softness of his voice as he whispered into her hair while they drove along the highway.

“He’s sawry if he upset ya baby …” Elvis voice went into a low, intimate babyish tenor, the movements of his thumb became more protracted, and Becky shushed him through his shirt. “Such a sweet baby ta me… baby baaaaby ba da di dooo, ohh… yeuahhhhh…..” His voice lulled into a gospel tune momentarily. “I cain’t wait ta show ya all ‘round ma house… all ‘round ma property… fourteen acres… ever stayed somewhere so big? Think ya… can handle that size?”

Becky chuckled, and Elvis’ face beamed at the soft rose color of her blushing cheeks.

“Mhmmm… well, I’m not sure… guess I’ll just have ta see what happens….” Becky kissed Elvis chest, softly, murmuring into it. Her right hand snaked around his back, her left feathering over the round swell of his belly. “You know, I was just starting to like you this morning before you played this dirty trick on me … you’re so funny and sweet …. But I just need to say… one last time, then we’ll put it behind us… I… don’t like plans being made for me…” Becky looked up at Elvis face from where she leaned on his chest. The side of his face loomed large above her, his lips pursed in thought above the bulge of his chin. “I can see how you meant this as a romantic gesture… but I … I don’t like being tricked…”

Elvis’ chin rippled above Becky as he nodded, and he drew her in closer. “Awright honey… from now, s’all ‘bove board… no more tricks… no more surprises, kay? I promise. Won’t ever lie or mislead you or keep something from you.” The softness of his chin pressed into Becky’s forehead as Elvis’ kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder.

Calmed into a tender embrace, Becky and Elvis retreated into their own little enclave in the front seat, where Jerry’s presence was ignored and almost forgotten about amid the sweet nothings Elvis and Becky exchanged along the highway up to Tennessee.

“Ya know you got the cutest yittle eye lashes I ever seen,” Elvis whispered, and he kissed her forehead again, catching her mouth as Becky tilted up to him to kiss his cheek.

She murmured over his nipple. “You have the kind of chest a girl could get used to leaning on…” she rubbed her hand under the plush groove of his belly.

It was only when they got to the state line that Becky began to feel a slight unease creep up from the bottom of her tummy and take residence at the top of her bosom. An icy chill followed up her spine, she felt anxious as she realized they were entering Tennessee. She was about to experience another layer of Elvis’ home life that she hadn’t had any time to prepare for or even think about. She squirmed out of his tight embrace and sat up straight, looking out the window at the big sign announcing they had entered Tennessee.

Elvis’ left hand remained straight, steady at the wheel while his right palm chased after Becky’s, grasping at her fingers and intertwining his between them at the top of her knee. He turned his head from the road, momentarily, looking at the back of her head as it stared out the window. Elvis’ hand engulfed her’s, squeezing it tight, lifting her palm to his mouth and kissing the top of her hand.

“Hey - ya nervous?”

Becky’s big brown eyes met his tentatively. Her lips pursed together, then wiggled back and forth as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Mhmm… what is your family gonna think of me… this random girl… coming back to your house with you? What if they… don’t like me…. What about these six girlfriends you told me ‘bout? I…. Anyone gonna be chasing me out the house with a rolling pin?” Becky’s voice stopped abruptly, and her words hung in the air.

Elvis released Becky’s hand and looked over at her, then turned to look at Jerry briefly for the first time since they had left the gas station. “You watch too many soap opera… Graceland ain’t The Guiding Light… I lay down the law, and there ain’t no drama… no other chicks living there right now, and everyone’s gonna be just as crazy about you as I am, lil girl… but I’ll tell ya right now, my opinion’s the only one that matter’s at Graceland… so’s you jus’ let me know if anyone… anyone… disrespects ya, hmmm? Trust daddy, now, everything is gonna be fine….”

Elvis turned up the radio and rubbed Becky’s knee, and the sound of The Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin Man” filled the car.

**********************************************************

The white mesh gates opened back and Elvis flicked his cigarillo out of the car window and steered the yellow Cadillac up the curved driveway. A wistful smile spreading over his face. Exhaling, he seemed to relax as he paused the car at the little brick guard house behind the gate. Elvis motioned at Becky to roll down the window and yelled at the older man standing watch.

“Why hellloooo der Vestor, stayin’ awake I see?”

The guard nodded, and Elvis chuckled, ignoring Becky’s questioning eyes as he drove the car around to the front of the house. Jerry was out of the car first, waiting as Elvis popped the trunk and squeezed Becky’s knee, turning to give her a soft kiss followed by a second, more vigorous smack. His fingers tousled her curly locks as he comforted her.

“S’gonna be great…” his voice lilted up into a refrain. “Welcome ta my world… Becky Butt” he grinned, giving her a wink as he slapped her thigh and opened his door.

Elvis pulled himself out of the car and strode around to grab Becky’s door just as she was about to pop it open. Taking her hand, he adjusted his sunglasses and smiled wide, tugging her up the portico behind Jerry. Opening the front door, Jerry glanced briefly at Becky, then told Elvis’ he’d run the bag Ida packed upstairs. Elvis stopped them in the front foyer, his arms hugging Becky from behind as he clasped his large hands around her waist and notched his chin into her neck. He nuzzled into her right ear as Becky looked from one side of the entry way to the other. Her eyes took in the scarlet red carpeting that trailed down the grand staircase in front of her and lined all the floors that she could see, punctuated by the occasional white fur rug.

“Welcome to Graceland….” Elvis whispered. Becky’s cheeks began to match the carpet as Elvis hummed “Amazing Grace,” into her neck with a mischievous grin that told Becky he was also thinking about the same intimate moment they had shared two nights ago. The image of Elvis mouth singing this song as he licked her pussy was now indelibly linked to in her mind.

“So… whatcha think?” Those same lips asked.

Red. That was Becky’s first impression of Graceland’s interior. The color was so overwhelming, it was the only thing she could think of as she looked around. Deep, scarlet velvet drapes lined with golden fringe hung down to meet the carpet at the entrance to every room. The dining room table on her left was enclosed by high-backed candy apple colored chairs covered with rhinestones. To the right was a parlor with a long Victorian settee that was, you guessed it, a deep Burgundy color held up by a white wooden trim. Becky momentarily mused that this might be what Belle Watlings' vagina looked like: an ornate opening lined by red velvet drapery welcoming customers into its cavernous warmth. It was the sort of place a girl would feel comfortable getting an unexpected visit from Aunt Flo. Or the perfect setting for a villain to hold a clandestine meeting with James Bond. Becky kept all of these thoughts to herself, inhaling deeply as she took it all in.

“Wow… it's … so… fancy… like no where I’ve ever been, that’s fa sure…”

Elvis seemed pleased by this response, and kissed Becky’s neck. She murmured at the warmth of his breath on her skin as she continued.

“Gosh… s’not what I expected… S’much bigger than I thought driving up…”

“Mhmmm…. That’s what all the girls say— ouch!”

Becky reached her hand above her to playfully slap Elvis’ face, and he bite his lip and waggled his eyebrows down at her. Elvis’ thumb nestled inside inside Becky’s palm, swiping up and down slowly over her soft skin as he led her excitedly around through the dining room and into the kitchen where they came upon a short, stout Black woman filling the refrigerator with Pepsi bottles.

Elvis dropped Becky’s hand to make a loud “CLAP,” chuckling as the woman jumped back and shrieked.

“Oh lawd, Elvis, ya scared me outta of my skin!”

Elvis hugged the woman, speaking through his chuckles. “Jus keepin’ ya on yo toes Miss Mary, I reckon it’s been too quiet round here since I been gone…”

“Hmmm, well your daddy been callin’ over to ask if you back yet, want me to —”

“Nah, let the old bugger stew… he’s pestering me ‘bout that plane, an I don’t care ta hear it.” Elvis rubbed Mary’s shoulder, then turned to look back at Becky. “Mary, I got a lil girl I’m awfully fond of that I want ya ta meet, this here’s — ”

“Why it’s Becky!”

There was Charlie, a big beaming smile radiating happiness through the kitchen as he walked in from the other side.

“Hmmpf… if it ain’t ol Waterhead ‘im self….” Elvis walked back over to Becky and drew her into him tight, kissing her forehead as his eyes narrowed and Elvis’ left hand grazed the top of his belt.

Charlie’s expression toward Becky shifted immediately from joyful greeting to a more solemn “Glad to see ya ma’am.”

Mary asked Elvis what time he wanted dinner, exclaiming, “Well, an early dinner, huh,” in response to his 8 pm request.

“Woke up early ta day, Miss Mary… Becky Butt here’s harsh mistress, had me up all hours a the night,” he winked and then smiled deeper as Becky’s face grew red. “Then she had us up at 8 ta drive her baby to summer camp… who knows when her demands will end?”

“Ha, you have some nerve, Elvis Presley…” Becky whispered into Elvis armpit, pinching him under his jacket and causing him to chuckle and kiss her forehead again.

Elvis twirled her out from his side, looking at her as he swung her around. “Ain’t she just got the perfect hourglass figure Mary? Just need to get her some nice clothes, add a lil’ make up, and she shines like the Hope diamond...”

Becky swung herself back into his armpit with another pinch and reddening cheeks, whispering “Considering everything you put me though today, I look like a movie star…”

“Yeah…ya sure do look like a movie star, honey…like Bette Davis in Baby Jane….” Then Becky’s face fell and Elvis stopped snickering and rubbed her back, his lips on her head. “Oh sweetheart, I didn’t mean it now…” he laughed as she hit him and burrowed into his armpit further.

Jerry’s footsteps announced his entrance into the kitchen behind them and Becky turned to see him nod at Charlie before briefing Elvis on some scheduling and business matters. Becky stole a glance at Charlie and smiled at his shrug and eye roll, half of which Elvis caught and responded to with a sharp look in Charlie’s direction, tightening his grip on Becky’s waist.

“Huh, well, keep me posted when Dave lands at the airport tomarra with Lisa… alright, enough pleasantries, c’mon lil’ gal, Imma give ya the VIP tour….”

Becky smiled and called out behind her, “Nice to meet you Mary, good to see you Charlie!” before she felt the clack of the swinging door her backside.

Elvis lugged her into the back hallway to a room with bright green carpeting and wood panelling. The coffee table looked as through it had been sliced out of a tree, and the soft trickle of falling water drew Becky’s attention to the north wall as Elvis sank into a brown fur-lined couch. He pulled her onto his lap, twin sea serpents roaring out of the carved wooden armrests to meet Becky’s hand as she steadied herself to keep from falling off Elvis. To balance, Becky settling her bottom into Elvis’ groin, and he pulled Becky closer, leaning back as his fingers worked their way under Becky’s tee-shirt to caress the softness of her belly, his voice rumbling into her neck.

“This is the den…whaddya think?”

Becky turned to look at him, his hands shifted her around so she was now straddling him where he sat at the sofa’s edge.

“It’s magical… this is my favorite room so far… right here…”

Elvis lit up behind his lavender glasses at the wonder in Becky’s upturned eyes; he relished her gasp at the green carpet covering the ceiling above. His right hand massaged the tender hip flesh spilling out of her jeans, while his left hand moved under her shirt to where her shapely bosom jiggled ever so slightly with the delicate thrusts Elvis’ begin to send upward into her, and he leaned in to kiss her clavicle.

“Elvis… you.. havta… I wanna… you’re in the middle of giving me a tour…” Becky whispered, the burn of desire beginning to brush at her base. She grasped his left wrist to stop the jaunty beat his index finger was flicking into her nipple.

He ignored her, his eyes singularly focused on her bust. “Honey, I don’t know if you are aware of this, but you are not wearing a brassiere….”

“Mhmm yeah, that was a clothing choice made in a hurry this morning, out of comfort and necessity… it is NOT an invitation…”

Elvis smirked to himself as his fingers relented, only to be replaced by his warm mouth pressing into Becky’s pebbled nip through her tee shirt, mumbling into her breast.

“Well sho seems like an invitation …*suckle* …to this humble wanderer …*suckle* …feel like I been stuck in the desert …*suckle* …seeking sustenance…*suckle*… an now ya’d deny me…” his mouth pressed his teeth through the now damp fabric onto her nipple, “this ripe fruit I’ve found…that I so desperately need ta nourish …*suckle* …ma soul…”

Becky couldn’t stop the moan escaping from her chest despite her exasperated fatigue and self-conscious awareness. Elvis’ hands moved to fondle her bottom and pull her further onto him, and he squeezed her cheeks as she giggled. Suddenly she wasn't that tired and instinctively surged into Elvis’ lap, before pushing off of his chest and wriggled backwards. She felt his growing erection as she stumbled off him and balanced her self on the ground. Shakng her head, Becky smoothed down her tee shirt and tried to keep a straight face striding backwards along the couch, stopping at the dual staircases at the back of the room.

“Hey now… mister… there are people in the next room over… why don’t we continue the tour …”

Elvis stood, lips parted below a predatory look as if he might leap over the sofa and devour her right there and then. Becky shrieked as he stalked toward her.

“Hmmmm… s’my house honey, and I do what I want.. where I want… so no reason to be worried… this is all part of my hands-on, personal tour…” He caught up with her and pulled her into him.

“Well…” Becky leaned up, her lips faintly hovered below his. “Those hands are… gonna havta catch me… don’t know what kind of girl you think I am but I don’t go ‘round making love in public places… or before this tour is finished!”

She giggled again as she rushed down the staircase to the basement, Elvis' loud belly laugh followed her as the sound of his heavy foot steps filled the passage way. Turning back briefly, Becky saw that Elvis’ body blocked out all the sunshine from the corridor. His ravenous expression sent a thrill up her spine as she tripped down into the darkness of the basement and ran smack! into a doorframe. Elvis caught up to her as she massaged her fingers into the side of her forehead, that's probably gonna cause bump... how sexy.

“Mmhmmmm … look what I caught … think this tour is over… for now…” Elvis kissed her shoulder from behind, his breath trembling out a chuckle between his words. “Oh no, ya not hurt?”

She smiled. “No, I’m fine… just stupid.. runnin’ round a basement in the dark…”

Elvis pulled her in, replacing her fingers with his lips. “Aww, baby, let him kiss it and make it better…” He peppered soft, sweet kisses on her temple and Becky felt the cool sheen of perspiration on his chin from the jaunt down the stairs. The soft, damp sensation of his skin against her was electrifying, and she absorbed him eagerly, her hands went under his jacket till he shouldered it off, his hands trailing down to her waist. She groaned out as the heft of his body insistently impelled her into the doorframe.

Becky bit her lip as her hands meandered over Elvis’ back, cherishing the soft, pliable ridges and rolls, then daintily moving up to clasp his neck. He muttered out an “OH baaaaby…” and she responded with a whimper. Elvis grinned wide, stroking Becky’s cheek with his knuckles, down to her mouth, his kisses moving lower along her neck, more passionate and insistent with each smoosh.

Elvis grunted and heaved as hee lifted Becky up, carrying her moaning body through the doorframe an onto a dark, velvet, sectional, her head bump all but forgotten. Her eyes sort of noticed her surroundings, yellow and black walls lit by a dim solitary table lamp at a bar. Becky’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and watched Elvis kneel down in front of her and place his glasses back on the coffee table behind him. Looking up, she realized the ceiling in here was made entirely of mirrors.

“So… is this another den?”

“Mhmmmm …. tvs, movie screen, record player, bar…” He leaned into her, hands on Becky’s thighs. “Got all the entertainment i need right here though...jus wanna look atcha .... still a second… no moar running …”

Becky exhaled and sat up, stroking the hair off Elvis’s face as he caught his breath, captivated by the pull of his deep, blue eyes. They were like the middle of the ocean and called her to jump off her life raft and dive right in.

“You are… you are …” she mumbled, running her left fingers through his sideburns, trying to think of the right words to tell him how attractive she found him, how his smile and that impish way his mouth quirked and his eyes danced with desire commanded her to body forward toward him. But all the phrases that came to Becky’s mind seemed inadequate and cliche. Also, she was reluctant to let him know how she felt, insecure and afraid it made her boring, easy, a push over. She had the impression Elvis needed validation, but also enjoyed the pursuit.

Becky looked down at his thumbs trailing over the ridge of her jeans, his eyes intent on her.

“Hmmm… yeah baby, whatcha trying ta say?”

“You are… not so bad… for an… Elvis Presley…” Becky closed her eyes and held him to her cheek, as he chuckled softly, and started unbuttoning her pants.

“Well I like you too, darlin’… mmhmm…” His eyes were earnest and she inhaled as they narrowed, his hands were needy as her pulled off her jeans and threw them behind him. Becky guffawed watching them fall over a white, porcelain monkey that gleamed in the dark.

Then he suckled at her nape, and Elvis’ cheeks scrunched up in a smile at Becky’s moans, inhaling as he moved to draw off her panties. She could feel the excitement scorching up her center as he looked into her eyes, tugging her panties off. Becky sucked in her tummy, maybe he won't notice the soft stretch marks at her hips. Stretch marks were the last thing on his mind, and her full, round hips beckoned him to grab on and smother himself within her. Elvis’ eyes looked into Becky's with a fiendish gleam, and he arched his left eyebrow as his hands continued to pull at her underwear without looking down. Becky giggled while he pursed his lips, removing her pink cotton skivvies one leg at a time. Elvis’ baritone voice dipped low as he lifted her legs over his shoulders, his thumbs teasing over her soft, curly fur, then slowly parting her lower lips.

“Hello darlin’ nice ta see ya….….It’s been a long time…” he sang, kissing the hair at the top of her entrance, once, twice, three times. “…Ya just as lovely as you used to be…”

Becky started chuckling, “I think Conrad Twitty would be horrifi——” her commentary on Elvis’ serenade to her pussy was interrupted by the flick of his tongue on her clit. She arched her head involuntarily as his chuckles hummed in to her. Opening her eyes, Becky saw Elvis’ body in-between her legs above her in the mirrors. His head bobbed forward and back as his fingers sought out the silkiness within her, prodding her pleasure point. Elvis tongue seared a path along her center, and a warm throbbing began to ache causing Becky to shift her hips forward to meet his mouth, twitching in sync with the glide of his fingers. Moving his index and forefinger up and down into her, Elvis let up from his efforts momentarily to look at her face, beaming at the way her lip hung down and her face convulsed in time with his fingers' movements. His head turned up into the mirrors reveling at the view of himself pleasuring Becky, widening her legs a bit so he could get a better view of his hand inside her. Becky cried out as his index finger made contact with that special spot once more, and he looked her dead in the eyes.

“Enjoy watching you squirm, darlin….”

Becky had trouble forming a sentence, stuttering out “Uhh.. well.. that… you know…”

Elvis laughed and returned to her cunt like a man who'd been fasting a month, consuming her with firm, generous strokes. Becky felt the tension build, and her eyes went back up at the mirrors when she arched herself into him, watching as Elvis’ devoured her and his strangled breath filled the room. He was knuckles deep inside her, flexing back and forth in tandem as his tongue cleaned her, each round bringing her a step closer to absolution. Her fingers threaded through Elvis’ dark hair, and in the dim light of the mirrors, Becky would swear she had a wild boar between her legs. A grunting, dark, wild beast snorting and rooting for treasure in her depths. Her hips thrust up into Elvis’ face with a powerful whack and he grabbed her buttocks, his lips sucking her nub through the waves of heat that broadcast out through her entire body. Thrashing, twitching and cursing like a sailor, she tried to free herself from the overstimulation of Elvis’ soft mouth and hard tongue.

“Fuck fffffff fucking FUCKKKKK ing FFucccKKKKKK cocksucking motherfucking FUCK I can’t believe that……”

She panted hard, shaking her head at the smug, devilish look on Elvis face as he lowered her feet in front of her and wiped himself on her thigh. His fingers did a squeeze inside and a chuckle came out watching Becky twitch and jerk on his hand. She grabbed his shoulder, tightly, a sign to stop. “S’too much … to intense.” He did it one last time chuckling, then relented and glided his fingers out from her, licking them with filthy glee.

“Ha! I've never met anyone… who did that… who cared.. or liked the way women taste … like you do….” Becky exhaled, catching her breath.

“Mhmmm… not all women… but you … you taste amazing… I could eat this for breakfast, lunch and dinner…. And still be hongry fa moar…..”

Becky laughed, sliding forward on the sofa and pulling his head to hers to crush their mouths together. It was like being inside herself. The hands cupping her cheeks, his entire face, it all smelled like her. And him. Sweat and spit and cologne and lavender oil and dirty hair. All melded together. It was intoxicating, and they stayed like this for several minutes, locked in a lover’s embrace, the smacks of their sloppy kisses replacing the sound of Elvis face slapping against Becky’s thighs. Becky wound her legs around his bottom, and he grabbed her, lifting her up off the couch then thumping her back down as he ambled over to the bar.

“Pffft… need.. some…water…”

She followed, and Elvis grinned at the sound of Becky’s wet nakedness squelching over the yellow bar stool.

“Thanks for polishin’ the furniture, baby…..” Elvis winked, as she inadvertently squeaked again against the leather.

Becky blushed, and Elvis’ jaw widened with a deep breath.

“Damn, honey, I’ll never get sick a watchin’ that blush creep up ya widdle cheeks…” He leaned over the bar and squished her cheeks with his right hand, kissing her forehead.

She stood and backed away as he came around the bar.

“S’not nice to tease a girl… first you offer to give me tour, but then corner me in this here tv room, and now ya making fun of the way all your cavorting makes me squeak and blush——”

He grabbed her to him, pulling her lips back onto his. She giggled and squirmed away.

“Oh no you don’t—”

Elvis stepped toward her again, but Becky squealed and turned, running back into the basement corridor. She didn’t have a plan, and when she remembered she wasn't wearing pants she scurried into the dark room across. Elvis’ body clambered loudly behind her as he growled. “Though we agreed no more runnin.’”

She stumbled back onto a large table as Elvis caught up and lifted her onto the thick barrier of a pool table. Becky’s hands half-heartedly pushed back against his chest as she whined.

“Now Elvis… pretty sure I was promised sound proof walls ….”

Elvis mumbled into her ear, “Hmmm.. that why you got me chasin’ you round, tryin not to excite me???? I’d rather be in the comfort an privacy of that a room too ... but it is much too far away… two floors too far ta be exact… don't worry, though, this basement is sound proof too … I've tested it ma self…" He winked. "Ain’t no one gonna know …”

Becky stopped nuzzling back into him, her tone became earnest. “Have you done it lot… down here…? Made love, I mean?”

Elvis stood up straight and grunted, his hands steadying her precarious position on the edge of the pool table.

“That was probably the wrong thing ta say, hmmmm?”

Becky’s eyes trailed to the dark hall way she had just run through, and told her self to be cool… you knew he has more experience than you… a lot more… what did you expect? Would it matter if you were in his bed? Probably fucked even more women there….

“Nooooooo…I guess I’m a idiot for asking…” she shifted up to look into his dark eyes.

Elvis wiped his forehead while he pushed himself between Becky’s legs. His hands were rubbing her thighs softly up and down, and he glanced down at her chest before returning his gaze to those big brown eyes. The look there made him regret even conjuring up past sexual escapades. The wholly unfiltered, self-conscious insecurity in her eyes made her all the more alluring. Becky was unvarnished, unaffected, and the way she didn't try to cover up her nervousness in order to impress made him throb with yearning. Acting like a damn teenager, running after women in hallways or corridors, he thought, your gonna feel this in the morning. Who are you kidding. In an hour. Elvis really would have preferred to take Becky the comfort of his bed, but at this precise moment comfort was from from a priority, all he knew was that needed to feel Becky’s skin against his, feel himself inside her, possessing her completely and defusing all her misgivings about him with the warm deluge of his adoration.

“Nah, not an idiot at all… look, we’re both grown ups… we have histories…” he kissed her neck slowly, tenderly. Her eyes closed with a quiver as his voice dissolved in her inhibitions. “Make you feel better if I tell ya it’s been years since I fooled round down here? Aw honey…. I can't even remember their faces ... don’t want anyone else but you…”

Will you remember mine in a year? She wondered, but her body didn't care, and it's instincts propelled her back into him. She pulled his neck to her and his lips hit her forehead. He felt his manhood stiffen even more and it made his fingers needier as they trailed up her sides. Elvis’ lower lip hung down with longing and his eye lids drooped with lust. Becky hastily began to unbutton his white dress shirt.

“Ahh, sweet baby, you’re so goddamn beautiful….” Elvis voice made Becky stop mid-button and she looked up at him, her hands moving up to his cheeks.

“Please don’t lay that charm on too thick… I’m already here… I’m naked…an… I know you like me an… I can feel you’re attracted—”

Elvis pulled her hand down to feel the pulsating steel rod bursting along his slacks “ — Ya can, huh? Feel my attraction?” Then he saw the hesitancy in her eyes. “Wuss tha matter sweetheart?”

Becky sighed. “I just….I know I’m not beautiful, not like the super models I’ve seen you with in newspapers and magazines…. I just… if you exaggerate, go too over-the-top… well, it ruins it for me… I hate false compliments…”

Elvis’ eyes narrowed. “Honey, over-the-top is my middle name… ”

Becky let out an involuntary guffaw. “Say that again… I mean, this whole house... But what I mean is, I wish you would stop givin’ me your pretty movie star lines —”

Elvis shook his head and grabbed Becky by the chin, the look in his eyes an intense warning. “Sometimes you make me think no one has ever told ya you were beautiful…” The way she pushed his hand aside and looked down, uncomfortably told Elvis he had accidentally stumbled on the truth. “Nooo….. never? I don believe it….. no, cuz ya really are… here, I gotta turn the light on jus so’s I can see ya better….”

He flipped a switch on the wall, and suddenly the pool room was bathed in a warm glow. Becky gasped as the light revealed a cacophony of textured colors along cloth-covered walls. Her eyes followed the fabric up to the ceiling, feeling as though she had slipped under the skirt of a Victorian lady. Colorful pleats lined the walls and gathered into the middle of the room above two hanging Tiffany lamps. Elvis lips on her shoulder as his hands took off her shirt brought Becky back into her body. A breathy giggle worked it’s way out when Elvis’ knuckles stroked Becky’s face. She quit resisting and just held up her hands, watching as he lifted her shirt over her head and gulped, his eyes languidly roving up and down her body.

“Mhmmm… yessiree… fit right in here with all the other beautiful things I fill this ole house with…ya know… I have an eye for beautiful things —”

“Elvis, please… quit teasin,’” Becky wiped a lone tear drop from the side of her right eye.

Elvis brought her hands up to his lips, kissing each top as he held her gaze. “Woman, you better stop that… might think you’re questioning my aes -thee- ET-ic taste.” He drawled, clearly amusing himself with his pronunciation of aesthetic.

Inhaling, Elvis pulled Becky’s face back towards his with a kiss that lingered on her soft lips. Elvis coughed as Becky pulled off his shirt and his tummy jiggled with a wave of laughter. Looking down, she saw him flinch at his own belly and Becky dragged the back of her hand across it slowly, sensuously.

“You are… the most handsome man…” Then she blushed and hid her face in his chest hair, her hands curving up around his neck as she tried to crush herself into him, kissing his sternum and muttering how she was glad she’d met him.

“Why honey… there she is… there’s that sweet girl I like, been hidin’ underneath all that sass…” Elvis breathed into her ear, his hands moving over her head, tousling her hair, then using his right hand to bring her chin up to his. “Becky, ya like a goddamn Greek goddess … if I say your beaut - TEE - full, then ya are, end of story …. Don’t ever wanna hear you tellin’ me what I can or can na say… ’specially when I’m in the throes of love making,” he chuckled. “Derails my manEUvers …”

Elvis hot breath clucked into Becky’s ear, he kissed her cheek and waggled his eyes. Becky pulled herself to him, and began unlatching his pants. Elvis stopped her, drawing out his pistol and pushing it across the pool table. Becky watched the metal of the gun glisten, the carved handle was elaborately engraved and she caught his grin watching her eyes follow it.

“That thing s’not loaded, is it?”

Elvis laughed. “Course it is, baby, how else arm I s’posed to use it? I’m always ready for action…”

“Hmmm. Speaking of which….” Becky’s hand returned to Elvis’ pants. “Are you aware, Mr. Presley… that you are not wearing any underwear?” She asked, in a high, breathy refrain pulling down his pants and and gripping his cock gently. “Someone might say s’its … almost an invitation…?” Elvis bent his head back as a loud belly laugh escaped his throat.

“There ya go, using ma own words against——uhhh fuck, baby girl!” Elvis looked down to watch as Becky lowered herself in front of him and kissed the tip of his cock, her eyes all innocence.

“What? Just bein’ friendly… responding to that open invitatioOOM…..” She grinned as she plunged her mouth around him half way through the last word, humming the syllable onto him while her eyes widened and she grasped the rolling handles at his side to hand on to.

Elvis tried to pull her arm back up. “Honey, I don’t wantcha to do that… s’not something I like from women I respect…”

Becky pulled his hand off, her puzzling eyes searching his face. “I did this the first night we met…”

“Well… didn’t think I was ever gonna see ya again… didn’t realize how much I liked ya til I woke up and you were gone…”

“Well, s’too late… I got a taste for this lil fella, and it’s hardly hospitable —” Becky kissed his tip and Elvis shuddered. “To invite me to dinner then not feed me…” she grinned, as he shook his head and put his hands up in defeat, giving in to the irresistible movements of her mouth over, under and on his johnson.

Becky tried to exude a sexy playful confidence, but then gasped and choked as she forced his girthy length to the back of her throat, giggling at Elvis’ bemused expression. His heart swelled with reverence as his cock thrust into the glorious traction of Becky’s mouth. His fingers gently dragged through her hair, and he sucked in his breath while expelling a succession of needy “fucks.” Elvis lifted his head to the heavens in prayer when his tip banged into the softness of her throat, moaning while Becky stubbornly sucked in further, her cheeks hallowed and her mouth coughing down the gag reflex as best she could. Making eye contact, Elvis couldn’t help the way his hips surged back and forth almost of their own volition at a increased pace, spurred on by the determined look in Becky’s watery eyes.

“Fuck honey… whooo…hey…. ok…I am gonna compromise and say…ya can do this anytime ya want…”

Becky giggled at that into his cock as she glided forward.

Elvis could feel his orgasm bubbling up, and seized the side of Becky’s head to stop her, “Darlin, I wanna be inside you…. Come up here…” Elvis held out his hand and gently turned her against the pool table with a questioning eyebrow. She nodded and leaned into the wooden ledge of the pool table, sighing out as she felt Elvis kiss her shoulder and tilt her hips to him. She watched his dazzled expression over her shoulder as he pushed in and out of her slowly. He looked into her eyes while lunging in farther and groaning out a “FUck honeeeyyy.” Becky gasped sharply, savoring the tight pinch this position created.

“Damn, baby… you wuddna hardly think I been breaking you in all week..”

Becky giggled, “Elvis, how can you talk about me like that? Ughhh …. I’m not a horse…. Ughhhh….”

“I know, honey, I know… and I wantcha ohhh god damn…. Unnnnhhhhh…. meant no disrespect… but ….I am just always surprised how I wished I had a damn shoe horn with me... every time.” He laughed at her pout, and then moaned. “Now Becky Butt" he hit her bottom as he pulled out with a slight pat, "Don't look at me that -a way, s'its a compliment… should thank me… god DAMN woman….”

Elvis shifted positions to steady himself and smiled when he noticed that Becky sighed out with a crescendoing “oohHHHHhhhhhhhahh” every time he speared her at this new angle. Elvis let out a low chuckle, muttering, “Can ya hear ya self Becks? Like a goddamn accordion, suga… think... I found… ma new favorite instrument… Becky’s squeezebox…”

Becky shook her head, giggling and then moaning out again as she leaned into the hard surface of the pool table. Elvis’ heaved and breathed a little harder as he moved his right hand around Becky’s waist and began to rub her clit, grunting into the pale alabaster skin of her shoulder.

“Oh my fucking Gawd Elvis… what are you doing to me? I don’t know if I can take any more” She moaned out, looking back at him through messy hair.

He kissed her neck. “Shhhhh…. now... let daddy take… care…UNGHHH… a ya…” then grunted again, burrowing back into her.

Eyes squeezed shut, Becky shuddered with each thrust backwards, her body clapping onto his in a rhythmic tug-a-war chasing the heat churning in her core. It broke loose, galloping over her like a runaway horse, and Becky screamed a long, loud guttural cry that echoed through the basement, up the stairway and through the entire north wing of Graceland. Mary sat at the kitchen counter drinking her coffee and smiling into her newspaper, shaking her head. It had been a long while since the sounds of lovemaking had ricocheted through the halls of Graceland like that.

“Uhhhh, there she goes… good girl…. ” Elvis slowed down, his lips planting a succession of soft pecks along the back of Becky’s shoulder, pushing her hair gently aside, and then moving his hands to tap out a pitter patter along the top ridge of her bottom where he continued to dip in and out of her.

“Oh goodness… ughhh… do you t think they heard me up stairs?”

“Nah, honey…don’t trouble ya self… I promise you, no one knows what we’re up to down here… could be playing billiards... mmHHMMm…unghhhhh… or watchin’ TV… or making a porno for all they know..”

“HA! Unghhhhh” Becky bite her lip, forgetting to be affronted enveloped by the comfort of Elvis' sweaty, warm body.

He leaned further and further into her, the thunder of each thrust reverberate up through Elvis’ tummy onto her, his hips crushing her even harder onto the pool table. Becky rocked back and forth with Elvis’ body in a post-orgasmic high, looking up at the colorful walls through blurry vision. She was inside a kaleidoscope, and she smiled watching the technicolor spectacle dance in front of her eyes. Elvis increased the tempo of his efforts.

“Honey, I’m bout ta explode…”

His fingernails dug into her sides as he moaned out deeper, his head throttled backwards, hips prodding into her slowly and deliberately, evincing a moan with each thrust until he came with a loud grunt, singing breathlessly as he sputtered into her.

“Aaaaamen….. aaaaamen…. AAAAMEN… amen … ammmmmennnnnn.”

Then Elvis collapsed head forward into the space between her shoulder blades, wiping sweat and hair onto her back as he whispered, “Thank ya Gawwwd… for bringing this lil gal ta me …. Lord… I feel your spirit.”

Becky shook her head with a breathy chuckle. “Well, now I feel your spirit all over me…”

Elvis kissed her with a laugh, fondling her hips and pressing back into her deeper as he softened.

“Hmmmm… good… s’holy sacrement…” Elvis said, eyes closed, as he kissed her cheek, rubbing her sides slowly up and down as lil Elvis savored the warm, wet cloister of her cunt.

He almost collapsed over her, muttering goddamns until their breath synchronized. Elvis’ hands stilled on Becky’s hips and he coughed out, grunting, then laughing. She rolled over, gazing at him with amusement as he staggered back for effect and pulled up his pants. Her eyes danced over his wide, glistening body, the chest hair matted down, the belly that heaved forward and distended over his waist, his goofy boyish smile beaming from ear to ear. It was almost regal how he held his hands pushed into his hips, below a belly that jutted out. He took his shirt and bent to gently wipe between, gathered the cloth into his face with a loud, effected sniff before putting it back on. Their eyes met, giddy laughter echoed through the room.

Elvis zipped up his pants and retrieved his gun, giving Becky a naughty wink as he pushed it back into his waist. His shirt hung open as he turned to move across the passage way walked back to the TV room and collapsed on the sectional. His chest heaved and his breath was ragged.

“Goddammit woman… tha most exercise since ma last concert.” Elvis combed his hand through his damp sweaty locks, looking over as Becky followed him, barefoot in just her her shirt and bending to finding her panties near the couch. Elvis pulled her on to him at the couch, kissing her belly.

“Got me runnin’ round like a 20 year old horn dawg…." Then he slapped her bottom. Again. "Well, don’t just sit here women, do something… help me...go get me a Pepsi, huh baby?”

Glancing into the mirrors above her, Becky’s eyes met Elvis’ smirking reflection.

“Nex time we’ll have ta try it in here… ”

Becky guffawed loudly, and pushed his shoulder with her head, then getting up to grab some drinks from the bar.

“You truly are a lecherous old goat…”

“Aww Becky, love it when ya talk dirty ta me… you have no idea what a dirty old goat I can be…. Jus you wait…” Elvis chortled.

She dropped next to him with the sodas, and watched as he drained half of his in one fell swoop. She leaned her head into the curve of his arm, bouyed up by his chest, she listened to the sound of his heavy exhales as he fiddled with a strange contraption pointed at the TV.

“What’s that?” Becky asked, soothing her hands over his belly.

“This… this is really high tech stuff… s’ a remote control…welcome to the future, Twitch…got all the latest gear ….let me show you how it works.” Elvis sipped his drink and excitedly explained the science behind his gadget , showing Becky how it turned the TVs on and off using blah blah blah radar gizmo whatevers. She vaguely ohed and ahed, happily trying it out as his hand guided over her over the switches and buttons on the device. Just enjoying the feeling of his chest under her head. Becky scootched closer as Elvis’ left hand trailed down her side. She let her head sank down more and more into the top of his tummy, rubbing his belly hair as she watched the three TVs in the wall flicker on. Before she passed out, she wondered how anyone could possibly follow three different news programs at once.

*************************************************************

Becky awoke to the sound of voices behind her, alone on the sofa and uncertain where she was for a moment. She closed her eyes again instinctively. Someone else, an older man perhaps, was speaking in a whispered hush with Elvis in the hallway.

“—— well I wish you had made your damn mind up ‘bout which airplane ya wanted before I gave the other one a down payment. Now I have this new contract with Delta … just don’t know what was wrong with chartering —”

“Aw hell, daddy, s’just money… you think I’m gonna stand by while Killer gets his own plane, an I’m still waitin’ on the runway with my dick in my hand for a charter? No sireee… ya got another thing comin’”

There was a long silent pause.

“Well… ya tied my hands now anyway… and I’m left cleaning up the mess… Speaking of people who clean up ya mess, where’s Linda?”

“How should I know? In the condo I bought her in LA, or the house I got her round the corner… actin’ like a hurt puppy dog sulking back and forth and hardly sayin a word to me in the last few weeks… refused to come on tour…”

“Well, she isn’t refusing that credit card you gave her, just got the latest American Express bill and let me tell ya, it’s a doozy…”

“Now, I promised that girl I’d take care a her, long as she wants, so don’t bring all that up again… don’t care if she charges $30 or $30,000… still my gal….”

“IS she? Maybe she’d be ‘round more if you didn’t bring floozies like that un home —”

“Now daddy, that lil gal right there is a good, sweet kid, won’t have you disrespectin’ Becky—”

“Uh huh, and what pills is Becky on, hmmm?”

“Nothing… she’s just tired.” Becky could almost hear the smirk in Elvis’s voice as it went lower. “Poor thing ain’t had a lick a sleep in the last three days… but she’s a good girl. Comes from a good family back in Jackson.”

“Mhmmm… well, I never know who I’m gonna find here, some stranger you picked up at the gate? A baseball announcer? The local PE teacher? Or a random super model you’ve decided to buy an apartment for and put on the payroll without telling me… probably just be cheaper to give the local brothel a full retainer…”

“Ok, now, daddy… that’s enough… I don’t wanna think bout all this right now…”

“Son, all I’m saying is, I don’t blame Linda for being sore atcha…”

Elvis voice raised by several decibels. “Well, you get your woman under control and then you can come lecture me… last I heard you’d been kicked out of yourn. And got a new house. Let’s not forget who’s payin’ for it all….”

About thirty seconds of silence passed.

“Well, I ——“

“I’m ‘bout to wake that lil gal up, so we can go dress for supper - SO leave it. Nuff. I don’t wanna squabble no more….you should join us to eat, I know’d the gals be happy to see ya…”

“Hmmmm… any other mouths knockin’ ‘bout?”

“Hardly no one tonight… Jus Charlie, Jerry, Billy and his family… ”

“Yeah. No one, just ten people he says… that’s no one… hmmm….I’ll think about it…”

Becky waited until she heard the footsteps go up the stairs before opening her eyes to see Elvis hovering over her, his shirt was still unbuttoned and he held her jeans over his left arm.

“You’re a bad faker, Becky….”

“Hmmmm?” Becky said, unable to stop the blush returning to her cheeks. “How’d… how’d ya know I was awake?”

Elvis grinned. “Ya snore… s’cutest itty bitty breathy heavin’…. But I noticed a few minutes ago that ya’d stopped, when daddy quit yapping.” He handed her jeans to her. “Here, don’t want no one seein’ ya half naked… Let’s get you covered up….”

Becky flashed a feeble smile as she pulled her pants on, and crooked into Elvis arm, he kissed the top of her head and slapped her bottom to signal she was to trudge up the stairs in front of him.

*************************************************************

Going through her bag, Becky held up another pink halter top and sighed. Before her shower, she had chewed Ida out on the phone for aiding and abetting Elvis with her the surprise trip to Memphis. And for packing an assort of really tight halter tops, mini skirts and a few dresses, all of which she suspected came from her 22 year-old cousin Harriet’s wardrobe.

“Ida, these clothes barely cover me….”

“Oy vey, Rebecca, that’s the point….. Ruth’s at camp, I put Saul back at the store, everything is fine, you go have fun… with Elvis Presley….” she screeched his name.

“Ida, don’t get your hopes up…. this is just a short term affair… I don’t want you to be disappointed when this plays itself out…”

“Becky,” Ida’s voice grew stern. “That is exactly the point, my meshugganah kindela… of all the people who get to have an affair with a rock star, why not you? What I would have given for one night with Rudy Vallee….”

Becky sighed. “Ok, ok…. maybe I’ll thank you one day…. give Saul a kiss for me.”

Now she stood in the master bathroom, hair up in a towel, Becky looked back in her traveling bag. No bras, five pairs of underwear, sandals and a pair of nice pumps. Other than this, she had the jeans, tee and converse sneakers she's worn to drive Ruth to camp. There was also little case with her toothbrush, and a bag with some of Ida’s Avon make up, perfume and matching talcum powder in Avon’s original Sweet Honesty scent. Becky grimaced at the sickly intense floral smell, but did a half spray on her wrist anyway. She coughed as the talc powder wafted into her nose when she spread it under her arms and between her thighs to dry and smooth her skin. She straightened the towel wrapped around her wet hair and looked at her face in Elvis’ bathroom. A line of small red bumps had started to form around her chin. Ughhh, this always happens when you start having sex again… you break out. She inspected them closely to make sure they weren’t white heads, and then rummaged through the Avon bag for foundation and concealer. Keeping her make up simple, Becky applied a light layer of mauve eye shadow to match the flowers on the white floral dress she had picked out, and the pair of light mauve shoes Ida had packed. She shimmied into the dress, smoothing it down, looking at the way the thin white floral pattern stretched over her breasts and then clung to her body's ample curves. The top only had one tied, petal sleeve, her other shoulder was bare and she sighed. This had been the most modest clothing nice option for dinner she had found in the bag.

When she finally emerged into the bedroom, glanced over Elvis’ large, black bed frame and the dark Burgundy bedspread covering it. Shivering in the cool air, she walked over and checked out the assortment of pistols, rifles and hand guns on top of his big dresser. Elvis footsteps brought her eyes up from the arsenal, and she smiled at the white tailored suit and blue silk shirt ruffled he wore. Her breath hitched in her throat as he straightened his sunglasses, and ran his hand through his long shag hairdo. Then he moved closer and Becky felt the elastic give of her dress ripple when Elvis' fingers snapped the tie holding her lone sleeve up.

(Just imagine this dress but one asymmetical sleeve ^)

“Hmmm, couldn’t you find anything revealing to show off how pretty ya are for my folks, hmmm?”

Becky’s bottom lip dropped down with her eyes, and she lifted her hands to nervously fix some of the hair pinned on top of her hair in a messy bun, a worried expression on her face. “I thought this was too revealing—”

Elvis smirked, chuckling, “No, I know honey ... seems like they forget a whole sleeve… not that this sleeve has much to it neither… that little knot is holding on for dear life…” His hand moved under her breasts to jostle them up with a soft swat and eyes watched with delight as her bosom bounced up and down. “Hope you didn’t pay full price for this half a dress…” his eyes lit up when Becky elbowed him. “… Aw, no, I like it… sexy as hell…” He whispered in her ear and the warmth of his breath sent a tingle up her spin and through her core.

Becky’s nether regions shivered, still sensitive from earlier activities, moreso as the soreness settled in from the vigorous pounding Elvis had given her. She had felt a slight burn when she peed, and she made a mental note to drink a lot of water. You don’t want to get a UTI on the first fucking day here. Maybe do some kegels during dinner too.

Elvis’ kissed Becky’s cheek, breaking her train of thought as he led her downstairs. Feeling her shiver, he covered as much of her bare skin as he could by hugging her into his jacket. “Maybe wouldn’t be so cold if ya invested in some long underwear…”

Becky nuzzled into his armpit. “Maybe if you didn’t live in a meat locker people could dress comfortably…”

The sound of Elvis’ hand walloping Becky’s bottom (AGAIN) rang through the stairway with the rumble of his “Quit ya fussin’, woman, ain’t gonna change the temperature a this house jus' cuz you can’t be bothered to own a bra.”

Dinner was laid out in the kitchen, and Becky retreated further into Elvis’ embrace as he introduced her properly to his younger cousin Billy, who she’d seen from afar at the Jackson concerts, Billy’s wife Jo, their sons Danny and Joey, his father, grandmother Minnie Mae, and Aunt Delta, who was curt, quiet and smelled of a heavy rose perfume with an undertone of vodka. She felt naked when Elvis parted from her to make up a plate of food, spooning out black eyed peas with bacon, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and more from the large serving dishes on the counter. She felt even more awkward as he followed Jerry into the dining room while she looked for options not smothered in some sort of pork, smiling nervously at Mary who filled up the pitcher of sweet tea and then stacked more bacon on top of the salad.

When she entered the dining room, Elvis clapped his hand on the red cushion next to him at the head of the table, then stopped mid-sentence in his conversation with Billy to do a double take at Becky’s plate.

“Just cornbread and potatoes?” he asked in an accusatory tone, looking from the plate to Becky’s eyes. The whole table went silent. “There’s salad in there.”

Becky straightened and looked at Elvis. “I’m good. There’s bacon all up in that salad-”

“Well, use ya head, now Becky Butt, you can jus pick it out - there I solved ya damn probl—”

“I like this fine, Presley, mind ya own business.”

Jo gasped, and Billy put his hand over his wife’s under the table. Billy then coughed uncomfortably and tried to change he subject. “You don’t eat bacon? On account of being a Hebr—”

Elvis put his hand up to stop Billy “On account of being a doggone vegetarian.” Then he looked Becky squarely in the eye, and spoke with a benevolent humor. “No reason to be a bitch ‘bout it.”

Aunt Delta whispered loudly to Jo, “What Billy say?”

“He asked Becky if she didn’t eat pork cuz she’s a Jew.”

Vernon called down to Becky. “That true?”

But Becky was staring back at Elvis. “Look, I was eating my dinner just fine, you’re the one trying to tell me what ta do… I like mashed potatoes an cornbread… mind ya own business…”

“Everythin’ that happens in this house is my business, oughta box ya jaw, talking’ to a man like that in his own damn house …”

“YOU the one that kidnapped me Presley on account of how fond ya are of me, why, I bet you’d sooner hit ya granny there ‘fore you’d hit me.” She arched her eyebrow with a smirk.

“Oh you better shut that big ole mouth, get ya into trouble.” Elvis pulled Becky on his lap, arms around her waist.

She made a tepid attempt to get out of them, squealing loudly. “I don’t havta, you ain’t my boss.”

Before Elvis could answer, Minnie Mae announced, loudly. “Hesh up, canna eat ma supper.” Becky was shocked to hear such a powerful timbre from the frail, thin woman.

Elvis squeezed her sides, and kissed her neck, whispering. “You heard Dodger, hesh that big mouth up .”

“You better shut up, you love my big ole mouth….” Becky murmured back into his ears, arms around his neck. Elvis leaned his head back, laughing, and Dodger shot Becky a stern look, as if her grand son’s unseemly behavior was somehow her fault.

The others went back to eating and low polite conversation, but Becky finished her meal in another dimension on Elvis lap. She took a large forkful of mashed potatoes, enthusiastically humming “MMMMhmmm MM!” as she swallowed. Elvis shook his head and let out a belly laugh, chewing his meatloaf in her ear and then giving her a big kiss, during which she feigned disgust.

“Get that meat off my lips, Presley,” she muttered.

“Huh, ya love my meat, honey.” He growled under his breath, pushing another big bite in his mouth and pressing his mush against her ear.

Becky writhed silently in her seat, wiping off the greasy ground beef granules sticking on her lobe. “Didn’t no one ever teach ya any manners?” she hissed back at him.

“Gonna teach you some manners…you and that big mouth…” Elvis grinned like a goofy clown, and Becky couldn’t stop his contagious smile and playful energy from taking over her body.

She beamed back, still trying to seem irritated, murmuring into his fluffy shagged out hair, “Like to see you try…”

The thin soft knit fabric of Becky’s dress grazed her skin as Elvis massaged the top of her thigh, his strong fingers pinched the side and rubbed the rolls of her hip together, whispering in her ear. “Jus you wait… …”

They spent the meal thusly, in their own dimension at the head of the table, flirting, whispering, pinching, rubbing and feeding each other food.

Elvis took some black eyed peas, biting the piece of ham hock off his fork, before feeding them into Becky’s open mouth with a “mhmmm... he thinks she needs some veGEeeables…”

Then Becky broke the edge of her corn bread off, “Better shut you up with something sweet in that mouth... know you like sugar on your tongue... Get any a this? Mhmmm… sweetest corn bread I ever ate…”

He chuckled, talking with her fingers in his mouth. “Honey, I live on sweet stuff... like this cornbread... s'my house…. course it’s the best….”

They were only roused when Vernon stood to leave, followed by Aunt Delta’s movement helping Minnie Mae to her room. Becky started to help Mary clear the table, but Elvis grabbed her hand, telling her to let the woman do her job, and pulled her to follow the rest of the party into the den. Mary caught Elvis in the back hall to pass him a note, and he motioned to Jerry after he read it, slapping Becky on her butt, which she realized was code for "hi," "get to it," "bye," "good idea," "uh nuh," and many other expressions as he begged off to make a business call in his office. Becky sat making small talk with Billy, Jo and Charlie for a time, then excused herself to fix her face upstairs, a happy excuse to go settle her nerves for a short spell alone and try to salve the self-conscious anxiety gnawing at her diaphragm. As she rounded the top of the stairs, she saw Jerry come out of the office, and he left paused to make sure he left the door ajar as he saw her.

“Everything ok?” Becky straightened her dress strap.

Jerry looked Becky up and down with an uncertain stare, then nodded. “Mhmmm…he’s just talking to his girlfriend in LA, Mindi.”

Jerry’s heart dropped when he saw Becky’s ashen response, her lip trembled, just for a split second, before she forced a smile. “Oh, ha, well that’s good, was just about to call my sugar daddy in New York….” She changed the topic after shivering from the second floor’s cold air. “Cold, isn’t it… why is it so cold up here?”

Jerry frowned, and decided to go all in. “It’s the downers... the painkillers… makes you feel like you’re in a warm hug, like you are wrapped in a snug wool blanket… “

“How do you know that?”

“Cuz I’ve taken them, Becky… makes me drink gallons of lemonade, only wanna eat ice cream… never have enough of that cold sensation in your mouth, on your skin….”

“Oh.” Becky looked down. “Why does Elvis take them…” She shifted her feet.

“Back pain, insomnia, night terrors… at first… but it's easy to grow a tolerance and he needs more and more… can make him seem out of it.” Jerry stepped closer, and grabbed her arm. “If you are gonna be here, sleep with him, you need to watch him…if he goes to the bathroom , you go to the bathroom, if he passes out, make sure he is breathing… got it?”

The blood drained from Becky’s face, and she thought of the pills he took after the concerts in Jackson.

“Didn’t seem so bad when he was at my house.”

“Cuz he only had the random pills in his pocket… that was an impulsive trip, we didn’t even pack a tooth brush.”

“Oohhhh, haa…”

Her voice trailed off as Jerry patted her shoulder with a sympathetic wink, banking that she wouldn’t tell Elvis about their conversation. Jerry half regretted his bluntness, but her wounded look reaffirmed his commitment to show Becky as much of Elvis’ selfish nature as he could, as quickly as possible. With any luck, he’d have her hightailing it back to Jackson within the next 48 hours. Content with the work he had done, he excused him self for the night, while Becky stayed in the second floor landing, waiting for the sound of Jerry’s footsteps to end so she could creep closer to Elvis’ office and indulge her morbid curiosity.

“—no, no course, no, don’t even talk bout Rome… cuz I said I would… why honey, of course — why all ya gotta do is ask — no, now who’s name is on the marquee… that’s right darlin - my daddy works for me, not t’other way round…. Of course , s’no problem, how much ya need? Well …. Now, Joe’s out there himself, Jerry’s gonna square the wire first thing tomarra —— well, now, that’s more like it… I miss you too… whatcha you wearin’? Ohhhhhh you little minx, I oughta—”

Becky felt sick to her stomach. It had only been a few minutes since that warm voice had been murmuring honeyed words into her neck. Her hand shook as she slunk over to the bedroom, and shed a few tears in the bathroom, then slapped herself in the face.

“Shut up you big baby. You’ve been giddy as a school girl since you got here. You are just here to have fun. If you’re blue, well, that’s what you get for eavesdropping. People just having fun and enjoying free love don’t sneak around eavesdropping. It’s like Ida said, just enjoy the fucking experience… don’t get too deep, don’t take anything on...” She forced a smile. “Shepard’s pie. That’s what Charlie said. You’re comfort food... he doesn’t like one night stands, he likes to fool around for a set period of time. Maybe he’s your shepard’s pie too. Who are you kidding? You might be his comfort food, but Elvis fucking Presley is filet mignon to you, Rebecca Grace Hoffman. No one knows that name. Because you’re a nobody. Are you gonna ruin this trip by nagging him about other women? Or sleeping pills? No. Just. be. fun. Becky.”

The cold marble of the bathroom sink transferred from her hand to her cheek as she slapped her self again. “OK. Fun Becky.” She nodded at herself and felt a little better after she washed her face and fixed her make-up. Taking a deep breathe, Becky shivered in the chill of Elvis’ bathroom. “Shake it off, baby…” she repeated to herself, rolling her shoulders and wiggling out her arms. As she walked downstairs, she told her self that if she felt uncomfortable, she could get a cab to the Greyhound station tomorrow, or, worst case scenario, call her sister. This calmed her down, and Becky looked at her reflection one last time in the foyer mirror and smiled, happy with how she looked. Content with her decision to make no decisions and ready to enjoy the rest of the night if it killed her.

She instantly felt better when she peeked into the den and saw Charlie’s friendly face waving her in. The the woodsy decor, low lighting and water fall created a soothing atmosphere. Charlie was strumming a guitar while Billy got up to grab beer from the bar downstairs, an offer which Becky responded to almost too eagerly as she slide into the sofa next to Charlie. She nodded at Jo sitting on the floor against Billy’s chair. The women spoke for a little, Becky asked about the kids playing cards at the back of the room while Charlie played the melody for the Gordon Lightfoot hit “Sundown” on the guitar. Billy came back up with cold bottles for everyone, and the cool sour bubbles refreshed Becky while she struck up a conversation with Charlie.

“Hey Decatur.” She said, smoothing her lap and crossing her legs.

Charlie was now strumming chords aimlessly on his guitar, a shy grin curled at the corner of his mouth. “Hey yerself, Birmingham.”

*************************************************************

The chords from George Jones’ and Tammy Wynette’s hit duet “Something to Brag About” met Elvis’ ears as he thumped downstairs, and he stood at the entry of the den noting the five empty beers on the coffee table. He watched Becky take a sip from her beer bottle as Charlie played guitar and sang the duet’s male part.

But I've got something to brag about

Something to brag about

Something to brag about in you

Becky closed her eyes as she sang out Tammy’s verse vigorously to the green carpet above her head, the deep emotion in her voice warmed Elvis entire body and he watched her with the keen eye of a voyeur. He felt the prickle of desire buzz along the back of his neck as he gazed at her sing and bounce on the sofa. The curls on top of her head seemingly had a life of their own, animated by the intensity of her delivery. He liked power he felt watching her from doorway, knowing she had no idea he was there, knowing she wasn’t responding or performing for him. Just existing in the world as the free spirit that she was.

When you're with the fellas, I know

You start braggin' 'bout

My hour glass figure and my big brown eyes

Becky giggled, moving her hands suggestively over her body as she sang.

Then a you tell your girlfriends 'bout my

Sweet, sweet lov—‘

Just as Charlie started to sing the word lovin’ he looked at the door and gulped, his hands froze while the last chord still reverberated throughout the den’s acoustics. He knew the power of that stare all too well, and the horror on his face showed his recognition.

Becky turned her head upside down, leaning back over the wooden serpent armrest, that second beer had made her back impervious to the wood carving’s hard ridges. A goofy smile spread across her upside down lips.

“Heyyyyy daddy!”

Elvis stepped forward, towering above her. The waddle under his chin hung down as he tousled Becky’s hair from above, then pulled her dress strap up from her shoulder where it threatened to slip off and release her heaving bust.

“Mmhmmm … hey baby…don’t let me interrupt y’all…” The edge in his tenor went over Becky’s head as she giggled, a dreamy look on her face as she blew a kiss up at him.

Leaning back as she was, Becky missed Charlie’s nervous glance at Billy, and she pulled herself up, slapping Charlie’s knee. “C’mon Decatur, where were we.”

“Ummm, uh… I uh, forget how it goes on from here…” Charlie coughed out.

Elvis staggered around the sofa behind Charlie, leaning down on his hands at the back of the couch. “Hmmm….. maybe it’s time ta let a professional take over…?”

Becky guffawed, slamming down her beer on the coffee table and raised her hands out for the guitar. “Professional skunk, more like. Don’t let him bully ya that way, Charlie… I can play if you... if you forget how it goes from here….” Charlie shot Becky a weak grin, and leaned over to hand her the guitar as he shakily stood up.

“Thanks darlin, but uhhh, need to use the John anyhow… y’all go on with out me….” Charlie twisted to look over his shoulder as Elvis plopped down in one of the large arm chairs across from the sofa.

Billy sat in the other large armchair, his face was blank and inscrutable to Becky as he nodded at his cousin, and squeezed Jo’s shoulder below him.

Becky looked down at her hands, finding the chords on the neck of the guitar, then smiling at the others as she strummed lightly. Her voice was solemn and sad as it lifted up into “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Old,” pausing at the chorus to yell out, “C’mon on y’all, sing it with me….”

The night they drove old Dixie down

And the bells were ringing

The night they drove old Dixie down

And the people were singing

They went, "Na, na, la, na, na, la"

Jo joined in exuberantly, and elbowed Billy into singing. Elvis grinned, he did not sing during this song, but rather, leaned back and watched Becky intently. After a few minutes, he pulled out a cigarillo and looked expectantly at Billy, who paused his contribution to the next chorus’ “na na nas” in order to hastily jump up and light Elvis’ cigar.

Becky laid the guitar down on the couch next to her when she finished singing and stood slowly, throwing her hips back and forth as she paraded around the coffee table to sit on Elvis’ lap. He looked up at her, blowing his cigar smoke to the side.

“Dontcha know… that’s a man’s song?”

“Hmmm…” Becky purred as Elvis belly bounced into her and she leaned into his face, her fingers edging around Elvis’ cigar to pull it out of his grasp to her own lips. A sly smile emerged on her lips as spoke. “Oh ya know…. I like…” she sucked on the sweet, woodsy smoke from his cigar, exhaling as she finished her thought. “Men’s things….”

Elvis pulled his cigar back from her fingers, his lips hovered below her chin. “Already know that…”

Becky leaned her forehead down against Elvis’, his left hand jiggled her closer and he chuckled up into her mouth, his eyes danced behind his sunglasses.

“You know, you have a sad melancholy in that voice a yourn….” He murmured just to her, pulling Becky in the warm enclosure of his arms, a world where only the two of them existed and they spoke to each other in hushed, intimate voices as if no one was around. Here there were no external problems, no girlfriends, no downers, no children, no 200 miles stretching out between their houses. The only barriers were the clothes they wore and the space between their bodies. Billy and Jo looked at each other and shrugged awkwardly.

Becky didn’t notice.

“You don’t like my voice?” she stammered, her lower lip trembling.

Elvis brushed his lips over her chin, closing his eyes as he tilted his forehead into her nose and growled into her breasts below. “Honey… I don’t like your voice……” he paused for effect, his left hand grabbing the back of her hair, loosening the bobby pins that held it up with the force of his fingers. His jowls vibrated as he intoned, deeply. “I loooove your voice…..”

Charlie coughed as he walked back in, and picked up the guitar to put it back with its stand against the wall. Elvis’ eyes shifted, momentarily brought out of his trance, but he left his head resting against Becky’s chin.

“Hand that over here, son…. nah, give it to Becky … yoar a better gee tar player than I am any how…”

“Liar…you just lazy and wanna smoke that cigar...”

“Shut your mouth and get to playin’,” he blew his cigar smoke in her face.

“You still ain’t the boss a me… ”

His left hand lowered down to slap her side. “Hesh woman… c’mon, what are we singing…”

Becky grinned, and played the opening bars twice as she asked, “You know this one?”

“Ohhhh baby, I had that stuck in my head since the first night I met ya….” Elvis confessed, stubbing out his cigar in the green glass ashtray stand next to his chair.

“Alright, I’ll count us off.. one, two three…”

Their voices roared together in unison as they sang the opening stanza of June and Johnny’s “Jackson…” Elvis’ face lifted up to Becky’s, her breasts bounced as she strummed and his left hand drummed out a fast rhythm on the bottom of the guitar from where it squeezed her waist. Her body rocked back and forth into his belly, relishing the way his low voice took the melody somewhere new for her, and she belted out a “HA!” as he sang this verse.

When I breeze into that city

People gonna stoop and bow (hah)

All them women gonna make me

Teach 'em what they don't know how

Charlie looked at the others, his brows raised, and Billy shrugged again, his eyes conveyed a knowing weariness. Neither Becky nor Elvis noticed this exchange, their eyes were otherwise occupied, and Becky leaned her nose down to nuzzle Elvis’s as she breathed out the next verse into his face through simpering amusement. Her warm breath sent a lightening bolt across Elvis’ body, and the thump of her bottom against his tummy and worked to increase the humming of his skin, amplified further when he sang and his lungs expanded swelling up his belly into derriere even more. Elvis kissed the top of Becky’s shoulder softly as she leaned into him, finishing her stanza.

Yeah, go to Jackson

You big-talkin' man

And I'll be waitin' in Jackson

Behind my Jaypan Fan

Becky purred along as Elvis sang the last chorus, swaying back and forth over his lap, and his arms closed tight around her as they hummed the last few notes together. They stayed in the den for hours singing, long after Billy and Jo found their children and said goodnight, Charlie tottered after them with a farewell. Their voices joined in happy harmony, mingling in the air was they started, stopped, paused, laughed and crooned together the melodies for “I Saw The Light,” “Don’t Think Twice,” “The City of New Orleans,” “Louisiana Women, Mississippi Man,” Elvis changed the words to Alabama woman in this last one, to which Becky responded with a chuckle, which made him laugh and they giggled into each other’s cuddles on the furry arm chair.

******************************************************

Becky lay back in Elvis’ bed, sniffing under the silk navy pajama top she had borrowed from him to sleep in. His monogrammed initials met her eyeline as she checked how her armpits smelled. After brushing her teeth, she had dusted herself with talc powder again, she was now covered in that old familiar Sweet Honesty scent by Avon. It was starting to grow on her. The beside clock told her it was 3 a.m. Elvis had been in the bathroom for twenty minutes, what is taking him so long? She thought of what Jerry had told her, what’s so wrong with taking downers to sleep? If he has night terrors and insomnia? Yeah, so far she had watched them knock him out, but he had been fine otherwise. These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something sliding across the tile in the bathroom, and Becky jumped up to check on it, only to be met by a swinging door and revelation of Elvis’ broad, dark silhouette. He swaggered towards her, taking her hands and waltzing her around, then dipping her back into the exposed silk sheets of her side of the bed.

“You ok? Thought maybe you stubbed your toe…” she mumbled up to him, his piercing dark blue stare made her chest ache. Lost in the deference Becky’s brown eyes offered up to him, Elvis hummed, savoring the way she turned her cheek into his knuckles as they roved up her face.

“Mmmm… what Twitchy?” His eyes narrowed, processing her question. “Oh, nah, just me stumblin’ ‘round tryin ta give myself a shot of B 12 … s’apart of my vitamin regimen, ya not the only one tryin’ to be healthy round here, miss veg a ma tarnation ..” Becky’s questioning face followed him as he rolled over on the bed and she cuddled into his chest once he joined her under the covers, half-sitting up pushed into the pillows. He took a ring off his pinky, the design was a wide platinum metal band that tapered off as it bent towards the back, in the center was a flower made of six large, glittering diamonds. Picking up Becky’s right hand from atop his chest, Elvis pushed the ring onto her finger, bending her hand up to watch the jewels catch the light. A gleeful grin bobbed his round, full chin and his eyes gleamed.

“Wannn ya ta have this….” Elvis dropped Becky’s hand, and began rubbing her belly, pushing up the silk button down top warming her skin.

“Elvis…” Becky shook her head, and started to pull the ring off, readying her diatribe on how she didn’t want gifts.

“Honey don’t… “ Elvis palm glided over her soft, bare belly, pressing into its plush expanse as he trailed from side to side, smiling when he noticed these movements made her bust jiggle. “Now…. Can’t believe ya aint evvvva had sum un tell YOU that ya beautiful….” His speech started to slow as he spoke, each syllable seemed to get caught on the roof of his mouth. “Cuz you arrrre… so beautiful…. And beautiful people deserve beautiful things…. Help ya sparkle…. Help others seeee how beautiful you are…”

Becky could feel tears pooling behind her eyes at this declaration, unsure if she should protest. As if he read her thoughts, Elvis began to preemptively console her.

“Shhhhh…now shhhhh…. Let me do this…. I wanna give you deems … uh..” His eyelids fluttered closed, and a growl worked up his throat as waves of demerol warmed his chest and slowed his heart. “…. uh…” he jerked open his eyes, fighting to stay awake, his lips open and pouting like a baby. “Huh, what was I sayin, now…. oh yeah… it means somethin’ for me to give you deese things on account that you never had ‘em before… means more ta me…. knowing…. that I found you … gonna show the world how beautiful you are…”

Becky shoved her face into his, and pelting a series of soft kisses across his cheeks as his eye lids began to droop down again, his hand still slowly tracing over her tummy,

“Gaawd, your skin is sooooo soffftt, like a baby’s….. wantcha ta be my baaBY…. I can be your daddy, ….an you can be my mommIEEE ….. and we can beeee each udder’s babies…..” His voice lilted in a higher tone, like a little boy musing about what he wanted to be when he grew up. His eyes completely closed, then struggled open, looking into her face.

“You’re sayin’ you want this to last more than a few days...” Becky thought of the other girlfriends in his life. It was one thing to spend the last week screwing around with a rockstar whose girlfriends, plural, knew or even condoned his polyamorous proclivities. It was another thing to join their sorority. “I’ don’t know if that——”

His jowls rippled as he shushed her, index finger softly held to her lips. “Jus thin ‘bouuutt it…. I know you a stubborn independent woman…. like ta make up your own daaaMN mind…. ya don havta decide now…. In fact, I don want ya ta, mean more if I earrrrn sit…. Stay here for a month, see how much you like me…. I know ya will… be my baaby, my little baby…..”

“Elvis,” Becky whispered. “I cannot stay here for a month…” She looked up from her position snuggling into the silk shirt over his hairy chest, and realized his eyelids had completely dropped down. A low, staggered breath forced out of his mouth. Becky hoped maybe he was so out of it on his sleeping pills that he would forget everything he just proposed. But as she noticed his breath decrease, she pushed in closer to him, her fingers softly skimming the hair across his forehead and rolling down his nose, just as did to put Ruth to bed.

“Oy gavolt, daddy… what’s in those vitamins, hmm?” she yawned, then frowned, leaned her head on his chest to make sure it was lifting up and down with life, her own fatigue put off by the cold air and lifelessness of Elvis' body. Nuzzling further on to his chest, she thought of what Jerry had told her, and tried to stay awake, monitoring his breathing. Eventually she dozed off listening to the hum of the air conditioner.

*************************************************************

Monday, June 15th

12 p.m. Graceland Master Bedroom

The creak of the door woke Becky up, and she lay on the mattress trying to remember where she was and what she was doing. It must have been five am when she finally fell asleep, but she couldn’t tell what tie it was now because the room was still so dark and cold. The large padded black leather door was ajar, but Becky didn’t see anyone, and as her eyes adjusted to being open, she realized Elvis’ head was on her breasts, and his right hand was cupped over her pubic hair, settled at the apex of her legs between her thighs. I guess he still has some life in there somewhere while he sleeps. She smiled, only to jump up at the sound of a little voice from the side of the bed.

“Who the hell care you?”

Becky shrieked “Fucking cock—mucker...” She threw Elvis’ hand off her and pulled the red, satin bedspread over her legs and panties. Elvis barely stirred, his snores only increasiing as Becky rolled him off her.

She took in the patch of dirty blonde hair propped up at the edge of the bed, and then sat up further, pushing back against the headboard and smiling at the little girl who stood before her with hands on her hips and a look of disgust on her face.

“Why… hello there. Sorry for yelling… you uh… ya startled me… I’m Becky, who are you?”

The girl looked her up and down with those the same blue eyes and sneered curling her lip as the man sleeping next to hear. She ignored Becky’s question, emphasizing the edge in her voice.

“Where’s Linda? Does she know you’re here…?”

Becky sucked in her breath as she tried to think how she was going to navigate this scenario. This was not what she had in mind when Elvis had invited her to come to Graceland and meet his daughter. She had pictured a sweet, coordinated meeting in a living room or foyer. After having been briefed on Lisa’s likes and dislikes, Elvis would fondly introduce them to each other and handle any of the hard questions about his choice of companionship. As she sat there flummoxed, loud footsteps stopped at the entrance to Elvis’ room and Lisa scurried to hide behind the door just before Aunt Delta’s grimace poked around it. She squinted at Becky, and somehow her frown seemed to deepen into the wrinkles at the side of her mouth.

“You seen that little she-devil?” Delta huffed.

Becky looked over at Lisa Marie behind the door, who was vigorously shaking her head.

“Nope! Why?”

“Ughhh, that little gal needs to come unpack her suitcases… if we don’t do it now, I’s reckon she won’t do it all. That boy just let’s her run wild.”

Becky nodded, although Delta seemed to be talking more to herself, muttering as she turned and pulled the door closed behind her. Becky rolled off the other side of the bed, pulled her jeans off the chair they hung over and stepped into them as she made her way around the bed to Lisa Marie.

“C’mon, she-devil, I’ll help you unpack…”

Lisa Marie crossed her arms. “Chores’ for suckers… Nancy’ll just do it for me when she gets here… you can’t tell me what to do… you’re not my mom… you’re not even Linda…”

Becky chuckled and shook her head, then looked back at Lisa Marie as she opened the famous sound proof double doors that didn’t seem to do anything to keep the rest of Graceland out.

“Thank god I ain’t yer mama…already got one daughter who doesn’t listen to me. Though I find in general I can’t make anyone ‘round here do anything they don’t have a mind to do themselves…” Becky looked over at Elvis’ body on the bed as she said this, then lowered herself on her legs so that she was eye-level with the little toe-haired firecracker. “But I am your guest here at Graceland… so if I like unpacking clothes, you have to let me do it…wouldn’t want to wake up your papa and tell him you aren’t being a good hostess?” She watched Lisa Marie hesitate. “Well, are you the lady of the house or not?”

Lisa Marie uncrossed her arms and sighed up into her bangs. “Sho nuff I am...daddy told me this is my house...an.. I'm... I’m gonna inherit it, have my babies here… s’the Presley legacy… so.. um yeah, I am THE lady of the house…. Ok, well if you wanna be a sucker and unpack my clothes, it's your funeral…”

The slight girl led Becky down the hall towards her bedroom, stopping in front of a glass showcase filled with award trophies below a banner reading “Miss Tennessee 1972.” Lisa Marie paused in front of the shelving and looked at Becky, her eyes rolling up and down Becky’s body in judgement as she announced:

“These are Linda’s awards, she’s my daddy’s girlfriend… they’re gonna get married one day… she’s a real beauty queen. She’s teaching me ‘bout fashion, how to get into a sorority, which ones are the best ones….”

Becky swallowed, groaning internally. This kid knows exactly what she is doing, she took one look at you and already twigged that you don’t belong here with her daddy. She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, it’s almost sweet. Can’t be easy to be Elvis’ daughter. Breathing deeply, Becky pushed any idea of competition with Linda aside.

“Mhmmm, Linda certainly deserves these doesn’t she, I mean, she’s gorgeous.” She walked beside Lisa. “People always told me I had a nice sense of humor in high school…. You know what means, don’t ya?”

Lisa Marie shook her head.

“S’nice way of telling me I wasn’t beauty queen material….”

Lisa Marie let out a loud laugh, the tried to hastily suppress her smile as she continued to lead Becky to her bedroom. Becky tried distracted Lisa, asking her what the best sorority was, how to join one, what college she wanted to go, what music she liked. As they talked, Becky soaked in the sheer excess of Lisa Marie’s bed room. There was a round faux fur canopy bed larger than Becky’s bed at home, and it had a stereo and mirrors in the top. There was also a big television, a jewelry case filled “with real diamonds,” Lisa Marie explained, and several large sets of drawers and a big armoire Becky opened the suitcases and started unpacking, pausing to ask for help with every piece of clothing she took out, while asking Lisa Marie about herself.

“Hey where does this dress go?” Becky asked casually.

Lisa Marie took it with a huff, walking it to the closet, “In here, obviously,” the little girl said as she hung it, and Becky nodded, muttering how silly of her, then folded some tee shirts and skirts into piles.

“So Lisa Marie, what are you into?” Becky asked, handing the little blonde a bunch of rolled socks.

“Lisa… you can just call me Lisa.” Becky nodded at this. “Fast cars, karate, guns and hawwwt music.” Lisa said with a deep affect and an impish smirk

Becky laughed. “Really? Hmmmmmm sounds like someone else in this house… you forgot beauty queens…”

“True… I’m fixing to be a beauty queen ma’self… gonna do karate as my talent at pageants…that or target practice…”

Becky grinned and shook her head, fingers locking the clasps and holding up the empty suitcases with an eye brow arch. “You know, I’ve never even held a gun - you good at shooting?”

A devilish expression energized Lisa’s face as she turned. “Wanna learn?”

Becky stood, wondering if she should shower and get Charlie or Mary or Jo to take her out to buy a bra and some more modest blouses as she looked at the pajama top over her jeans, mumbling in response. “Learn what, sweet girl?”

“How to shoot a gun a course…” Lisa began walked through a swinging door outside her bedroom, next to a second narrow staircase.

Becky glanced down its dark depths as she ambled behind Lisa, realizing she was being led into Elvis’ dressing room on their way back to the master suite. Becky followed slowly, frowned at the bags under her eyes as they walked through the master bedroom. Dressed, get dressed. Becky struggled, and she took a purple halter top out of her travel bag and slinked it on as Lisa Marie gasped from her position tip toeing over the dresser showcasing Elvis’ arsenal.

“Did you just flash me?” Lisa made a disgusted sound.

“We’re all girls here... sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable honey… I guess maybe I feel a little too comfortable….”

Lisa looked Becky up and down again. “You really are different from his other girlfriends…. Here, any preference ta which one do you like… oh wait, never mind, you already said you don’t know nothing bout guns, better let me do it ... I’m an expert.”

Becky walked over, clipping her dark brown curls in up, her lips pursed and her eyebrows knitted in concern. “What does your daddy say about you using his guns?”

“Ta never ever touch ‘em.” Lisa said as she gatheredd two pistols in her hands, the same way that Ruth would glance over and select Barbie dolls to play with. Lisaa tilted her head to the door, and Becky followed with a disturbed expression as Lisa led them out of the room, downstairs and out back to the smokehouse. She wondered if she should be doing this, but then again, several kids in Ruth’s class already had marksmanship awards. What did she know, did she want her first interaction with Elvis's daughter to be a power struggle?

***********************************************************

Becky’s barefoot feet wriggled further into the sawdust, and she inhaled deeply shutting her eyes. The pressure of the exploding bullet from the shaft of the colt 45 revolver caused Becky to jump back with a little scream. She looked up, there were no holes on the target sheet hanging at the end of the room.

Lisa laughed, and came over. “You havta keep your eyes OPEN for starters.” She took aim with her gun, as Becky stepped back and watched her squint and stay perfectly still shooting a perfect bullseye. Lisa then turned with an elated gleeful smile, blowing over the top of the gun as her eyes met Becky’s.

Becky chuckled. “Wow… impressive… do you have a favorite gunslinger?”

Lisa turned and shot two more rounds, each one hitting the red center of the bullseye. “Dirty Harry.” She answered without skipping a beat, then flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

“Wow…. Have you seen that movie?”

“Only about a thousand times…. it’s one of my favorite movies….”

“Wow, well, what about a girl shooter? Have you seen Annie Get Your Gun?”

“Of course.” Lisa huffed, refilling the cartridge of her gun. “I even used to have a pink cowgirl vest just like Annie Oakley, ‘cept it’s too small for me now.”

“Well, if we had a sewing machine I could make a new one for you.”

Lisa looked up at Becky with an excited expression, and took her hand, dragging her out of the smokehouse. “Dodger has ‘un…. Let’s go find Charlie, we’ll get him to take us shopping…”

Becky’s bare feet stumbled over the grass and pebbles as Lisa’s hand took them towards the long white building at the back of the mansion. “Um, let’s not bother Charlie… he might have other things to do.”

Lisa’s face turned back to Becky as she rapped on the door, announcing with all earnestness. “Are you kidding? Charlie always does everything I say….”

Three hours later, Becky was sitting at a very large, heavy cumbersome metal Singer sewing machine that Charlie had lugged out from Minnie Mae’s room into the adjourning living room. Becky had given him an apologetic grin as he stumbled and told her that it “Really weren’t no trouble.” Her fingers pushed pink suede through the stitcher and she bit her lip in concentration as she controlled the lever with her foot. Lisa hovered over Becky, perched on the sofa attaching rhinestone beads to the fringe on the smaller vest Becky had already cut and sewn together with Lisa’s proportions.

“You think this is really gonna fit him?” She said with excitement and Becky nodded, grinning at the thought of Elvis wearing a matching pink suede vest. Not as gaudy as those jumpsuits but in the same family, she thought. Lisa turned to grab another bead from the bowl of glimmering silver rhinestone beads.

Lisa jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “It’s SO perfect! They match…”

Jerry walked by and stuck his head in, a middle aged white lady behind him. “Hey honey - I set up the film reels of The Pink Panther for you down in the TV room like ya asked this mornin…”

Lisa’s eyes stayed fixed where she tied another silver bead on her vest fringe, then waving Jerry off. “Thanks Jerry, maybe later…. We’re busy… oh hi Tish…” Lisa added, seeing the older woman. Jerry looked at Becky, bewildered, but didn’t inquire what they were doing, turning to escort Tish upstairs.

“Whose that?”

“Oh that’s jus daddy’s nurse… he has some back pain and digestible issues… she’ll start coming by to give him his medicine every day now that he’s home… she takes real good —— ok, is it done ?” Her voice trailed off as she watched Becky pull the large pink vest out of the machine.

"Not yet, I gotta slice the fringe and get some of this shiny beads on here…” Becky smacked her lips and squinted at the stitching.

Lisa nodded, nothing another bead, heat feet dangling over the edge of the couch. “Say, where did you learn to do all this? Ya mama?”

Becky turned to Lisa, grabbing a bead as she worked on Elvis’ vest. A “Ha!” escaped her mouth at Lisa’s question.

“No, my mama was busy being a lawyer…. Our nanny, Helga, taught me everything I know… and I try to teach it to my little girl, Ruthie…”

“You’re mama was a lawyer?” Lisa’s eyes were wide, and she paused her work.

“Yeah, everyone in my family is a lawyer… ‘cept my sister, she’s actually a judge up here in Memphis… I think she was the third lady judge in this town.. Maybe I'll see her while I’m here…” Not if I can help it, Becky thought.

“And you? You didn’t wanna be a lawyer?

Becky chortled. “No…. Not alll…. “

“Are you a working mom?”

“Oh honey, all moms are working moms…. We’re like CEOs of small businesses. And those businesses are you,” she said, poking her finger into Lisa’s belly and conjuring a playful squeal.

“OK, but do you work work?”

“Sorta … still trying to figure out what I wanna do when I grow up…. When I was in high school, I wanted to be a park ranger in the Great Smokies…. Sounds silly, huh?”

“Noooo…. What happened? Couldn’t you still do that?”

“What happened…. Oh what happened…. Well, I got real lucky, and the universe put baby Ruth in my arms…. Hard to be a park ranger with a baby strapped to my back…”

“What would you do now if you could do anything? As a working working mom, I mean.”

“Well, I’m already a working working mom, I’ve kinda always had to be... I help my folks with their hardware store…. If I could do anything…. I guess I’d like to own something, a little book store, maybe sell records too, have a juice bar and a kitchen serving up vegetarian food, maybe I run it with a husband, a nice divorced man I meet one day back in Jackson, living out a Brady Bunch fantasy….”

Lisa patted Becky’s shoulder. “You can do anything you put your mind to, Becky. S’what my daddy always says. If you want to find a divorced man to own a juice bar with, I believe in you…. What’s a vegetarian?”

Becky giggled, putting down the vest after tying the last bead on. “Someone who doesn’t eat any meat.”

“Wait, so you really don’t eat any meat?”

“Mhmmm….”

“That’s ridiculous… how can you even have a complete meal?”

“I have my ways…they involve tofu, peanut butter or beans….”

Becky and Lisa stayed in the living room talking, as Becky explained some of the reasons she didn’t eat meat, asking Lisa if she would eat a horse or pet dog, and then why a cow or chicken was different. She looked at the large, ornate golden clock over the fireplace and realized it was 3:30.

“Speaking of food, I’m honnnngry, haven’t had anything to eat all day.. y’all have peanut butter and jelly?”

Lisa smiled and jumped off her perch on the sofa, laying her vest over the larger one and waving for Becky to follow her. “I’ll do you one better, I’ll make you one of my famous peanut butter banana sandwiches.”

Just as she jogged into the foyer, a pair of large hands reached out and grabbed Lisa and lifted her over the shoulder of an Elvis shaped frame, pinching her sides.

“Ya mean my famous peanut butter banana sandwiches….” Elvis voice tumbled out with a chuckle as his daughter squealed in delight. “See ya met my friend here…” he added as he put his daughter down, his face aglow as he looked at Becky. This shifted to a look of displeasure when his eyes saw the dirt on her feet.

“Honey, what’s with ya feet?” He tisked.

Lisa bumped into Elvis waist, pushing his arm around her shoulder as she giggled. “She’s been running ‘round outside without any shoes on…. And she flashed her big boobies at me getting dressed this morning…. AND she’s teaching me how ta be a vegetarian…”

Elvis left eye brow arched up high, looking from Lisa to Becky. “Oh reeALLLY…. Hmmm…. Looks like y'all been getting to know each other good..." He stepped over to Becky, hand around her waist, and whispered in her ear. "Honey, why don’t ya go wash up and put something nice on, maybe a little make-up?”

Becky frowned. “Think you can snap your fingers and I’ll —”

Elvis walked her to the staircase, his hand rubbed her bare shoulders, his eyes melting away all the retorts forming in her mind as she took in the track suit he was wearing. His voice was soft but firm, “C’mon, go get presentable... want my daughter to see how beautiful ya are when I introduce ya…. Go on now.” He slapped her butt playfully as Becky turned, unable to stop her body from complying with his directions as her mind spun in a tizzy from the feel of his hands and the way his big blue eyes looked into hers with a mix of lust, admiration and smug bravado. Introduce me to your daughter my ass, I’ve spent the last six hours unpacking clothes, shooting guns, shopping and sewing with her.

But she thrilled with elation as she bounced toward the kitchen twenty minutes later, proud of the way she had done her make up and fixed herself after taking a quick rinse in the shower. Sweet Honesty was now her favorite perfume and she smelled her wrists backing into the kitchen’s swinging door, gasping with delight at the sight of Lisa and Elvis in matching pink fringed vests. Lisa sat on the counter next to the sink, eating a sandwich, and called out with a full mouth. Her white Mary Jane shoes hit the cabinets below. “Becky! Lewk ift figs!!!” She pointed to her dad, and Elvis turned from the stove, running his hands over his vest.

“Jus what I been needed… a pink shiny vest… ! Gonna hafta keep ya round, I have a list of mending been tryin to get Delta to do for the last year.”

Becky curled her lips. “I won’t be darnin’ your socks, Presley…”

Elvis grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek with “Hesh… now, let me look at ya.” He twirled her around in the middle of the kitchen. “There she is…. now that’s better honey… look, Goobernickle, the most beautiful girl in the world jus wandered in ta our kitchen, ain’t we lucky.” Lisa kicked him. “Sorry, how silly a me, second most beautiful gal in the world after that lil gal right there.”

Becky blushed and Elvis kissed her hand, taking her to sit on the orange kitchen stool near the TV. Back at the stove, he flipped what looked like a grilled cheese sandwich out of the pan and onto a plate, cutting it in half and blowing on it as he brought it over.

“Get ready to have the most delicious thing in that mouth of yours since you got to Graceland…. I mean second most delicious…” Elvis stood in front of Becky, taking up a sandwich to feed her, chuckling at her horrified expression. Good, she got my innuendo, he thought, then looked back at Lisa who was obliviously chewing on the second half of her sandwich. “I meant after the corn bread you ate last night, whatcha think I meant? Crazy woman.”

Becky sighed, closing her eyes, her exhale a mix of exasperation and excitement as she opened her mouth to taste the sandwich Elvis guided in as he held her chin.

She couldn’t help the instinctive reaction her body had to his voice, touch, and the way his eyes danced with impish joy at her unease. But Becky also found herself sickened by how weak she was, how her pussy tingled when she swallowed the salty, sweet goodness of the sandwich. Elvis thumbed along her jawline, much the same way he had when she had sucked his cock the previous day, and her eyes widened as she felt the buzzing energy of his touch caressing her face. She swatted him away and stifled the deep sensuous moan threatening to increase. Lisa Marie seemed unperturbed, jumping off the counter to get some milk from the fridge. Elvis chortled loudly at Becky’s angry stare and pushed another bite in her mouth. She rolled her eyes, then whimpered involuntarily at how the fried, buttery carby goodness hit the back of her throat. Becky had never been with anyone who pushed and pulled and blurred the boundaries between all the different aspects of her personality together at once.

Elvis winked.

“Tastes good, don’t it?”

********************************************************************

Read Chapter 5 Here

Taglist : @whositmcwhatsit @woundmetender @powerofelvis @tacozebra051 @heartbrake-hotel@butlervol6 @ab4eva @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @j-v-9-2 @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley@literally-just-elvis-fics @coolgirl462 @elvisabutler @beeandheroddobsessions

@precious-little-scoundrel @misspresley @austinbutler4life @yanderereader @alqvarde @yynneessmons @kendralavon7 @daffieapple @louisejoy86 @flwrs4aust @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @crash-and-cure @literally-just-elvis-fics

Did I miss you? Or are you new to me and want to be added to the taglist, just let me know.

#no one walks out on big daddy #elvis x OC #big daddy elvis #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fan fiction #elvis fan fiction #elvis fan fic #1970s elvis

160 notes · View notes

octobers-snow · 9 months

Text

Elvis Masterlist

The King and I (Elvis x KaceyMusgravesInspired!OC)

🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷

Summery: Magnolia aka Maggie Martinez, a retired army nurse, aspiring singer, and the wife of the legendary Elvis Presley. This is the story of their life together, beginning from when they first met.

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Begins in the late 1960s into the 1970s. A fix-it fic for those who wished they could of saved Elvis.

🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷🌹🌻🌸 💐🌼🌷

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis the king #elvis aaron presley #memphis mafia #woodstock #1960s #historically inaccurate #fix it fic #masterlist #tom parker #jerry schilling #las vegas #vietnam war #1970s #elvis smut #elvis x fem!oc

25 notes · View notes

amydarcimarie · 1 year

Text

Fan fic writing is harder than I recall. But, I haven't written a word in more than ten years.

*whines more to two gals who've already heard me whine more than is necessary for 1000 words*

@c-rosenn & @precious-little-scoundrel .

I've reworked and re-worded the same section over and over. I need to move the plot forward already before I throw it all away completely .

I'm being dumb.

Mellow drama thy name is Amy.

#elvis presley #i love elvis #elvis fans #elvis presley fandom #elvis x reader #1970s elvis #elvis presley x oc #elvis #elvis fan fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction #shoot me

6 notes · View notes

aliypop · 2 months

Text

For The Heart

Word Count: 959

Writers Note: I've no idea what to write so I thought why not this! Also, I think it's time I jump on the 70s E train! Sorry it's short!

Warning: Fluffy SMUT

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: After an intense night of shows for Cecelia and Elvis the two only have one thing on their minds

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

Las Vegas 1970

"Alright Nat, Alright Jerry... See you two tomorrow," Elvis smiled, walking into his hotel room. His knees nearly gave out from all his dancing. It was his most intense show yet, but he was ready to celebrate, "Alright, Midge, Cheryl, same time tomorrow!" Cecelia smiled as she walked in and closed the door behind her, her eyes barely staying open, "Hey baby," Elvis smirked, pulling into him as he kissed her forehead, "Hey sugar..." She blushed at him as she looked at his messy hair and felt the remaining sweat on his skin, "Had a good show?" they asked each other,

"A fan threw her necklace at me." Elvis smiled, "What about you?"

"Panties, men's underwear, and a bra?" Cecelia laughed as Elvis chuckled, "Some crowd," He joked as he unzipped her dress, his lips on the nape of her neck as she moaned, "Elvis, we're both sweaty..." She groaned,

"Adds more flavor." He kissed her cheek as she felt her dress fall to her knees,

"Besides, we should be celebrating tonight..."

"Sure, if you can keep your eyes open, Mr. Presley..." She joked as she lightly pushed him towards the bathtub. "Wait for me?"

"I make no promises!" She joked as she threw her bra, Elvis catching it as he winked,

"I'm keepin this."

"ELVIS!" She laughed, buttoning up his silk pajama top. It was one of those nights where she didn't feel like putting her nighty on. Laying on the bed, Cecelia watched TV as she kept nodding off and waking up. It was as if the adrenaline from the show was keeping her up,

"El, you okay in there?"

"Yeah, what's wrong, honey?"

"Adrenaline rush..." She playfully sighed,

"You too, huh?" He chuckled, drying off as Cecelia handed him his pants, "See, you took the top." she shrugged, patting a spot next to her. Elvis was lying on her chest as her hands tangled into his hair,

"What day are you going to see my show?" Elvis asked,

"I wanted to surprise you..." She sighed,

"Well, then I'll surprise you too." He kissed her wrist as she giggled,

"El..."

"Hmm..."

"you ever wonder if there's life on Mars?"

"Cece?"

"Hmm..."

"Go to bed." He laughed,

"But I can't," she rolled over as her top road up, showing off her silk panties, his bottom lip under his teeth as he swatted at her ass, "El!" she blushed as he pulled her onto him, "Yes, honey?" He pretended to be clueless as Cecelia playfully swatted at him,

"You think sex might..."

"It's the answer to everything." He winked as he kissed her with a firey, passionate frenzy. Her eyes closed as she gave him the same intense kiss back. His hand was massaging her breast as the other was on her thigh,

"Still wanna celebrate?" Cecelia smirked,

"Do you have to ask?" He winked as she blushed, "Not really," She chuckled as Elvis trailed kisses down her neck, another moan leaving her sweet lips as he shuttered,

"You know something..."

"Hmm..."

"Every time I make love to ya. I feel like I'm young again,"

"Oh, Elvis..." She blushed, "You mean it?"

"Would I lie to you..."

Well... Oh!" She gasped as she felt his fingers plunge into her soaking wet cavern, small mewls and sighs escaping her. Sliding in and out between her thighs, Elvis had stopped, leaving her lips lonely as he then crawled between her legs,

"Baby, you don't have to ah~ Oh~ God~" She began to drift off in between her moans as she felt him sucking on her clit.

"Honey..."

"Hmm?"

"Is my eatin putting you to sleep?"

"No, you've just got a soothing tongue is all," She giggled as Elvis smirked, "First I've heard that," He laughed kissing her inner thigh, "Should I keep going?"

"Please..." She yawned as Elvis was wired for sound, taking his pants off and pulling himself out, he slid himself inside as his wife looked at him with a tired sexy haze,

"Ready..."

"Ready." Thrusting his hips into her, Elvis could hear her soft moans, sweet and gentle, just like his thrust, "More..." she had begun to moan as Elvis was revved up like an animal in heat, "Like that baby..." He kissed her face, "Mhmm..." Picking up his pace he began to hear a sound he hadn't recognized from his wife before, her eyes were closed, and her stomach going up and down, she was asleep, and here he was buried deep inside his wife, pulling out Elvis went to the bathroom to finish off and clean up as he heard her whimper,

"Yes, baby?"

"Come back..." She murmured, as Elvis held her close, the TV playing in the background. His fingers in her curls as she mumbled,

"Love you~"

"Love you too..."

*Bonus*

7 am

The birds began to chirp outside as the TV rushed back on with news about the Presleys in Vegas, but wired for sound was Cece who was kissing Elvis's kneck,

"Baby... You up..."

"Hmm..."

"Thought we could have round 2..." She said in his ear as he grumbled a bit from lack of sleep, "Baby we didn't even get to round one last night..." He flopped back into the pillow,

"We didn't?"

"You fell asleep as soon as I got inside," He laughed as she blushed, "I did..." He nodded his head, Elvis wasn't much of a morning person due to his bad insomnia, but that would soon change, "Well, baby I'm gonna go back to-" Elvis felt something wet as he heard slurping noises his blood rushing through his veins as he jolted up, "Who's sleepin now..." Cecelia smirked looking up at him from under the covers.

"Neither of us if you keep doing that..." He blushed,

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #70s elvis #Cecelia Valmos #Elvis smut #Elvis x poc oc #Vegas Elvis

25 notes · View notes

whositmcwhatsit · 9 months

Text

Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there.

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis smut #1970

76 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 10 months

Text

Read Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵 NOW!

Hello, my wonderful darlin’s! (And Happy 1st Bday to Pink Scarf!💗) This week's story is a special request from a dear Sugar Mama regarding Elvis’ sexy yellow shirt from August 6th, 1970 and how it disappeared. It’s coincidence that I happened to be working on it on the anniversary of him wearing it, but I just take that as a good sign from the universe LOL.

This one definitely got away from me, and because of that, I’m splitting it into two parts—consequently, Part 1 is more tension building and not very smutty but I promise Part 2 will have more spice!

Enjoy babies, and let me know what you think!

xoxox, Madi 💗

TW: attempted sexual assault, cussing, ass kicking, protective!e, passing reference to his weight/ed/drug issues, masturbation

Paisley Dreams (Part 1) 🏵💛🔥

August 1970

Elvis has a love-hate relationship with going out on the town, especially when going to his fellow entertainer’s shows. He loves the novelty of it, being able to be out in the world like a (somewhat) normal human being, to be able to interact with people that aren’t necessarily there to see him. He likes that the focus is on someone else for a change, and he loves talking with people who aren’t part of his immediate circle.

What he hates, however, is pulling focus from the people performing. It’s the reason he shows up a little late and gets seated after the lights go down. Contrary to what some idiots may believe, he does not want it to be The Elvis Show all the time. And while he likes being around new people, he doesn’t always enjoy the hobnobbing that is seemingly required with other celebrities, if in attendance. No, he’d rather talk with people he cares about or regular, everyday folks instead of putting on airs for some Hollywood types.

There is also something to the fact that he’s not in 100% control of those situations when things are not revolving around him, and while a little of that is thrilling and breaks through the boredom that can happen in his insular life, it can also be disconcerting. It leaves him a little more jittery than usual, but the stubborn part of him refuses to let it overcome him tonight.

Somedays, he wishes he could be invisible and could mull about as he pleases in obscurity. Problem is, he’s way too used to the attention being him brings, and whether or not he’d admit it to anyone else, it would make him feel mightily insecure if no one at all knew who he was, if not one person came up to say hi or get an autograph. He had a little taste of that with Steve before the ’68 Special, when he’d been told in so many words to get over himself when no one stopped him on the street in front of the studio.

He hadn’t liked it, no siree, despite the freedom and lack of pressure it offered in the moment. No, he was much too used to being Elvis Presley. It is the conundrum of his life, of a fame unlike any other, that leaves him to continually pendulum from being trapped by it on one end and unable to live without it on the other.

Tonight, he fortifies himself for a night that won’t be entirely under his control and heads over to Nancy Sinatra’s show at Caesar’s Palace. Something about the unpredictability makes him feel a little more alive, like something exciting is just waiting for just the right moment to happen and bring him along with it. He much prefers thinking in those terms and not in terms of threats of harm.

Since Nancy is a good friend, he keeps himself rather understated for the evening. He knows he looks sharp in his high-collared, well-tailored chocolate suit, with a paisley yellow shirt underneath. His belt is simple (for him, at least). The outfit does not scream “look at me!” He wants the attention to be on Nancy and not him.

He also refused to bring the whole damn entourage tonight, feeling a little bit smothered by the sea of men he’s cultivated around him. He’d settled for Charlie, Richard, and Felton as his companions for the evening, despite Joe and Red’s protestations. All he wants is a little fun, a little music that isn’t his, and a little break from the pressure of rehearsals for his own engagement that starts in a few days—complete with a movie crew from MGM to film the damn thing.

He likes rising to the challenge of it, but hell, it makes him more nervous than usual. A lot is riding on his ability to deliver a fabulous show, and not only that, but they’ve been filming the rehearsals, too, so he feels like he’s under the microscope even when he normally isn’t. That coupled with learning three times as many songs as usual has his brain feeling fuzzy and him sleeping worse than usual. Nothing a pill (or three) can’t fix, though.

At least it’s all…stimulating. And Lord knows he’s a man that needs stimulation and variety, something that is harder and harder to come by with his life being the way it is.

But tonight isn’t about him. And everything seems to be going according to plan—there’s a little attention on him with fans and photos and such, enough to make him feel good, but most of the focus is elsewhere. It feels like he can breathe a little.

The show is great; he enjoys seeing Nance after, though his heart always does a little flip around her. She’s been a soft spot for him for a long time, and despite his multiple attempts to endear her a little more intimately to him, she’s always kept him mostly on the straight and narrow. He loves her even more for keeping him in check, though he still wouldn’t mind a tousle in the bedroom with her.

And it’s here he finds himself, ruminating pleasantly, if not a bit hopefully, on the past, when the lot of them sneak out through the back kitchens in order to avoid the crush of people out front waiting for a glimpse of him.

He certainly doesn’t expect to come upon some drunken asshole aggressively throwing a young woman up against the wall down the dark alley behind the Palace. His eyes narrow and a surge of adrenaline wafts through him as he tries to figure out what exactly is happening and why. Body standing to attention, he’s grateful his karate training comes in handy in times like these—which is precisely why he keeps up on the craft.

“Don’t think we should get involved, EP,” Richard warns, putting his hand out as if to stop him from moving towards the scuffle, but he bats it away like a fly.

“Come on, you little tart. I know you want it. You know you’re jus’ askin’ for it up there in those skimpy costumes, don’tcha?” the guy slurs at her, groping at her breasts.

Elvis hastens his stride down the alley, blood up, nerves tingling, and ready to kick this guy’s ass for assaulting this poor showgirl.

“Get the fuck off me, creep!” she screams back at the guy, slapping his hand away, and looking more angry than afraid, she stomps on the guy’s foot and knees him hard in the nuts.

Elvis can’t help but cringe, but the guy deserves it. Good on her.

“You bitch!” the asshole shrieks, clutching his groin. Unfortunately, in his pain, or maybe just because he’s that much of a dick, the man yanks down on her flimsy top, ripping it apart and right off her chest, exposing her braless breasts. Then, he lunges for her throat.

With a growl, Elvis takes his last few steps quickly, easily knocking the drunk bastard off his feet with a well-placed kick and sending him sprawling onto the dirty pavement. The guy lands with a groan, shaking his head. Elvis goes down on one knee and pulls him up by the shirt.

“Hey, fuck you, man! This ain’t none of your business—” the guy starts, flailing up at him drunkenly before his eyes go wide and he stops abruptly. “Holy shit, you’re—”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass from here to Sunday if ya don’t apologize to this nice young lady and get your ass back to whatever sewer you crawled outta,” Elvis spits out, quick and cutting, his blue eyes flashing with something the man doesn’t want to test. He is self-aware enough to know that his presence is big enough to knock even sober men for a loop, and that’s when he’s not angry.

The guy opens and closes his mouth like a guppy, looking altogether wrecked and muddled by his predicament.

“Boss?” he hears Charlie’s cautioning voice from behind him, and Elvis puts up a hand to tell him he’s got this. There are some things he can do on his own.

“Well?” Elvis asks, turning his attention back to the jerk on the ground, dragging the guy up by his ugly polyester shirt.

“I-I-I—” he stutters, looking bleary eyed from Elvis to the young lady.

Elvis uses the toe of his boot and grinds down slowly on the man’s fingers.

The guy yelps, then sobs, then looks helplessly at Elvis, “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t tell me. Tell her,” Elvis emphasizes, still wanting to make this guy pay. He points up to the young lady, who is standing there frozen against the wall, her arms desperately trying to cover her bared chest.

The man’s eyes narrow, obviously feeling it’s beneath him to apologize to a girl.

“Okay,” Elvis sighs dramatically, easily raising himself from the ground without using his hands, “but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He brings his foot back as though he’s gonna kick the man in the gut, and it has the intended effect.

“Alright, alright!” the guy shouts, curling in on himself while holding out his hand to stop Elvis. He begrudgingly looks at the woman. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

“For what exactly?” Elvis asks, raising an eyebrow. He is getting more of a kick out of playing with this drunkard than he should, but he can’t deny he enjoys the pulse of blood through his veins as he gets to be the hero.

“I-I-I’m sorry…for…for touching you a-and ripping your top! I’m sorry!” he cries defeatedly.

“Was that so hard?” Elvis muses. “Now get the hell outta here before I decide I’m bein’ too nice and let my boys have a crack atcha.”

The man gulps and nods, then his legs wheel a bit as he tries to get up too fast and clambers clumsily out of the alleyway.

Adrenaline waning, Elvis turns to the woman, immediately softening his features and his voice—a well-honed skill. “Are you okay, Miss?”

She looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Yes. No. I’m not sure…I had that under control, you know,” she adds a little bitterly.

“Oh, didja now?” he replies, amused by her fiery response.

She does not look amused as she shrugs her shoulders defiantly, then remembers she’s got no top on. Her green eyes widen to saucers, and she grasps her breasts tighter, succeeding in pushing them together and creating ample cleavage that in any other circumstance would have him looking twice. But this is not the time, and he feels guilty for even glancing at her in this state.

“Shit. I’m an idiot,” he mumbles, realizing how uncomfortable she must be half naked in a dark alley full of men she doesn’t know. He scrambles to unbutton his already half-open yellow paisley shirt the rest of the way, then shrugs out of his jacket, pulling the shirt along with it.

Her mouth parts in what he assumes is disbelief as he becomes as bare as she is from the waist up. It’s vulnerable and disarming in a way he doesn’t initially intend—he more just wants to give her something she can truly cover up with and his jacket only has the one button. He’s not in the habit of running around with his shirt off these days, even though he’s slimmed down for his upcoming performances (because God knows the cameras will add ten pounds whether he likes it or not). Years of being shamed about his weight in one way or another by directors, the Colonel, and the gossip magazines always have him self-conscious, even when he’s slim, which is perhaps why he is so readily understanding of the girl’s current predicament. The August Vegas night is hot, and he feels a tinge cooler now when the air hits the sweat beaded over his skin.

“Here, honey, put this on,” he says and holds the shirt out to her.

Her mirth shifts to guarded thanks, but then she shakes her head and tightens her arms around herself. He realizes that she can’t take the shirt without exposing herself more.

“Oh. Turn around, sweetheart,” he coos at her. “I won’t hurt ya none.” He throws his jacket to Charlie, who is suddenly by his side, and holds his shirt open for her.

She turns cautiously, letting him help her as she slips her shaking arms into the oversized sleeves. “Thanks,” she whispers quietly, and he watches as she fumbles unsuccessfully with the buttons because her hands are trembling so badly.

“Lemme help, darlin’,” he says, reassuringly, “I promise I ain’t gonna look atcha.”

Seemingly frustrated at herself for needing his continued assistance, she relents and turns back to him, her doe eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He does everything in him to not look at her pretty, soft skin, or her legs that go on for days, focusing the best he can on the task of doing up the highest buttons in order to give her some modesty. Of course, his shirts being designed as they are, specifically for him and his open-chested style, there aren’t buttons as high up as there should be. The shirt is already too big on her, so she’s still showing quite a bit of skin, but is certainly better than it her previous nakedness. He looks up at her as if to say sorry, and she just looks away uncomfortably.

Elvis nods, then races to do up the rest of them, needing to kneel before her to get the lowest ones. The act feels very intimate, him half-undressed but dressing her in this prostrated position, and it sends a warmth spreading across his bare chest. He looks up at her, finding her watching him carefully for any impropriety. He is determined not to give her any, but when her intense, tearful green eyes meet his, he feels a bit off-kilter for the way it makes him feel. His heart drops into his stomach like he’s on a roller coaster.

Uh oh. He knows that feeling all too well, and it usually ends with him neck deep in infatuation at the very least and in love at the most.

“All set,” he says, looking down almost bashfully. Clearing his throat, he raises effortlessly up to standing, and Charlie hands him his jacket to put back on.

“Thank you, Mr. Presley,” she says quietly, the edge in her voice gone now that she’s swimming in his yellow shirt and the threat is gone. Her pretty pink lip bottom lip wavers.

Then she bursts into tears.

There is nothing that pulls at his heartstrings quite like a pretty young thing weeping. She’s proven herself anything but helpless but having been through such an ordeal would be frightening regardless.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe now. Let’s get you home,” he says. He suddenly wants nothing more than to swoop her up into the protective cocoon that is his penthouse so no one can ever hurt her again, but he gets the distinct impression that bringing her into a private den full of older men is not the right move in this situation.

Sniffling, she swipes angrily under her stage makeup-smeared eyes as she attempts to get ahold of herself. He recognizes her need to not appear weak, to retain her dignity, so he gives her a minute to collect herself even though he wants to sweep her into his arms and tell her he can make everything alright.

It takes her a moment and he can tell she wants to tell him no, that she can get home on her own, thankyouverymuch, but after closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she finally nods in acceptance.

Something in his heart soars because he likes feeling needed, likes truly helping people, and enjoys the warmhearted feeling it gives him to put others before himself. It is also the least he can do after what she’s been through.

Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s a looker with her long, caramel colored hair, intelligent jade eyes, and showgirl body. He knows he would’ve helped her regardless of all of that but, even so, at 35 he’s still a virile man who can see what is plain in front of his face. And there’s something about her resilience that attracts him beyond her looks. A flash in her eyes that tells him her soul is guarded and complex and beautiful all at once. There’s a hint of darkness he can relate to, one that, combined with all the rest, sends his overly romantic heart into overdrive.

As he, Charlie, Richard, and Felton lead her trembling but head-held-high form to the car, he can’t help but think God put him in the right place at the right time tonight.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks gently once they are in the car.

“Pepper. My name is Pepper.”

This night is turning out to be incredibly strange, Pepper thinks as she shakily unlocks the door to her apartment. She hates that she can’t seem to stop shivering after the whole ordeal in the alley. No matter how many deep breaths she took in the car, she is still shaking like a leaf and she can’t decide if the fact that Elvis Presley is at her elbow is making it better or worse.

Finally jimmying the door open, she nearly falls inside, feeling all too unsteady in her high heels. Exhausted, it doesn’t help matters that she can’t remember if she ate today, between her waitressing shift at the diner and her showgirl gig at the Palace. She forces herself not to cry the stupid tears that pool stubbornly in her eyes. No, she doesn’t think she ate today and she’s cursing the fact because she’s quickly turning into an embarrassing pile of weepy nonsense, in front of Elvis Presley, no less.

This isn’t like her. She is no damsel in distress. She’s a strong, capable young woman who’s been dealt a bit of a shit hand, but she’s got it under control. She’s always got it under control.

Liar.

Pepper turns in the doorway to say goodnight and thank you to the man who so annoyingly but luckily had her back in that alley. She doesn’t want to think too hard about what could have happened if Elvis hadn’t appeared when he did, like some sort of movie star hero. Unfortunately, the spin towards him makes her dizzy and her wobbly knees start to give way.

“Hey now, little one, let’s get you settled, huh?” Elvis drawls out at her as he puts an arm around her waist and effortlessly ushers her into the apartment. She’s suddenly too exhausted to protest. It’s not often that anyone takes care of her. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time someone did, or the last time there was a man in her apartment.

He deposits her on her secondhand couch and its one of the many things tonight that has her embarrassed. Then again, she wasn’t expecting an incredibly handsome superstar to be gracing the walls of her tiny, dingy apartment.

Elvis stares down at her for a moment and his gaze is heavy and all-encompassing. It’s not what she expects—she’s used to the heated, horny looks she attracts from men—because it’s as if he’s surveying the situation, reading her with an intuitive intelligence she is not prepared for. She knows how to deal with men gawking at her—but treating her kindly with no expectations in return? This is unfamiliar in every way.

He nods to himself, making some sort of decision. His stance, one hip jutted out, hands on his hips and looking off to the side with his pouty lips parted, makes her feel a little funny in her belly.

Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking.

Her pride wants him to go, to not survey her poor existence and pity her. But the rest of her, the weak part of her desperate to have someone take care of her for once, wants him to stay.

Surprisingly, his face is devoid of judgement of her circumstance when his oceanic blue eyes meet hers again. There seems to be only concern and a bit of humor there. This confuses her.

“I’m starvin’,” he declares suddenly. “What would you say to some hamburgers?” His eyes sparkle—actually sparkle—when they look at her for approval.

Her stomach growls and before she can think better of the strangeness of eating hamburgers with Elvis in her crappy apartment, she’s nodding her head furiously.

“Charlie! Hey, man, get us some hamburgers and fries and shakes, will ya?” he tells the tiny guy who seems to be some sort of friend/employee, probably part of his infamous Memphis Mafia she’s read about in magazines.

It comes to her then that the man she’s read about and listened to and watched on screen for years is now in her home, and she is swimming in his yellow shirt. It smells wonderful—a heady, spicy mix of cologne and soap and sweat—and a silly part of her never wants to take it off.

Oh, god, he’s seen my tits, she realizes, her cheeks flushing.

“Hey, lemme get ya somethin’ to drink, honey,” he says, extraordinarily and infuriatingly observant, as he goes to pilfer around her kitchen.

“Oh, I’m just the worst hostess. I can get it,” she murmurs attempting to push herself off the couch.

He stops abruptly and points at her. “Stay.”

Pepper freezes. The command in his deep, drawling baritone is assertive and unarguable, sending a thrilled shiver down her spine that she’s not ready for. Almost as if her body were not her own, she slides back into the sofa.

“Whatchu got in this here ree-frig-er-a-tor?” he says, rummaging around in what she knows is a sad excuse for one. Her schedule hasn’t allowed time for her to go grocery shopping. She can hear him humming a familiar tune as he goes, and there’s something beautifully domestic about the whole thing that she doesn’t feel she deserves. He returns with two cans of Pepsi, popping the tab on hers before handing it to her, then doing his own.

She can’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she says quietly, suddenly parched. She tries to be ladylike about it but can’t help but gulp some of the fizzy cola down as fast as possible. Of course, this all goes awry the moment the carbonation hits her empty stomach, causing an uncontrollable rolling belch to erupt her throat.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, throwing a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” For some reason, this rudeness feels almost more humiliating that her top being ripped off earlier. At least with that, it hadn’t been her fault. This was just bad manners.

Elvis looks at her seriously, blue eyes narrowed as if he might scold her, and she holds her breath, wanting to crawl into a hole and die. Then he starts laughing.

It’s a giggling, hiccupping, musical sound that immediately disarms her in its contagiousness. She can’t help the way her own giggles bubble up. Suddenly, the absolute ridiculousness of this entire night has her doubled over with exhausted, hungry laughter, and he follows right along with her.

They are just starting to get themselves under control when she snorts. Elvis completely loses it and falls apart all over again.

Tears are pouring down her face now, and she’s grateful for this release in this way. It’s better than her weak and frustrated tears from earlier, and as she watches Elvis, she sees just how utterly beautiful, unselfconscious, and almost innocent he seems in his laughter.

She wonders if he laughs often. She hopes so.

Eventually, they are both wiping their faces and the giggle fits are dying down.

“Peppercorn, you are too much,” he smiles, shaking his head with a few lingering chuckles. “Who knew such sounds could come from such a pretty little girl like you?”

Peppercorn? She smiles at the nickname. If anyone else had called her that, she might have their head, but Elvis…well, he can call her anything he wants. Butterflies start rolling in her empty stomach when she realizes he’s called her pretty in such a way that it sounds like an obvious fact and not a come-on. Oh, he’s skilled.

The fact is, it’s almost bashful the way he looks down and then his eyelashes flutter back up to meet hers from the other end of the couch. As if she had called him pretty and not the other way around.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she thinks he just might say something profoundly charming, but his friend Charlie chooses that moment to reemerge with an arm full of food and shakes. And her stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough for the room to hear, sending Elvis and her back into peals of laughter.

Charlie looks confused, but laughs along anyway, pretending to get the joke as he sets the food down on the rickety second-hand coffee table in front of the sofa. Then, without a word, he makes himself scarce.

Elvis digs right into the bag, taking everything out of it, handing her a wrapped burger and then tearing the bag apart to make a sort of makeshift tray on the table.

“I do have plates, you know,” she says with a lingering chuckle, moving to get up. She’d certainly never seen a man of his caliber of celebrity—probably one of the richest in this town—eat off a greasy paper bag before.

“Don’t you worry yourself. I’m just fine,” he says, unwrapping and taking a giant bite of his hamburger, followed by a handful of fries. “Eat your food, Peppercorn.”

She’s way too hungry to argue. After the burp and the snort, she doesn’t put on too many airs about eating daintily, either.

“Tell me about yourself,” he says in such an earnest way that she cannot stop herself from doing so. As they devour the food, he asks her questions, and she finds herself telling him about how she’d moved here because there wasn’t much work in her small town, about how she sends most of what she makes back to her house-bound mama and little sister.

These are things she doesn’t tell people here, preferring to tell a common tale of wanting the glitz and glamour of being a famous showgirl, instead of sharing that she’s using what God gave her only to support her kin. But by the haunted look in his eyes, it’s as if he knows, like he truly understandswhat it means to keep family at the forefront and tell the world something different. So her mouth keeps moving and she shares too much, but she’s weary and hungry and Elvis Presley is in her damn living room eating burgers like it’s a completely normal occurrence.

“So, you’re tellin’ me what you’re doin’ now ain’t your dream?” he asks.

She can’t help but choke a little at that. “Um, no,” she says, wiping sauce off her lip with a finger. “Waitressing all day and being eyed-up all night is not my dream. It’s a means to an end. And I’m happy to do it.”

“For your family.”

“Yes, for my family.”

“And what about you, honey? What’s your dream?” He says it in such a perfunctory way that it takes her aback. It’s a question no one’s ever bothered to ask her.

“I…I don’t know,” she says, looking away from his curious, reading stare.

“Mmm, not sure that’s true, baby. Ev’rybody’s got a dream,” he says. “Hell, I was just a poor boy drivin’ a truck ‘fore all this took off. Could barely sing in front of anyone but there was this…this thinginside me I can’t explain, pushin’ me forward in spite of it all.”

“Really?” she says, shocked at this revelation. She didn’t know those things about him, and they make him seem more human and all the more unique all at once.

He nods. “So, what’s your dream?” he says, looking at her with a curious expectation she can’t deny.

She gulps down a mouthful of burger. “Okay, well, this is probably stupid, but I’ve always liked numbers.”

“Numbers?” he questions, confused.

“Yeah, I like solving problems. Making everything add up. Numbers are…calm, predictable, I guess. I’m sure that sounds strange, a showgirl telling you she likes math. Most men…well, they think it’s weird,” she rambles, feeling her face get hot.

He shakes his head. “Naw, it just weren’t what I was expectin’, is all. Usually pretty girls like you, they…” he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence to get the point across, “but I like that you’re different. Special.” He looks at her with a sort of pride, like he’s discovered some treasure in her she can’t see in herself.

This sends a wave of appreciation over her that she isn’t prepared for, and she smiles broadly. “So, I suppose my dream is to work with numbers. Money, maybe? I guess I’ve never really let myself think that far into it. I haven’t been able to, with everything else…That must sound silly,” she says, feeling too exposed all the sudden.

“Not at all, honey,” he reassures her, finishing off his burger and fries. She gets caught up in looking at his full, pouty lips covered in grease and has the inappropriate urge to touch them. Blinking, she looks away, hoping he didn’t catch her staring.

“Sorry I’m talking too much. I usually don’t tell people...I don’t…I’m not one to…” She hides the floundering embarrassment of both her circumstance and her attraction behind the last loud slurp of her milkshake.

“Naw, Peppercorn, don’t go bein’ ashamed of doin’ what it takes to take care of your family or about havin’ dreams for yourself. We’re more alike than you think, darlin’,” he says, wiping his hands on the paper napkins from the bag.

She quirks her eyebrow at him.

He sighs, as though he’s been holding a weight on his shoulders. “I’m know I’m lucky. My dream came true and’s put me in a position that most don’t ever get to. I’ve spent a long time makin’ sure my people are taken care of, and I love to be able to do it, but I also know it can be…” he trails off, a look of guilt flashing over his features as he waves his hand in the air.

All she can do is nod at this confession. He doesn’t need to finish for her to know exactly what he means. Burdensome. Difficult. Soul-sucking.

He shakes himself off, whistling lowly, a shy smile curving up on his face.

Pepper’s heart starts pounding in her chest partially because he’s trusted her with this knowledge of himself and she’s trusted him with her own. The vulnerability of that is strange and somewhat uncomfortable to sit with. But it pounds also because she realizes with chagrin the meal is over and she doesn’t know what he expects of her next.

Despite her job, she does not have a habit of spending the night with men she’s just met, but Elvis is not just any man. There have only been a handful of boyfriends, half of which were back at home, and certainly none recently with what little free time she has. She’s no prude but she’s not exactly experienced, either. And one-night stands are not her thing.

He has been nothing but a gentleman this whole night and didn’t even ogle her when her top had been ripped. There was no reason to even think that he wanted such a thing from her, yet there is tension building in the air that she doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe it’s because when she looks at him in his well-cut suit with no shirt underneath (shivering at the fact it’s because it’s on her) and sees the sweaty tuft of chest hair that is exposed against his tan skin, something deeply primal rises in her and she wants more than anything to feel it beneath her hands.

Pepper blinks and quickly looks away. She knows what it’s like to be eyed up and down by the opposite sex and thinks it’s a little strange that they share that in common, too. Making him uncomfortable is the last thing she wants to do but now she is not sure what to do with her eyes and finds herself staring at a tear in the fabric of the sofa instead.

Elvis coughs, and she can’t help but look up at him then. Getting caught in those endless, sparkling eyes, mere feet from her, she wonders how in the hell the world is supposed to go back to normal after tonight. How she is supposed to go back to working her multiple soul-sucking jobs, to try to forget the way he is looking at her now, like she is actually something special? That she matters enough to save her in a back alley and is worth him literally giving her the shirt off his back?

Her body betrays her, then, a huge yawn escaping her mouth of its own accord. It reminds her it has been an extraordinarily long day and that she has the monotony of another tomorrow, despite everything that has happened in the last few hours.

“I think it’s time for me to go and let you get some rest, little one,” he says quietly, that little smile of his pulling at his mouth in a way that makes her think he doesn’t want to leave but will anyway because that is the kind of man he really is—not some sex-crazed superstar locked in an ivory tower that the magazines might try and make him out to be. He stands and makes for the door.

Jumping up abruptly, Pepper follows him to the door. She is not ready for this to end. She is not ready for this to be the last time she ever sees Elvis Presley. But she is also realistic and practical. Her life is no fairy tale, nor does she need a prince to save her, as tempting as it all may seem in the moment.

“T-thank you…for earlier. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t come along,” she says quietly, feeling utterly caught in his blue-eyed gaze. “And thanks for the food, too. I’m feeling much better.”

There is a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad I could be there for you when you needed it, Peppercorn,” he says with such kindness that she thinks she might cry.

Silence sits heavily between them and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his. He finally turns to go, hand on the knob, and she moves closer to hold the door, but suddenly he pauses and turns back. She nearly runs into him. This close, she can feel the heat radiating off his body and it scares her how much she craves the comfort of it.

“My show o-opens this w-week,” he says, stammering endearingly. “I’d like you to be there.”

Her heart jumps into her throat and her limbs feel tingly. “I would love to,” she gushes but then reality hits her and her face falls, “but I have to work. I-I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m so sorry.” She wants to cry, but that would be even worse than rejecting his offer. Don’t be a baby.

Pepper thinks she might imagine it, but Elvis seems defeated, too, for a split second before he smiles knowingly. “Well, we’ll see what happens, honey. The universe works in mysterious ways, don’t it?”

Cocking her head to the side, she wonders what he means by this, but she is too disappointed to try to piece it out now. She is also distracted by his bare chest rising and falling so close, the scent of him permeating her senses. The air in the room feels thick and hot, despite the whirring of the air conditioner in the window. He starts to turn again towards the door.

I don’t want him to go.

“Wait!” she shouts, a little too loudly for the proximity and he jumps a bit. “Your shirt—let me get changed real quick and I can give you back your shirt,” she rambles out, making for her bedroom.

His hand encompasses her small wrist, his firm touch branding her in such a pleasurable way that she gasps. He turns her back around to face him, bringing her closer towards him. She goes willingly, too enthralled by the nearness of him to keep her distance. She’s usually better than this, keeping a safe distance from the wiles of men, but she has never felt the pull of someone so strongly. It’s like he’s magnetized. And he’s succeeded in making her feel safe and valued in a way she’s not used to, leaving her rather defenseless against his charms.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart. It looks better on you anyway,” he says, his lips curling up into a grin that melts her heart into a pile of goo. He runs his fingers along and down the tall collar of the shirt, and the action, while innocent, sends a glorious heat into her belly.

“Oh,” is all she can manage to get out, her tongue tied into knots. She desperately doesn’t want this to end. She considers asking him to stay, but both courage and words fail her.

His eyes scan her face and then he brushes her long hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Peppercorn, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other soon,” he says, as if reading her mind, as if he doesn’t want this to end either.

She nods, as if this makes all the sense in the world. It sets her heart galloping. She feels like it is about to beat out of her body when his long finger tilts her chin up to him, and he leans in and kisses her ever-so-gently on the cheek.

Her breath catches at the feel of his soft lips on her skin. It is somehow chaste yet incredibly erotic all at the same time. As a long-neglected warmth pools between her legs, a giddiness that washes over her that makes her feel like a schoolgirl.

Elvis lingers perhaps a moment too long before pulling back. “Goodnight, honey,” he whispers, then turns and leaves.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” she manages to squeak out before he disappears into darkness.

Once he’s out of sight, Pepper closes and locks the door, befuddled and hopeful and confused all at once. Her forehead lands on the wood as she closes her eyes, trying to reconcile this whole night with some semblance of reality.

He surprised her, truly, in his ability to be so down to earth. She is astonished (though perhaps she shouldn’t be) that he seems so complex, and she can’t help feeling connected to him because of all the small ways they are unpredictably alike. There is a part of her that very much wants to believe him when he said they would see each other again, but she knows her life isn’t build on wishes and dreams. It never has been, and she doesn’t expect that will change anytime soon, despite the bizarre fact that she can still smell the lingering scent of Elvis’ cologne in her living room.

Just be glad you had any time with him at all, she tells herself to try and manage her expectations. It would take a miracle for us to cross paths again.

Suddenly exhausted, she floats through her bedtime routine in a daze. But her doubts about the future don’t stop her from sleeping in his shirt, though, savoring the lingering scent of him on her skin and in her bed. And the feel of his lips on her cheek replays in her mind over and over as she reaches into her already damp panties to relive the ache he’s left her with. It doesn’t take much to bring her over the edge—imagining his sweet, pouty lips on her and his long fingers deep inside her does the trick—before she arches up with a strangled cry, clenching around nothing but a fantasy.

Breathing hard and barely sated, she collapses into the bed, wishing she’d been bold enough to invite him in with her. Refusing to wallow in regret, she finally manages to drift off to sleep with the unrealistically hopeful thought that his knowing smile means she’ll get to see him again someday soon, just as he promised.

Era One-Shot

A/N: This one has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for quite a while. Sweet Symphony started as a special request for '68 Special era Elvis from my Get to Know Me Gala way back in March! I also included the prompt, "Do it again, please." Nothing like a good two-fer!

A professional violinist Reader gets a little more than she bargains for after rehearsal for Elvis Presley's '68 Special...

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

TW: Sexxx in various forms, fluff, cussing, dubious use of a piano

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon!)

GIF by seredelgi

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

You’re early. Too early, in fact, but your mother always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late,” so it goes to reason that for such an important job, you find yourself clicking your heels into the rehearsal room a full hour before it’s set to start.

The only reason they allowed you in this early is that your brother-in-law, Billy, is the one in charge of this portion of the production rehearsal, arranging the music for Elvis Presley’s television special due out in December. He had been tasked, rather last minute, to take over the musical arrangements. When your sister called on Billy’s behalf, saying he desperately needed a professional violinist to fill in for the one who’d been suddenly struck with a bout of appendicitis, you were a little confused at first. Why in the world would Elvis Presley need a violinist? had been the first thought in your head, but a job is a job, and you figure a television special of this magnitude wouldn’t hurt your classical resume.

Sure, why not? you’d thought, then packed up your violin and got a ticket for the next plane out to LA. If nothing else, I’ll get some sun.

Since your plane arrived late, you made the executive decision to go straight to the studio rather than chance the traffic by checking into your hotel first. Which is how you find yourself in the near-dark rehearsal space before anyone else has even thought to arrive, violin and suitcase in tow. At least you’ll get a chance to look over the score Billy just handed you before anyone else arrives, you think, finding a chair and settling in to unpack and prepare your instrument.

So focused are you that you don’t really register the door opening and then latching closed. You figure it is just Billy, who had been frantically going over sheet music up in the booth. When the piano begins to play, softly, you nearly jump out of your skin with surprise, having been so lost in sight reading and humming your part that you were oblivious to the presence of another in the room.

“Oh my god!” you gasp in surprise, managing to knock the loose pages of the score off the music stand as your hand flies up to your chest. “Damnit,” you mutter under your breath, scurrying to pick up the pages and put them back in order.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” you hear a gentle voice drawl out from the darkness.

“Oh, no, I just wasn’t expecting anyone in here so early and I was so caught up in…” you taper off, furrowing your brow and trying to get your sheet music situated.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the voice says, kneeling to pick up loose pages.

“Oh, thank…” your voice hitches when you look down at the man holding up more music that had fluttered away across the floor.

It’s the sparkling sapphire blue eyes that catch you first, framed in criminally long, dark lashes, blinking up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to your chair. They are utterly mesmerizing in the way they search your face apologetically. Your voice dies in your suddenly dry throat, and so mesmerized are you with those eyes that it takes you much too long to take in the rest of him.

That’s when you realize that the man with the pretty eyes on his knees near your feet is the one and only Elvis Presley.

“…you. Thank you,” you manage to finish, gingerly taking the pages from his grasp.

Elvis smiles up at you so bashfully, so charmingly, that it takes your breath away.

It doesn’t hit you until this very moment that you are playing for the Elvis Presley. Between everything happening so quickly and you assuming you wouldn’t get to meet the man himself, you just hadn’t considered the magnitude of the job.

You’d just hit your teenage years when Elvis came into his stardom, the timing perfect for swooning over the Southern boy with the rebellious good looks and the completely unique sound. But your parents had been strict and conservative, opting for your upbringing to be filled with learning and playing classical music, so the only chance you’d had to listen to Elvis was when you went to your girlfriend’s house. There you could swoon over him unimpeded, but it was more vicarious than anything else. And by the time you were old enough to properly swoon to your heart’s content, you were so busy with your music degree that it hadn’t really crossed your mind to ogle over Elvis.

To be quite honest, you had become a bit of a music snob at that point, so Elvis wasn’t really on your radar, though you had been impressed by his reworked English version of O Solo Mio. His It’s Now or Never had been a massive hit, and he had amazed you with his vocal talent, which you were convinced was wasted on silly pop songs. Needless to say, Elvis and his music had been off your radar for a long, long time.

You certainly hadn’t realized the man had only gotten more attractive as time went on. Magazine pictures and even his movies (which you hadn’t cared to watch since the beginning of the decade) don’t do him justice, which is saying something since you’d never once seen the man look anything less than handsome. But those damn eyes pop against his tanned skin and raven hair, and that curved-lip smile has butterflies flying in your stomach like a schoolgirl.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, still kneeling at your feet.

“My name? Oh, um, my name is y/n,” you stammer out. You could kick yourself for how gobsmacked you sound, a grown professional woman nearly forgetting her own name in the presence of an attractive man. But the thing is he isn’t just attractive—he’s ethereal.

“Well, hello there, y/n. I’m Elvis,” he says, as if he were just some regular Joe and not one of the most famous men alive. “What do you play?” He motions to your music.

“Uh, violin. Well, and piano, but violin professionally,” you reply, unable to take your eyes off him.

His eyes light up at this. “I play piano, too,” he says, with such a little boy quality that you can’t help but smile.

“Oh?” This surprises you quite a bit since he is so synonymous with the birth of rock and roll and you’d only ever seen him with an acoustic guitar.

“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know that, but between you and me, I like playin’ piano more,” he says, with a wink. Elvis stands up from his crouch with little effort, so lithely that you equate it to a dancer. Your eyes follow up, up, up his lean frame, and you try not to notice just how well his tailored outfit fits him.

He walks back towards the piano he came from, and you blush when you catch yourself staring at his backside, like some sort of lecherous creep. Quickly turning your attention back to the pages of music in your lap, you force yourself to try and make sense of page numbers, shuffling them back into order.

“Do you know this one?” Elvis suddenly asks, shocking you by playing the opening notes of a well-known Beethoven piece.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do,” you respond, still stumbling over your words. “That’s Moonlight Sonata.”

“What happens after this part?” he asks, playing the beginning again. The question seems quite honest, still having that curious, young quality about it. Before you think better of it, you’re walking over to the piano.

“May I?” you say, standing near the bench. Music is your language. You’ve always been better with an instrument at your fingertips than with your words. It makes you feel bolder, so when Elvis only scoots over instead of yielding the bench, it doesn’t stop you from perching next to him.

It only takes a second for the movement to come back to you and you place your hands on the keys, letting them speak for you. You’ve done your share of teaching, so it doesn’t take but a moment to fall into that role. You just try not to think too hard on that fact that it’s Elvis Presley that you’re teaching.

He’s nodding along, eyes focused solely on your hands. So close to him, you can feel the way the music affects his body. It’s something you can relate to.

You stop yourself from speeding too far ahead in the music and pull your hands away from the keys. “Is that…do you want me to go again, or do you want to try it?” you ask.

“Do it again. Please?” he asks watching your hands with incredible focus.

You do, trying to keep it simple and without too much flourish.

“Okay, so it’s like this then?” he says after you finish, and as his long, slender fingers glide across the keys, you realize they are musician’s fingers. They may be dripping with jewels that are likely more expensive than your apartment, but they are quite perfect for the kind of instruments he plays. It strikes you he was made to do this.

You recognize then that Elvis is truly a musician and not just a performer. The way he concentrates, learning and adapting quickly as you show him more of the song, only by ear and sight, amazes you.

It's through the music that you begin to calm. Talking one musician to another is much more manageable than considering the magnitude of the person you’re speaking with. Frankly, you are completely amazed by how incredibly gentle and disarming the man is.

When the door opens again, both of you are consumed enough in the music that it doesn’t faze you much.

“Oh, hey Elvis! Just the man I needed to see. I hope y/n isn’t bothering you,” Billy says, in a teasing tone only a family member could produce.

“Hello to you, too, Billy,” you say, a bit annoyed at the interruption and at feeling put in your place as if you were still a child.

“Oh, no, not at all. She’s a great teacher,” Elvis grins, bumping your shoulder. “You two…know each other?” he then asks, his smile faltering in the slightest as he looks from you to Billy. The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it gives you pause and your heart flips.

“Since she was practically in diapers. She’s my sister-in-law,” Billy says.

“Twelve isn’t in diapers, Billy,” you scoff at him, then turn to Elvis. “He’s married to my older sister yet has never hesitated to treat me like a baby. Lucky me.”

“Aw, you know I only put up with you because you’re too talented for your own good,” Billy ribs, making to muss your hair.

You duck swiftly out of the way, bumping into Elvis in the process. “Oh, sorry!” you breath out.

Elvis just chuckles at the two of you, looking pleased as punch, though you’re not exactly sure why.

“I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you for dropping everything to fly across the country last minute to help me, dearest sister-in-law,’” you throw at Billy, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, skedaddle. I need to talk to Elvis,” Billy shoos you.

You suppress the urge to stomp your foot and pout, but you realize you really should act more professional than you are. Settling for a huff at Billy, you turn to Elvis. “It was nice to meet you,” you say, all the spunkiness you had towards Billy deflating into shyness the moment you look into those dark blue eyes again.

“Oh, I have no doubt we’ll be talkin’ again soon, honey, and thank you for the lesson,” Elvis drawls softly.

His words send a cascade of shivers through your limbs. You feel heady as you stand from the bench, shooting a familial glare Billy’s way, noticing the frown on his face as you do so. God, even with you being 27, Billy had the ability to make you feel like a scolded younger sister.

You force yourself not to look back as you head to your chair. Be a professional. Just because Elvis is handsome doesn’t mean he’s not the man you’re ultimately working for. Busying yourself with rearranging your music, you hear Billy usher Elvis out and up into the booth.

Well, that’s that, you think, rosining your bow, and you get to practicing.

You’ve been at your share of long rehearsals, but you will admit this one is both long and intense. The music Billy has arranged—this “Guitar Man” medley of some of Elvis’ songs—isn’t difficult music to play, per say, but you can now sense an underlying importance around this entire operation. Part of it is the barely held back frantic look in Billy’s eyes, and knowing him as you do, for him to be this frazzled means there’s a lot on the line. However, it’s when Elvis comes back, much later, to run through the medley with the orchestra, that you realize you can sense it in him, too. It’s well-hidden, to be sure, when the man introduces himself and shakes hands with the members of the orchestra, and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for the relaxed way he’d been with you earlier in the day, but it’s an undercurrent all the same. Then, they send him into the booth to do his thing.

And, boy, does he. You’ve worked your share of Broadway musicals and operas, but you’ve never seen a man completely give himself over to the work in just a rehearsal quite the way Elvis does with this medley. It’s like he’s singing for his life. By the time it’s all through, Elvis exits the booth, dripping with sweat, exhausted but exuberant. His eyes sparkle and his body hums, some part of him tapping or jiggling or wiggling every moment, as though the music had become electricity in his veins.

You try not to stare as you slowly put away your bow, your violin, collecting your music from the black stand. You try not to, but you keep stealing glances because not only does he look enticing, but it’s also more that you connect with the feelings he seems to be having. The way the music can just take over and become something else inside you, as if you are the conduit to something much bigger than yourself. This you understand. And you’d never imagined a sensation like Elvis Presley would feel the music that way, too. Perhaps this is the secret to his massive success.

Almost all the other musicians have packed and left by now. You tell yourself you’re stalling so you can say goodnight to Billy before hailing a cab and finally checking into your hotel by midnight. You are exhausted, after a day of traveling and frenetic rehearsal, yet you are buzzing with the excitement only music seems to bring you. And you can’t help that the part of you that feels that way is being drawn towards Elvis like a magnet.

When Elvis catches your less-than-sly stare, a million-dollar smile spreads over his face and your heart flip-flops in your chest so hard it takes your breath away. Caught, you quickly and conspicuously look up and away, as though that will save the burning embarrassment on your cheeks. Suddenly, all you can think of is how fast you can get out of here, and you finish packing up like a fire has been lit under you. You scurry towards the door, hoping to escape before making a fool of yourself further.

“Hey, Miss Moonlight,” Elvis says, fingers light on your arm, stopping you before you reach the door, “whaddya say you join us back at my place for a little get together?”

The nickname would usually make you roll your eyes, but coming from him so sweetly, you balk under the attention. It distracts you so much that it takes a full second to realize that he’s just invited you to his place.

“I…uh, it’s been a long day. I-I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet,” you stammer, the excuse so unconvincing you might laugh if you weren’t so befuddled and nervous that Elvis is asking you…well, you’re not exactly sure what he’s asking you.

He quirks a perfect raven brow at you. When he steps in closer, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Well, I can have Joe swing you by your hotel before headin’ over, if you’d like, though there’s plenty of space at the house. We can set up a room for ya…s’probably more comfortable than a hotel,” Elvis drawls quietly in your ear.

You’ve never heard a man make a pass so naturally in your life, so much so that you almost hesitate to believe it is one. His low voice and the open suggestiveness spear straight into your core, threatening to melt you into a puddle on the spot.

In any other circumstance, you would laugh in a man’s face for suggesting such a thing. Generally shy, reserved, and cerebral, you’re certainly not the kind of woman who just spends the night at a strange man’s place. But this isn’t any other circumstance. This is Elvis Presley asking you to stay the night with him.

And maybe he does just mean it casually—a “hey, come party with us and you can sleep on the couch”—but at the moment, your body doesn’t know the difference. Your inner pragmatist begins listing off all the ways this is a terrible idea, but the only thing that cuts through the noise is the regret you know you’ll feel if you don’t accept this invitation.

“Um…well, okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, of course,” you manage to breathe back.

His lip curves up into an almost bashful smile. “Oh, Moonlight, you couldn’t be an imposition if you tried. Plus, you hafta show me how to play the rest of that piece,” he says, running a calloused fingertip down your pointer finger.

You can’t help the shudder that runs through you or the way your heart catches in your throat. “Well, how could I possibly refuse?” you finally get out.

“Fantastic! Hey, Joe, this is my new friend, y/n,” he says enthusiastically, calling over the shorter man. “She’s gonna be joining us tonight.”

Joe seems kind enough, albeit barely looks or speaks to you after the main introductions. Before you know it, you, your violin, and your suitcase are packed into the back of what you assume is a ridiculously expensive vehicle. Elvis slides in behind you, and you, now sandwiched between him and the car door, think you ought to feel apprehensive about the situation, but all your attention is fixed on how Elvis’ side is pressed up against yours. The heat radiates off him, bleeding into you, his leg bouncing so quickly that you think he might need to get out and run laps. He makes conversation, asking about how you came to be a musician and you uncharacteristically and nervously start rambling about yourself. You’ve got to give him credit for the way he nods and hums, truly seeming to listen to you even though your mouth is running almost uncontrollably.

By the time you arrive at the house, you feel as if you’ve told Elvis your life story and you abruptly shutter your mouth closed. God, I am such an idiot. Way to play it cool, y/n, you berate yourself.

Elvis kindly helps you out of the car, walking you toward the house as Joe follows with your violin and suitcase in tow. The way your heart pounds against your ribcage threatens to do you in—it’s all suddenly become very real that Elvis Presley is leading you into his house where you are going to surreptitiously spend the night. His hand is guiding you so gently at the small of your back, but the heat of it blazes through you.

Oh, get a grip! The man has probably touched thousands of women, you’re no different. You’re not special.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you force yourself to take in air as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t gotta be nervous, baby,” he says, a cheeky little smile gracing those luscious lips of his.

“Sorry, I…this just isn’t where I thought I’d be at the end of this very long day,” you chuckle.

“Well, let’s make you at home then.” His smile turns reassuring and warm.

He spends the next hour getting you comfortable and fed, having the most amazing ability to relax your normally nervous nature without hardly trying. You can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the way he seems to be continuously touching you—the press of his leg, an arm around your shoulders, the graze of a finger against yours—in a familiar way, even though you’ve known him less than a day. If it were anyone else, you would have leapt off the couch and run for the hills.

What surprises you the most is that you aren’t uncomfortable at all. Excited and nervous, yes. But you don’t feel preyed upon or anything of the sort. Frankly, you are trying not to get ahead of yourself about what the rest of the night might bring.

An impromptu jam session with his old bandmates has you feeling even more surreal. If someone had told you yesterday that you would get a private concert with Elvis Presley and his former band, you would have laughed at them. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off him and how he seems to get completely lost in the music, and you right along with him. His gritty baritone combined with the sensual way he tackles each song has warmth pooling in your belly. Despite the cranked-up air conditioning, you find yourself sweating and parched, especially in the moments he smiles in your direction.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, only that you feel the heady exhaustion of being up too long coupled with an uncharacteristic hungry adrenaline running through your veins. When the jam session ends, you are both disappointed and exhilarated for what might come next.

Don’t get your hopes up, you remind yourself. This night has been amazing no matter what happens next.

“Did you enjoy that, Moonlight?” he leans over and whispers in your ear. It tickles you and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod. “Oh, yes.” It comes out more breathless than you’d like.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “Are you up for teaching me more of that sonata, honey?” he asks. It’s an innocent enough request but you can’t tell exactly what his motivations are, though for the first time in your life, you’re not sure it matters.

“Of course,” you say quietly, starting for the piano in the corner of the living space.

His warm hand catches yours, and you look back, surprised, as he shakes his head and pulls you in the opposite direction.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage as he leads you down the hall and into what you assume is his private suite. It’s not until he closes the door and you realize that you are utterly alone with him that you feel a glimmer of trepidation.

It must read on your face because he jumps in to reassure you. “Oh, honey, I just want to get to know you better, away from the rest of them. I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Honestly, I don’t want the other guys ribbing me…they don’t go for the classical stuff,” he says quietly, looking away, and you think there might be a little pink rising on his cheeks.

His sincerity is palpable, and you certainly never expected him to be bashful about playing classical music. There’s a softness to him now, almost a shyness, that wasn’t present moments ago around all his entourage. It is like a yearning for one-on-one connection, and this part of him melts all your reservations and tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, I do…go for the classical stuff, I mean,” you say quietly. You smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly as his deep blue eyes find yours again.

He looks giddy as he leads you to the second piano in the house, a baby grand in the far corner of the large suite. You sit down, opening the lid, and he slides in beside you. The heat of him rolls around you, the smell of his cologne and a day’s worth of sweat combining into an alluring combination that perks up your senses.

“Show me what you remember,” you say, and he starts to play, long, nimble fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. It amazes you that he committed everything you showed him earlier to memory so fast and so accurately. Something about it tightens a coil low in your belly. Unsure whether it’s your attraction to him physically or musically that has you so aroused, you swallow hard as he finishes abruptly.

You shake it off as best you can as you show him more of the movement, hoping the music might quell the buzzing in your veins. You go through it a few times, getting a little lost in the notes, as you tend to do. It only serves to stoke the fire in you when he picks up what you’ve shown him so quickly.

He finishes a phrase, and you move to show him the next, but his hand suddenly covers yours. Surprised, you look over at him to find his oceanic eyes searching your face so intimately that warmth blooms across your chest and your breath catches in the silence.

Slowly, Elvis leans over, cups your cheek gently, and kisses you. It’s almost chaste the way his incredibly soft lips press into yours and your surprise is so great that by the time you register what is happening, he is already pulling away.

His eyes open slowly, those lashes fluttering along with the fluttering in your heart and belly. Shock has you outwardly frozen but it’s as if he lit every one of your nerve endings on fire with the touch of his lips.

He must register your surprise as hesitance because his gaze changes to something akin to apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. I shouldn’t’ve—”

Before he can get the rest of that sentence out, your body miraculously obeys you and you unfreeze. Boldly cupping his jaw with both hands, you pull him back to you and plant your lips on his.

It surprises both of you, and it’s a second before either of you relaxes into the kiss. This permission is all it takes, however, and then his mouth is languidly searching yours and his arms are wrapping around you to pull you close. Soft, short kisses alternate with longer more passionate ones, and you feel utterly spellbound by him, every inch of your body aware and alert to his.

Never in your life have you been kissed so well or so thoroughly. It’s as if the music in his soul must find a physical outlet, and the way he explores and opens you up to him is like him playing a new instrument. When his tongue rolls softly against your lower lip, you can’t suppress the low moan that comes out of you, causing you to open your mouth. He accepts the invitation readily, expertly, and the wet plushness of his tongue slowly begins exploring.

The warmth that sparkles and blooms across your chest travels lower still, sparking fires as it goes, until you feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. It’s nearly unbearable the way he stokes you without hardly trying. You’ve never felt so aroused so quickly or so completely.

Your eagerness is impossible to contain, your fingers buried in that luxuriously soft hair at the base of his neck, your body rolling towards his of its own accord, as if magnetized. You follow his rhythm, meeting his music with your own.

When he pulls back to trail kisses down your jaw, you are left breathless and clutching the lapels of his half-unbuttoned shirt. The nuzzle of his nose on your cheek as he finds and licks the tender spot behind your ear leaves you gasping. Pleased, he does it again and your entire body shudders.

Every inch of you yearns to be consumed by him. It’s never felt like this, not with any man you’ve been with. Those were fumbling amateurs playing one handed melodies in comparison to the symphony Elvis is invoking. While he is leading and in control, you sense as much eagerness from him as there is in you. It’s reassuring and flattering all at once.

There is an embarrassing amount of slick between your legs already, soaking the cotton of your panties and leaving you clenching your thighs together in search of friction. He must notice this as he kisses down your throat and across your décolletage because then he’s looking up at you for permission with those pink, swollen lips and dreamy bedroom eyes.

It’s unspoken, but you nod and he continues his sweet journey, one hand deftly unzipping the back of your dress while his lips follow gravity as it slips down your arms and reveals your chest. Pushing the fabric off and to your waist, his hand is then hot against your bare stomach. He hums in approval when his mouth finds the swell of your breasts that spill from your simple, beige bra.

A low whine escapes you. His apt response is to thumb your nipple to attention through the thin satin before lapping at the bud with his tongue. The result is a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your core, sending you clutching his neck and writhing against him. Expertly, he undoes the clasp in the back and abandons your bra to the floor in what must be a well-practiced motion based on the speed of it.

Goosebumps rise across your now fully exposed flesh, both from the cool air in the room and the way his fingers brush so lightly over your breasts. He seems pleased with the way your nipples stand at attention under his heated gaze. You don’t have the wherewithal to feel your usual self-consciousness; instead, the sight of his pupils blown black with arousal has you shivering with nothing but anticipation.

The combination of the way his tongue darts between his lips as he lightly pinches the hardened buds has you begging for more. “Please,” you moan and that’s all it takes before he’s lathing his tongue over and around the sensitive nubs, palming the fullness of your breasts. You can hardly stand it, how everything he does makes your body sing and want to scream his praises.

A quizzical look crosses your features though when he stops his ministrations and slides to his knees on the carpet on his side of the bench. For a second you are worried something you’ve done something to hurt or displease him, but when he beckons you towards him at the end of the bench with such arousal in his eyes it nearly knocks you over, you obey without a thought.

Elvis scoots you forward and kisses your belly, sending a new wave of tingles over you. He removes one of your low-heeled pumps and then the other, ghosting kisses along your ankles before running his large hands up the smoothness of your pantyhose, pushing your dress up with them. As if under a spell, you can’t help the way your legs fall open for him when his thumbs drag up the insides of your thighs. The little coy smirk that graces that beautiful face when he feels the damp that has soaked through to the gusset of your hose has your cheeks flushing and your lips parting.

You can’t bring yourself to be too embarrassed at how wet you are because the pleased look on his face at the discovery makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. He pulls on the waistband, forcing you to lift your hips, before gently rolling the hose down your legs until they are off and discarded on the floor.

What you don’t expect is how he begins peppering soft kisses up your now bare calves, at the inside of your knees, and then up your inner thighs.

A swell of panic hits the farther up he goes, and you jerk up, unsure of what exactly he’s meaning to do. The men you’d been with in the past had been rather direct about the whole thing—once the clothes were off, they buried their pecker inside you and thrust above you, all with varying levels of success in getting you off as they did so.

But not a single one had kissed up your thighs and spread them open with a hungry and expectant look like the one Elvis had now.

Looking down at him, confused, you ask, “What are you doing?” in a voice that is a little too apprehensive for your liking, but you need to know.

He cocks his head at you a moment, as if trying to determine your level of seriousness. Then his eyes shine with understanding and in that low, Southern drawl of his says the downright naughtiest thing you’ve ever had a man say to you: “You ain’t never had a man take good care of your kitty before, have ya? Give her all the love and attention she deserves?” He runs a fingertip lightly over the wet cotton at your center and you shiver.

He can’t possibly mean what you think he means.

You must be gaping because he rises on his knees and catches your lips with his own before breathing, “Close that pretty mouth baby or you’re liable to catch flies up in there.”

You are speechless, unable to form words, but the question is written all over your face.

He leans back on his knees with a contemplative smile. “That sweet little kitty of yours ain’t never been eaten, has she, baby?”

Oh my god.

It’s all you can do to bite back a moan and shake your head at him.

He looks positively gleeful about this development, his shining eyes taking on a whole new level of arousal. Then he seems to notice your trepidation and reigns himself in.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

You had never even considered it an option before, or that a man might like to do such a thing. Maybe he’s teasing you? Suddenly you feel very conscious of the mechanics of the act and breathlessly mumble, “You don’t…you’re sure?”

“Oh, I am.” The smile of anticipation on his face seems to echo the sentiment.

The enticing thought of that beautiful mouth of his being down there on you outweighs your uncertainty and prudishness. You nod your head. “O-Okay.”

You’ve never seen a man look so thrilled at the thought of being between your legs as Elvis Presley is. “Don’tcha worry, I’m gonna take real good care of ya,” he says comfortingly. “You just lie back and relax and let me make you feel good, honey.” Then he places a kiss just under the waistband of your panties and you let out a little sigh.

The piano bench feels slightly warm on you bare back as you lay down. Elvis, grabbing under your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and your heart resumes its pounding. You truly can’t believe any of this is about to happen and steel yourself for him to rip off your underwear and go to town.

But he doesn’t.

No, he takes his time warming you up, as if he’s trying to get you used to the idea. He kisses down one hip then trails down the panty line. You tense the closer he gets to your core but then he only ghosts a breath over it before jumping to the other leg and kisses up the crease on that side. The ticklish sensation is almost too much to bear as he works his way up to the waistband again.

You are panting by the time his mouth is grazing from your belly button downwards, pressing into the soft curls beneath the fabric. He stops just short of that forbidden little spot where your aching clit resides, and you push up on your elbows to shoot him a look.

A grin spreads over his features, his eyes narrowed like a crocodile’s and full of desire and he watches you intently as he finally places a light kiss over that sensitive little button.

The sensation is nothing like anything you’ve felt before and the whole scene has your body flaming white hot. You don’t recognize the low mewl that erupts from your lips and the only thing keeping you from throwing your head back is the way his eyes are locked on yours, as if feeding off your reaction. Then he uses his perfect nose to nuzzle into it before placing a firmer kiss there.

“Elvissss,” you whine, unable to keep from throwing your head back this time.

“You like that, baby? I barely even started,” he speaks, his hot breath puffing over the slicked core of your panties. He kisses down, down until over your entrance, where he then tongues the fabric, pressing it up and into you.

“Honey, you’ve done soaked right through,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or directly to your pussy. You’re not sure you care for the way you moan, the way your body shudders and writhes, suddenly starving for anything he’s willing to give.

“Lemme see how pretty she is,” he says, and God, if his filthy yet somehow sweet words aren’t stroking you in such a way that you wonder if you could come from his lilting voice alone. He pulls your underwear to the side, finally baring yourself to him, and he whistles.

“Just lovely, and all weepy for me, too,” he says, voice thick with lust now.

The anticipation has your heart racing and your fingers clawing at the wooden bench with a whimper.

“Okay, baby, I hear ya,” he murmurs kindly, then hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and finally slides them down and off your legs. Then his hands are pushing them apart and his tongue is lightly skimming up your folds.

You gasp at the soft and silky feeling, unready even despite his preparations. When he circles your clit and then kisses it, bare this time, you are so aroused you’re afraid you might weep. But the teasing is done, and he tests you expertly. His tongue flattens and takes in the full breadth of you, licking a stripe up your pussy that sends your hips rolling.

He seems to gauge every reaction carefully, giving equal and alternating attention to every piece of you. Nipping, suckling, and kissing your swollen clit into submission and just when you think that heated coil in your belly might snap you in two, he moves down and kisses through your folds. When he laps at the arousal dripping from your tight little hole, tongues it, and then plunges it inside of you, you find yourself screaming out his name.

You can feel him smile and hum at your response, the vibrations adding entirely new sensations to the slew of new sensations you are feeling. He thumbs at your clit as he laps at your hole, and you think you might hyperventilate with how fast you’re breathing and how hot you feel.

So completely attuned to you, he pulls back and gives you a break, despite your whimpering protests. His full lips are swollen pink and slick down to his chin with you, and when his lip curls up into a knowing but almost bashful smile, you think this might be the eighth wonder of the world.

“You alright? I’m doin’ okay?” he asks, his left eyebrow quirking.

You giggle, almost drunkenly even though you’re entirely sober, because the question is so absurd but sweet of him. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say, words slurring.

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. Then he rises on up on his knees and commands you forward with a come-hither motion so deft and quick, it has you drooling.

You are powerless to resist and push your dazed self to your elbows on the bench. He meets you halfway, kissing you deeply, lewdly letting you taste the tang of yourself on his lips. Distracted as you are by his wandering mouth, you aren’t ready for the way he slides two of those perfectly long musician’s fingers up through your silky folds and deep into your wet heat.

A shocked gasp quickly turns into a moan that he swallows with another kiss. He begins ever-so-slowly pumping those fingers into you and the rough pad of his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of your sex.

“Goddamn, you’re so perfect, so tight,” he breathes into your mouth.

You can’t stop the shiver that ripples through you. “I-It’s been a-awhile,” you pant. You can’t help but look down and watch the way he works you.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I gotchu,” he purrs, then curves his fingers just so and the pleasure that courses through you has you crying out.

Your brain is fuzzy, with only one thing on its mind. Luckily, Elvis seems to be reading it because he smiles that coy smile and returns those full lips of his to your clit.

For a moment you think you might die from the intensity of the sensations he’s procuring from you. Seems an awful lot like God gave him long fingers and a full mouth not only for music, you think. Though the way he’s playing you right now and the noises he’s coaxing out of you makes it seem like a whole different type of song he’s expert at.

The way he traces and flicks and suckles your clit, coupled with the obscene sounds coming from the way he’s fingering your pussy has you writhing on the bench and gripping his beautiful hair in your hands.

More, more, more, is the only thought left.

He hums against you with one last kiss and a wildly accurate thrust and curve of his fingers. The coil inside you explodes, then white-hot, full-body shudders violently overtake you as you silently scream and hold onto him for dear life as to not fly away into the stratosphere.

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

“Good job, lil’ girl,” Elvis coos, soothing you through the aftershocks with a lathing tongue.

You can’t think straight enough to respond, only whimpering from the empty feeling when he removes his fingers, then gasping again when he laps at the arousal pouring out of your core.

It’s all too much, and, overstimulated, you whine and clench and pull at him.

He sits up again, between your legs, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he says, pulling you up by your arms and sliding you onto his lap. Boneless and naked (save for the dress bunched in a ring around your waist), your legs fall open, easily straddling his hips. Your hands grip at his shirt and you bury your head into his neck, still dizzy with release.

He holds you steady. “Didja like that? Your kitty all happy and purrin’ now?” he whispers in your ear, sending a new set of shivers down your spine. All you can manage is a pleased hum and a nod. You kiss his neck, tasting salt on his tanned skin.

A soft moan escapes his lips at that. Suddenly, you become quite aware of the hardness in his slacks, pressing up near your swollen folds. The embers of your arousal have not died, and you kiss his neck again while slowly rolling your hips into his.

Groaning, he tightens his arms around you, holding you to him. You nip at the throbbing pulse point on his neck and are reminded just how talented and famous these hips of his are when he rolls them back into you in response. He’s rock hard, straining against his zipper, the tip of him bumping against your sensitive clit. You moan and find his rhythm, feeling the wetness between your thighs start to soak through the fabric of his slacks, creating a delicious friction.

Elvis pants heavily in your ear, murmuring curses and praises as he grinds into you. At this rate, you think he might come in his pants, which just won’t do. Not with the way your pussy is buzzing, and that coil is tightening again in your belly. No, you need him inside you. You need him to fill you.

You use what little returning strength you have and rise on your knees, away from his needy cock. The man actually pouts, his lower lip jutting out with a desperate little whine and it is so alluring you almost forget what you’re trying to do. You place a finger over his lips to quiet him, then set to the task of trying to undo his lavish belt and zipper.

Once he understands, he races to help, making much quicker work of the whole thing and finally his cock springs free. It’s quite long, and the deep pink tip peeking out of his silky foreskin is already shiny and weeping with precum. Of its own accord, your finger slides over his slit, circling the slick tip and spreading the wetness gathered there. He hisses. You bring your finger to your mouth, tasting the salty musk of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his hand palming his length. He gives it a pointed tug, then another, his lips falling open as he watches you.

He’s gorgeous in every way and it’s almost intimidating the way he looks at you with such open and vulnerable lust. You can’t bring yourself hold back or tease any longer, needing desperately to give him all of you, to give him what he needs. Hovering over him, you help line him up, then slowly descend onto his cock.

You are plenty wet—he’s seen to that—but even still, the stretch of him burns. It’s been too long since a man has been inside you like this and he is much longer than you anticipated.

A quiet, “Oh, oh, oh,” is all you manage to puff out as you bob slightly up and down, taking a little bit more of him with each tiny pump. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach and murmurs encouraging praises with each inch that you conquer.

By the time you settle on the hilt of him, snug in his lap, you’re both groaning. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders because you are so full of him you don’t know what to do. You’ve never been so gorged and the pressure is a little frightening.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he slurs happily, letting you adjust around him. “Little Elvis likes you lots and lots, baby. S’like you were made just for him.”

“Little Elvis? H-He’s not so little,” you say with wide eyes, then giggle a little, which causes you to gasp from the tightness below and how it makes you clench even harder around him.

He groans. “If ya keep doing that, he’s not gonna last very long, darlin’.”

You try to move, but in this position and after that orgasm, you feel weak and a little like he’s spearing you in two. You’re almost too full, and the angle is not quite right. You wiggle in his lap, your brow furrowed, as your arms grow tighter around his neck. A low whine escapes your throat.

He notices your distress. Petting your hair, he babytalks at you, which under other circumstances might be strange for a grown man, but it comes so naturally to him somehow it both comforts and arouses you, “Oh, shh, shh, baby, s’okay. He’s a widdle much for ya, ain’t he? Sometimes he gets too ‘cited and gets ahead of ‘imself. But he’s gonna take real good care of ya, I promise.”

And with that, he gingerly shifts sideways, leans forward, and lays you down on the plush carpet under the piano. The movement has him sliding partially out of you, giving you some relief from the bursting sensation, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Your body relaxes.

He looks so gorgeous above you, with his raven hair falling in his eyes and a soft, bashful smile gracing his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

Leaning down, he nuzzles your nose, then places soft kisses on your mouth. He coaxes you back to him, the heat building between you with each deepening kiss. So focused on the rolling of his tongue against yours, you don’t even realize he’s pressing deeper into you until he’s nestled almost completely, but much more comfortably between your legs.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth. The pressure still has you feeling full, but in a delicious, silky way this time as you finally relax around him. He rolls his hips smoothly, the strokes slow and deliberate, in time with the movement of his lips. Each stroke is better than the last as your increased arousal combined with his own slickens your inner walls.

“There she is,” he moans quietly into the crook of your neck.

That feeling is back, a chant of want, want, want running through your brain as the tension and fire in your belly begin to grow once more. When he bottoms out this time, your punctuated, “Ah!” is from pleasure and not discomfort. He’s managing to hit places inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You writhe under him, starting to meet his thrusts with your own, trying as you might to find that perfect spot he keeps slipping past. If only you had the right leverage…

It comes to you once you’ve hitched your legs up around his svelte waist. You lift your hips and plant your bare feet against the grainy wooden underside of the piano, meeting his next thrust with your leveraged one. It sends him deeper, driving into that little spot just perfectly. You keen.

“Oh, goddamn,” he moans along with you.

Each thrust seems deeper than the last with your legs pressing up like this. They shake from the exertion, but it’s worth every ounce of effort for the way you feel driven into the earth by his cock. Sweat drips off his face and onto yours as he showers your body with pleasure you didn’t know existed.

He thumbs your clit, timed perfectly with the piston of his hips, and you can barely breathe at the sensation. Gasping, your entire body shudders of its own accord as you hurtle towards another release.

“I…I…I…” is all you can seem to manage as your second climax starts to crest, and he grunts with effort above you, his eyes glassy with unbridled desire.

He mutters a string sweet filth that only fuels you forward, slurring and panting, “Oh, fuck, yes…such a good yittle kitty…good girl for me…look atchu taking ‘im so deep…never been s’deep…Jesus, I can see ‘im in your belly.”

You both look at the swell of your abdomen on the next thrust and this time he holds you flush against him so you can see the tip of Little Elvis bulge out the slightest bit. The moan you let out is obscene. Holding you at the waist, he doesn’t let your hips down, instead running the palm of his hand over the protrusion while he flicks your clit furiously. Then he presses down at the same time he thrusts as hard and as deep as possible.

Your climax hits so hard and so fast that it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping his name, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!” Flaming white stars flash behind your eyelids as you flutter and clench around his length. Molten fire spreads from your core outward. You shudder and claw at him, at the bottom of the piano, at anything that will keep you tethered to reality while the rest of you shatters into a million pieces beneath him.

“Good girl, s’good fo’me,” he praises you through it, losing himself to you as you come apart.

You feel his hips start to stutter into you again because a primal need has him beyond the point of waiting any longer. Somehow, through shivering aftershocks, you have the wherewithal to force your eyes open, even as the rest of your body goes slack. He looks like Adonis in the throes of passion, his full and swollen lips falling open. In one fell swoop, he drops your hips and pulls his considerable length from you, his knowing hand pumping his slick-covered cock with expert precision.

Watching him come is a marvel and you make yourself commit this moment to memory, knowing it will fuel your arousal for years to come. He tenses above you, those sapphire eyes fluttering closed. Shivering tension ripples over him with a choked cry and through gritted teeth. Thick and warm white ropes erupt and splatter over your torso and you moan along with him. Then his eyes pop open pointedly as he watches himself cover you with his seed. The poignant, dramatic end of a brilliant symphony.

“F-fuck,” he pants, finishing off with another shiver. Exhausted, he catches himself just before crushing you with his weight, instead pressing his sweaty brow into yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingle as you both try to come back down to Earth. He nuzzles his nose into yours before kissing your cheeks and your mouth.

Eventually, you find your words. “That was…incredible,” you say breathlessly, with no exaggeration.

He pulls back to look at you, with a goofy, pleased grin. “I told you I’d take care of you, Moonlight. And boy oh boy, was that a neat trick with the piano there…that part of your classical trainin’?” he says, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Putting that college degree to good use,” you say with a giggle.

His eyes go wide and then he laughs—a musical, beautiful, contagious sound—which fills your heart up in a way you don’t quite understand.

He crawls back and helps you out from under the piano. Your back is rubbed raw from the carpet, which he kisses gently with apology, but you barely feel the sting. You are too dazed and relaxed to worry about much of anything.

When he helps clean you up and pulls you into his big bed, slotting you in next to him, you want to savor every minute. How he smells delicious and masculine, how the heat of his long body envelops your own—you want to remember everything.

Exhausted, you fall fast asleep, sated and cared for, knowing that you’ll never, ever be the same.

taglist

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge

@hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @ohjustpeachy1 @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie @idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog @deniseinmn

139 notes · View notes

thatbanditqueen · 1 year

Text

No One Walks Out Ch 3

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 3: Don't Be Rude

Summary: It's Friday night, and Becky and her family ready their house for an end-of-summer party for Ruth's friends. Little do they know two unexpected visitors are driving down from Memphis for an impromptu visit. This chapter is pretty fluffy... let me know what you think.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, sex, cursing, drug use and alcohol, some mild weird mind games and jealousy, semi-dubious kidnapping. Most of the yiddish words are slang for dick...

Words: 17.9K please send help ... I got carried away.

You know the drill, I'm the worst with the typos! I'm sorry!!!

This chapter is part of my on going fic about 1975-era Elvis and a single mom he meets after a concert in Jackson, MS. If you haven't read it, you can here:

Catch up on Chapter One here

Catch up on Chapter Two here

Thanks to everyone who has commented, sent asks, and supported this fic. If you enjoy it, please, for the love of big daddy please like, reblog, comment, share with your maiden aunt.

Friday June 13, 1975, 4:30 p.m. The Geller House, Jackson, MS

The water balloon snapped on your finger as you tied it off, and you smiled, looking out over the sink as Saul set up two big barrels of water in the back yard for the Summer Shabbat gathering tonight at your home. Ida rubbed your shoulder as she joined you in the kitchen and began to cut up a watermelon. Her eyes narrow with a smile as she looked over at you.

“So you’re not even gonna give me a clue about the mystery man you disappeared with for two nights? My only lead is that you must have met him at the concert with Danny.”

You shake your head, stretching another water balloon around the faucet. “Ida…what can I say? that was a momentary lapse in judgement… I feel so ashamed about staying out two nights in a row with no warning—”

Ida stopped chopping to push you, clucking her tongue. “Stop, for this you feel ashamed? You should feel ashamed you don’t get out more often. You have a built in babysitter. Me! I told you that night…. I told you, you’d meet someone at that concert… he can’t have been so bad, if he wanted to see you again the next day? Takes a good man not to make a girl wait by the phone sweating for days before a second date… is it one of Danny’s co-workers?”

“Definitely not.” You chuckle. “And, well, once he knew I had a kid … he was pretty turned off. So it’s a non-starter.” It was a non-starter before it started, for that and oh so many reasons you thought to yourself.

Ida looked at your expectantly, smirking. You blush, a grin followed. “Ok, Rebecca… at least tell me you got some petzl?”

“Oy, girlie, well at least you looked like you had some fun, especially that first morning …you had a big grin plastered on your face.”

“Ida!” You slapped your aunt’s shoulder.

“What, you don’t think I appreciate making whoopee? My generation invented it. Tell me, did he have a big schlong?”

“Ida…”

“So a tootsie roll?” She held up her pinky. “You know Hashem blessed me, let me just say he gave your uncle a big schmeckel.” Ida winked at you.

You shook your head, then turned, looking at her with a smirk as you made an eyeball measurement with your hands. “Like a big, fat swollen kishke… the biggest I’ve ever seen…I…” you both start cracking up… “can’t believe I just told you that…”

Ida chuckled. “Oy gavolt, girlchick, no wonder you went back for more. I’m surprised you ever came home….”

You tilted your head back, giggling uncontrollably and blushing a beet red, Ida chortled even more at your embarrassment.

She patted your back. “So, you had some fun. It’s healthy. You’ll meet someone, I know it, maybe not this Mr. Kishke….. but there are other good men out there. I promise. We should get Harriet to take you out to that go-go club she likes…”

You laugh, filling another balloon. “Ida, I’m not going to troll the disco looking for men…. If it’s meant to happen. I’ll meet someone and it will just…” you snap your fingers. “Click.”

Your aunt nodded. “Do you ever regret, you know, not marrying Teddy?”

You scowl slightly, thinking of Ruth’s father back in Birmingham. The last time you saw him, you were picking Ruth up at Pesach and stayed the night in his guest room. Everyone else in the house was asleep, Ruth, Teddy’s beautiful blonde wife, Jean, and you had thought he was too. But no, he’d cornered you in the garage as you grabbed a beer from the second fridge, pressing himself up against you, pushing you into the garage work counter, whispering “c’mon, for old time’s sake, you know you want to…” into your ear, pulling up your dress as you told him no, and pushed back on him. You had to knee him in the balls to get the message into his head that you weren’t interested in sweaty, shitty casual sex with your ex while your daughter and his wife slept upstairs.

He was drunk, you told yourself, but you still hated him, how cheap he made you feel. The next morning, after he hugged Ruth goodbye and held Jean while waving you off, you swore that you would never be alone with him again. Next time, you would get a motel room. Teddy had always been a duplicitous toad, it just took you a few months and an unexpected pregnancy to realize it. Unbeknownst to you at the time, he’d had a girlfriend back in Tuscaloosa the summer you got pregnant. You hadn’t developed your smarm detector back then, and you had been charmed by his swept aside dirty blonde hair, his college boy humor, his tan body, and most of all, his overt, romantic attention to you in front of everyone at the summer camp where you’d both been counselors. You had been utterly convinced it was true love. Boy, boy oh boy, were you wrong.

“No, Ida, not for a second, I dodged a bullet with that one. Thank God I trusted my gut.” You snapped another water balloon tight with determined finality. “And luckily Ruthie is nothing like him.”

“Well, my pretty girl, you deserve to meet a nice man, who will see you for all you have to offer. You know if you ever want me to——”

“——I know, you have the whole yenta network standing by to set me up with all the eligible single men in Jackson… OK …look, we only have an hour until the other kids get here, I still need to make potato salad, and,” you yelled to the other room where your uncle had plopped down to watch TV. “Saulie needs to get the grill set up.” Pulling down your yellow tee-shirt over your belly, you make a mental note to go change and put on a bra before people arrive.

————————————————

Elvis looked into his rearview mirror, adjusting his sunglasses one last time, then sighing. He wiped the tops of his fringed, rainbow jacket, and straightened his white collar, pulling it up and out over the top of the coat.

“Maybe shoulda called first?” He asked Jerry. He’s friend turned his gaze from the split-level house out the car window, over to Elvis. There were several phone calls Jerry would have liked to make when Elvis had grabbed him by the shoulders five hours ago in the Graceland foyer and spontaneously informed him they were going for a ‘lil ride.’ At first, Jerry attributed Elvis’ insistence they go retrieve some jewelry he’d left in Jackson right away to dexedrine-fueled paranoia. He had dealt with this before, and once he realized Elvis would not be deterred, he went along to ensure his safety. Vernon, Joe, Linda, Sonny, and Priscilla, who was sending Lisa Marie to Memphis on Monday with Dick, these were the other phone calls Jerry had wanted to stop and make as the yellow Caddy flew down I-55 toward Mississippi.

“You work for my daddy or for me, Milk? Quit yer caterwauling, now, c’mon … was a time when you weren’t scared of the open road. Now Myrna’s gotcha all pussy whipped.. man, yer worse than a teenage girl with a curfew. We’ll be there in a few hours, ya ken make as many calls as you want once we get my rings back.” Elvis had snarled at him impatiently, so Jerry coolly smoked the cigarillo handed to him and watched the lush green overgrowth of Mississippi pass them by.

Indeed, Jerry had probably spent more time getting to know Diana, Sheila and Mindi than Elvis had, shuttling them to and from concert gigs in-between and sometimes overlapping with each other or with Linda. In Elvis’ life, women were generally pointed at in the audience, or at a party or on TV and delivered by plane, train, car or bus. Sometimes he met them at a party or event, and would invite them to spend a day, a week, a month even with him. With women, Elvis could be impulsively, spontaneously, and haphazardly interested. How many times had he chartered plane to bring a girl to his house or concert with only a few hours notice? But Jerry had never seen Elvis drive himself to someone’s house, and sit in the car anxiously combing his hair to subdue his nervous energy before trotting up to ring a doorbell.

It was only after he came back out to the car to inform El that there were definitely no forgotten rings or any other jewelry at the hotel that Jerry began to suspect the real reason for their impromptu visit to Jackson. Jerry sat back down in the car, detailing the thorough, hour-long search he had just completed with the hotel security team and the manager as they graciously allowed him to inspect Elvis’ suite, then the separate room they had stored his costumes in, and then all the rooms the other Memphis Mafia members had stayed in. Elvis nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Well, fuck. Ain’t them the breaks, Jack…” Elvis hit the steering wheel a little too emphatically. “Man, fucking loved that star ring. Shit……well, since we’re here, though, might as well drop by and see that lil girl from the other day, right?”

And before he knew it, Jerry was strolling back into the Belhaven Hotel to get a local telephone book and reserve their previous suites for the weekend. He had watched Elvis’ anxiety increase over the ten minutes it took for the Caddy to wind its way through the Belhaven neighborhood to the Geller residence over in the Fondren. Elvis lurched forward in his car seat gripping the steering wheel, shoulders pinched up as he ran his hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on the gear shift, changing the radio station three or four times. And now, as they sat in the car outside of Becky’s house, Jerry couldn’t figure out why, for the life of him, El wasn’t having him go up to the house and bring out the girl for him. In fact, he wasn’t sure why Elvis hadn’t just sent him or one of the other guys down to Jackson to fetch her back to Graceland, as they had all done countless times with the other women Elvis dated.

Elvis’ was nervous for this very reason. He hadn’t called on anyone cold like this in years. Maybe decades. He had considered sending Jerry to get Becky and bring her to him, he’d been thinking about it since she ran out on him three days ago. But, well, frankly, he was afraid she wouldn’t have come and his pride couldn’t stomach a second-hand rejection. In these sort of situations, Elvis’ governing principle was to move on, dose up and forget anyone or anything that made him question whether he was undesirable, old, a fake, a sellout, a has-been, a selfish person or an unlovable egomaniac. But something had happened when he was with Becky, maybe it was the thrill of the chase, or the way being with her just felt effortless. Maybe it had been the sex, just the fact of it, let alone how good it had felt - he hadn’t felt so confident and turned on since who knows when. Maybe it was the sleeping, oh the sleep, holding her through the night, he’d had the best rest in years. Then there was his suspicion that God had brought her to him as some sort of angelic tribute, a reward for all the pain and shit he’d been through since, well, since forever. The last night together, as Becky sat in his lap playing guitar and teaching him Hebrew psalms, Elvis had begun to notice light radiating around her head, like a golden, ethereal halo, and he couldn’t shake the desire to feel the glow of her energy on his skin again. He kept this belief to himself as he looked at Jerry.

Then there was the less than spiritual image of Becky’s big, brown, earnest eyes looking up at him with unabashed, raw desire when she had sucked his cock. He smiled to himself thinking of it. Elvis had found this image coming back too him all week, to the extent that he often found he’d completely tuned out of the conversations happened around Graceland. He would hear the giggle in Becky’s mouth as she laughed at herself and her clumsy mechanics during sex. She was not experienced in the art of fellatio, he could tell she didn’t do it often, but her sweet, eager genuine enthusiasm was more exciting to him than a blow job from the most seasoned whore. The way she didn’t take herself too seriously put Elvis at ease, and he felt like a young man again, enjoying the awkward mumblings of getting to know another person. Naked.

Elvis longed to teach Becky what he liked, mold her mouth to him, fuck her sweetly and then ride her raw, tending to her swollen lips with his own as he bent her wild spirit to his will and absorbed the golden light from her smile into his being. He smiled to himself again, thinking of how she’d probably have a few feisty remarks when she opened the door, wondering how many soft caresses on her round hips it would take to melt her and get her to come back his hotel room with him. Then he remembered how she left, angry, hurt, totally misconstruing his generosity.

“Must have some sort of death wish for difficult woman…. huh… s’ a test, is what it is, He is testing me… see if I can perservere…” Elvis muttered to himself, then looked over at Jerry, who had no clue what Elvis was talking about. “Jerry, how many people have I given gifts to… ya know… money, jewelry, cars, fur coats…?”

“Tons, EP, all the time.”

Elvis nodded, reassuring himself. “And has anyone, ever, been insulted and thrown it back in ma face?”

Jerry’s expression dropped as he started to piece together why they were really here. In Jackson. Three hours from home. Five for them, because before they could come do what Elvis had really wanted to do, Jerry had been forced to go through the whole charade with the hotel and the jewelry, because Elvis couldn’t admit he was hung up on a girl. Who may or may not have rejected him. Oh shit, he thought, how did he manage to find the one women not interested in free money? Of course. Of course that is why we’re here. He cannot bear to think there is someone out there who hates him. Scratch that. Someone he is attracted to who hates him. Jerry swallowed his misgivings about the unpredictable and unprecedented scenario about to unfold.

“Nope, boss. Not one that I’ver seen. But you know how women can be on the road…it’s always the first thing in the morning, the fun is over, suddenly they're sensitive and hurt and could feel used… girls always get a little emotional, even if they knew what time it was going wit ya the night before… She was probably just insecure.”

Elvis nodded in agreement. “Yeah, an this one, she’s skittish, completely oblivious to how cute she is, ya know Jerrah?”

Jerry grinned.”Yup, oh man, I almost like ‘em better that way, good and oblivious…"

“…an all mine….” Elvis added. “Yeah, know whatcha mean…. Alright, how’d I look?”

“Sharp. Cool. You look good EP.” Jerry squeezed Elvis’ shoulder. “That lil girl is gonna cream her pants when she sees you.” Jerry hoped, rather than believed, this statement.

Elvis nodded. “Right, ok, hang tight here, and I’ll go get her. Plan is dinner, up in the suite, alone. You got the rooms set up?”

Jerry nodded. Elvis snapped his fingers, and got out of the car, smiling to himself as he walked up the path to your house, picturing your big brown eyes, overjoyed to see him, apologizing for being so rude when he tried to give you that money, your mouth in a shocked smile as you opened the door. To his dismay, your uncle Saul opened the door, wearing a “Kiss the Chef” apron and looking impatient.

“Oh good, you’re finally here, the natives are getting restless, they’re all in the back.” The 65-year old balding Jewish man started to pull Elvis in. “But where’s the ice cream cake, Cheryl said you were stopping at Dairy Cream? And whose in your car?”

Elvis stuttered, looking at Saul with his mouth agape, then back at the car, and adjusted his glasses.

“Um, that’s my employee - uh, oh, I think you might -“

Saul interrupted him. “Oy, well, don’t make him sit out there in this weather, my balls are boiling and I’ve only been standing out here for what, a minute? He’s welcome to come, we have plenty of hot dogs, though no ice cream cake - I’ll let your wife chew you out for that. Come in, come in.”

Elvis called out to Jerry, and let Saul usher them into the house, following him as he led them to the kitchen and began handing the two men trays of watermelon and hot dog buns, trying unsuccessfully to get a word in edgewise while Saul talked at them.

“Ok, ok, the ladies have the punch all set up, so this is the last to go out. The kids have been running around all meshuga for an hour, I think they’ll sleep well tonight.” Saul chuckled, winking as he gave Elvis and Jerry a knowing look.

The men exchanged their own raised eye brows, and followed Saul through a sliding glass door into the back yard, continuing on with all the minute details of the afternoon, everything he’d done to set up, the games they’d been playing and how hard to had been to get the grill going and on and on. Elvis and Jerry found themselves in a group of ten or so mothers standing around, watching a hoard of kids in swim suits chase each other around with water guns and balloons out on the grass.

Elvis started to explain to Saul again that there must be some misunderstanding as he placed the tray of hot dog buns down, but then his attention was completely transfixed by the sight of you running backwards with the kids, egging them on as they pelted you with water balloons while you squirted them with a gun. A grin spread over his face as he watched your long curly hair sway back and forth, your cheeks flushed, bosom bobbing up and down completely unconstrained by a bra, and a look of pure glee on your face as you yelled, “Ha ha, can’t catch me!” You turned to look at the group on the patio and did a double take when you locked eyes with Elvis, not noticing the slippery pool of mud you were running into and tripping backwards as you cried out a “fucking cocksucker!” A swarm of nine year olds overtook you and pelted you with water from a mix of balloons and spray guns, laughing and calling out variations of “Becky said a baaaad word….you’re gonna be too in trouble.” Ruth’s laughter was the loudest, and she ran up and squirted you in the face, then turned to run over to her friends, giggling as you lay there in the grass and mud, groaning, eyes shut, hoping the earth would swallow you whole.

You heard heavy boots thudding toward you slowly, and you groaned again as you watched Elvis’ tall, thick silhouette block out the sky above you. His hair was a bushy circle around his face, and for some reason he was wearing the most ridiculous fringed, rainbow suede jacket in 95 degree June weather. A smirk crested above his round jaw, the paunch of his belly jutted out over his belt, and you could make the ornate American eagle buckle at his waist as he bent down towards you. He was unable to stop himself from flicking one of the hard nipples that protruded through your wet tee-shirt as he muttered, in a low voice.

“They gotcha there, huh Twitch? Gotcha good.”

Elvis extended his hand to help you, the mud squelching beneath you as you let him pull you off the grass, scowling and groaning inwardly as you looked over at the audience composed of every single student of Ruth’s 4th grade Hebrew class, most of their mothers and some of their fathers. Ida was a few steps behind Elvis, a confused expression on her face as she called the kids to come dry off and get ready to eat, then padded over to where you and Elvis stood. His blue eyes danced with mirth as you pulled your shirt down, only to notice that this just made your nipples and areolas even more visible and you gave up, letting the wet yellow cloth cling to your body.

You heard Natalia’s light Russian accent asking someone else on the patio if that was Elvis Presley talking to Becky, at the same time your uncle was asking Jerry if he liked being an accountant in Lew’s firm. You wondered if you had fallen and hit your hard too hard and were having some sort of out-of-body experience, as you rubbed the muddy spot on the back of your hair and speechlessly stared at Elvis.

“What are you doing here?” You managed to squeak out, covering you breasts with your left arm.

Elvis opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by your aunt’s hand on his shoulder, as she was introduced herself and you watched Elvis respond, telling her “Hi, I’m Elvis Presley,” as if he were just a random, unknown stranger, to which Ida responded by immediately blushing and cooed “Oh my, so you are! What a gentleman running out here to help Rebecca up….Becky, where are your manners? Did you thank Mr. Presley?”

“Elvis - please ma’am…”

“Oh, wow, sure, well thank Mr. Elvis… I …my… I mean I…. Elvis I’m so glad you came to our house, you are so welcome, you know, Danny is actually still at the radio station… Becky, dear, why don’t you go change —- maybe you were supposed to meet him there? But it doesn’t matter, let me get you a drink.” Ida’s small frame handily guided Elvis towards the punch as she paused to yell at some of the women’ whispering on the patio.

“My son is a radio DJ, Marjorie, so of course important artistes are always stopping by, so you can quit your jabbering and come say hello if you want…..”

She then returned her attention to Elvis, who was politely waiting for a chance to talk as he looked back over his shoulder at you.

“You see, I didn’t realize you were coming, who tells their mother anything these days? But of course, it’s the last day of summer and we always throw a fun Summer Shabbat party for the families in our niece’s daughter’s Hebrew class, what with the water games and the hot dogs and the ice cream… here, please have some punch, and I’ll go call Danny,” she continued, leaving Elvis at the punch bowl as some of the mother’s began to circle around him and introduce themselves.

You laughed and shook your head, glaring at Elvis, before walking towards the living room sliding door. You could hear Saul’s voice rise above some of the others talking. “Elvis? No, that’s Cheryl’s husband Lew, isn’t it? What? …. well that explains why he didn’t have the ice cream cake.” As you walked through the living room towards the back of your house, you saw Lew let himself into the house, carrying a Dairy Queen cake.

————————————————

After taking the quickest shower in the history of showers, you dried your hair and stood in your closet agonizing over what to wear. You could not suppress the giddy, heated excitement you feel in your chest, even as you tell yourself what a bastard Elvis had been. Don’t look to excited to see him, do not get dressed up. But then there you are, smiling and woozily trying to decide if you liked the lacy, beige underwear you were wearing.

Throwing back your head, you swore at the ceiling. “FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck.” Then you saw it, at the back of your closet, the red kimono mini-dress your best friend Cherie had bought you for your birthday last year. You couldn’t wear a bra with it, the v-neck was too deep. You had laughed, vowing that you could never wear it because of how low it was. In the throes of desperation you settled on this choice, twirling in the mirror, the feel of the silky fabric was soft and exciting. You shiver, then put on a pair of birks and some simple make-up, just a little flourish. Mascara, neutral eye shadow and lip gloss. Taking a deep breath, and a roll on of the only perfume-like item you currently own, a lavender oil mix, you will yourself to walk out to the back yard and join the party.

Walking down the hallway from the bedrooms, you realize people have migrated inside and are milling about the living room as well as the patio. You bump into Jerry, and you grab his arm while you survey the rest of the party. Most of the kids are outside, but Ruth catches your eye and leaves her friends to run inside. Elvis is across the living room, toward the dining table, cornered by three Hebrew school moms.

“What the fuck, Jerry?”

Jerry looks you up-and-down and says “Wow,” then startles away from your at the sound of a loud cough, and he look towards Elvis, whose sunglasses have turned in your direction. Jerry gives you a deer-in-headlights expression, as he starts to mumble something about how they were in town for important business, and how he’s sorry, he didn’t know you had a kid and family or that they’d be crashing a party. You nod, listening, as you watch your cousin Danny run in, his long brown hair swaying behind him as he makes a beeline to his mother, who is drinking some punch that may or may not be spiked and laughing as she talks with some of the other bubbies from shul who may or may not have grandchildren at this party. You watch Danny whisper something to Ida as she starts to try and bring him over to Elvis. Elvis. Elvis. Who, at the same time, has excused himself from the group of blushing giddy moms and is moving in the opposite direction towards you.

You cannot look away as he stalks over, his eyes move up and down your frame as a grin spreads across his mouth and he shakes his head. Elvis joins you, slapping Jerry’s shoulder while he orders his friend to go get everyone punch, his gaze never leaving your body. Indeed, his eyes settle on your bust and get stuck there, admiring the work your dress is doing to defy gravity and physics and stay bound by the drawstring at the waist of the mini-dress. The silk fabric of the long, bell sleeves feels light and indulgent as you bring your hand up to run your fingers through your hair. Elvis smacks his lips, and exhales, and you cannot take his intense, indecent glare any longer, you feel as though your ribcage is going to jump out of your chest, or you might combust from the bonfire brewing in your belly, so you narrow your eyes and clear your throat.

“Mr. Presley.” You jut out your chin and cross your arms.

Elvis’ lips spread into a devilish grin. “My daddy’s Mr. Presley, honey, you can call me baby.” He learns forward and whispers in your ear. “I mean, after all, we have seen each other ——“

You try to hold a scowl, fighting the tremor you feel between your legs and the blush forming on your cheeks as his eyes move over you, reminding you he knows exactly what you look like under that red dress. Before he finishes saying the word naked, however, you hear Ida’s unmistakable loud gasp and look over to see that she Danny are still conferring,

“Wait… Elvis IS Mr. Kishke?” Ida’s mouth is agape, and her voice carries through the crowd as she looks over at you, seeming to take in your proximity to Elvis in a new realization.

You are not blushing, no, rather, your entire chest and face have become the same deep red color of your dress and you reflexively cover your face with your hands as you see some of the other adults snort or gulp, and shake their head as they look at you and chuckle.

Elvis leans towards you, a bewildered smile settling on his lips as he looks around the room. “What’s a KISH kah?”

“It’s a big, fat yucky sausage.” You hear Ruth’s voice and lower your hands to see her standing near you both, smiling, completely unaware of the innuendo.

A deep laugh belts out of Elvis’ belly, following by more gasps and whispers and laughs around the room, all eyes are now on you, and you bend your face further into your hands, shaking your head, wondering what you did to deserve this level of public humiliation. Meanwhile Ida’s hand goes to her face as she realizes that all the adults probably have some sense that what this exchange means. She mouths “Sorry bubela,” and then nervously walks over to a group of people asking if anyone needs another drink trying to change the conversation, yet distractedly looking back over in your direction. Danny shirks his shoulders and turns to get some grub.

Ruth’s voice pipes up again, at your elbow. “Why are you turning so red Mama?”

You try to shake off the intense feelings of shame coursing through your entire being, laugh, and give her a hug, pulling her into your side for a moment. “Oh, no reason, baby, Aunt Ida’s just so loud, isn’t she? Makes me a little self conscious.”

Ruth nods her head, then looks up at Elvis, motionless beside you, his eyes sparkling.

“Are you really Elvis Presley?” She asks, as her arm winds around you and her head leans into your bare leg. Elvis bends down in front of her, pushing up his glasses. “Nah, I’m Elton John, people make that mistake all the time though.” His lips part to reveal his gleaming white teeth as he beams, watching Ruth giggle.

“No you’re not. You’re Elvis. I’ve seen you on TV.”

“Oh? You mama let’s you watch that junk on TV?”

Ruth nods, her grip on your leg loosens a but. “Oh, yeah, well she’s probably your biggest—” you put your hand over Ruth’s mouth as you realize what she’s about to say, but it’s too late, Elvis, still on his haunches at Ruth’s eye level, looks up at you and winks, a self-satisfied smirk and a gleam in his eyes.

“Huh…” is all he says. “Well, I’m a pretty big fan of your mama’s.”

You give him the look of death. “Hey now, baby, what do you say—“

Ruth interrupts you, looking at Elvis. “Why would you want to be Mr. Kishke? Is it like being Mr. Clean, from the TV ads?”

He laughs again, “Well, not exactly…”

You pull Ruth’s arm from around your leg, and tell her to go get some food. Elvis stands, steps closer to you.

“Hey… Mr. Kishke, huh?”

You look down, shaking your head, crossing your arms under your breasts, which has the effect of pushing them out a little more in the v-neck. “Stop.”

“What? Think you’d be happier ta see me.”

“Why’s that? If anything, I’m shocked you think I’d want to see you at all. I’m actually at a loss as to why you’re even here?”

Elvis’ index finger traces the edge of your v-neck. “That why you went and got all gussied up? To show me how much you don’t wanna see me?”

You swat his hand away and snort. “We’re having guests over for Shabbat, this is the outfit I planned out this morning, to change into after the water fight…. You must be one of those folks who drive by every beautifully landscaped house thinking, ‘oh, they must be expecting me.’ I wanted to look nice just for me, has nothing to do with you.”

Elvis leans in to whisper in your ear, and you cannot help the gasp that escapes your lips as you feel his warm breath on your neck, and his hand on your waist. “Sure honey… but you should know for next time that I like bright red lipstick, as flashy as I can get it ….woulda suited ya better.”

You step back, thrown off and befuddled and trying to think of a smart retort, but you’re interrupted by a clutch of other moms who join you, and Elvis steps aside to make room, breaking your gaze and your train of thought. You smile at them, flustered and suddenly embarrassed by Elvis’ presence and what these other, happily married, women must be thinking.

“Becky,” Patty says in a high, fake voice, slipping her hand through your arm as if you were the best of friends. Your have spoken maybe three words to this woman. She turns to look at Elvis. “Wontcha introduce us to yer friend?”

The others, Margie and Linda, giggle and bat their eyes at Elvis, who cocks his chin forward and rests his left hand at his hips, extending his right hand to bring each women’s hand to his mouth, introducing himself by his full name to each one, “Why, howdy, miss, I’m Elvis Presley,” as he kisses their hands. His affect is more akin to a stranger at the debutante’s ball, rather than the most famous man in the world crashing your annual Summer Shabbat night.

Inhaling and plastering a placid smile on your face, you spend the next fifteen minutes nodding awkwardly as you get pushed to the back of the crowd that gravitates around Elvis, and you are stuck on the outskirts watching Elvis make small talk with these parents who gather around him, as Summer Shabbat slowly became Elvis Shabbat. Ida brings him a plate of food, inviting him to sit on the couch, and it did not take her much to coax him into telling the group about his recent fundraiser concerts in Jackson for victims of the recent tornado, explaining vaguely how he had come back to finish up some important business for the benefit, and figured he might as well stop by his friend Becky’s house. The way he emphasized the word friend and winked at you as he said it made you want to push through the group and strangle him there and then.

But you smile, clenching your fists as your nails form little half moons on the inside of your palm. His explanation that at first he’d thought you were just another groupie trying to crash the after party, before he realized you were there with your brother (your cousin you mentally corrected him), made you blush and grin even wider with a forced chuckle, as he said how you’d impressed him as the most charming and welcoming person he’d ever met in Jackson. You were going to show him how charming you really were when you kicked his ass out of your house as soon as everyone left.

————————————————

The kids, in an assorted stages of dressed from still damp and in swim trunks to dried off and dressed, began to loose their steam. The giggly running back and forth through the house began to slow, and families began to say good night and make their exit, taking turns as they waited to shake Elvis’ hand and telling him what big fans they were. Now Elvis was standing by the door, saying good night to people with Ida as if he were the co-host as they left. Watching from the kitchen, your mouth full of potato salad, you rolled your eyes as Lew told Elvis how much his music meant to him, tears welling in his eyes, his arm squeezing his wife, and then sighing out with pride as Elvis brought him in for a bear hug and then drew Cheryl in for a long kiss on the lips.

“Ughhh,” you moaned, and went to grab a second beer from the fridge and slipped into the pantry closet to drink it alone. Jolting when the door opened, you whisper “thank god its just you,” to Danny, who reveals a wildly grinning Harriet next to him. You finish your beer, and push past her to grab another.

“So, is Elvis your boyfriend now Becky?” Danny teased, Harriet making “ooowwww” and kissy noises behind you.

Looking through the door, you turn and you relax knowing Ruth is far away in the living room, sitting on your Uncle Saul’s lap helping him with a word search. You saw Jerry emerge from the hallway from the back of the house, where he had spent the last hour or so on the phone. He caught your eye, then looked away, he had obviously been avoiding you since you first tried to confront him, and looked guilty every time he saw your imploring expression. He must have known you had wanted to corner him and ask him what the fuck was going on, and why Elvis would show up at your doorstep, basically announcing to your family that you had slept together. You were grateful that subtext seemed to have gone over the kids' heads, at least so far. But the knowing look from their parents told you it was obvious they knew you were a big ol’ slut who slept with rockstars, and gave said rockstars the impression thought they could just show up at your house unexpectedly for sex anytime they were in town.

Jerry plopped down next to Saul, and it only took one question, “So, are you from Jackson,” before Jerry got drawn into your uncle’s history lecture on the Geller family in Jackson, Jews in the Mississippi, his children’s accomplishments, his opinions on Nixon and Watergate, all interspersed with pauses to give Ruth clues on what word to look for next, before adding in a few old jokes.

“Have you heard the one about the farmer in Minsk?” You hear Saul ask Jerry, his eyes glance over to you in the kitchen doorway and he gives you a sympathetic eyebrow raise. Ida is walking through the living room picking up dishes and muttering to herself. You turn back to Harriet and Danny, who is grabbing his own beer bottle and handing one to his sister, his face glinting with mischief.

“Shut up, Danny!” You order in a hushed growl. “He just fucking showed up, the last time I saw him, I slapped him in the face and stormed off. I never thought I’d see him.”

Harriet brushed her hair back, and took a slip of her beer. “Maybe he’s into that.”

You were about to respond, but notice Natalia, the last mom left, has cornered Elvis at the door. Her youngest daughter, Anna, is fidgeting back and forth next to her. Emboldened by the alcohol, you drain your drink, put the bottle down, and march over to get her out the door so you can dispose of Elvis without an audience. As you walk up, you hear Natalia’s Russian accent speaking to Elvis in a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, if you are looking for company here in Jackson, I have an 18 year old daughter, Genevieve, just graduated high school. I mean, Becky is sweet, but she’s almost thirty and —— ”

She stops when she feels your hand on her shoulder.

“SO good to see you Natalia,” you give her a tight hug. “Thanks for coming to Summer Shabbat…. It’s so fun to kick off the summer with y’all… only two more days until camp. Ruthie, baby, come say goodbye to our friends.”

You see Elvis pursing his lips in an amused grin, as he leans past you and tells Natalia “Goodnight honey, get the feeling I’d really like it in Leningrad,” holding that kiss with her for one, two three, four five oh give me a break seconds, while you aggressively open the door.

Elvis chuckles as he watches you shut it tightly, then roll into it, looking at him sideways, your hand ruffling Ruth’s head. “Hey baby, go help Ida clean up, hmmm?”

She looks to you, then at Elvis, then back again, smiling as he winks at her, running to your aunt with a gleeful laugh and a skip. You hear her telling Ida how she can’t believe Elvis Presley is at their house. You lean back against the door, cross your arms, and look around the living room. Saul and Jerry are still deep in a one-sided conversation. You watch your cousins slip outside. Buzzed from the beer, your earlier athletic accomplishments water fighting with the kids, and, if you are honest, Elvis’ proximity, you feel a heightened sense of your own sensuality. Your skin feels alive as you smooth down the thin, silky dress you’re wearing and turn your gaze over at Elvis, leaning against the wall and staring at you with dark eyes through his sunglasses. His lips slightly parted, as if in anticipation.

“Elvis, why are you here?”

He swallows. “I was in town for business.”

You shift, recrossing your arms as you roll your shoulder against the back of the door and turn toward him.

“Mmmhmmm.” You purse your lips, you hate how his knowing smirk makes your core tingle. “But why are you here?” You point at the orange shag carpet below your feet.

“Wanted ta see ya….”

“Did you even wonder if I wanted to see you?”

Elvis inhaled, and looked down, shaking his head.

“Why you always make everythin’ so goddamn difficult? I’m here, you’re home, I can tell you’re happy to see me—”

“Oh, so you can read my mind?”

“Mhmmm” He pouts his lip, raising just his left eyebrow.

“Mmhmm, and what am I thinking?”

Elvis speaks in high falsetto, “Gosh I just wanna kiss that handsome man but I’m embarrassed to in front of all these people?” He laughs at the incredulous expression that spreads over your face, and moves to kiss you. You meet his mouth with your right hand.

“Ha! You are delusional.”

Elvis’ hand moves to rub your shoulder instead. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

You lift your eyebrows, and then push off the door, gathering up some of the glasses on the coffee table. You look back at him, and motion for him to follow you into the kitchen, where you’ll be alone.

“Grab those other glasses and make yourself useful, unless you’ve forgot how to do normal people shit like cleaning up. Clearly forgot how to call people.”

Elvis slaps your bottom with a loud thwap as you load the dishwasher, catching some of your bare butt under your dress. You can sense his wry smirk before you see it, sucking air in through your teeth and slamming the dishwasher shut, then turning to him.

You hit his chest, with a “Not cool, Presley…” and he responds by stepping closer and boxing you in against the kitchen counter. You breath deeply, your cunt clenches involuntarily as you feel a bolt of electricity thrill up your spine.

“So you’re not happy to see me?” There is that lip curl again. Hands on your waist, he shifts his weight forward, you shiver as he crushes you into the counter. “Huh, well, you must really hate me then, if ya spent the week talkin bout lil’ Elvis.” He waggles his eyebrows again.

You blush, “I… umm … I think—”

“Mr. Kishke, though, that’s one I haven’t heard.” He looks down into your bosom, running his right hand along the side of your waist. “You know… I don't show him to every girl I meet?

You roll your eyes. “Ha. Lucky me…” even through the sarcasm, though, you can a feel a flush coming to your cheeks standing at your kitchen sink, talking in whispers with this man about his cock. Specifically, its predilection for you. You feel said cock twitch against you.

“No, really,” he groans, his voice is low and steady. “I know everyone thinks, ‘Oh Elvis Presley, he's some big rock star Casanova….’” He says this last line in high falsetto again. “But really, hand to God,” he smirks as he tells you this, “Lil Elvis, well, he don come out less he feels safe and…. cozy-like….”

You roll your eyes and let out a loud scoff up into his face. “You are unbelievable.”

“S’true, you have to see it to believe it.”

“You should go show it to Ida, pretty sure she wants to see it.”

“She’s definitely been friendlier than you have, think she’d come out ta night with me?”

“I think you’ve definitely got more of a chance with her.” You lean back, and cross your arms to create space between the two of you, breathng deeply. The air catches in your throat for a second as Elvis' right finger tips hit your shoulder, feathering lightly over the top of your arm. He leans into your ear and your eyes close instinctively as you gasp.

“Now, c’mon darlin, don’t be like that. I came all the way down here ta see ya…”

You open your eyes and look up at him, collecting yourself in Elvis’ shadow, his frame is blocking out the kitchen light, and it feels as if you are in your own little world, just the two of you and the kinetic warmth that draws you together. “Thought you said you were already down here for business…?”

Elvis kisses your neck and you exhale through your nose. “Well, yeah… but…I’d be lying,” another kiss to the right side of your neck, left hand rubbing your waist. “If I didn’t tell ya,” he nibbles the top of your ear. “Tha prospect of seeing you again,” his breath cools the wet spot he left at the base of your neck and you shiver. “Didn’t halfway get my motor running t’wards Jackson town….”

You sigh, you are a weak sack of flesh and bones, and the heady mix of Elvis’ soft lips on your neck, the delicate, needy caress of his fingers, the way his baritone voice reverberates through your body..uhhhh.. it all provokes an insistent tremor through you. You see him smile as he feels this, and moves both hands to your waist. You puff up your bosom as you breath again, and try to regain control of this situation. Hands still on his chest, you rub the fabric of his half buttoned white dress shirt, and then push him back a step, looking into up into his eyes, puzzled.

“Ok, but so, what’s changed? You got all weird when you found out I have a kid, like suddenly I was chopped liver, and then you tried to pay me off with money… do you have any idea how…. how cheap it feels to have someone hand you $500 after they just spent the night inside you?” You stutter, whispering angrily under your breath.

Elvis’ eyes search your face, and he traces his right index finger over his lips in a serious posture, left hand now in his back pocket, his weight shifted forward.

Looking around, you realize the fact that no one else has come into the kitchen means everyone probably knows you both are in here talking and they want to give you the space. You push him back further, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Honey you caught me off guard the other morning…you know, half asleep, tired as a mule after performin’ three concerts, THREE, in two days… an I hardly got any sleep on account of your insatiable appetite for kish ie kay or whatever ya Hebrew word for big ol sausage is…”

His serious expression turns into a teasing grin and his eyes light up as you kick his shin and mutter “it’s kishke and technically Yiddish " under your breath with a huff.

“Look … I’m from Tupelo an’ Memphis, women been having babies since they were 13, 14, 15 or 16 all my life. I reckon I’ve been with more women who had babies at home than I even know, considering some of the things we used to get up to on tour in those early days.” Elvis waggles his eye brows and you shake your head again, smoothing and pulling at the edge of your dress.

“And as for the money, s’not like that… wasn’t tryin to treat ya like a … lady of tha night, so ta speak…” he moves closer again, rubbing your waist, speaking softly, almost babyish “That’s jus how I am…. always wantin’ ta give yittle ol gifts ta folks I like… jewelry, cars, mink coats, and, well if he don't have anything nice, I give ‘em my wallet. Why, just yesterday, I gave a Vietnam vet I drove by in downtown Memphis $300. And I can tell you what, he didn't throw it back in my face like some folks, no, he said thank you very much Mr. Presley. God bless you and God bless America.”

“He did not say that…”

Elvis grinned and ran his hand through his hair again, then took off his sunglasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “Well, was the gist of what he said.”

“Ok, well there are two things you need to know. First, I’m not interested in gifts, cash or otherwise, if I’m with someone, it’s because I like them… so … there’s that. Second, this is just more of a public service announcement on behalf of hall women you may ever encounter, it is TOTALLY different to give a veteran on the street money than it is to give a WOMAN money after you spent the night fucking her brains out…”

“You swear like a goddamn sailor … know that? God, first words I ever heard come out of this pretty innocent little mouth were…” Elvis brushed your lips with his thumb. “…. Fucking cocksucker, wasn’t it?” He pushes back into you, being near him has become an ongoing game of tug-a-war you seem to be forever playing. His warm lips on yours and you shake your head, arms snaking their way around his neck.

“I can’t believe,” you talk into his lips, then tear yourself off him. “I can’t believe you just showed up at my house and now here I am kissing you in my kitchen when anyone could walk in here and…” you kiss him again, savoring how his eyes close and a stifled “oh baby…” comes out of his mouth, as you continue talking into his cheek. “An everyone probably knows what we’re doing.” You drop your arms, and push him off you. “Shit, including Ruth… look, I don’t know what the f—”

“Shhh, shhh, s’ok honey,” his hands are back at your sides, tracing up and up. “Look, why don’t you go tuck your baby into bed and we can go get a room somewhere alone, in a ho—“

“Elvis.” You say firmly. “I’m not doing that. I’m so, so embarrassed, I can’t imagine what Saul and Ida are thinking.”

“I think they like me…” his eyes meets yours, where he sees a skittish colt retreating from his charm. “Hey, it’s all good, baby, it’s all good. Les jus hang loose … Jerry an I’ll get out ya hair, head back ta Memphis, less’n you think you’d have dinner with me tomarra…”

You look down, you can’t help smiling. “Maybe… ok…. And…you can stay for a little while longer tonight… Ida’d probably be happy if you played us some music before you go find a hotel…”

You nod, squeezing his shoulder as you move around him, and take his hand, leading him towards the living room and onto the floral velveteen couch across from Jerry and Saul. Your uncle nods but does not pause, he’s now moved on to regaling Jerry with stories about his WWII Naval squadron in the Pacific. Elvis sits down and pulls you onto his lap, but you leap up, seeing Ruth and Ida walking down the hall from the bedrooms. Ruth is in her pajamas, and she runs over to you, as Danny and Harriet stumble in through the patio door in a cloud of dank marijuana smoke, and sit in the big, brown velour couch on the other wall, whispering and giggling with each other as they make eye contact with you. The room is quiet as Ruth stands behind you, peeking around your waist to look at Elvis.

“So you really are Elvis Presley?” She asks again, a shy grin revealing her toothy smile.

Elvis leans in. “Go ahead, pinch my nose…” she does and shrieks when he yells out in mock agony.

Ida laughs, and sits on the other side of the couch.

“Ok, Ruthie, let Mr. Presley be… oy vey, what excitement” Ida exclaims with a sigh.

She looks up at you, searching your face for any signal of what’s next, you imagine she’s contemplating what the proper etiquette is for entertaining rock stars who drop by unexpectedly when you’re hosting an end-of-the-school-year party for nine year-olds. You smile warmly, shrugging, and pivot around, patting Ruth on the bottom to go sit on Ida’s lap.

You pace to the edge of the room, announcing, “We’ve all been entertaining the great Elvis Presley, maybe we can persuade him to entertain us?”

He smiles, and shakes his head, but you grin, and go grab your guitar from your closet. Walking back in, you can hear Danny asking Elvis about his recent tour, wondering how long he was in town and mentioning how cool it would be if he’d come do an interview with him at the radio station. Saul and Ida pipe in tell Elvis how great Danny is as a DJ.

“C’mon you guys.” You shoot them a stern look as you put the guitar in Elvis lap, and sit down near him on the couch, scooching a little away toward Ruth, who slips off Idas lap and between your legs on the ground, looking up at Elvis in curious awe. “Please ignore them, they seem to have forgotten that you are our guest, not a circus monkey they can parade around town.”

Elvis looked at the guitar in his lap, as his low, playful baritone voice sending fire crackers up your center. “Says tha women who jus order me ta sing?”

“Ha, well, we took you,” you turn your head towards Jerry, “and your entourage in, unexpectedly, by the way, and welcomed you an fed y’all…”

“So you want me to sing for my supper?”

Ruth let out a laugh, and Elvis winked at her. You smooth Ruth’s dark, straight hair, steadying yourself as you return Elvis’ challenging gaze.

“Becky, if the man doesn’t want to, don’t push him,” Ida chimes in, apologetically, rubbing your shoulder. “He’s had a long drive and all his business to attend to, why it’s just nice to have him over.. and it doesn’t matter if his visit was unexpected, because you’re always welcome here, Mr. Presley, any friend of Becky’s is a friend of ours.”

Elvis grins, and picks up the guitar. “Why, that’s mighty hospitable of you ma’am, you make me feel right at home… an please…please call me Elvis,” and he winks at Ida, and you grimace as a feminine peal of laughter rings out through the room. You hear Saul whisper to Jerry that he might be jealous of his boss over there, “my Ida’s quite the looker after all these years.”

Ruth looks back over at Elvis. “Oh please, play us a song…”

“Alright baby, but what do ya think, should we get your mama to help me?” You shake your head, as Ruth laughs, leaning back into you and looking up at your face.

“Yes! No one sings like mom, she knows the Robin Hood sing, and all the summer camp songs, and Puff the Magic Dragon…”

Elvis strums the guitar, tuning a few strings, then looking over at you. “Hmm, well, I don’t know the Robin Hood song, maybe you oughta sing that one for us first, huh Becky Butt?”

You blush, as you hear your cousins try to muffle chuckles.

Ruth cracks up, and looks back up at you. “Becky Butt? Becky Butt! Ha! Yeah…. you gotta sing that for us, Becky Butt.”

Glowering, you shoot Elvis one of many looks of death you're doling out tonight , as he hands you the guitar with the most detestable smug look. You mumble how the sound track for Robin Hood has been playing non-stop in rotation with some other favorites in this house since Ruth got a book and LP set for Chanukkah a few years ago. You sigh, looking around as you start to strum, then down at Ruth as you begin to sing.

[Song link here]

Love,

It seems like only yesterday

You were just a child at play

Now you're all grown up inside of me

Oh, how fast those moments flee

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will live

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will last

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love goes on and on and on

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on…..

Finishing, you playfully rub the bottom of your guitar over Ruth’s head. Jerry is looking at you with something like attentive awe in his eyes, before he catches Elvis’ glare, and straightens up. You feel Elvis rub your knee, his lips parted in wonder and you blush again, and look down at Ruth, whose hands hit the top of your feet as she looks over at Elvis.

“Yeah, Becky Butt here is a real whiz at music,”

“Ruth! Don’t call your mama that….” Ida calls out with a swift bop to Ruth’s head, but then adds. “But it’s true, of course, Rebecca was always the family musician.”

“Huh, yeah, I kin tell,” Elvis drawls, nodding at Ruth. “Can’t expect me to follow that, s’in my contract, I only perform after acts that make me look good…ain’t that right Jerry?” He looks over at his friend, then at Ruth. Jerry stutters, but before he can answer, you bump Elvis’ chest with the guitar as you hand it back to him

“Oh no you don’t…You’re not getting off the hook with a wink and some charm here, Presley… if you review your contract, I believe you’ll find a clause requiring Puff the Magic Dragon.” You look down at Ruth. “Then its bed time, baby… k? it’s past nine….”

“Oh but Becky Butt—” Ruth whines, giggling, but cannot help the yawn that sneaks out.

Elvis takes your mind off how much you want to kill him for calling you Becky Butt in front of everyone, and starts plucking chords, letting you all know, “this isn’t on my regular set, s’only reserved for more VIP programs for my my most demanding fan, ma lil girl, Lisa Marie… she’s about yer age, darlin, give or take a decade… seven goin’ on sassy…”

He chuckles, then begins to sing, in a sweet, high voice, the words to Puff the Magic Dragon. You almost cannot believe this is happening, watching Elvis close his eyes and go into himself as he softly sings Puff the Magic Dragon in an earnest high voice. This may be one of the most surreal experiences you have ever had. In his rich voice, the words have more depth, the sound is more full, and is like a completely different bluesy, country song. Elvis opens his eyes after the second line, bends his chin forward and earnestly sings to Ruth, then you, and then turns to sing to the others in the room. You feel your heart rise up to the top of your chest and your pulse quickens, while heat radiates down through your tummy and up through your throat and you rub your neck, hoping no one can tell how affected you are by the melody rumbling out over the couch and through the living room. The vibe is comfy and cozy, and you notice Ida is swaying back and forth, then rubbing the back of your neck and squeezing Ruth’s shoulder. Saul gives you a perplexed, amused look. After the first chorus, Elvis continues the chords for an extra stanza, and nods towards over in your direction.

“Think I need some help, this is a harmony, ain’t it?” You shake your head, but Ruth hits your shin, smiling up at Elvis. “C’mon now honey, don’t leave a man hangin’…”

You sigh, breathing, before you raise your voice and sing the alto harmony as Elvis’ brings his voice down to a lower, baritone melody. After the second verse, you bring Ruth up to your lap, and sing into her shoulder, pinching her side as she giggles, until she joins in, and Elvis looks around the room, calling out “Alright, now everybody.” A round of applause and a few whoops from Harriet come after the last Honah Lee. You swear you see Jerry quickly wipe his eyes, and you kiss Ruth, unprepared as she turns to Elvis and asks him if he is your boyfriend.

“Ok, time for bed!”

“Wait mom, but is he?”

Harriet bursts out a very stoned guffaw, and you shoot her a warning look, which is followed by a push from Danny.

Elvis’ smiles wide, then bites his lips, raising his eye brows at you, a wistful look taking over as he watches you stutter your response, lifting Ruth up in front of you as you stand up.

“No, baby, we only just met—“

“But then why is he here?” She asks, then turns to Elvis. “Are you staying for a sleep over?”

You gasp, and shake your head. “No, Ruth, Mr. Presley lives up in Memphis and —“

“But it’s past 9, you aren’t driving back to Memphis tonight?” Ida gasps, scooting closer to Elvis now that you have stood up and are walking Ruth towards the hallway.

“Well, ma’am, actually” he looks you squarely in the eye, and you think of his invitation for tomorrow. “I reckon Jerry and I will go find a hotel—“

“At this hour? Without a reservation - why they’ll gauge your eyes out! No, you must stay here.” Your jaw drops as you watch Ida offer the basement guest room, Danny’s old room. Jerry begins to chime in and is about to explain that he already made a reservation but before he can, Elvis coughs loudly and tells your aunt if she is sure, thow very much obliged he is to stay the night. A mix of shock and horror overwhelm your face, you almost cannot respond as your cousins get up and make their farewells for the night, and you vaguely hear Elvis offer to do an interview at the radio station tomorrow afternoon. You go through the motions of hugging Danny and Harriet, while Ruth bounces around and takes Elvis by the hand, telling him that if he wants her to do his nails during the sleep over she knows how.

You look at Jerry, crossing your arms.

“So, will you be bunking with Elvis in the basement.” You notice him pause, and look past you, to see Elvis do a slit neck motion under his chin.

“Uhh, um, actually, I’ll be good on the couch, or the floor.” Jerry offers, standing up and looking around.

“No, a man can’t sleep on the floor.” Saul chimes in.

You shake your head. “I really think you guys would be more comfortable at a hotel, with your own space. I know you can afford it.”

Ida walks over and hits you, giving you a knowing look. Oh god, is your aunt trying to get you laid. In her house? You cannot help but assume this is the case, with the way she pinches you expectantly and loudly intones. “Rebecca Grace Hoffman, don’t be rude!”

Elvis’ face lights up with a smirk, and you can almost feel the sympathy emanating from Jerry’s eyes.

“Fine, Jerry can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep with Ruth.”

You see Jerry’s eyes flit over to Elvis, who purses his lips and gives the most subtle, almost still, head jerk. Jerry knows Elvis’ possessive nature enough to know this would be out of the question. In the sheets of one of his women? Free to look around her underwear draws? Jerry would never do this, but it would probably be the first thing his boss thinks of because it would be the first he would do. He also knows Elvis wants to be in your bed, but he is not sure if you will be bold enough to do this. You watch these men exchange looks, and then sigh, exasperatedly.

“Ok, well, I’ll go put Ruth to sleep in my bed, and she can sleep with me, and Jerry can sleep in her bed.”

Ruth lets go of Elvis' hand and runs over to Jerry, pulling him down the hall and telling him, “My bed is way better than the couch, its pink, and I have, gosh, twenty stuffies to keep you company.”

Elvis chuckles, walking over to slap Jerry on the back before Ruth leads him to the back of the house. “Good, you’ll feel right at home, just like his room back in Memphis.”

Saul pats you on the shoulder, as he shakes Elvis’ hand and says good night. Ida goes to get Elvis and Jerry clean towels, and you take the moment alone to hit Elvis in the chest.

“This is unbelievable… why did you agree too stay here ? I’m gonna go get Ruth into bed, and then I have half a mind to run you out of this house…”

“Now, Rebecca Becky Butt Grace Hoffman, don’t be rude!” Elvis says, swatting your behind as you turn to walk back to the bedrooms.

You turn around, fists clenched, and walk back up to him, pointing your finger up in his face.

“Now, get this straight. I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but I will not be having sex with you tonight. In this house. Where I live. Where my family can hear us.” Elvis’ lip curls up as your talk, and he looks out toward his car through the front window, and then around at the back patio. “Not in the house, not in your car, not nowhere. Get this, mister?” Elvis tries to jokingly bite your wagging finger as it gets close to his mouth, and you grimace. “Ughhh…actually, I’m never having sex with you again. OK?”

His simpering smirk is too much, and his eyes are a dazzling blue dancing with mirth as Elvis pushes down his sunglasses and whispers in your ear. “Ya know, for someone so sure they don’t wanna get lucky, ya talk about it a lot.”

You squeal, clench your fist, and turn around again, taking several big breaths as you ignore the sound of Elvis Presley’s distinct chuckles echoing down the long hall way to the back of the house. Ida finds you at the back of the hall, carrying towels she is taking to Elvis.

“Becky, that man clearly drove down here from Memphis just to see you. He likes you. The way he looks at you… ooh girlchik, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. So whatever went down, don’t be too hard on him… all men can be idiots, they can’t help it, especially men like that… ”

You sigh, and Ida pats your shoulder again, while you go pull Ruth away from introducing Jerry to all her stuffies, asking if he needs anything before pushing her into the bathroom to brush her teeth, then tucking her into your bed. You have been reading The Hobbit together, but its 10:15 pm, and Ruth’s eyes are now half closed as you rub her back, so you turn the overhead light off and talk softly with her, as she asks you again why Elvis came to visit and whether you can take him and Jerry for ice cream tomorrow.

“Time to sleep, my little kindela…” You whisper, as you sit next to Ruth on the bed. You had just spent all of fourth grade bribing her with an extra allowance and treats to get through the night in her own bed, trying to train her out of the habit of sneaking into bed with you in the middle of the night. Then Elvis Presley walks into your house, and all the rules get thrown out the window.

“Mom, if Elvis isn’t your boyfriend, then what is he?” Ruth yawned. “You know he said he has a whole room of stuffies at his house, and alot of Disney movies on film.” Her brown eyes squeezed shut with another yawn, it was contagious and you follow suit. … “Thet he shows on a projector in his basement….” Her eyelids closed, and you smoothed her back.

“Hmmm… that does sound pretty nifty… Elvis is just a… friend… I promise I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow, ok? We’ll get you packed up for summer camp and maybe go get ice cream, just us, how does that sound?”

You think about her question, whether Elvis is your boyfriend, and you have no idea how to explain the nuances of casual adult relationships. With rock stars. Ruth was three when you moved in with Mark for a few years, the most serious boyfriend you have had. Ruth remembers him pretty well, considering she was five when you split, and is still pretty friendly with him whenever you run into him at temple or around town with his wife and their two kids. Then there was Bruce, who Ruth vigorously disliked and made sure both you, and he, were aware of her disapproval. That relationship lasted six months, and you know it had a lot to do with the fact that Bruce was stiff around kids, almost the exact opposite of Mark, who wanted to make a home together have three or four more kids, and play out your days like a hipper, groovier Ozzie and Harriet. The home life Mark had grown to desire had taken you by surprise, considering you had bonded over your love of folk music, counter culture and progressive politics. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but you were pretty sure it involved some sort of livelihood of your own, and you still felt like you weren’t a grown up yet sometimes because you hadn’t figured out what you were supposed to be doing with your life. Elvis clearly had never grown up, and you could see why Ruth liked him, he was playful, funny and had no problem making fun of you, which was often your daughter’s social role.

“Sounds goooo” Eyes closed, Ruth’s voice trails off, and you continued to sooth her back, singing softly one of your favorite Disney songs from Dumbo, “Baby Mine,” which, if had Ruth been fully awake and alert, she would have told you she was too old for this song. However, in her twilight state, she smiles and her eyes droop completely, and you rolled your thumb down the middle of her nose, an old trick that kept her shutting her eyes if she tried to open them.

————————————————

Unbeknownst to you, Elvis had wondered down the dim, brown corridor after Ida had handed him a stack of towels and said good night with a friendly, knowing smile. Now he stood at the corner of the hallway watching you. Pulling his hand through his hair, he shifted and guiltily looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him. He felt like a voyeur viewing an intimate moment between you and your daughter, but he couldn’t look away. Your breasts had been bulging out of the v-neck of your dress all night singing a silent siren song to him and he had wanted to be as close to them as possible. The sight of them resting over the top of the guitar, heaving up and down while you sang had completely done him in, and he was fairly certain you were the only person in the room that night unaware of how radiant and sexy you looked. Elvis found your aloof and self conscious demeanor captivating, he felt completely at ease when he was near you, and the sour or terse words that came out of your mouth didn’t matter, because you couldn’t conceal the affectionate gleam dancing behind your large, brown eyes that beckoned him forward.

Elvis had fought the urge to pull you on to his lap and kiss you to kingdom come in front of your whole family after you sang that silly Robin Hood song. Jerry, he realized he should say good night to Jerry, and so he pulled himself away from his view of you tucking Ruth into bed, and knocked on the door to Ruth’s bedroom. Bare feet hanging over the edge of a pink twin bed, with a quilted cover, Elvis couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Jerry trying to get comfortable in Ruth’s bed as he checked in, ignoring Jerry’s exasperated look as he mumbled that he had prepaid $500 for two large hotel rooms where they could have been instead.

You were closing the door to your bedroom as softly and quietly as you could when you felt Elvis’ warm hand cupping the roundness of your bottom through your dress, then moving lower, to go under the cloth and rub your butt through your underwear. Jerking forward, you shake your head, seeing him, towels bunched under his jacket, your snarky retort silenced by his index finger over your lips.

“Shhhh… hey, can you come tuck me in?” He whispers, eyes dancing.

You grab the towels out of his arm pit, and carry them in front of your chest, leading him to the basement stairs at the back of the kitchen, whispering back. “Mhmm, a good knock to your head should do the trick… ”

“Sounds fun.” Elvis slaps you butt again, grinning like an idiot as you quicken your pace ahead of him.

You hear him close the door at the top of the stairs, the room is lit by a few soft table lamps around the finished basement. Your bare feet hit the puce green shag carpet, it was soft between your toes and you got your bearing. Dropping the towels on the dresser, you turn to Elvis, arms crossed.

Elvis took off his jacket, hanging it over the edge of the desk chair, before plopping down on the plaid couch against the side wall and spreading his arms across the back of the sofa, patting his knee for you to come sit with him. You shake your head, watching his eye brows go up in a question, seemingly surprised you were not running over to be with him.

“So how did you even find me?”

“Just followed the direction of ma pecker honey,” Elvis looked down at his crotch and then back at you with a goofy smile. “Somehow he just know’d where you’d be.”

“Ugh, my god, how do you ever get dates with lines like that?”

Elvis inhaled, deeply, and stood, striding toward you. “Most women find me charming.”

“I’m beginning to suspect most women are just hanging around waiting for you to empty your wallet,” you say, unable to stop your self from walking backwards into the laundry machine across from the couch as Elvis strode toward you.

Elvis’ hands on are on you, softly rolling his knuckles over the sides of your upper arms, leaning into your ear.

“You're right, baby, I ain’t ever had any skills seducing women…” his breath was on your neck, his hand following slowly, caressing the base of your neck, his mouth over your forehead, taking in the shallow sound of your inhale. “Like when I do this,” his other hand was at your waist. “Or this,” he kissed your forehead, “or this… “ his lips worked their way down along the side of your left eye toward your cheek, as he turned your chin up to meet his mouth. “I’m told it jus leaves em cold…” just before he kisses your mouth, you open your eyes and look up at him with serious, concerned eyes.

“I…. I… don’t … I’m not one of those women who expects money or diamonds or other gifts…that’s not my bag…”

“Ok, baby, I got it… no nice things…just sex…” he lifts you by the waist and sits you on top of the laundry machine, pushing his largesse between your legs.

“Elvis, I’m serious…and, I am NOT having sex with you tonight…”

“S’ok honey, I hate sex, it’d make me feel cheap and easy to have you take advantage of me like this….”

“Listen, I’m serious…”

“Me too …” his kisses on your neck become more fervent and insistent, while his right hand seems to have found its home fondling your left breast. You didn’t even realize your hands had moved up around his neck, gripping the back of his collar. You pull back.

“You have a girlfriend, though right?”

“You didn’t seem to care about the other night…”

“Yeah, well, that was a stupid, rash impulsive decision… with a planned expiration date… I didn’t think I’d see you again, or that you’d be coming here to my house, meeting my kid, going to my cousin’s work….”

Elvis paused, and took a deep breath, holding your eyes with his. “Listen, lil girl, there are probably ‘bout five or six chicks out there at any given time who would claim to be my girlfriend… but they know how it is…”

“And how is it?”

“I gotta be free to have fun….” An impish grin grew as he side this, as if bragging, and you couldn’t help but scowl playfully. “But, look … I’m having fun with you… an I want to keep havin’ fun wit ya… if I’m with a girl, she knows I’m not a one-woman guy…. And they’re ok with that… my intentions are honorable, and they know I’ll take care of 'em…. In my line of work, I’m gonna travel a lot, and they know I’m gonna meet people on the road…”

“Is that what I am? Some easy road gal?”

“Honey,” Elvis kissed the other side of your neck. “Ain’t nothin’ bout you easy… trust me…”

You push his chest out. “Ok, but what is this then?” Elvis’ hands move to rub up and down the top of your thighs and round over your knees, as your legs hanging off the top of the laundry machine on either side of his waist.

“Look, I like you, I can tell you like me… so let’s just have fun…” You gasp as his hands work their way under your dress to the elastic band of your underwear, his right hand palming the warm moisture wicking its way through the cotton cloth.

You moan out and bolt forward as his fingers probe further under the center strip of your panties, working their way under the fabric.

“Elvis, I can’t…” you moan out again as his forefinger slips over the pubic hair feathering your lower lips. “I don’t want anyone to hear us having sex, to know that I did this down here…”

“S’ok, honey, we’ll just be real quiet… no one will know…”

You bite your lip and grip his shoulder blade as you jerk forward when his index finger finds your clit, stifling a louder moan.

Elvis smiles on your nose, his forehead bending to meet yours, his breath is stilted. “Ya know, my bed room in Graceland is fully sound proofed…” his fingers move out to the top of your under wear, and pull them.

“I don’t know if I can let you do this here…”

“Now..” Elvis lowers himself on his haunches as he pulls your panties all the way off your feet. “Don’t be rude,” he kisses your inner thigh, first on the left side, “Rebecca,” then your right side, “Grace….” Then he flips the edge of your skirt up to reveal your bare waist, pulling your thighs forward so you’re sitting right at the edge of the laundry machine and he’s right at eye level with your pussy. He leans in to kiss the furry folds in front of him, and you throw your head back and a fervent desire takes over, all your concerns about where you are, what you are doing, what anyone might think, they all fade away, all that you care about is Elvis’ hands on your thighs, and the needy ache building up in your core. You gasp loudly, leaning on to your hands as they steady themselves against the cool, enamel of the laundry machine.

“There she is…” he whispers in awe, his fingers slowly parting your sheath, beginning to hum the melody of Amazing Grace “ how sweet the taste… that saved a wretch…” he leaned closer to lick the seam of your cunt, “like me….” He spread you further, sucking his thumb, eyes never leaving your quim, as he brings his slick thumb to rub your button, “ I once was lost…” Elvis moves his thumb to suck your clit with a pop, “but now am found…” and his thumb trails down to the silky, slick space right at your entrance, as his tongue takes over flicking your nub slowly, firmly, insistently, and you feel his humming start again intermittently as he lavs at your clit.

You cover your face as Elvis hums’ reverberate up into your belly. “I can't believe,” you moan into your palm ‘I’m doing this… I told myself I wouldn’t…” You shudder as a another lick tingles your core. “Do this….”

Elvis stops using his tongue on you, and you feel the vibrations of his voice resounding into you, “Now, sshhhh, shhh, what was that?” He brings his thumb over your clit, moving in a rhythmic circle as if coaxing a response, as he turns his ear to your vagina. You laugh and shiver at the sensation of his warm breath on your skin.

“What's that now?” He looks up at you as you run your hand through his black hair, a look of gleeful mischief on his face as he nods, as if listening to your pussy talk to him. “Ya been ignored the last few days?” His voice is now affecting an almost patronizing, babyish tenor. “‘Most days? Ooh uh huh…. don'tcha worry none, Daddy's here, he always takes care a his yittle girl…..”

You slap the side of his head playfully. “Oh my god…. quit playin…’”

He laughs, and returns his attention to your cunt, with a “There now, you heard her, no more playin’ round…time to get down to business…”

Each flutter of his tongue over your nub is more dastardly than the last, inducing a mantra of “oh gods” from you as you feel a burning ache spread through your lower body. Elvis inserts his fingers inside you, and his left hand holds you steady as you squirm with the intense shock waves of the pleasure coiling behind your belly button. Steadying yourself on the back control panel, you laugh when you accidentally hit the start button on the dryer and the machine starts to vibrate and heat up, and you use your hand on Elvis’ head to try and stop his machinations while you jostle to turn it off.

He looks up at you, wiping the mix of his salvia and slick off his mouth with a winsome, happy grin, “Is it me or am I makin’ the earth move?”

“Ha! It’s definitely you!” chuckling, you cup your hands around his face and draw him up to you, tasting your tangy flavor on his lips as you kiss him, giggling, nudging his nose with yours and relishing the sound of him releasing his belt, unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop down. You cannot help but smile at the feeling of his warm, girthy length hitting your thigh. Elvis' hand goes to lead himself inside you, pausing to look at you.

“Goddammit Becky, yer so goddamn beautiful…” you nod and grunt out softly as he pushes inside of you, the breath hitching in your throat as you watch his pupils widen and his mouth contort into the shape of a diamond.

You begin to unbutton his shirt, shaking your head.

“Ahhh… I still can’t believe… I’m doing this… ugHH… I told myself… I would never see you again, and then tonight… I definitely promised myself…HAhhhh… this wouldn’t happen….” You toss his shirt of the floor, and he rolls your dress up, looking down to watch as he enters you again, keeping an easy pace, then looking you in the eyes.

“Oh god.. looOOrrrd … want me to stop?

“Nope,” you groan again, wrapping your legs around as much of his waist as you can manage, your hands are on his shoulders and you undulate your hips forward to meet his gentle, sensual thrusts.”Don’t you dare… it feels… uhhh.. even better…ffffuckkk ….than I remember..”

Elvis mouth tightens in an O and his eyes narrow with intensity. “Uhh… honey… I know.. oh God, Becky… I’ve been thinking of your snug lil mitten since ya slapped my goddamn face the other morning…an AHHHhhh … an ran out on me…”

His cock hits you an angle that sends a charged bolt of electricity through you every. Fucking. Time. And you shudder, gliding forward and holding back your moans as best you can, savoring the sensation with Every. Fucking. Thrust.

“Oh God… don't remind me I did that…” huff, “ though you did talk to me…” you grab him by the back of hs neck, “like a whore…ahhhh… and..” You huff “I wasn’t exactly overjoyed when I first saw you today…”

Elvis kissed your forehead, increasing his pace slightly, but still rocking back and forth casually into you as he spoke and groaned and huffed and moaned. “Yeah, and the way….uhhhh…. you ran off an ….ahhh oh baby…. an threw on this slutty lil dress…” he pulled your dress over your head with a smile and a wink, throwing it over his shoulder. “Ya…unnhhhh… ya really showed me how unwelcome I was….”

You both giggle as you look into each other’s eyes, now fully naked. You pull him closer into you, arms around him, hungrily seeking the warm flesh of his body smushed into yours. Your skin heats up, and your hips sync into a familiar, desperate tempo, and you’ve lost the composure to speak in full sentences. Instead, you communicate via the staccato sound of each other’s panting breath and groans. Elvis bellows out a loud grunt, looking at you with a intense desperation, his pace surging forward. The light is dim, and in the shadow of his body all you can see is the need in his eyes.

“Oh God, Becky, you feel so ga -ga -ga-goood…. So goddamn good….” Elvis pulls pack, and you unclasp your hands from his neck to lean back on your wrists for support, while he bends to suckle at your breast, his hands gripping your back, pushing your areola farther into his mouth. You spasm forward as his teeth grate your nipple, burying your face in his hairy shoulder to muffle your cries as you chase your climax and writhe around his cock when the tremors of your orgasm overwhelm you. Elvis' hands are cupping your face, clearing the damp hair from your forehead as you pant, his lips are now on your neck and he rolls his hips into you, riding you through it and swallowing your moans with his mouth.

“S’ok… you ok?”

“Mhmmm… oh my fucking god… ooh my god…”

Elvis laughs at that. “There’s that Twitch I was lookin’ for….uhhh” his breath hitches as his rhythm slows, but his thrusts become more powerful. “Uh…I just want to be inside of you forever honey… Baby I gotta have this always…” Now you chuckle, and then bite your lip as you flick his nipples and he shoots you a fierce look, raising his eyebrows as he pumps into you harder, while you whisper in his ear to give you everything he’s got and slap his ass. Twice.

“Huh, you sure you can take it? ” He grins, and you nod, thrusting up to meet his hips and his movements become erratic and he holds your chin. “Ok, I’ll give it ya…. Oh baby… Imma give you everything… fuck…Here he goes… Ohhhhh lord almighty FUCKKKKK” you feel his cock throbbing up into you as he pulls your hips down on to him several time, then stops, twitching. Elvis stills completely and he pulls you as close into him as he possible can, kissing your shoulder. Sweat trickles down his brow and nose, and you wipe his face with your hand, then he kisses the top of your head and rests his chin there.

“Fucking hallelujah and amen….” Elvis mutters, his fingers circling your back, and you lean onto his chest, turning your ear toward the swift beating of his heart, gripping your arms around him as tight as possible. You stay intertwined in each other like this for a another minute, then he shifts his head off of you and you feel him pull out followed by the release of cum that trickles down your thigh. Elvis steps out of his pants, looks at you sheepishly, and then grabs you by your buttocks and lifts you giggling and kissing his face over to the bed.

"Jus so you know, yittle Elvis must really like you… he doesn’t never finish inside just anyone… that’s how much he trusts you… that’s how much…” Elvis kisses your lips as he throws you on the bed with a laugh. “How much he respects ya….”

“Hmm… ooh to be filled with his spunk…what an honor indeed…” you giggle.

“Oh, ya think this is some sort of joke, huh? I’m naked, bearing you ma soul, an ya laugh?” Elvis grins, hovering over you and tickling you as you giggle more, until you swat him several times and eck out that you do not want to wake the household.

He stops, pulling up the covers. “Probably too late for that honey, you were moanin’ up a storm…. Les just hope they think another tornado was passing through….”

Covers pulled back, you lay in an naked embrace, murmuring to each other as your fingers haphazardly trail over his chest and down his stomach. You nuzzle into his armpit and he kisses your head. You hum some of that song from Robin Hood while he strokes your belly.

“I’m crazy about you, kid. Come back ta Memphis with me tomarra, you can bring ya baby, ain’t no thing, Lisa Marie is coming next week, they can run each other ragged round the place… we can run each ragged round the place…” he grinned.

“I can’t, Elvis… I’m dropping Ruth off at summer camp Sunday… she’ll be gone for three weeks….”

“Well, thas perfect, Jerry an I can take y’all, then you come back to Graceland and I’ll show you what its like to make love with sound proof walls…” he smirked, finality in his voice.

“Mhmmm… I can’t leave the store, it wouldn’t be fair.. to Harriet… to my aunt and uncle…”

Elvis grunted. “Hmmm…. Well, don’t make up yer mind right this second… think on it …” he cooed, rubbing your shoulder, then jumped up and walked to his jacket, you see him rummage around in his pocket, and pull out some loose junk, then pick out a few pills, swallowing them down dry. You raise your eye brow, but say nothing, as he walks back, trundles onto the bed, and you fall asleep there in his arms, completely naked.

It’s 6 a.m. when you wake with a jolt to feel his embrace tight around you, his snores warm the top of your hair, and you smile, wanting to stay like this as long as you can, but you think of Ruth waking up alone and seeing you come out of the basement in your dress from the night before. So you move his arm, sneak up the stairs, and shower, before dressing for the day, and sitting at your vanity to make a list of everything you have to do that day to get Ruth ready for summer camp. There is no way you’re letting Elvis drive you to drop her off, no way you are going to Memphis. But you smile, thinking of the previous night’s activities.

————————————————

When Elvis stumbles up the basement stairs, it’s noon, and he finds Jerry in the breakfast nook next to the kitchen talking to Ida, a fresh pot of coffee brewed. Jerry jumps up to get Elvis a cup, but Ida waves him off, and moves Elvis to another chair, before proceeding to mother the two men as if they were her children. You walk into the kitchen to find Elvis smiling while Ida brings a second plate of freshly fried challah French toast, regaling him and Jerry with embarrassing stories about you as a teenager.

“Oh, well Rebecca was definitely the only creative one in a family of left brain types, you know, she always loved being outside, she was a counselor at Camp Jacobs, all the kids were, actually… but Becky, oy, she’s such a talented artist - music, drawing, sewing, she made those dungarees she’s wearing, you know. Her talents are really wasted managing the shop.”

“I like working at your hardware store just fine, tante…”

Elvis raises an eyebrow your way, taking in your flower-patterned overalls as he learns that your mother, father, and older siblings are all lawyers.

“Except Deborah, she’s a judge now, up in Memphis actually.” Ida adds.

You change the subject, asking the men what their plans are, as Ida does the dishes. Jerry and Elvis look at each other. Elvis had promised he would do an interview with Danny at his radio station that afternoon, and Ida interrupts to see if they plan to stay another night, inviting them to have dinner with just the family if they want to. Elvis catches your eye, as he stutters, thinking of his invitation to go out. Just as he starts to say that maybe he and Becky might go somewhere, Ruth runs into the kitchen, excited to hear that Elvis is staying and asking where he’s talking you all that night.

“Ok, I’m gonna cook dinner here,” you announce, “and then maybe we can go out for ice cream? I don’t know, though, I feel like if we go anywhere with you, you’ll get mobbed and then—”

“How will we get our ice cream?” Ruth adds earnestly.

“Well, Jerrah here is an expert at scouting out good ice cream parlors, maybe he can find one for use to go to?” Elvis grins, looking over at Jerry.

Ruth does a little dance as she says, “Yay!” then hops from leg to leg. “So, I have a joke…. Where does a fish keep his money?”

Elvis cracks a smile as he looks over at where you stand, leaning in the door frame between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. “I don’t know, kid, where?”

You turn to finish putting the last few things in Ruth’s suitcase, her voice squealing out “In the river BANK!” behind you, and you hear laughs echoing through the house. You chuckle to yourself as you hear Ruth continue to recite corny jokes to the boys.

Prepping your specialty, Southern fried tofu while you listen to Danny’s interview with Elvis at 5 p.m., you watch the men exchange shrewd expressions when they return from the station and Ruth explains to them that you’re a vegetarian, and all the reasons why, before cajoling them to come hula hoop with her.

Elvis pushes Jerry to go with her, with a promise to join in a second, then he is behind you as you sauté collard greens, leaning into your neck whispering, “Hmm… vegetarian, huh? Seemed to have no problem putting ma meat in your mouth the other day…” and you roll you eyes with a soft “Ha ha ha…” unable to resist the warm comfort of his body, and you wiggle your butt into him, turning your head to kiss his cheek, as he stays there, pushing his mouth into your neck while you cook.

You don’t notice, but Ida comes by the kitchen, and stops for a moment to watch the two of you sway and mumble to each other in an embrace over the stove, walking away with a radiant smile to go check on Saul, who’s been doing some work on the front yard.

Elvis, Ruth and Jerry go out back and pick flowers for you while you put the finishing touches on dinner, and you light up with delight when Ruth brings them over, announcing “these are for you Becky Butt.” You scowl at Elvis every time she uses that nick name, and you hit him with a laugh when he pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone to tell you how much he liked dinner before you and Ida start clearing the table.

“Really? You liked the fried tofu?”

He holds you on his knee, eyes alight. “Baby, that was the best damn appetizer I ever had. Ready for the main course.” He wiggled his eye brows at Ruth. “You’re not full, are ya lil britches?”

Ruth’s mouth turns into a wide, enthusiastic smile, “Can we have ice cream as the main course?”

“The country fried tofu and greens was the main course, baby, don’t listen to this man…I’m not sure he earned his dessert… only good lil boys who have good lil manners get ice cream.” You pull his arm off you and finish clearing the table.

Saul is at the sink, doing the dishes, and Ida pushes you out of the kitchen, telling “You kids go out and get your ice cream already.” You go kiss her cheek, scoffing that Elvis and Jerry are far from kids.

The air inside the empty Baskin Robbins is a cool salve to the hot Jackson night. You don’t know how, money you assume, but Jerry arranged for the shop to stay open past their 7 pm closing time. The four of you are the only customers, and you pinch Elvis’ shoulder as you get up to go use the bathroom, telling them to order you a scoop of butter pecan. Ruth announces that she can’t decide, so Elvis looks at Jerry, and, winking at Ruth, instructs the server to bring the table a scoop of every flavor, on one big plate. Ruth’s eyes get huge and she bangs the table.

“My mom is gonna flip her lid when she sees what you ordered!”

Elvis slaps the table. “Oh no, ya think so? Quick, call that girl back here so we kin cancel our order…” and he chuckles as Ruth shakes her head no. “Ok, then, don’t you worry bout your mama… now Ruth, what’s the story with your daddy?” Elvis starts tapping his fingers along the top of the table.

Now it’s Ruth’s turn to wiggle her eye brows, and she folds her arms on the table. “Oh him? My daddy is a lawyer, he lives in Birmingham with his wife Jean, and according to my mom, ‘he’s a bastard and I don’t know why I ever liked him,’… at least that’s what she says when she doesn’t know I’m listening…”

Jerry looks down, shaking his head, as Elvis belts out another belly laugh. Jerry was starting to like Becky and he shuddered as he realized the different permutations this relationship could take as he watched Elvis use Ruth to get the skinny on her mom’s love life, asking whether Becky had boyfriends, and learning about her past serious relationships. He hopes that when they leave tomorrow, Elvis would get back to Memphis and Becky would be out of his system. Otherwise, knowing how his boss could get fixated on a woman impulsively, he saw a tumultuous month or so of Elvis having him drive them back and forth between Memphis and Jackson. Maybe even trying to get Becky a house in Memphis, or buying her a house in Jackson so he can control how the relationship worked out. He didn’t see Becky going for that, and hoped she might tell Elvis to take a hike. But as Jerry watched her stroll back to the table, an irrepressible look of delight and happiness in her eyes, he realized it was unlikely, and worried how she would try to make what ever fling this was going to turn out to be work long distance through tours and other girl friends, as Elvis dragged Becky and her kid and her sweet normal family into his chaos. It was then, as Becky cried out with shocked surprise when the server put down four bowls with 31 scoops of ice cream, that Jerry started thinking of ways to get Elvis to dump her.

————————————————

It is 8 a.m., but the Mississippi sun was up early, and the frame of Elvis yellow Cadillac is already hot to the touch as you open the back door, only to have Elvis slap the white leather of the front seat and cluck for you to get your butt next to him. You look at Jerry with pity as he lugs Ruth’s suitcase to the trunk, and Ida and Saul are giving your daughter a succession of tight hugs, then walking her out to the back seat.

“Have a safe drive,” Ida’s hand rubs your arm over the window frame. Elvis jumps out of the driver’s seat, and walks around to give your aunt and uncle a big hug, and you notice that Ida whispers something in his ear.

You lecture Elvis on how the drop off will go at Camp Jacobs, instructing him not to get out of the car, not to take off his sunglasses or start making a spectacle of himself for the staff or other families dropping their children off, you know a lot of these people, you and your family grew up going to this camp every summer, and you are only letting him do this so you can spend an extra few hours together, before he drops you in Jackson and heads back to Memphis. Ruth asks the guys what their favorite cartoons are, what their favorite television shows and movies are, and whether they plan to see Jaws, she thinks it looks scary, but she’s not a fraidy cat. You make a withering face just to Elvis as she says this, and you notice that Ruth is completely unperturbed by the fact that Elvis has his arm around you while he hums along to the songs on the radio, then explains to Ruth how the problem with cartoons are that they are on Saturday mornings, and he wishes there were more Saturday night cartoons, so he could watch them with his daughter.

“That’s why I just get copies of all the cartoon films I can … y’all will have ta come up to Graceland sometime, we can watch Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Lady and the Tramp, I got ‘em all…” you jab Elvis in the ribs as he says this, a warning shot, because it is so uncool to make plans with Ruth for the future, when you haven’t even discussed the next step with him yourself.

The sign over the wrought iron arches of Camp Jacobs greets you as Elvis pulls up, and the staff at the gate squint at him with a furrowed brow and puzzled recognition as you lean across his lap and give them Ruth’s name and cabin group. Your breasts graze the top of Elvis’ thighs, and you feel him push his legs up into them with an innocent look on his face as you settle back in your side of the front seat. At Ruth’s cabin, Elvis, to no one’s surprise, does not keep a low profile. He jumps out, swaggers to the trunk, gets Ruth’s suit case, as he introduces himself to every counselor and parent in sight, before a sizable throng have gathered around, and you hear Ruth telling people that Elvis is her mom’s boyfriend. You steady yourself as you bend to kiss her and hug her and kiss her again, Jerry gives her a high five, and Elvis bends down, gives her a hug, and then tells her to have a good summer.

“Give em hell, lil’ britches.” He kisses Ruth on the cheek, and she giggles, kissing him back, whispering a shy thanks in his ear for all the ice cream and reminding him that she still can’t decide which flavor is her favorite, so they might have to order all 31 scoops again next time. He laughs loudly, and you have to pull him away from the campers after a good 30 minutes posing for photos with anyone in her cabin and the adjourning one who had a camera handy loaded with film.

————————————————

Cat Stevens voice sings at you from the Cadillac’s speakers as you drive back to the highway, Elvis' hand is on you again in the car, it's just Jerry in the back seat now, and so E makes no attempt to hide the intimate way his fingers caress your inner thigh. Relaxed, tired and in a daze from another late night showing lil’ Elvis your version of Southern hospitality, and also, the whirlwind of the weekend, you lean into Elvis arm as it crosses in front of your breasts, and lay your head on his shoulder. You wake up, rubbing your eyes, realizing you dozed off, and then sitting straight up with a jolt when you see the signs for the US-61.

“Elvis!” You shout, “Elvis, this is not the way back to Jackson.”

He hums softly. “I know honey, s’cuz we ain’t goin’ back to Jacktown.”

“Elvis, turn around, turn around, I can’t go with you to Memphis. My aunt and uncle will worry.”

Elvis rubs your shoulder. “Honey, they’re the ones who packed your bag…I’m sorry Twitch, you done been kidnapped.”

You shriek up to the roof of the car, and slap his arm, hard, which only works to provoke more chuckles as you rant. “Of all the arrogant, bullshit, fucking entitled, rock star, fucking cocksucking mother fucking unbelievable stunts——"

READ CHAPTER FOUR HERE

@woundmetender @powerofelvis @butlervol6 @ab4eva @whositmcwhatsit @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley @literally-just-elvis-fics @coolgirl462 @elvisabutler @j-v-9-2 @beeandheroddobsessions @precious-little-scoundrel @butlervol6 @misspresley @austinbutler4life @yanderereader @alqvarde @yynneessmons @kendralavon7 @daffieapple @louisejoy86

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list....

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis presley x oc #1970s elvis #big daddy elvis #no one walks out on big daddy #banditqueenwrites

167 notes · View notes

whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

Something Else Part 2

Summary: In February 1975, two bored and lonely people found each other wandering the halls of a hospital in the early hours of the morning.

AN: As always, a big thank you to my alpha reader and stage mom @thatbanditqueen and the lovely people who messaged and asked for another chapter. It's nice to have a break from angst sometimes!

Over in the corner, the woman who seemed to keep coming to the social room to be alone tutted and folded her arms a little tighter as she sat ramrod straight in a high-backed chair. It was a game of annoyed chicken and Donna wasn’t about to back down now. Except, apparently they were both about to be outplayed.

Part 1

The clock in the dayroom seemed louder at night, ticking away the seconds, reminding everyone of how long it took to heal, if ever. Donna sighed and muttered to herself as she flipped over the playing card. At the rate that she was going, this game of Solitaire was going to last longer than her broken arm.

“What was wrong with the damn car?”

Donna glanced up as Elvis strode into the room, leading with his chest and shoulders like he expected resistance. She looked over at ‘Alone woman’ as if she thought he might be talking to her. He glanced over at the woman too, but then shook his head and fixed his fierce eyes back on her.

“Hi,” she said, shuffling the cards in her hand.

“Hi yourself,” he returned impatiently. “What was wrong with it?”

She scanned him, noting that he had a new robe on today, dark blue and it matched his pyjamas. There was a ketchup stain on the cuff of hers; she tucked it in to hide it, though it was difficult to know how much he could see when he was still wearing sunglasses in a room that only had one lamp lit.

“I don’t think there was anything wrong with it,” she answered, sliding the two of hearts into its rightful place. “I’m probably not the best person to ask though, since I didn’t get close enough to look at it properly.”

“D-don’t be a damn smart aleck,” he spluttered. “I bought you a gift and you- you just threw it back in my face!”

Donna sighed and put down the cards.

“It looked like a very nice car,” she said. “Very… shiny and red and… it had wheels and everything. I don’t know too much about cars.”

“It was voted one of the safest American cars of the decade,” he told her. “I read up on it. The Impala is more likely to hold up in a head on collision than other automobiles of a similar size an-“

“Okay, thank you, thanks!” she interjected, putting up her hand. Her sleeve had fallen down and she could clearly see the ketchup stain. “It was a real nice gesture, and the fact that you did your research is- It’s very sweet…” He visibly relaxed, his chest and shoulders dropping as he decided that they were not in a fight. “The fact is I don’t need a car, because… Because I’m never getting into a car again.”

She fanned out the cards with her fingers, giving up on playing the game the fair way. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her as he digested what she’d said. After a few seconds, he stepped closer, slippers clopping on the lino. He put his hand on the table next to hers, fingers drumming a rhythm that seemed familiar to her.

“What about if you need to go someplace?” he asked quietly, sounding confused.

“I’ll walk,” she shrugged. “Or I’ll stay home.”

“You’re gonna walk? When it’s 93 degrees outside, or- or what about when it rains?”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t dissolve in water.”

She heard him sigh loudly through his nose and then his hand moved from the tabletop to her shoulder, his long fingers slipping beneath the collar of her robe, rubbing circles into the nape of her neck. It felt shockingly intimate but reassuring at the same time.

“It must’ve been awfully bad, honey,” he murmured.

“It was not fun,” she answered, her jaw tight to hold back the waves that pressed up against the back of her eyes. She shook her head and jumped to her feet, trying to outrun her pain. “Um, is that guy okay?”

“What guy?”

“The one I talked to. He told me you were asleep when I tried to return the key.” She watched him dip his head as he smiled, the curves of his cheekbones in full effect, and then looked up at her from beneath his brows.

“Well, he was a little turned up when he came to tell me that some chick yelled at him and threw a car key at his head.”

“No, that weren’t me, that was someone else,” she replied dryly. “One of the other girls you bought a car for, maybe? Look, in my defence, I thought he’d catch it. What kind of bodyguard did you hire with such bad hand-eye coordination?!” He laughed, leaning backwards with the force of it, his hand on his chest.

“He ain’t my bodyguard, honey, he’s my cousin,” he told her, eyes sparkling behind his tinted lenses.

“Oh, that makes me feel worse,” she muttered. “He didn’t even get paid to put up with that.”

“Naw, he gets paid alright. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d offer him one of the delicious doughnuts you sent, but the nurses ate them all. Okay, I gave one to one of the nurses.”

“It’s all right,” he said, quietly and firmly. She exhaled shakily and nodded.

“You know, I went to your room,” he said, glancing back at the Alone Woman, who had sighed sharply and loudly again. “I saw that poor lady they got strapped to the bed.”

“Yeah, Mrs Morris. She’s broken her hip, but you wouldn’t know it the way she can scramble out of bed at four in the morning and scare the living daylights out of you. Plus, she thinks it’s 1914, so everything freaks her out.”

“Damn,” he muttered. Her face softened looking at his troubled expression, like he was wondering what he could buy or who he could pay to fix an ailing mind. It was her turn to reach out, stroking his arm a little. She felt stupid doing it, but then he smiled slightly and took her hand between both of his and her skin started to burn.

“Come up to my room,” he cajoled, biting his luscious bottom lip as he fixed her with a winning smile. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise. We’ll just talk and maybe I’ll send someone out for more of those doughnuts you like so much?”

“Bribery, huh,” she mused. “That’s pretty underhanded of you.”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I know how to make sure I get what I want.”

“Am I the first one won over by doughnuts?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells, honey.” He took a step backward, tugging at her hand, his eyebrows raised in a plea. How could she resist? The alternative was Mrs Morris singing old timey vaudeville songs until the early hours. She sighed and nodded, letting him pull her to his side. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm like they were Victorian beaux out on a romantic stroll through the park.

“I’m not going to have sex with you on a hospital bed,” she informed him as they walked towards the elevators. His face spasmed with a shocked expression that a maiden aunt would be proud of, though she thought maybe he was playing around. The pink blush on his high cheekbones was a little bit harder to fake, however.

“You just say whatever is on your mind, don’t ya,” he murmured, not looking at her.

“Only to famous singers who try to give me cars and invite me to their hospital rooms,” she replied. “It’s important to keep them on their toes.” He shrugged at that.

“Okay, we don’t have to do it on the bed,” he replied, shooting her a sneaky sideways look and quirking his eyebrow. She laughed out loud for the first time in a good, long while, and felt her own cheeks tingle with warmth.

Donna had never had a problem with small spaces, but the elevator felt particularly confining that night as Elvis leaned back against the wall and looked her up and down. She shuffled her feet and put her arms in front of herself, shooting him a disgruntled look.

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, looking away to hide her smirk.

“I ain’t doing nothing but looking!” he protested. “Damn, man can’t breathe without you cutting him down!”

“You know what you were doing,” she returned, mimicking his pose and lifting an eyebrow as she let her eyes trail up from his slippers- he had lovely dainty ankles- all the way up his legs, groin, stomach, chest, to his face, which had got a little pink again. She waited for his next volley with a frisson of anticipation.

“You got a boyfriend or a husband or anything, honey?” She blinked.

“Why?”

“Well, if you did, I wanted to meet him and shake his hand. Fella’s gotta have balls of steel.”

“Funny. No, no fella. Metal balls or not.”

“You want one?” he asked playfully, raising that damn eyebrow again. She snorted, blushing as she stared at the floor, trying to stabilise herself.

“Had to get you back,” he murmured, crossing the elevator and standing next to her. He put his hand on the rail that ran behind them; she could feel the pressure of his arm against her waist, pushing into her spine.

When the doors opened, his arm was fully around her waist and though she wanted to tease him about the move, straight out of a teen boy’s playbook, she also walked slower than normal to ensure she didn’t dislodge it.

The corridor was busier than any of the others Donna had wandered during her nightly excursions through the hospital. A man in a white sports jacket glanced over his shoulder and saw them, and Donna distinctly heard someone mutter, “He’s back, he’s here.” The man shuffled through a doorway, still looking over his shoulder. Walking past it, Donna spotted at least half a dozen men sitting around, smoking, playing cards and looking tense and bored.

Elvis guided her to a door on the opposite side of the corridor, holding it open and smirking as she walked through, eyeing him cautiously. He swiped at her butt just as she thought she had made it past without incident.

“You said you have no one to talk to,” she said, nodding through the open door to the lounge adjacent. “Looks like you have a whole closet full of people over there.”

“No, they just work for me,” he said, pushing the door closed behind himself.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I need ‘em to do,” he shrugged. “Fetch doughnuts, deliver cars, track down funny lil girls with broken arms.”

“Catch car keys with their faces? I should really apologise for that.”

“He’s had worse, don’t worry about it. You gonna sit down, honey? You look like you’re halfway out the door.”

She frowned at the impatience in his tone and moved away from the chair he was gesturing to, going to lean against the windowsill. His look of annoyance was so intense that she could almost feel the heat of it across the room.

“You know, rich folk’s hospital rooms don’t look so different,” she remarked.

“Yeah, well, it’s still a hospital,” he shrugged. “Can’t do nothing about that.” She nodded, tilting her head to look at the titles of the books piled on his nightstand, and on the floor next to the bed, and in the locker at the end of the bed.

“Wow, you do read a lot,” she remarked. She leant down and twisted to squint at a strange front cover that seemed to have numbers and strange symbols on it, watching his legs approach in her periphery vision.

“Yeah, I read, breathe, eat, and talk, just like a real boy,” he returned, nudging her as he joined her in leaning against the windowsill. When she straightened up, the blood rushed from her head and she almost lost her balance, reaching out to grab his arm to keep herself balanced.

“Goddamn it, woman, will you just sit down?!” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely against him, and walked her backwards to the bed. It felt as though she was completely surrounded by him, his stomach and chest pressed tightly against her and his arms pinning hers to her sides. He smelled like fresh laundry, a spicy cologne and a hint of musk. His robe felt so soft and fluffy it must have been brand new.

When she made contact with the side of the bed, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto it, taking advantage of her distraction in the chaos to step between her legs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” she said, putting up her hands to make him pause as he leant down. “What did we say about the bed?”

“No sex,” he mumbled, his full lips close enough that she felt his breath fluctuate as they moved. “But you didn’t say nothing about a little kissing.” He glanced down at her hands, which now seemed to be groping his chest instead of blocking him. She hastily dropped them.

“Fine,” she sighed, shooting him a wicked little smile. “Just a little.”

Donna sensed him hesitate as he closed that last inch between them. She understood it, that split second between anticipation and reality always felt like a chasm, but she only had about seven seconds of thinking to herself, ‘Wow, I’m kissing Elvis Presley’, because it turned out that Elvis Presley was a very good kisser. His hands slid into her hair as his pillowy lips massaged hers and she was opening her mouth to him long before she felt his tongue. In fact, she was so into it that she forgot what she was doing and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, knocking her cast hard against the back of his head.

“Ow!” they both yelped at the same time.

“I didn’t do nothing!” he protested, rubbing his head. She winced, clutching her forearm to her chest.

“Sorry, that wasn’t on purpose. Might need to rework my signature moves.” She waved her cast.

He snorted, snatching off his sunglasses and tossing them onto the nightstand amidst the books while still rubbing the back of his head.

“Signature moves,” he muttered to himself, laughing a little. “I wanna see one of those so-called signature moves, honey. C’mon, lay it on me.” He moved back in front of her, throwing his arms open as an invitation.

“What? No!” she wailed, feeling her cheeks throbbing. “I can’t do them now! They’re like magic, only works when someone is not looking for it.”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I reckon I seen ‘em anyhow. I’m getting to think that this whole funny, crazy chick thing is just an act to get up here in my bed.”

“Uh huh, completely,” she replied dryly. “And what about you? I’ve seen your moves too, with your eyes and your smile and your lips and the whole-“ She waved her hands in his direction. “The whole package there.”

“My package?!” he echoed in a high voice, raising his eyebrows. He hiccupped his little laugh as she closed her eyes in preparation for the blood rushing to her cheeks making her head explode.

“You know what I meant!” She felt him lean into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“I’m only foolin’ around, honey. God, you’re cute when you get all red like that. It’s fixing to be my favourite colour too.”

She nuzzled into him, making the most of having her face shielded from his knowing, smirking face. Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, letting her fingers rest on the v of skin between his throat and the top button of his pyjamas. His skin was hot and his pulse pounded beneath. Running her fingertips over the coarse hair, she dragged them up his neck, feeling the prickles of new stubble around his jaw. When she reached the nape of his neck, carding her fingers through the thick, fine hair, she tugged a little, and he moved without resistance, his lips finding hers again.

After a few minutes of tussling, heavy breathing and delicious kissing, she forced herself to pull back breathlessly.

“And that,” she gasped with a grin, “is one of my signature moves, thank you very much.”

“I knew it!” he cried. His laughter was loud, immediate and completely irrepressible. She held onto him as he threw himself back, wanting to mainline that sound for the rest of her days.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #whositmcwhatsit #1970s elvis

131 notes · View notes

thatbanditqueen · 1 year

Text

Amazing 1973 Elvis Fic ALERT

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

I found this on A03 and it's sooooo good I had to share. Fucking nails angry hot disillusioned Elvis in 1973 and the writing is so gorgeous. Haven't found it posted here, not mine, just so in love can't keep it to myself and I feel like you should go read it and comment because I hate experiencing magic alone!!!!!

Ughhh I hate it because it's so good...

Tagging @eliseinmemphis @stylespresleyhearted @coolgirl462 @notstefaniepresley @peaceloveelvis @richardslady121 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @artlover8992 @crash-and-cure @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @daffieapple @woundmetender @precious-little-scoundrel @ab4eva @from-memphis-with-love @searchingforgravity @lillypink @be-my-ally @flwrs4aust @tacozebra051 @godlypresley @misspresley @moonchild-daniella @elvisabutler @ellie-24 @whositmcwhatsit

Who am I forgetting? Share widely....

#elvis presley #fic rec #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #1970s elvis

90 notes · View notes

vintagepresley · 1 year

Text

Pretty Baby

Chapter Two: There's An Art To This

Pairing: Elvis Presley x OC Reader

Word Count: 6, 963 words

Warnings: 18+ Cursing, mention of pills, smoking, talks of porn, typical Elvis stuff. That's about it. Nothing too crazy this chapter.

Author's Notes: Hi besties, I'm so happy that some of you that had read the first chapter really enjoyed it! I wasn't too sure how well it would do. But I'm happy to know this story already has some fans. Once again, this is starting off a bit slow. But we will be getting to some juicy stuff next chapter. I'm not promising any smut but there will be some angst. But we WILL get to the smut very soon. This is more of a slow burn type of story as I mentioned before. But I hope you enjoy this next chapter and the cute little banter between these two as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also peep the Elvis phone bit I took from Joyce Bova’s book, lol. Possible spelling errors.

Pretty Baby series

Elvis let out a soft hum as he settled into the backseat of his Cadillac as Lamar pulled off from Rebecca’s house. He informed Joe who sat across from him that he wanted to make arrangements to have his things brought from the hotel in Uniondale into a hotel in the city. He wanted to be close to Rebecca for their dinner tomorrow night. In Elvis’ mind the dinner was a date. He smiled down at the phone number scribbled in the palm of his hand, his mind on one thing, Rebecca. He couldn’t get her out of his mind the entire ride to the new hotel or those big green eyes of hers. There was just something about her that had him completely hooked that he needed to know more about her. She may have been 20 years younger than him, but she seemed wiser beyond her years just from their little conversation alone. Once he arrived at his new hotel in Manhattan; Red, Sonny, and Charlie walked with Elvis inside as they made arrangements for his stay as Joe used a payphone to contact Jerry who was back in Uniondale and telling him about the new arrangements and how they needed Elvis’ things brought to Manhattan. Meanwhile once they got the room squared away Elvis walked with the guys up to his suite and all he was concerned with was getting to a phone and calling Rebecca. He wanted to get a time down for their date before she got a chance to consider changing her mind. Not that he thought she would, but she seemed unpredictable and he didn’t want her to get away that easily from him.

Back in The Village Rebecca couldn’t make sense of what happened that night. Did she really just agree to go to dinner with Elvis Presley? She wasn’t sure if she should tell her friends because they probably wouldn’t believe her. But she wanted to tell someone because it just didn’t seem real and she was still a bit weary of him or what his intentions were especially with him being an older man, they usually only wanted one thing from her when they find out what she does for a living. But he seemed trusting enough and if it didn’t work out it’d be an interesting story to tell people in the future. She went off to her room to get showered and dressed in a tank top and just a pair of black underwear and headed downstairs where she plopped down on the couch, smoked a joint and watched television. The thought of Elvis lingered in the back of her mind. She had wondered if he’d call tonight or if he’d call at all. After some time had passed she heard the front door opening the voices of both of her roommates, she smiled as she saw the two of them and was even happier to see that they had grabbed chinese for dinner. Paul, who she had met at one of the gay clubs in the city a couple years back, was practically her other half; they became quick friends and he offered her a room in his place and she’s been there ever since. Abby was Paul’s friend and was already living there with him, she and Abby got along fast because they had a lot in common and shared similar interests. They were the only two people she trusted more than anyone.

“Perfect, you got dinner!” Rebecca laughed as she put out her joint and got up to kiss Paul’s cheek as she snatched the bag from his hands and set it on the coffee table.

“I figured you’d forget it was your turn to get dinner this time.” Paul chuckled as he plopped down beside her and unpacked the food from the bag. Rebecca had a cheeky grin on her face because she did in fact forget especially with everything going on with Elvis. How could she remember to grab dinner?

“I’m going to get showered and I’ll be back down.” Abby hummed as she made her way toward the steps. “And don’t touch my eggroll, Paul!” she yelled from the top of the steps. Paul and Rebecca laughed softly.

Rebecca grabbed the carton of lo mein and some chopsticks and began to eat her food. “How was your day?” Paul asked with a smile. Rebecca raised an eyebrow at his words as she swallowed her food.

“Fine.. Just like any other day. Why? Nothing special happened.” She asked suspiciously.

Paul laughed.

“I’m just asking. Why are you so defensive?” he uttered.

“I’m not defensive.” Rebecca said softly as she rolled her eyes and continued to eat her food. Paul chuckled and shrugged as he began to eat. She didn’t mean to get defensive but Elvis was still on her mind and it felt as if people knew about her encounter with him when they didn’t. Abby soon joined them back downstairs and the three of them settled into the couch eating their chinese food.

Elvis had been settling into his hotel suite as he waited for Jerry to arrive with his things which would be some time with the traffic. While he waited he asked one of the guys to get some food ordered up to the room and he went off to his bedroom, shutting the door and sitting down on the bed and staring back at the phone number on his palm again, a smile gracing his lips as he picked up the phone and dialed the number. For a moment as the line trilled, he thought about what if she had given him a false number. But he had hoped she wouldn’t have done that to him. Paul was in the kitchen as the phone began to ring and he went to answer it.

“Hello?” he answered.

Elvis furrowed his brow when he heard a man answer the phone and now his mind was running wild. Maybe she did give me a false number. Or maybe this is her boyfriend? “Uh… Hello. Is, uh.. Rebecca there?” Elvis mumbled softly.

“Yeah, I’ll get her for you.” Paul replied as he set the phone down and headed back into the living room. “Becca, some guy with a southern accent is on the phone asking for you.” Paul said. Rebecca raised an eyebrow and the two of her friends were giving her a look as if there was something she wasn’t telling them. It couldn’t be Elvis.. If it is, he sure doesn’t waste any time. She thought to herself as she set her food down and got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. She picked up the phone and held it against her ear as she glanced back toward the living room to see Paul and Abby looking in her direction before they turned their attention back to the television acting as if they weren’t listening.

“Hello? Elvis?” Rebecca said in a hushed tone.

“Hey, honey.” Elvis hummed with a smile when he heard her voice.

Rebecca rolled her eyes at him calling her honey again, but she gave up on correcting him and she glanced back at her friends once again as she held the phone close. “I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon.” she whispered.

“I told ya I’d call, honey. Say, uh.. Who was that guy that answered the phone? Your boyfriend? You never said ya had a man..” Elvis murmured, feeling a bit disappointed if she already had someone. He raised an eyebrow when he heard Rebecca suddenly laughing on the other end. She practically started giggling at his assumption especially since Paul was gay. Her friends peered their heads in at the sound of her giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Elvis asked curiously.

“Oh, nothing.. I don’t have a man. That was my roommate.” she said as she rolled her eyes.

Elvis raised an eyebrow at her words. “Your roommate’s a guy?” he said with a hint of jealousy in his voice. Rebecca giggled again; she just found the whole thing hilarious.

“Oh, relax. I can hear the jealousy in your voice. Besides, Paul's gay.” she said nonchalantly. There was a silence from his end of the phone but the sound of his breathing quietly escaping from her end.

“O-Oh.. Oh okay, ya got any other roommates I should know ‘bout?” he asked.

“Just my friend, Abby. That’s it.” She said with a smirk.

“Mm.. So, what time are ya free for dinner tomorrow?” Elvis asked with a smile. Rebecca took another glance back at her friends who were now preoccupied with the newest episode of ‘The Mary Tyler Moore Show’. Her attention back on Elvis now she took a moment to think as a small hum escaped her lips.

“Pick me up at 7:00. Don’t be late.” Rebecca said sternly.

Elvis laughed. “Yes, ma’am.. I’ll be there at 7:00.” Elvis assured her.

“Good. Well, I’ve gotta go. Bye, Elvis.” Rebecca hummed.

“Bye, Rebecca. Have a goodnight, honey.” Elvis said with a smile before she hung up and he held the phone for a moment as he listened to the dial tone humming into his ear before he put the phone back on the hook. Elvis made sure to write her number down before he got up and headed back out to join the guys for dinner.

Rebecca had a small smile on her lips and quickly snapped herself back to reality not wanting to swoon over this man like women typically do. It was just dinner and that’s it. She cleared her throat and headed back into the living room where Abby and Paul looked right at her with grins on their faces. Rebecca folded her arms over her chest. “What??” she said with a bit of an attitude.

Paul chuckled as he and Abby shared a look before they looked back at her. “Nothing. We just didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Abby answered.

Rebecca shook her head as a soft scoff escaped her lips. “I’m not seeing anyone. It’s just dinner.” she remarked.

“Uh huh.. Who is this mysterious southern gentleman you’re having “just dinner” with then?” Paul teased.

Rebecca couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the two of them. Why was she suddenly on trial? It was just dinner. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you who he was.” she replied.

Now she had gotten their attention and Abby quickly muted the television and the two of them were practically at the edge of their seats as she had their full attention now, desperately wanting to know the name of the mystery man. “Man, now you’ve gotta tell us!” Abby pleaded.

“Spill the details. Is it someone we know?” Paul questioned.

Rebecca couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her at his question. “Maybe someone your parents know..” she mumbled under her breath as she sat in the chair across from them. “When I tell you it cannot leave this room. I mean it.” she said in a serious tone. Now their eyes were wide which only furthered the need for them to know even more. Rebecca took a deep breath trying to find the words to tell them because just the thought of saying it outloud now just sounded ridiculous. “It’s Elvis Presley.” she blurted out. She scanned their faces trying to get a read on their reactions. The two of them were visibly shocked.

“Isn’t he like…. super old?” Abby uttered.

Paul laughed softly at her comment.

Rebecca rolled her eyes at Abby’s response. “That’s the first thought you have? He’s not that old. Besides, what does that matter? It’s just dinner.” Rebecca remarked.

“Yes, we know you’ve repeated it several times. It’s just dinner. How the hell did you end up going to dinner with Elvis???” Paul chimed in.

“It’s a long story that we can talk about another day. But now you guys know.” Rebecca hummed as shrugged and stood back up. “I’m gonna head to bed.” she said softly as she made her way upstairs, leaving the two of them still completely in shock by the news. It was probably best for them to know so she wouldn’t have to sneak around in case things went a little further which she wasn’t counting on. She climbed into bed and under the covers, reaching over to turn her lap off and she laid there staring up at the ceiling as she got lost in thought and strangely enough a part of her was nervous for this dinner, while the other part was curious. But the natural instinct in her kept telling her not to trust him. She laid there for nearly an hour with Elvis on her mind before she had fallen asleep.

Meanwhile back at Elvis’ hotel his night was far from over and once Jerry finally arrived with Elvis’ things they got everything situated. He and the guys horsed around after dinner and talked about the interesting day they had on a porn set and they talked about some of the girls. But they were careful not to bring up Rebecca. Elvis engaged for a bit, but he would get lost in and out of his thoughts about her. It wasn’t until Sonny began to speak about her with the other guys that caught his attention. Which had the rest of them not wanting to say too much about her because they could see Elvis had taken an interest in her. But Sonny, a few drinks in didn’t seem to care as he began to ramble on.

“Man, oh man, that one chick we drove home, goddamn she was hot.” Sonny shouted to the group. Elvis raised an eyebrow as he stared at Sonny. Red and Charlie tried to get him to sit down and shut up when they saw the look on Elvis’ face.

“Sonny, shut up and sit your ass down, man.” Red mumbled.

But Sonny couldn’t stop himself. “And did ya see the tits on her? Whew, man and with a pussy like that, I’d sure like to watch her in action again.” he said drunkenly with a laugh. Elvis clenched his jaw at his words and his eyes were narrowed as he quickly stood up from the couch and guys knew not to get involved as Elvis approached Sonny and he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“What the hell did ya just say?!” Elvis shouted angrily.

A drunken Sonny was wide eyed and confused as he stared at Elvis. “Aw man, I-I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” he uttered. Elvis gripped his collar tighter as he got in his face, he was so angry you could practically see the steam radiating off of him after hearing Sonny speak about Rebecca that way.

“Keep your goddamn mouth shut when it comes to that girl! Ya hear me?! Don’t even fuckin’ look at her!” Elvis snarled as he let the man go pushing him away causing him to nearly fall as he began to head to his bedroom. “Get the hell out of here! All of y’all!” Elvis hollered as he slammed the door shut. They all did as they were told and hurried out of his hotel suite. Elvis knew that lots of men who probably saw her in those films probably spoke the same way about her, but he’d be damned if he let any of the guys speak about her in such a way. She was more than that. Just speaking to her in such a short amount of time he could tell she wasn’t meant to be doing that kind of work. He was determined to be able to help her out of it anyway he could. The anticipation for their date tomorrow night was driving him crazy. She was all he could think about and those eyes that were burned right into his mind. He couldn’t wait to get to know her more.

Elvis got dressed for bed and he took a couple pills to help with his insomnia and he climbed into bed. He figured he should call Linda and check in with her. Things between the two of them haven’t been great. She wasn’t in the dark about the women he would be seeing when she wasn’t around. But this time things felt different. He just didn’t feel in love anymore. He honestly felt so lonely and was searching for someone to take that feeling away. Their conversation was a short one as he made his usual promises to her and professed his love to her as they told each other goodnight. Once he was off the phone he grabbed a book off the nightstand and read a few pages until his pills kicked in and he fell into a deep sleep with the book opened on his chest.

The Next Day

Rebecca awoke sometime late in the afternoon and she could only think about one thing and that was Elvis and their dinner later tonight. She thought about canceling or not even answering the door when he showed up. She was starting to think this was a bad idea because she just wasn’t sure what his intentions were or if he was just trying to sleep with her. But her curiosity about him she just couldn’t shake. She wasn’t sure what she was going to wear and she spent a good portion of the afternoon searching through her closet for an outfit. She didn’t want to wear something that gave him any ideas that he’d be getting laid. But she also didn’t want to appear as if she had no idea how to dress. She finally settled on a floral bell sleeved crop top that tied in the front and dark blue bell bottoms with a pair of black platform heels. By the time she had finally found what to wear and had it laid out on her bed her room was a mess and it was already going on at 4:30pm. She still had to decide on how to style her hair and how she was going to do her makeup. She stripped off her pajamas and slipped into the bathroom to take a long hot shower.

It was typical of Elvis to wake up late in the afternoon but for once he was up earlier than that. He had breakfast and watched a bit of television and hung out with the guys for a bit. He couldn’t wait for tonight. He managed to get the restaurant in the hotel closed just for the two of them so they wouldn’t be bothered. When the rest of the guys had left to go explore the city Jerry had stayed behind to hangout with Elvis and got to talking about Rebecca since Jerry didn’t get a chance to see her.

“Man, just wait til ya see this girl, Jerry. She’s beautiful.” Elvis hummed with a smile.

“I’m sure she is. I can’t wait to meet her.” Jerry replied.

“And she’s got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Can’t get ‘em out of my head.” Elvis laughed.

Elvis just went on and on about her which only furthered Jerry’s curiosity about this girl and what she looked like because it was easy to spot that Elvis was completely smitten with her already, but that wasn’t any different than usual. He was always like that with women but Jerry noticed this was a little different. After a while Jerry headed back to his room to allow Elvis to get ready as it was getting closer and closer to his date. He showered, shaved and came back out in his robe, looking through his clothes and deciding on a two tone light blue and dark blue suit and a light blue button up shirt to wear underneath and in the usual Elvis fashion it had a high collar and belt to match. He also added some of his gaudy jewelry to the look along with a choker. He styled his hair in the usual way and grabbed his glasses and picked up the phone calling down to Joe’s room.

“Hello?” Joe answered.

“Does Lamar have the car ready? I don’t want to be late, dammit.” Elvis demanded.

“Yeah, he’s waiting out front. Did you want us all to come with you?” Joe replied.

“Nah, I’ll just take Jerry and Charlie with me. I’ll meet y’all down at the restaurant when we come back.” Elvis answered before the two men ended their conversation and hung up.

Rebecca was hurrying to get her hair and make up down, choosing to go with a more natural look. She put on a little foundation, a bit of blush just to give her cheeks a rosy look and she put on mascara and colored in her eyebrows, putting on a shade of light pink lipstick. Then she curled her hair brushing it out so the curls were a bit looser. Once she had finished she went to get dressed and put on some earrings and a matching necklace. For the finishing touches she spritzed a bit of her Jean Nate perfume on her wrists and her neck before looking at herself in the mirror and exhaling softly before she grabbed her purse and headed downstairs to wait for Elvis. He better not be late. She thought to herself as she paced back and forth in the living room.

Jerry and Charlie walked closely with Elvis as they got him downstairs to the car and hopped inside behind him. Elvis looked at his watch, seeing that it was already 6:30pm, but they weren’t too far from her house and the traffic didn’t seem too crazy yet. Lamar began their drive to The Village. Rebecca stared at the clock and she didn’t understand why she felt nervous, she rifled through her purse to grab a cigarette to calm her down and she lit up, taking a big drag from it before exhaling and she could feel herself calming down. As time ticked away, she looked up at the clock again to see that it was now 6:50pm. She walked over to peer out of the curtains not seeing a car yet. Five minutes went by and at 6:55pm Elvis was pulling up to her front door in his fancy cadillac and he ran his hands over his suit to soothe it out as he let out a small exhale as Charlie got out to open the door for him and Jerry followed behind him as he approached her door. Elvis knocked lightly and Rebecca felt her heart drop, part of her had hoped he forgot all about this dinner. She took another glance at herself before she went to open the door, she raised an eyebrow at him seeing his outfit which was flashier than what he was wearing last night and she glanced at the clock.

“Well, right on time.” she hummed.

Elvis smiled widely at the sight of her.

“Told ya I wouldn’t be late, honey. You look beautiful.” Elvis responded.

Jerry could see why Elvis was a little obsessed with her. She really was beautiful and he wasn’t kidding about her eyes. Rebecca recognized Charlie and Lamar who were sitting in the car. but Jerry was new.

“Thank you. I see you didn’t come alone.” she said softly as she stepped out the house and locked the door behind her.

Elvis chuckled as he reached out for her hand to help her down the steps, but she swatted him away. “I got it.” she murmured.

“Of course ya do, honey and I told ya we wouldn’t be alone. No funny business like you asked.” Elvis replied as the two of them made their way to the car and got inside. Just like last night she didn’t sit too close to him and she stared at the other two men as Lamar headed back to the hotel. Rebecca looked over at Elvis who was already staring at her with a wide smile on his face.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

“Well, it’s kinda hard for me to go anywhere without being mobbed. I thought we’d have dinner at the restaurant at the hotel I’m staying at. I managed to get it closed just for us.” Elvis responded.

Rebecca nodded and she wasn’t surprised he was able to get a whole restaurant shut down just for him. Elvis continued to stare at her and he cleared his throat a bit. “Y’know you can sit a little closer. I ain’t gonna bite.” Elvis laughed.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head. “I’m okay right here.” she hummed. Elvis nodded and couldn’t help but smirk a bit to himself because he felt she was determined to not get too close to him or maybe not even like him. When they finally returned to the hotel and got out of the car, Elvis slipped his hand around her waist as they walked inside and she looked over at him with a look that only made him laugh. She was going to be a challenge for him and he loved that. As they approached the restaurant the rest of the guys were already there sitting at another table. Jerry, Lamar, and Charlie joined them while Elvis led Rebecca over to another table just for the two of them. He pulled her chair out for her and she wanted to roll her eyes so badly, but didn’t as she sat down.

“Thank you.” she mumbled. Elvis nodded and took a seat right across from her. She noticed that dinner was already on the table for them. She was surprised to see that someone of his celebrity status didn’t aim for a fancy dinner but something simple like burgers, fries and a couple of cokes. That made her smile a little because she felt it took some of the pressure off. Elvis noticed the smile on her face.

“Well hell, you should smile more often. It’s gorgeous on you.” he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes as she smiled more, shaking her head. When she saw him start to eat she followed right behind him. Things felt a bit awkward at first as the two of them didn’t really say much and just continued to eat. The faint sounds of his friends chatting away filled the room. As Elvis swallowed his food he looked at her again.

“I’m happy you agreed to this date, honey.” he said warmly. Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him.

“Who said this was a date?” she remarked.

“Is it not?” Elvis replied.

“No, it’s just two people talking and having dinner.” she answered.

“So.. A date.” Elvis said with a chuckle.

“Whatever. If that’s what you want to call it.” Rebecca said with a smile.

He grinned and when he finished his food he wiped his mouth with his napkin and she pushed away what she had left and drank a bit of her coke before she lit a cigarette and stared at him as she took a drag. Elvis raised an eyebrow as he watched her smoke.

“Y’know.. You shouldn’t smoke so much.” he says.

Rebecca furrowed her brow at him as she purposely took a bigger drag and blew the smoke in his direction with a smirk.

“You’re gonna lecture me now on smoking? Thanks for the heads up, dad.” she said sarcastically.

Elvis shot her a look because of her sarcastic tone which he was still getting used to. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before they both started to just laugh. It felt like the ice was finally beginning to break between the two of them as they began to engage in conversation.

“Can I ask ya something? I hope I don’t offend you.” Elvis asked.

“Ooh, this should be good! Ask away.” Rebecca said happily as she put her cigarette out.

“What made you get into porn?” Elvis questioned.

Rebecca had a feeling that was going to be his question because that was always the first question people wanted to know. She never had an issue answering either. She smiled at him as she took another swig of her coke.

“I know it’ll sound cliche. But growing up in the midwest I’ve always had dreams of coming to New York and becoming an actress. I love movies and also admire actors and actresses and felt it was something I could do. Something I can still do. So, I moved here at 17 and struggled for some time trying to get auditions and a year later I saw this one company was looking for girls for an “artsy” film. I thought it could be a start, you know? Turns out that artsy film was porn. By that point, I didn’t have money and it was a job. So, in hopes of being discovered for what I really want to do, I did it. I’ve been doing it since.” she said with a shrug.

Elvis listened intently to her every word, finding her story fascinating. He only just met her but he could see she could be doing more with her life. More than just porn. She had the face for movies and already looked like a movie star.

“Have ya thought about trying to find real acting jobs? Y’know, doing something where you could be creating real art. You seem to be wastin’ your talent with porn.” Elvis asked.

She laughed at his words.

“I have and I still do. But who’s gonna take a pornstar and make her a real actress? And hey, who says porn isn’t art? There’s an art to this. But men don’t see that because you’re always concerned with the pussy and the fucking.” Rebecca said with a small laugh.

“Oh? Now I’d love to hear more.” Elvis replied, completely fascinated with the conversation.

“Well, just think about it. There’s always a story being told that leads up to the fucking. They don’t just start fucking. There’s this huge build up. But men don’t ever notice that. Hell, you don’t even care about the story that’s being told. Sometimes the story is more interesting than the fucking. Trust me.” she explained.

Elvis raised an eyebrow and smirked a bit.

“You’re telling me a dirty movie like Deep Throat has a story to tell and it’s not just about her sucking dick?” Elvis laughed.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, man. Deep Throat pathed the way for the porn that now have these detailed stories of how two people end up fucking. They get real creative.” she answered.

“Wow, I never thought of it like that.” Elvis responded as he smiled at her.

“Men never do.” she said with a smirk.

“You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?” Elvis hummed.

Rebecca smiled at him and she could feel her walls coming down as the two of them continued to talk about their families and their jobs. Elvis mentioned his daughter to her and showed her pictures. Rebecca wasn’t expecting the night to go so well or to even find him this interesting but once they started talking they couldn’t stop. As the night went on they had been talking till nearly midnight. When Rebecca noticed the time she suggested she’d get home. Elvis respected her wishes and had Lamar bring the car around so they could take her back home. On the drive back to her house she was now sitting beside him feeling a bit more comfortable with him after getting to know him more and seeing what a gentleman he had been the whole night. Elvis smiled and they continued to talk some more the entire drive.

Once she got back home he got out to walk her to the door.

“I told you last night I’m a big girl.” She laughed.

“You can never be too careful, honey.” he hummed as he smiled at her.

The two of them stood on her front porch and stared at one another for a moment.

“So, I really had a nice time with you tonight. Unfortunately, I’ve gotta leave tonight to continue my tour. But I’d like to set somethin’ up and come back out so we could do this again, honey.” Elvis said.

Rebecca nodded and smiled at his words. She had to admit she wanted to do this again. She actually had a really nice time with him and it was the first time she had an intellectual conversation with a man who didn’t want something in return from her. He actually listened to her. She was surprised to see just how smart and deep he was.

“I’d like that, Elvis.” she hummed as she leaned over to kiss his cheek before they said their goodbyes and she headed into her apartment, she watched from the window as he smiled to himself and got back into the car and Lamar drove him away.

For next few months Elvis would fly out to New York and the two of them would have dinner in some hotel lobby restaurant or sometimes in his suite with the guys always present as he promised. The two of them would talk about everything and anything. Film, music, books, spirituality. They never ran out of things to talk about and the relationship was growing closer each time. She really began to look up to Elvis and saw him as a sort of a mentor and a friend. She felt such a closeness to him in a short amount of time because of how much they seemed to have in common especially with their age difference. But it was a closeness and a friendship they both needed because they were two people searching for something more. Eventually Elvis convinced to get a phone put in that he bought that would be just for him to call. She named it ‘The Elvis Phone.” Whenever he wanted to get in contact with her that phone rang, sometimes it would be him and sometimes it would be Charlie letting her know he was coming to town. But it was getting hard for Elvis to make these trips because he could tell Linda was growing suspicious as to why he was always flying to New York. She always turned a blind eye to his other women. But something was different this time. He saw her less and grew more and more distant as the months went on.

The Ritz Carlton - New York - December 1975

Elvis and Rebecca were having their usual dinner of burgers and fries with a couple of cokes and as their night was dwindling down and nearing an end. Elvis smiled at her and rested his hand on top of hers and she flashed him a smile. She could tell something was on his mind because he kept staring at her as if he wanted to ask her something.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

Elvis chuckled.

“Well, I wanted to ask ya something. I’ve got to head out to Vegas to fulfill my engagement there at the International and I’ll be there for a few weeks. So, we won’t be able to do this. So.. uh.. I was wonderin’ if you’d come out and spend a week or two with me. Just so we can continue to have our dinners.” Elvis replied.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow at his words and she carefully pulled her hand away from him.

“Um, I don’t know.. You know with work and everything. I can’t afford to miss out on pay. I’ve got responsibilities. I also can’t afford Vegas” she uttered hesitantly. She didn’t really like the idea of being away with him for two weeks. Yes, she’d miss their dinners if he couldn’t come out to see her. But together in Vegas? She just wasn’t sure. Even though she felt like she could trust him she still had her guard up once in a while with him.

“Listen, I’ll pay you what you’d get working. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing if you came out. The room would be paid for and I’d take care of it all, honey.” Elvis assured her.

She shifted a bit in her seat and she shook her head. “I don’t want your money, Elvis. I don’t want that to become a thing in this friendship.” she responded.

Elvis raised an eyebrow when she called them friends. Elvis felt more than just a friend to her, so that hurt a bit. But he wasn’t going to get into that now. He shook his head at her.

“Well as a friend I want to help you and I’d like you in Vegas with me. Please?” he hummed.

She let out a soft sigh. “Can I think about it?” she asked.

He nodded once. “You can. But I’m leavin’ tonight. So, I’d need an answer soon.” Elvis replied.

She nodded at his words as their dinner came to an end Elvis took her back home and as usual she kissed his cheek goodnight and thanked him for dinner.

“I’ll give you a call in about an hour. I hope you decide to come.” Elvis mumbled before the two of them parted ways and she headed inside to find her friends sitting on the couch and they could see the puzzled look on her face as a soft sigh escaped her.

“Everything okay, Becca?” Abby asked.

Rebecca nodded as she came to sit beside them. “Elvis asked me to come to Vegas with him for two weeks. But I don’t think I’m going to go.” she said softly.

Paul nearly shot up in his seat as he looked at her. “What? Why not?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I just.. I don’t know. I just have this feeling that I shouldn’t go. I’ve enjoyed my time with him, but two weeks in Vegas? With him? I don’t know.” Rebecca remarked.

“You’d be crazy not to go, man. You practically spend so much time with him when he’s here and if you didn’t like him a little bit, I’m sure you wouldn’t have gone out with him as much as you have these past few months.” Abby chimed in.

“Exactly. We see the way you light up when the Elvis phone rings.” Paul adds.

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that. He’s just become a good friend to talk to and we have a lot in common.” She says.

“Even still. There’s something about him you like even if you won’t admit to anyone or yourself. So, don’t be stupid. Go to Vegas with him, man.” Abby responded.

Deep down Rebecca knew that the both of them were right. She did like Elvis but not in that way. But she did begin to care for him as friends do. But that was it; her feelings for him was purely friendship on her end and she didn’t want anything to ruin that. But she would be stupid to say no to him plus she’d get a chance to see him in his element which she hadn’t gotten a chance to do yet. He’s seen plenty of her. She got up from her seat and smiled.

“Alright, I’ll go. This is why I can always count on you guys to get me out of my own head.” She said with a small laugh. They chuckled as they watched her rush upstairs. She headed to her room and went to her closet to get her suitcase and she knew she didn’t have a lot of time to pack especially with him calling shortly for her answer. She grabbed what clothes she could and packed them into her suitcase along with her makeup, toothbrush and curling iron. She needed another suitcase just for her shoes as she rushed around the messy room making sure she had everything she needed and in the midst of all of this the Elvis phone began to ring and she smiled as she stopped what she was doing and went over to answer it.

“Elvis?!” she answered.

He chuckled at the way she answered the phone.

“Hi, honey. Have ya thought about it?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve decided I’ll go. But just for two weeks.” she replied.

She wouldn’t know it but he had the biggest smile on his face when he heard her answer. Now all he had to do was keep Linda from coming out for those two weeks.

“Perfect. I’ll have Lamar come pick you up soon and I’ll meet ya at the airport.” he said softly.

Once they got off the phone she finished up packing and she decided to let the director of her next film know she’d need a replacement and before she knew it Lamar was back out front with the cadillac and she said her goodbyes to her friends as she headed out the door and into the car, taking a deep breath as she got into the car and Lamar packed her bags into the trunk and on their way to JFK airport she stared out the window and her thoughts ran wild and she hoped that she was she doing the right thing. As they got to the airport Elvis was already there waiting for her on the steps of the plane and she got out of the car and Lamar carried her bags for her as she made her way over and up the steps to Elvis who had the biggest grin on his face as he greeted her. The two set out for Sin City together as they boarded the plane, unaware of what was to come during the next two weeks.

Las Vegas is calling and I must go….

Tagging: @18lkpeters @peaceloveelvis @iloveelvis @elvispresleygf @wanderingelvis @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @jfkkenndy @coolgirl462 @kendralavon7 @honey6578 @azzawrites @marie73ep @wanderlustingtomboy @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis imagine #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #big daddy #big daddy elvis #70's elvis #elvis #elvis angst #elvis fluff #elvis smut #1970s #new york #pretty baby series

120 notes · View notes

whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion Chapter 2: A Right Regular Circus Act

Chapter 1 Summary: Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed. Warnings: swearing, drug use, angst, violence, temper tantrums, all the usual. Thank you to everyone who commented, messaged, or liked. I love to chat, so if you ever want to offer critique, ideas or even just chat about our man, I would forever be your slave.

Chapter 2 The very best thing about being around Elvis Presley was that no one paid you the blindest bit of attention unless you were at his side. So, when you were crouching next to a service elevator, peering anxiously through a crack in the outside door to check if the coast was clear and the limo had left, no one would stop and point. The janitor carrying trash to the dumpster out back might give you some side-eye though.

“I thought I dropped… Never mind,” Chancy mumbled, trudging out and down the concrete steps to the loading bay where the limo was still waiting. She had to get her mind right and regain her solid footing. That was who she was, the cool voice of reason, the comforting and unwavering presence amidst the chaos. Becoming part of the pieces flying around this tornado of insanity just was not an option.

Elvis was standing on the other side of the limo amidst a growing throng of admirers, signing pieces of paper and napkins and whatever else was shoved into his hands.

Sonny and Joe bookended him looking tense and watchful and Chancy, for the first time, worried about the fans rather than what they could do to Elvis. After last night, she had a glimpse of their perspective.

As Dick came forward to usher Chancy to the car, a woman plopped her baby into Elvis’s arms and he grappled with the infant and the book another fan was trying to show him at the same time.

“Hell no,” cried Lamar, who was sitting by the window when Chancy approached the door behind the driver’s seat. “I’m already one nut down, woman, you sit in the damn backseat!”

All the guys in earshot burst into raucous laughter and Chancy swallowed the bile in her throat at the thought of what happened last night becoming just another wild tale of ‘life on the road’.

Cheeks burning, she went to pull on the handle for the other door, but the driver was already there, opening it for her like she was a movie star leaving a glittering premiere.

Feeling far from glamorous, she slid into the back seat and paused. Lamar and Ricky were in front of her and the driver climbed back into his seat. She was otherwise alone on the long bench seat at the back.

“Where’s Gail?”

“Above my pay grade, “ Lamar shrugged. “Hopefully on the plane back to Godknowswhere, Ohio by now, where she can go back to fussing and scheming over the good ole boys there.”

There was a flurry of motion as doors opened and men climbed in from all directions. Joe appeared to Chancy’s left and she hesitated before sliding awkwardly across next to Elvis to give him room.

“… Well, you know, man, everything else crashes and burns, I still got prospects, that’s all I’m saying,” Elvis murmured dryly as the car pulled away from the parking area and the people outside started calling goodbyes and trying to chase the car.

“Boss just discovered he can juggle,” Sonny explained to the rest of the car, chuckling. “Which was lucky for that baby…”

“A right regular circus act we got going here,” Lamar quipped.

“Yeah, well, we already got enough clowns,” Elvis shot back, adjusting his sunglasses.

The car erupted into guffaws as expected and Chancy smiled faintly, feeling Elvis’s eyes on her. She watched as his bejewelled hand reached down and straightened the hem of his coat over his thigh, then moved slowly to her lap where she had her fingers tightly interlocked. He rested his hand palm-up on her leg and his long fingers flexed slightly. She glanced up to find he was looking out the window at the low, industrial buildings and highway. She didn’t know how he managed it or even how he thought to do it, but whenever she reached that precipice when she felt manipulated and small, he would do something so awkward and tender like he was a nervous boy going on his first date and her absolute devotion for that boy, that one that he had been, just came roaring back in and flooded out the fear and second-guessing.

Wordlessly, she untangled her fingers and placed her hand on top of his, inhaling shakily as his fingers slid between hers and clasped hold. As soon as he had her, his hand moved back to his own thigh, pulling her closer against him. She watched his lips tilt up at the corners as he stared out the window and her heart actually flip-flopped like she was fourteen again.

At the airport, there was a long line of fans waiting by some metal railings overseen by the local police. Chancy studied the faces of the cops, wondering if she would see the one she had tangled with the night before, hoping for both their sakes that she would not. Elvis looked over at the crowd too. She could almost see the cogs working, that constant need for connection and adoration that drove him, tugging at him.

“I’m gonna go say hi,” he said and, immediately, Dick, Red and Sonny were at his side though he hadn’t raised his voice. They all knew he couldn’t resist an audience whenever or wherever.

Chancy stepped back to let them pass by, but Elvis turned to her and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips, promising he’d meet her in a few minutes.

“Watch me, three babies and a puppy I’mma juggle this time,” he joked.

“C’mon then, Miss CC Rider,” Lamar intoned, dredging up an old nickname, one so ancient that it should have fallen apart in the daylight. It seemed like she was back in the gang.

Chancy stepped into the leased plane and found Charlie and Sandi looking worse for wear. Sandi slid her sunglasses down her nose and held out a commiserating hand.

“I heard you kicked a cop like you were Bruce Lee?” she said.

“Ha, no, I hit him with my shoe, which I wasn’t wearing at the time, and then I think he put me in some kind of chokehold. A promising start to my life of crime.”

“Well, I heard he ain’t gonna be a cop much longer,” Charlie commented, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh God, what?” Chancy snapped flatly.

Charlie shrugged and looked coy, which was just as infuriating as the news he had delivered. Half of them should have been arrested the previous night. In no way should they have the power to take away someone else’s livelihood for being overly zealous. It was lucky they were doing these one-night stands, Chancy could only imagine the destruction they would wreak if they stayed longer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go up with you, Chance. Should’ve made sure you were okay.”

“Naw, Charlie honey, then it could’ve been you screaming and lashing out with your heels,” she replied. “And I’d sure hate to lose my awe and appreciation for how macho you are.”

Like the endlessly good sport he was, Charlie pretended to pat his imaginary bobbed hair and fluttered his eyelashes.

“Aw, hell no,” Elvis’s voice came booming down the plane. “Like hell am I gonna have you troublemakers together on a goddamn airplane!”

“I didn’t do nothin’!” Charlie protested with a loud laugh as he reached them.

“Son, from what I heard you were butchering the shit out of Hank Williams on the piano, that ain’t nothing in my book.”

So, the party had continued after Chancy had gone upstairs, she wasn’t surprised. And neither was she surprised that Elvis knew exactly what had gone on either. He always did somehow.

“Just got a bit homesick is all,” Charlie shrugged lightly.

“Yeah, well, remember when we’re out here, you- all of you- represent me and I don’t want my name connected with some fuckin' wasted backwoods bullshit, you hear?”

The plane fell silent and the mood switched like someone sliding a dial. When it was clear Elvis was waiting for a response, Charlie murmured:

“Sure thing, Boss. I’m sorry.”

Chancy tried to let her surroundings blur so that she didn’t see the discomfort of those around her; she had more than enough of her own to wallow in, but she caught sight of Sandi squirming and realised that this was the first time she had seen Elvis turn like this. Elvis evidently noticed too, because his mood changed on a dime.

“Aw, I ain’t talking about you, Sandi honey. C’mon over here and say hello properly, baby.”

Sandi did as she was told, her smile flickering as he drew her into his arms and gave her a firm, long peck on the lips.

“Ain’t your fault, baby. Ain’t your fault you’re dating a damn fool.”

It was all Chancy could do not to sing out praises like she was back in the Assembly of God when the pilot made his way along the aisle to say hello to his famous passenger.

Distracted, Elvis released Sandi and she half tumbled back into her seat looking dazed. Chancy looked to Charlie and, bless his heart, he just hitched up the side of his mouth as if to shrug it off.

After a few minutes playing the charming star, Elvis shook the pilot’s hand, called him ‘sir’, and sent him off with a smile. Chancy felt pressure on her shoulder and looked up to see him gazing down on her.

“Let’s go, darlin’.”

Chancy felt the eyes of every single person on the plane on her as she followed Elvis back to the private bedroom suite. Her brain helpfully wondered if they had changed the sheets since he and Gail had been in there.

Elvis dropped down into a space age looking chair with a sigh, dropped his glasses onto the table, and started removing his boots and his jacket. He glanced up at her through his brows and shot her a crooked smile.

“S’okay, honey, you don’t need to stand guard.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere like this before,” she remarked, looking around at the vast bed and the inlaid television and stereo system.

“You have.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Honey, yes, you have. You, Linda, and that hairdresser, what’s her name… Patti… decided to have a pyjama party that time coming home from Palm Springs. Half the guys were panting out on the other side of the door.”

“Huh, oh yeah. You wanted to join us, but you wouldn’t let us give you pigtails or braid your hair.”

“Baby, what I wanted had nothing to do with my hair,” he replied in a low voice.

“You wanted a manicure then?” she asked, playing dumb.

“Ha, get over here and I’ll show you, you tease.” She crossed to the other Star Trek chair as a seatbelt sign lit up and the engines roared into life.

The captain came over the intercom telling everyone in a lovely, soothing voice that they were preparing for take-off and they should all take their seats and fasten their belts. It was a three-hour flight to their destination and the weather was looking fine and clear.

Elvis grasped her hand when the roar ramped up and the plane started to jolt as it picked up speed on the runway. He didn’t look worried, but that didn’t really mean much. When they were together they used to always sleep with a light on and Elvis told everyone it was because she was afraid of the dark. She wasn’t.

Once the seatbelt sign flicked off, he rose and tugged her hand, leading her across to the fur covered bed and instructing her softly to take off her shoes. She resisted his nod for her to climb further onto the mattress.

“What is it?” he asked, and a smile touched his lips. “I swear to God if the next word out of your mouth is wait…”

“You sent Gail home,” she said, which she realised did not come out as a question or an opinion or anything that he could respond to. He evidently felt the same way. “I mean, I didn’t… expect that.” He studied her for a long time and she wondered what he was seeing.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said finally.

She couldn’t tell him as she didn’t either. He seemed so far away, closed up behind dark eyes and an unsmiling mouth. He nodded to himself and scooted closer, awkwardly knocking knees with her. She registered that with a smile as he was reaching up and cupping her jaw. Then he was kissing her and she stopped noticing much of anything.

Elvis kissed much like he did most things he chose to do, wholeheartedly and instinctively, surging past insecurities and misgivings. He kissed as though the person he was kissing was the most beautiful, important, and delicious person he had ever met.

Every girl Chancy had seen him kiss, girlfriends, co-stars, and fans, there had been so many of them, had that same dazed, blessed aura afterwards. It added a bitter edge to her own glow knowing how she was just like so many others. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his face all planes and curves of shadow and skin, lashes, and lips, none of the features sliding together into a full picture.

“W-“ She stopped herself self-consciously and put a hand to his chest. His heat radiated through her like he had lava just beneath the skin. He had that same blank, faraway expression on his face as she pushed, guiding him down onto his back.

Propping herself up with a palm on the mattress, she leant over him, her hair sliding from her shoulder and acting as a curtain against the left side of his face. She studied his black brows, then his grey-blue eyes that looked almost black in the shadows and the thick dark lashes that made them irresistible, the straight line of his nose, down to the almost feminine fullness of his lips. She watched them spread into a devilishly adorable smile and realised that she was smiling too. She dipped down further, sliding her hand around his neck, and pressed her lips against him. His arms were around her, filling her with warmth and burning away that icy bitterness that kept her from enjoying the moment. Heat was in fact filling all of her, pooling in her core and tingling in her legs. Elvis moaned softly into her mouth and it shocked her back into her body, finding herself draped half across him.

“No, no, no, don’t do that,” he mumbled in a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t do what?” she whispered back. Her swollen lips tingled.

“Hide out in there,” he replied, tapping her temple. “Always analysing and questioning.” She couldn’t exactly deny it. “You know, Mama used to say that the reason we’re so good together was that you have the mind for both of us and I have the heart.”

It sounded so simple and country and sweet and wise that Chancy knew that it was probably true. God, she missed that woman! Elvis trailed his finger from her temple and down the side of her face.

“Which I know means that I haven’t had a mind in a long time. And I guess a whole lot of people would agree with that,” he snorted quietly.

“And I haven’t had a heart?” she asked quietly.

“Naw, you’ve always had my heart, baby.” She had to kiss him again after a line like that. It deserved a reward, and she told him so. He was grinning as she leant down to press her lips to his.

“See, it’s ‘cause I got my mind back.” With a growl, he rolled over and tucked her underneath him.

The sun was streaming through the clouds as they disembarked and Chancy smiled at the way it pierced the sky like spotlights. Accompanied by a photographer, some men in business suits stood by a limo parked near the plane. She recognised one of the men as a long-time employee of Colonel Parker, Bitsy Mott. Elvis was at the front of their party and, at the bottom of the steps, Mott ushered him over.

“Damn politicians can’t even wait until we get to the hotel before they’re pumping him for photo ops and donations,” Lamar muttered at her shoulder.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“Lord knows. Governor, mayor, damn President, all the same.” He ushered her towards the car and she noticed he had a slight limp as he did so.

“How are you?” she asked, pausing before she climbed in. He waved her concern away with an ‘aw shucks’ motion. “You seemed pretty hurt last night.”

“You too,” he pointed out. “Never a dull minute, huh!”

Sitting alone in the car, she tried to enjoy the relative peace and quiet with just the distant sounds of conversation and camera shutters whirring from behind the car. She glanced down and realised that the top button of her blouse had come undone. Her cheeks heated as she fastened it quickly, trying to remember if she had been aware of Elvis undoing her buttons. Apparently his nimble fingers were not just good for playing guitar and piano. Even as she thought that her stomach flipped and the weight of what was happening came crashing back down on her chest.

It was like a strange fever dream without the relief of waking up and taking some Tylenol. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? How was this going to end? Because it most certainly would, if only because it was Elvis and his attention span and track record spoke for themselves. All of which she would have more authority disparaging if she had managed to endure a relationship for longer than a year. Endure, that wasn’t the right word! It was a symptom of her sickness! Lord, what had she begun? Why had she begun it when she knew that she didn’t have the heart or soul to see it through?

“Goddamn, he had a lot to say!” said Sonny as he opened the car door and Elvis climbed in beside her. Sonny followed, perching his large frame on the bucket seat.

“Politicians, man, they like to hear themselves talk,” Elvis sighed. He tossed a large box in her direction and she fumbled as she caught it. “There ya go, don’t say I never give you nothing.”

“What is it?” she questioned, lifting the lid. Inside was a gleaming ornate silver key sitting on light blue silk. There was a plaque screwed to the inside of the lid.

“Key to the city. Go nuts.” He grinned. “One night I’m gonna get them all together and go to town, man, rip off the whole country. Don’t count as a crime spree if they give you the keys, right?”

“That would be an interesting defence in court, that’s for sure,” she nodded, closing the box.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get caught, honey, I’m too smart for that. And who’s going to suspect me anyway?”

“I guess you’re right. Actually, you know what, I reckon you could probably get away with not even wearing a disguise. It’d be on the news.” She put on a nasal mid-Atlantic accent. “‘Downtown was hit by a one-man crime wave today. Police say that the offender was disguised as Elvis Presley. The public should be on the lookout for impersonators and avid fans.’”

This started the guys started riffing on Elvis’s newfound circus skills again, coming up with more and more outlandish circus-related additions to the show until they were breathless from laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Chancy enjoyed it, appreciating the break from the intensity of it being just the two of them. Elvis’s leg was pressed hard against the side of hers, she could feel his heat seeping through her pants. When he first got settled, she had mistaken that pressure and shifted away to give him more room, but he had given her a strange look that was half exasperation and half hurt and widened his legs, knocking his thigh into her knee.

For a man who spent most of his time being mauled and grabbed, manoeuvred, and physically guided places, he never seemed to tire of being touched. It both confused and moved her.

At the hotel, Chancy was given the room next to Elvis. The way Jerry smiled and winked at her as he handed over the key increased the acid in her stomach. She felt like she had just pulled a ticket at the deli counter. Number 20 in the queue.

Sighing, she dropped onto the bed and let her head fall against the pillow. She stayed that way as she called home and checked in with her sister.

Chancy thought about telling her what had happened, how she had found herself in a weird situation with no obvious exits, but she could not foresee how Alicia would react, which ties of loyalty would pull tightest, since like most people she thought Elvis rated somewhere between the President and God himself. It was a complete clusterfuck.

As she lay there, blinking into the peace and watching dust motes float across the blades of light that sliced through the window, there was a sudden thump on her wall, hard enough to make the generic painting of purple topped mountains jolt. She lifted an eyebrow and climbed off the bed, slapping her palm against the wallpaper.

Immediately, thunder erupted across the vista of her wall like a violent electric storm in the middle of summer. She had to wait for it to stop before she could respond with another slap. Some people just called on the telephone. How boring was that.

Clutching her fingers around the security pass that she was never leaving her room without again, she went to the neighbouring door and knocked. Red didn’t question her appearance at the door and opened it wider to let her through.

“Hi, sorry to bother y’all,” she called, lifting her voice an octave. “I’m Barbara from the Customer Service Desk and we’ve received a complaint about a maniac banging on the walls and upsetting our guests. A very disturbed woman just called.”

“Oh yeah, she’s disturbed all right that one,” said Elvis, grinning as he emerged through the door from the adjoining bedroom. His hair was falling all across his forehead from his impromptu drum solo on her wall and as he drew close, leaning heavy on her and smushing his lips against her cheek, she pushed it back.

“Hey, man, food’s here,” Sonny said, as Ricky bustled into the room with grease marked bags that he was clutching like they were his babies.

“Have you eaten?” Elvis asked, patting her stomach like her body was a country he had conquered and its boundaries no longer concerned him.

“No, I was calling home.”

“Come eat with us, honey, gotta keep your strength up. Lil Sister’ll kick my ass all over town if I don’t look after you properly.” He led her over to others in the seating area. Ricky was dishing out the food while the guys complained and heckled him.

“Don’t get comfy, kid, you gotta do another run,” Elvis said, taking his food. “Cha-Cha, what d'you wanna eat, baby?”

Ricky did a fantastic job of not looking put out, but he was gripping his own bag so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“You know,” she said. “Thinking about it, I’m not so sure that I’m hungry right now. I think I’ll probably just grab some room service later.”

“Well, let us order room service for you now,” Sonny said. “Hey, kid, grab that menu by the phone there.”

“Really, there’s no-“

“Shit, don’t waste time with that,” Elvis interjected. “Just order one of everything, there’s bound to be something she likes.”

“Order me up some more fries while you’re there,” Charlie put in. “There’s something like four in here. You eat them on the way back, you little shit?”

Overwhelmed, Chancy’s eyes scanned the menu, but saw nothing, so she picked a club sandwich to stop everyone making suggestions.

“You guys are worse than Southern grandmas,” she muttered. “Forcing people to eat.”

“Did she just call us grandmas?” Sonny asked. “Man, I have been called a lot of things in my time, but I think that one cuts the deepest.”

“You know there ain’t no-one that can cut you off at the knees like a woman,” Charlie remarked.

“Is that what happened to you, Charlie? Bet you were six foot three before you started talking to women.” Ricky put in, finishing his call to order room service, and finally getting to sit with his food. Charlie muttered darkly under his breath.

“Kid, when you’re old enough for women to start noticing you, you know, if you ever grow into that pug-ugly face…”

Chancy tuned out as the insults got cruder and glanced towards Elvis, who was intently focussed on his meal. He had never been a picker of food, tackling his meals with concentration, enthusiasm, and firm idea of how he wanted things to be. She watched him packing his sandwich with what seemed to be a very specific order of pickles, meat, cheese, tomato, and mustard and then nod to himself as if in approval of his work before lifting it to his mouth. He stopped as he caught her staring.

“What? You want some?” He offered it out and then snatched it back just as quickly and took a huge bite, cheeks full like a hamster. His eyes twinkled playfully.

Chancy glanced round at the other men, checked that they were absorbed in their food and the television before dipping across and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth, licking away the little dab of mustard there. She winked at him as she moved back to her seat. Her belly filled with warmth when his eyes crinkled at the corners. Mouth still full, he leant over and pressed his lips against her cheek, his hand squeezing her thigh.

By the time Chancy’s food arrived, the boys had finished their meals, and Elvis and Charlie were fooling around, singing songs as Charlie tuned his guitar. Chancy took her sandwich from Ricky with a smile and rose to go to the table, because she was raised right. She squeaked as Elvis grabbed her hips without even a pause in his singing and pulled her back down next to him.

“I get a free dinner show, huh,” she joked. He reached across and stole a potato chip from the side of her plate.

“Payment,” he explained. “I don’t work for free.”

She ate her sandwich, listening to Elvis and Charlie singing snatches of old country ballads, bits of gospel, and songs that either of them had heard on the radio and had thought about for the show. Sonny joined in a little when he knew the words. Meanwhile, Elvis also ate all of her chips and even took the pickle.

“Gotta say, the price of this dinner show was steep!” she commented, gesturing at her empty plate. “Did I have to pay the maître de for a ringside table too?” She regretted it as soon as she spoke, seeing his cheeks go pink. “Who am I kidding, I’d definitely spring for the ringside table.” She patted his knee and pecked his cheek, hoping that was enough to get them through the awkward moment.

Not long after that, Joe and some of the other guys arrived. There seemed to be more movement and activity and Chancy took that as her cue to get lost. Elvis was talking with a few of the guys and she didn’t want to interrupt, so she let Ricky know she was leaving before she slipped out of the room.

Back in her own room, she made her own preparations for the show. She changed into her favourite deep purple miniskirt and black see-through blouse with a black silk chemise underneath. Expertly wrapping the front of her hair in heated rollers, she addressed her face in the less than flattering light of the bathroom mirror. The swelling below her eye had subsided, leaving only a small red lump that was easily covered along with the dark circles that had appeared. She painted on the eyeliner and mascara like it was plaster of Paris to cover the cracks.

Checking that she looked presentable, she came out into the hallway and locked her door to be ready like she usually did. Sonny was hanging about outside Elvis’s room and gave her a nod and a smile.

“You coming in?” he asked, hand on the door handle. The question was unexpected and she considered her answer even as he was already opening the door and beckoning her.

“I guess so,” she murmured, clutching her purse like a shield.

The room was packed with people and every few seconds there was a flash from a camera. She spotted Ricky leaning casually against a wall talking to a woman wearing short shorts and knee-high boots, who was looking everywhere else except for at him. She felt a little sorry for him, but she wasn’t sure he had even noticed her disinterest from the animated way he was talking. She found Elvis almost instantly, of course, in the centre of the action if not the centre of the room, the sun that everyone else was orbiting. She could hear Joe talking loudly and then Elvis’s lower murmur before a burst of laughter from those around them.

“You should go over and let him know you’re here.” She started and whirled round, finding herself face to chest with Sonny, who had apparently followed her in.

“Sorry?”

“He’ll wanna know that you’re here. Go on over and say hi.”

“Uh, okay.” She wasn’t sure when she had acquired a manager, but she did what she was told since she felt out of her element and she figured that he probably knew what he was talking about.

The throng around Elvis was surprisingly tight and she had to sidestep her way through some people, murmuring ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ as she did so. She got a disgusted side-eye from a brunette with incredibly thick fake eyelashes, and she was fairly sure that someone stood on her foot on purpose.

Elvis was evidently in a very upbeat mood, everyone around him was laughing and chattering away and he was talking to everyone and no one, his eyes flitting around and his attention not resting on anyone in particular for more than a second. She could have sworn that his gaze fell on her soon after she shimmied her way into the centre of the throng, but either he didn’t register her or he wanted to teach her some humility, because he didn’t acknowledge her.

It was Joe who noticed her first, saying hi and telling her that she looked good, which was sweet of him considering she was bookended by dozens of young, flawless looking young women.

As if hearing Joe’s comment, Elvis’s eyes finally flicked to her and gave her an appraising look from her feet upwards. She felt oddly both hot and cold as he gazed at her through his thick black lashes.

“Well, look who just appeared,” he remarked in an odd tone. “Keep an eye on her, folks, she’ll soon disappear in a flash.” And the people around him laughed uproariously as if it was an in-joke they all understood except for her.

Well, if this was supposed to humiliate her, they would all soon realise that, in order to humiliate someone, they had to consent to it. Chancy had spent her childhood moving around follow the coast and the river and had walked into dozens of schools where girls had tittered behind their hands at her clothes or her accent or her hair. She had survived that by pretending that she was an undercover spy or the Princess Anastasia, whom she had read about in a dime store romance, hiding from the Russian peasants who wanted to kill her. She had to endure the disdain in order to complete her mission or stay alive long enough to reclaim her throne.

“I never realised but, you’re right, making people disappear is another of your circus tricks,” Chancy returned loudly to be heard over the Greek chorus. “You’re so talented, Elvis.” She started to slip back out of the huddle, keeping her eyes on his. He paused and then a slow smile began to spread across his face.

“Where you going? Show’s not over,” he said, following her, the mob moving fluidly around him.

“Why, what’s next, you gonna cut me in half?”

He wrapped his hand around her throat, a move that was all for show since his fingers barely touched her skin, and pressed his pout to her cheek.

“I’ll save that for the finale,” he murmured.

“Looking forward to it.”

“Give me that sassy little mouth,” he mumbled, crushing her against him.

It felt strange playing with an audience, something that she would not have tolerated fifteen years ago when she would writhe and withdraw from his arms if anyone else was in the room, but times had changed. They had certainly changed, Elvis most of all. Anyone not happy with giving and receiving affection in public need not apply for the role of whatever she was, because to be with Elvis was to be public.

“You gotta be sweet to me first,” she teased, turning her face.

“Sweet?! Pssh, honey, I am always sweet to you. I get any sweeter and I’m gonna rot your teeth.” He tried following her mouth, but resigned himself to nuzzling her neck, nibbling, and then biting at the skin.

“Ow, okay, okay! Stop that!” She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, waiting. When nothing happened, she opened one eye and found him just staring at her, a small smile on his face. “What?”

“Nothing, just wanted to look at you.”

Too much, it was too much for her. If all the people in the room were staring at her (which they weren’t because they found her far less interesting than Elvis) it would not have been as overwhelming as his soft gaze.

“You’re right, you’re already sweet,” she commented quickly. She was relieved when someone else touched his arm and attracted his attention, releasing her from the pressure of being entertaining.

When they made their way to the show, Chancy found that being part of the comet was different to floating about in the tail. At first, Elvis had a tight hold of her hand and her biggest problem was keeping up with the long-legged strides of the men all around her. With the likes of Dick and Sonny forming a barricade, she could barely make out their surroundings and had to trust that they were not leading her straight into a wall or a hole in the ground. However, at the entrance of the hotel- something she only recognised because the air changed to chilly and slightly damp- Elvis paused to sign some autographs and she lost his hand as anchor.

The pressing and nudging around her was suffocating and acted like a current, drawing her further away from the group. She didn’t want to be the idiot that got lost or overwhelmed, distracting Elvis and the other guys from their jobs, so she kept quiet and tried to steer herself towards the car through jostling people calling out Elvis’s name with varying degrees of franticness. Right when she thought she might have to become one of them, Lamar shoved his way through the crowd like a grumpy, lumpy-looking superhero and took hold of her bicep.

“I got ya,” he murmured. “Don’t worry. Hey, let us through!”

Chancy had never been so glad to get into a car even with all the faces and camera lenses pushed up to the windows. She kept her head down and ignored the flashes.

“Hey, if you could, uh, neglect to mention I nearly lost you there I’d sure appreciate it,” Lamar called over his shoulder from the front seat.

“I’m not a liar,” she replied. “Why would I say that I got lost when it never happened?”

“Nice, thanks.”

The atmosphere in the car once it had set off for the arena was dense and strange. Elvis felt far away even as he was pressed against her. She could feel the vibrations from his jiggling leg and she watched as he flexed his hands repeatedly. She wondered what she could say to help soothe energy and anxiety that was powerful enough to show through his normally strong containment field, but finally realised that words were probably too much of a commitment and an imposition for him now. Instead, she put her hand on his thigh, unnerved by how tense the muscle was.

Without looking at her, his own hand dropped on top of hers and pushed it down. She understood, increasing the pressure until her arm started to ache.

Backstage at the arena, there was a contingent of fans from England who wanted to present Elvis with an award. They stared at him as if he was ten foot tall and glowing. Chancy found it endearing how he had the effect of turning adult men and women into awed believers. It de-aged them, making the cynical and jaded shell that people developed as they went through the machinations of life crack and flake away. She imagined their faces to be the same as they had been on Christmas morning when they were young and they rushed downstairs to see if Santa had been.

It was not one-sided though, because Elvis seemed affected too and became gentler and more considerate like he too could see the little children he had manifested.

One girl in particular got to Chancy’s heart. She stood at the edge of the group in silence, her eyes fixed on Elvis as he talked to her friends and signed autographs. When he moved along the line and came to her, she immediately bubbled over into overwhelmed tears.

Chancy’s own heart lurched and she was gratified to see Joe get the girl some Kleenex and pat her on the shoulder.

Elvis cupped the girl's chin so tenderly and gave her a peck on the cheek, all the while stroking her arm like he wasn’t the cause of her emotional overload. It was adorable to watch.

Afterwards, he came and stood by Chancy while Joe explained the stage set up and any hazards he had foreseen. Apparently, the stage was quite low, which meant that the acoustics would not be the best and security would be trickier because the audience would have easier access.

Elvis nodded, but then frowned, asking if the local cops providing security were going to be standing in their usual place at the foot of the stage, because he didn’t want them blocking the view of the front rows.

“I-I-If I can’t see them and they can’t see me, that’s gonna make it so much harder to… y’know.” He gave a wry little smile. “Do my thing. I mean, my job.”

“Yeah, best keep your thing out of it with that many cops around,” Jerry quipped. Some of the guys guffawed and Chancy rolled her eyes, feeling like she was back in High School.

“You want me to keep it out?” Elvis asked, looking perplexed before shrugging and pretending to reach for his belt. The rest of the guys howled and shouted about shutting the door in case of cameras and calling for the ambulance to the nut house for ‘Ole Crazy’.

Chancy wasn’t a prude, though she could play the prim Southern lady if necessary, but she didn’t like the energy in the room. Elvis had disappeared into the bathroom with a doctor for a few minutes before the English fans had arrived and the rest of the guys also seemed ‘over-excited’, eyes sparkling like glass and words coming too fast. There was no one with their foot poised over the brake. The kids were all going wild and Mom wasn’t home.

“Hey, fellas, cool it,” snapped Elvis, of all people. Chancy had been watching Sonny trying inexplicably to shove Lamar out of the dressing room and barricade him in the corridor, and she almost started when she felt arms wrap around her shoulders from behind. “You’re making the lady nervous acting like goddamn animals.” She reached up and gave his forearms a squeeze. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll protect you from these degenerates. You want me to whoop their asses?” She didn’t have time to answer before he stuck his tongue in her ear and started laughing uproariously as she tried to wrestle herself away from his grip.

It was a relief when Lamar announced it was time for him to take her to her seat. She could see that he was feeling the same, having had to kick Sonny away from him several times. She moved towards him like he was her guardian angel.

“Wait a minute!” Elvis called, grabbing her by the arm and feinting a move towards her face with his tongue out. She ducked her head and squealed. “No, really, for real now.” His other hand caught the nape of her neck and he pressed a kiss to her temple. He was already glistening with sweat and she could feel his heart thundering against her shoulder as he leant in. At the last minute, he licked a strip up her cheek and cackled like a wicked witch.

“Good Lord!” she growled, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. “Y’all are worse than animals!”

“Hey, Lamar, don’t you lose her again, you big ole sonovabitch! Strike one, son!”

Walking down the hallway to the seating area, she raised her hands at the shadows.

“How in the heck did he know?!” she asked.

“Man, I stopped trying to figure out how he does things a long time ago,” Lamar muttered. “Supernatural bastard.”

The show was exhausting for everyone involved. For a start, Elvis would not stop talking and fooling around. He told the story of his rise to fame with a lot of embellishments and risqué jokes. Chancy got her own little mention:

“I was going with a chick, we were gonna be married, but, uh, it didn’t work out. Don’t think she and my other girlfriends got along… Wonder what she’s up to now, man.”

She rolled her eyes as those in the know chuckled and looked over at her. She saw pity in some of the women’s faces, which made her cheek burn, but mostly she just felt worried. It had been a long time since Elvis had been made to conform to normal social expectations and boundaries, but he tended to, or at least pretended to in public. Clearly, whatever he was taking had made him loosen the reins on himself and she didn’t know of anyone else strong enough to take over that duty.

Just before ‘Love Me Tender’, he ‘borrowed’ the hat of one of the police officers at the foot of the stage and swaggered around kissing the fans that had made it through the cordon while wearing it. She didn’t stop holding her breath until he returned the hat with a polite ‘Thank you, Sir.’ She had been just waiting for a crack about using the handcuffs.

Finally, they were back in the car, Elvis breathless and sweaty beside her, and the guys talking about a large woman who had tried to barrel her way down the aisle like a bowling ball to take out the cops like pins only to be toppled at the first hurdle by a well-placed foot. Chancy frowned at their unkindness, but they just seemed to find her annoyance funny too.

“I think I busted my suit,” Elvis remarked suddenly, groping the inside of his thigh, which was hidden from his view as he sat reclined, his belly bulging over his belt. “Goddamn it. Baby, can you see? Is it bad?”

Chancy leaned over cautiously, not trusting that this wasn’t one of his pranks, but he did seem genuinely concerned and annoyed. She confirmed that he had split his inseam, there was a tear about a couple of inches long. He unwound the towel from his neck and draped it across his lap.

“Fuckin’ lucky those cops were facing the other way,” he muttered. “Would’ve got myself arrested that time for sure.”

“Nah, they can’t arrest you for flashing your drawers,” Joe shrugged. His eyes widened. “Oh Jesus, you were wearing… you didn’t?!”

“Well, I don’t like the lines,” Elvis muttered diffidently. The guys guffawed, covering their faces with their hands.

“Can’t wait to see the review in the paper tomorrow, big old X-rated label across the picture,” Lamar quipped. “And to think they wanted to run you out of town in the early days just for wiggling your legs.”

Elvis didn’t laugh and the amusement rapidly faded out for the guys also, since they were well attuned to his moods. He spent the rest of the car ride with his hands clasped at his groin, his face turned to the window, frowning at the passing street lights.

Back at the hotel, Chancy watched him head back into his room, the guys following him in, but then nearly all of them exiting almost immediately afterwards. She went into her room and let out a sigh at the peace. She closed her curtains and stepped out of her heels, flexing the ache out of her feet. Even as she was considering whether to shower or get changed, there was a business-like knock on her door.

“I have been told to get your dinner order,” Jerry informed her.

It rankled her the way he kept saying it like that, to make it perfectly clear that he was only being civil and courteous because he was under orders. She wondered what she had done for him to only interact when forced.

“I have been told to ask for a salad,” she returned, to let him know she had caught the undertone. “Chicken or cheese or whatever is fine. I take it I’m eating it next door?” He nodded.

“Elvis is just getting washed up and then he’ll let you know when you can go in.” She scowled, couldn’t help herself. Maybe she could buy him a little bell to summon her.

The summons came in the form of Ricky, who beamed at her when she opened the door. She was tempted to ask him if he had a date with the girl she saw him trying to talk to before the show, but decided that was just misplaced irritation towards Jerry and Elvis.

Chancy tapped on the door to Elvis’s room, immediately wondering whether she should have knocked harder in case there was a party going on. Before she could reconsider, Elvis himself threw open the door. He was wearing pyjamas and a robe like he was all ready for bed and he looked her up and down.

“You didn’t get changed,” he commented with a bemused look.

“I didn’t know I had to,” she returned. “Should I… go do it now?”

“If you think I’m letting you disappear again, you’re crazy.” He reached out and took her hand, pulling her into the suite. It was empty, which was something of a revelation. Other than when he appeared in her room, Elvis always had someone with him. Who did he perform to when he was by himself?

“Now, let’s see.” She watched him open a drawer of the dresser in the bedroom and pull out something dark and silky. “Yeah, this’ll do.” He passed her one of his pyjama tops. “Go put this on, honey.” She looked over to the bathroom he was nodding towards.

“My room is just next door,” she reminded him. “I could be there and back in five minutes.”

“We’ve been through that,” he returned firmly. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told.” Her skin warmed and not in a pleasant way. She stalked towards the bathroom, mouthing words that ‘good girls’ would never have said.

“And quit with the sass too,” he called in his mystifying and infuriating all-knowing way.

Chancy eyed herself dubiously in the bathroom mirror, pulling at the bottom of the black silk jacket. It grazed the middle of her thighs, barely covering her underwear, a contrast to the sleeves that hung over her hands. She sighed, rolling them back up over her wrists and then poked her tongue out at her reflection.

Leaning into the ridiculousness, she opened the door and shuffled out like Harpo Marx. Elvis laughed like she knew he would, but as his smile faded it was very clear from the look in his narrowed eyes that he did not share her opinion that she looked foolish.

“Come sit down here, honey, dinner’s here.” He beckoned her over to the seating area and placed her on the couch beside the arm. Then he sat down next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him down her side.

The television was on and playing a movie, some spy thriller with people wearing trench coats and demanding to know the whereabouts of the ‘microfilm’ in Russian accents. Elvis watched intently, scooping food into his mouth like he had been told to eat up or there would be no dessert.

She sneaked peeks at his profile as she poked a fork listlessly at the salad. His nose looked like it was sculpted by a Renaissance artist, though she was well aware that in actuality the credit should go to a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles who had been part of the dying studio system back in the late 50s. She remembered crying when she first saw him back from filming his third movie, locking herself in the bathroom so that no one else could see.

It wasn’t that he had looked so different, which he hadn’t as the surgeon had done a refinement rather than an overhaul, but what it represented. It told her that Elvis was prepared to go to any lengths to alter and erase anything that he felt didn’t fit in with his new image, his new lifestyle, and his dreams. She had already known at that point that this included her.

As if sensing her gaze, Elvis dragged his eyes away from the screen and crossed them as he turned to her, wrinkling his nose.

“What you lookin’ at?”

“I don’t know, stranger,” she replied. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like that famous fella? That guy who sings and makes the girls scream? You know his name.”

“Engelbert Humperdinck?” he replied dubiously. She bit down her smile.

“No, not that one. He’s been famous for a little while now. Why, I heard he sold more records than The Beatles. Darn, why can’t I remember his name?”

A half-smile on his face, he put his empty plate on the coffee table and then slid hers off her lap too. When he leant in for a kiss, she reclined in equal measure.

“Well, Sir, you’re behaving very forward for a stranger, I must say. You’re not one of those disrespectful rock and roll musicians, are you? I was warned about them.”

“No, no, miss, I’m real respectful,” he murmured, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh as he rose onto his knees, following her lips. She leant back until the back of her head met the corner of the back of the sofa.

“Oh good. I would hate to get myself caught up with one of those types,” she whispered. “Like that dreamy singer whose name I can’t remember.” He paused, his lips just barely touching hers. His arms bracketed her head, gripping the arm of the sofa on one side and the back on the other.

“Say it,” he murmured. She frowned, almost dropping her wide-eyed persona for a second. “Say my name.” She grinned then, not fooled by the dominant façade, hearing the need behind it.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue…” she stalled, giggling at his growl. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged slightly.

“Say it. I mean it, or you’re gonna be sorry.”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that told him exactly how silly she thought he was for making withholding even more delicious to her. He shook his head and poked his fingers into her waist, tickling in his own unique way, both playful and painful.

“Stop! Stop it!” she laughed helplessly, the dirty belly laugh her mother used to scold her about because a lady should always sound like she’s in control. He did, eventually, once he had stopped laughing at her. The look he gave her was prompting, eyebrows raised in expectation. She couldn’t resist.

“You are the rudest anonymous stranger I have ever met!” she announced, really clutching her pearls now. “I think you’re just as despicable as that nameless-“ She shrieked as he pinched her behind the knees, his head turned away from her face as his fingers crept up from her knees and began prodding and grazing over her thighs. “Elvis! Elvis, stop, I give! I give!” He paused, kneeling over her, and raised an eyebrow as he glanced back to her face.

It was a compulsion, she realised, some deep, unstoppable drive inside of him to make sure that everyone know who he was, his name. It made him first record a song when he was too scared to sing with the lights on, it shoved him on stage when his legs were so shaky that they fluttered like wings, and it made him still climb onto a different stage every night and sing the same songs he had been singing for years even when he was sick of them. Being recognised and seen was a need, something hungry and fierce inside of him that he had no control over. She wondered if he understood that himself.

“I- I remember now,” she said in her wide-eyed stranger voice. “Elvis Presley, that’s his name.” She switched back to her own voice to finish. “That’s your name, Elvis Presley.”

She was rewarded with a violent, fast kiss and then he gathered her up from the sofa so that he could lay down on it with a grunt before bringing her back down on top of him, smoothing the top of her hair under his chin.

“You’re a goddamn pain in the ass making me be all energetic just after I ate,” he muttered into the top of her head. She reached up to move his pendant from under her cheek and smooth the lapel of his pyjama top so that it didn’t obstruct her view of the television, before nuzzling against his warm chest. She could hear his heart thumping fast and felt a little guilty, rubbing his side soothingly.

The Russians were still looking for the microfilm and were now involved in a car chase through the streets of… It looked like it might be San Francisco, but Chancy wasn’t sure since she had only been there once and just remembered fog and hills.

“Remind me never to get into a car chase in San Francisco,” she murmured. “All those hills have gotta be tough on your suspension.”

“Since you always drive like you’re in a car chase it’s probably best just not to drive in San Francisco, period.”

“Hey!” she complained. “You can talk, Mister ‘I don’t believe in stop lights or speed limits’. And who was it that taught me how to drive in the first place, huh?”

“Biggest mistake of my life.”

Chancy thought about retorting or pretending to be offended, whipping up another role play/game, but the truth was that she was comfortable and warm and she could tell from the way his heartbeat had slowed and steadied that Elvis was relaxed too. She thought she could get used to this easy, calm domesticity even as she knew that she would never get the chance.

“Got no comeback, honey?” he murmured, drumming his fingertips on her waist. “You falling asleep on me?”

“I could,” she admitted. “This is very comfy and cosy.”

“Well, shit, can’t be having that. Sit up for me, honey.” She bit back a sigh and wriggled down a little so that she could rise up on her knees. “No, no, sit up on me, baby.” He gave her a wicked smile, raising his eyebrow in a way that got the women screaming and crying when he was on stage. His hands gripped her hips, before sliding round to her ass to manoeuvre her back up into place. She used his shoulders to push up so that she was straddling his hips.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, hearing herself sound more bewildered than enticing.

“Mhmm,” he murmured in a low voice, spreading his hands on her thighs on either side of him. “Oh hey, your underwear matches the shirt I picked!” She yanked on the bottom of the pyjama jacket as he gave a chuckle. “Too late, I already saw.” His hand slipped underneath the hem of the jacket, creeping towards the leg of the panties. “Did you wear these for me? You know that good girls don’t wear black down there, don’t ya?”

“Yes, they do. I do.”

“Well, I like white,” he said firmly. “But you look good in anything, baby. I swear, Cha-Cha, I-“ He shook his head and winced. “I need to think of a way to say this that ain’t corny…”

He tilted his head side to side, squinting at the ceiling and pouting like a little kid trying to remember their multiplication tables. It shouldn’t have been titillating, Chancy had seen her four-year-old niece do the same thing when she was trying to think up a lie for why one of the dogs was wrapped up in toilet paper, but somehow he made it erotic and endearing at the same time.

“What the hell, I’m just gonna be corny. You were a pretty little girl, honey, but you have just got more beautiful as you got older. No, you have. Hey now!” He pulled her hands away from her face, his fingers tapping a staccato into her palms. “I’m being a corny ass sumbitch right now, but it’s the truth, you know. I’m just telling it the way I see it. You are breath-takin’. And sexy too, which you would find out if you sat down instead of hovering over me like a little bird.”

It was too much, the words, the way that he was talking, him but not him. The Elvis she knew could be cheeky, could be sweet, could definitely make a girl blush and heat up, but all at once was too confusing and intense. Even his voice, his accent, wasn’t really him. It was stage Elvis, movie Elvis, smooth the edges and mute the twang Elvis. She was compelled to get up, almost catching her foot on his leg as she scrambled off him and the sofa.

“Sorry,” she gasped, trying to smile and reassure him that she hadn’t lost her mind. From the confused look on his face she wasn’t sure that she succeeded.

“I told you it was corny. Didn’t think it’d make you run away though.” He rolled onto his side, propping up his head with his hand. “Why’re you acting so bashful? I know guys have called you beautiful before, too many guys probably… I don’t wanna think about that.”

“None of them have been The Elvis Presley though.” She used the air quotes, then wondered if she had been too sharp. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he caught her tone, but didn’t quite understand it.

“Honey, it’s just me,” he said, disconcerted enough that it actually did sound like him again.

“Is it?”

“I don’t think I get this game,” he admitted with a small frown.

“Me neither,” she relented, walking back to the sofa. “I’m just being silly.”

He sat up to allow her space to sit beside him and she sensed that he had pulled back because her reaction to his compliment had unsettled him. She thought about all the people who had his pictures on their walls, who daydreamed about being in her position, and wondered if they would believe her if she ever got to tell them about how insecure he was, their dream man, their superstar boyfriend. One sign of ambivalence and he would curl up into his shell. Outright indifference could crush him.

As he intently watched the final shootout of the movie, she tucked her legs up beneath her on the sofa to give herself a little more height and leant into him. His arm immediately wrapped around her waist, but he stayed focussed on the television. She considered the side of his face: the length of his eyelashes and the almost obscene plumpness of his lips. She brushed her finger against his sideburn, smoothing the hair in all the same direction, and she watched the line at the corner of his mouth twitch as he fought against smiling. When this tactic didn’t work, she used her first knuckle to graze slowly down his cheek and round his jaw, enjoying the way that the curves of his cheekbones deepened as he tightened his lips.

Finally, she played her last card, she stuck her finger into her mouth and sucked on it to make it nice and wet and then poked it into his ear. She leapt up as he reacted and scrambled over the back of the sofa before he had gotten to his feet.

“You sneaky little thing!” he cried, his words tripping over his laughter. “Get your ass back here now for your punishment!”

“That was payback!” she insisted, shaking her head. “For what you did to me earlier!”

“Oh, I’m gonna do so much worse now,” he promised, his eyes glittering. Her heart raced as she darted around the sofa, responding to his movements. “You’re only making it worse for yourself!”

“You’re not exactly encouraging me to surrender,” she pointed out, shrieking as he finally clambered over the sofa. She panicked, whirling around before racing into the bedroom.

“Christ, you’re fast!” he marvelled, a little out of breath but trying to hide it as he came to the bedroom doorway.

“I’m motivated,” she pointed out.

“Welp, I’m removing that motivation.” He flopped down onto the bed and pillowed his head on his arms. “Game’s over. Come and sit with me, baby.”

“Does… this mean I win?” Chancy asked slowly since that had never happened before.

“You know I can’t say that. I won’t say that.”

Elvis Presley didn’t lose. Mostly because of his many skills and talents and his relentless competitive spirit, but also because the temper tantrums and sulking afterwards were not worth it.

“So, a draw then?”

“Shit, it’s not like there’s a trophy. Get over here!”

“Well, I’m calling it a draw,” she said to herself, slowly crossing the room to the bed. She made it as far as putting her knee onto the mattress before he was up and wrestling her beneath him. She was completely unsurprised, but she still shrieked and fought, pretending that she was, because it was what he expected and wanted.

“Draw, my ass!” he crowed, tickling and licking everything he could reach.

“I surrender! You win!” she pleaded. He didn’t listen at first, but finally quietened down, breathless from his exertions.

Looking up at him straddling her, she didn’t have the most flattering view. Everything was bigger, his fuller face had a double chin as he stared down at her and his round belly heaved as he panted. She could see that the belt of his robe was barely long enough to tie once it had wrapped around his middle. She felt guilty even noticing, because she knew he would be embarrassed, no doubt was embarrassed by his weight. But it also made him human, vulnerable and fallible in a way that was reassuring for her. Perfection was beautiful and admirable, but it wasn’t loveable.

“You have made a grave mistake!” she warned him. “You have just revealed how deceitful you are. Now I’ll never trust you again!”

“Aw, no, say it ain’t so!” he teased, pouting and drawing up his eyebrows so sweetly that she would have forgiven him if she had really been mad.

“You are a cheat! A rotten cheat.”

Elvis had evidently had enough of the playing because he leant down and caught up her mouth with his own, swallowing her air before she could say any more. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders even as he was rearranging them both so that he was laying on the bed with her beside him. She had been distracted by his weight and had failed to notice something else about him that had become larger, but she felt it now as he pushed his groin against her hip, moaning a little into the kiss.

“Okay, I forgive you,” she mumbled into his mouth, moving her hands to his back. He huffed a laugh, mocking the length of time she could hold a grudge, but she didn’t respond. At least not verbally.

At first their kisses were sweet and unhurried. Elvis kept pausing and drawing back to just look at her before returning to her lips. She wondered if he was checking that she was still okay, or if he couldn’t believe what was happening between them, or if he just couldn’t remember who he was kissing.

“This should feel strange, shouldn’t it?” he said in a soft voice, squinting slightly at her like she had the answers he sought. “It should at least feel like we haven’t done this in years?”

“What does it feel like?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Nice…” He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, that’s real sexy, Elvis, just keep talking, son. No, it feels… right. You know what I mean?” He barely gave her a second to respond, before he was shaking his head and smiling diffidently. “You have no idea what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, do you.”

“No, no, I do!” She rushed to reassure him, because the need that emanated from him was overwhelming and, like most other women he encountered, she was helpless against it. It didn’t matter that she knew he had learnt to harness and weaponize that distilled little boy quality, that desperate need to be adored and loved, she was just as susceptible to it even knowing she was being played.

Was he right? Should it have felt strange to be doing this again? She thought perhaps that she had always known this would happen. It had always lingered as a possibility in some liminal pocket during moments they spent together. There had been times when she felt sure he might try to kiss her and times when all she wanted to do was press her lips against his and surrender to the urge once and for all. It was exhausting to keep fighting the impulse and after so many years it made sense they were too weary to continue.

As she was musing on this exhaustion, her body was flooding with electricity and energy. She could feel her skin buzzing and her muscles stretching and tensing with anticipation.

Elvis’s hand had slid progressively further down from her waist to her hip and now to the top of her thigh. With a low hum, he drew up her leg and slid closer to her, pushing himself against her groin. She responded with a pleased smile, tucking her legs around him to hold him in place. She could feel his hard length kneading against her folds, pressing them into the button of nerves that was already tingling.

They had slipped through a doorway in time, which was no longer measured in minutes, but breaths and the tingling and sensitivity of their skin and lips. Chancy’s hands slid round to his front and she toyed with the first button on his pyjama shirt, not consciously unfastening it but filled with the need to get her hands on his skin.

Without a word, Elvis took her hands and moved them to his shoulders, nuzzling into her neck so that his chest was pressed tightly against her.

It felt like they were teenyboppers on their first date and she was the pushy quarterback trying to get his sweet virginal girlfriend to agree to second base. Elvis kissed her with delicious enthusiasm and seemed to have no compunction about rolling his hips and pressing his erection into her, but the minute she tried to take the next step, he pulled back.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked finally, out of frustration and confusion.

“Hell no,” he murmured, nibbling on her neck. He did stop though suddenly. “Do you wanna stop?”

She shook her head and relinquished control to him. If he wanted to play it PG, she was confused but accepting. It was sweetly nostalgic in a way, reminding her of when they would park after going to the movies back when they dated. Back then, they would take it in turns to play the responsible one to make sure nothing went too far.

Gradually Elvis’s writhing became more focussed and intent, his hands grabbed hold of her ass and pulled her in against him. Flutters began between her legs as she listened to his grunts and panting and felt the urgency building in him. She could feel him speaking or singing, vibrations tingling through his chest and into hers, but so quietly that she couldn’t make out the words.

Finally, he groaned and shuddered, pulling her in so tightly that her bones creaked. There was a long pause before he gave a quiet, self-conscious laugh.

“Ah… shit. Been a long while since that happened.”

Chancy glanced down at his pants and carefully schooled her face. Elvis could be an iceberg, showing only a glimpse of what was beneath the surface. That was how people were often caught off-guard when he erupted, having not appreciated what he was experiencing beforehand. The fact that he seemed a little embarrassed might mean just that, or it could mean he was mortified and trying to hide it.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she said with a small smile and a shrug.

In answer, he cupped her cheeks and gave her a long kiss.

“You’re perfect,” he informed her intensely. She felt goosebumps break out across her skin as a shiver went down her spine. He spoke with such conviction and authority like he was making it so even as he spoke. It made her feel indestructible.

When he went into the bathroom to get changed, she played his words over and pictured the fire that glowed in his dark blue eyes as he spoke, trying to understand how he did it, the secret to his magic. Was it power imbued by others, the cumulative effect of thousands of people believing in him? Or was it something intrinsic, a supernatural ability that he had been born with?

Over the years, she had swung between the two explanations over and over. There had always been something, even back when he was a shy teenager cursed with acne and a stammer that had not yet been declared charming. The intensity had always been there, his mama had it too, but no one else had the ability to speak things into being the way that Elvis did. No one could entrance and bewitch like him.

“What?” He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a strange, shy smile on his face as he looked at her and whatever odd expression she was wearing. She shook her head and lowered her eyes, embarrassed to be caught being dreamy. Grandma was always urging her to stop living in her head and start trying it out in the world instead. Chancy knew that she was right, but old habits were hard to break.

“Nothing.”

“Come get ready for bed then, darlin’.”

“Uh… all my things are next door.” She watched him sigh with frustration and physically shrug it off.

“Let’s go then.” He took her hand and they went to the door. Elvis peered out first, checking that the coast was clear, presumably for Chancy’s sake since everyone and their neighbour in the group had seen him in pyjamas and a robe countless times.

There was a security guard posted near the elevator at the far end of the corridor and he turned as he caught a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye. Elvis raised his hand in greeting, the other hand pushing Chancy behind him like she was naked. Such an peculiarly old-fashioned attitude to have for someone who had regularly held naked pool parties in his Hollywood home throughout the past decade.

“Huh, you a bit of a slob, Cha-Cha?” he remarked when they walked into her room, as though this was a clue in a mystery he was solving. “You didn’t used to be.”

“I’m not usually,” she returned quickly, cheeks a little pink. It was a small lie.

She hurried across and shoved some clothes back into the suitcase laying open on the floor, scooping up some underwear on the way. She could feel his amusement even before she turned and saw the smile drawing out his cheekbones.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she muttered.

“Mmhmm.” She smacked him with the back of her hand as she moved across to the bathroom.

“Not all of us have maids and valets and cleaners following our every move you know.”

“Hey, I’m just enjoying how shook up you are about me finding out your messy, messy secret.” He had followed her to the bathroom door and leant against the frame now, showing no signs of feeling inclined to give her privacy.

“Well, make yourself at home.” She flapped her hand. “I won’t be a minute.”

“I’m fine right here, darlin’.” She frowned at his reflection, but he seemed to be serious.

Feeling self-conscious, she picked up her toothbrush and squeezed out the toothpaste. It was the first time she had ever been so aware of each movement required to brush her teeth. She was suddenly mindful of the noise of the bristles against her teeth, the goofy way she looked with toothpaste foaming at the corners of her mouth, and she was so horrified of the idea of spitting it out that she considered swallowing it instead.

For his part, Elvis behaved like it was perfectly natural to stand and observe someone brushing their teeth. After he fixed his hair and straightened the lapels of his robe in the mirror, he hummed to himself as he fidgeted behind her, picking up her hairbrush and examining it before putting it down. Her perfume bottles clinked as he fiddled with them, eyes narrowing in a slight squint as he read the labels and then picked up each one in turn to sniff them. By the time he was rifling through her make-up bag, she had almost let him fade into the background, the way she did when her niece Faye was pottering about. It was the same energy, she decided, the childlike need to investigate unfamiliar surroundings, much more socially accepted in a four-year-old than a grown man. She washed her face and brushed her hair through, then turned to him, slightly exasperated.

“I need to get changed, honey. Can I have a little privacy?”

“Uh uh, don’t get changed,” he murmured, shaking his head as he twisted her lipstick back down and replaced the lid. “You look perfect the way you are.”

“Okay, well, I’d like to use the bathroom then, please.” She put her hands on his chest and gave him a gentle push.

“Don’t take too long,” he returned sharply, sounding like someone used to bossing around everyone around him. “Or I’m gonna fall asleep out here.”

As soon as she got the door shut, she rushed back to the sink to give herself a hurried sponge bath. She reapplied her perfume and considered putting some make-up back on before telling herself that she was stupid and that she better get back out into the room or she would find Elvis rifling through her suitcase.

Rushing into the room, she glanced round and saw him sitting on her bed, leaning sideways to rest his head on her pillows. At first she thought he was fooling around, thinking back to what he had said when she closed the door on him.

“I wasn’t that long!” she commented, rolling her eyes. When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer and poked him in the shoulder to let him know that the joke was over. It was when he started and squinted up at her with bleary eyes that she realised it was real.

“Oh honey!” Instinctively, she reached for his face to soothe his lost, groggy expression. “You shouldn’t have waited on me if you were this tired!”

“Wanna be with you,” he mumbled, gripping her forearms. He shook his head like he could shake himself awake, but it only dislodged her hands, making him lurch as he refused to release her arms. “Where’re you goin’?”

It didn’t make any sense, she had only been in the bathroom for ten minutes at most and he had been perfectly fine when she had closed the door. It was pills obviously, but she had never seen them take him so quickly and completely. That was new.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s go back to your room.”

“Stay, Cha-Cha,” he pleaded in a soft, slurred voice. ”Please stay with me.” Her heart flip flopped and she couldn’t answer right away, just kept on trying to pull him up. He finally seemed to grasp what she was trying to do and helped her out, stumbling onto his feet as she used her body to buffer him while still trying to break his grip on her arms.

“I’m staying,” she promised loudly. “Baby, I’m staying, but we need to go to your room.”

He didn’t remain on his feet long, almost pulling her over as he dropped back down heavily onto the bed. She looked at him, sitting at least, but with his head hanging as he drifted back off, and then at the hotel room door. She knew he would prefer to be in his own bed and could only imagine the chaos that would ensue when someone knocked on his door and found him missing at some point.

Using a manoeuvre that he had once taught her, she clasped her hands together and yanked them down and over, breaking his grip on her and rousing him again.

“Wait!” he snapped, like they were in the middle of an argument. She hurried to the door and threw it open, finding Sonny sitting outside Elvis’s room. She had never been so glad to see him.

“I need help!” she called.

He jumped up, shooting an alarmed look at Elvis’s door where he had presumably thought she was with him. The shutters dropped on his face when he came to her threshold and saw Elvis on the bed. Chancy could almost hear the metallic clang as he slipped into his professional role as fixer, bodyguard, cleaner of messes. Her stomach cramped at how not shocked he seemed.

“He fell asleep while I was in the bathroom,” she explained. “We need to get him to his bed.”

“All right. C’mon then, Boss, let’s get you up.” He stooped and hooked Elvis’s arm around his broad shoulders, grabbing his waist with his other arm. Chancy rushed to Elvis’s other side and gripped his other arm, pulling with all her might.

Together, they got him to his feet and Chancy felt him wake again, fighting them a little as he tried to pull his arms away.

“Settle down,” Sonny soothed in a gentle, for him, voice. “Just putting you to bed, man.”

“Sonny? s’goin’ on? Where’s Cha-Cha?” He turned his head and gave a little absent-minded laugh. “There’s Cha-Cha!”

Having tried to keep Elvis upright by herself, Chancy could fully appreciate how strong Sonny was as they made their way out of her room. She paused to lock her door and Elvis’s arm almost throttled her as he tightened his grip to avoid losing her and Sonny didn’t know to pause.

“Ain’t she pretty?” Elvis mumbled, dragging her back to him and burying his nose into her hair. “Ain’t she pretty, Sonny?”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Sonny grunted, nodding at Chancy to open the door to Elvis’s room.

“You’re so pretty, honey.”

“Thank you,” she replied quietly, patting his back, and wishing he would fall asleep again. Who knew what he would say in this state and she wanted to be able to look both him and Sonny in the eye again after that night.

Finally, they made it to the bed and Sonny disentangled himself slowly, letting Elvis drop gently onto the mattress.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, meeting Chancy’s eye. She nodded and thanked him. “I’m right outside if you need anything.” She watched him close the bedroom door behind him and then turned back to the man trying and somehow failing to climb beneath the covers.

“Baby, you’re kneeling on… Oh lord, we are a real mess right now!” she sighed.

Elvis giggled like a kid and dropped onto his back, pulling at the bedclothes with his heels as he lifted his hips and finally succeeding at freeing them.

“Cha-Cha!” He made the grabby hands gesture, beckoning her to him. She sighed again and climbed onto the bed, letting him draw her in.

“We made it!” she mused in disbelief, snuggling up to him. She waited for him to drift off again, but he seemed to have gained a second wind and was more interested in kissing, stroking and patting her. Then he said he was thirsty and she fetched him a drink of water. Then he said he was hungry. Again, he reminded her of Faye, fighting sleep and trying to stay up late with the grown-ups, coming up with every excuse possible to avoid going to bed.

“Look, sweetheart,” she began, her tone exactly the same as when she was talking to the four-year-old, “it’s not time to eat now. It’s time to sleep. But if you go straight to sleep, it’ll be breakfast when you wake up, okay?”

He stared at her, his intense expression not giving anything away. She wondered if he was going to snap at her for talking to him like a child, for treating him like a child essentially, and held her breath.

“Okay, Mommy,” he sighed eventually, his voice soft and babyish. “I’ll go to sleep if you give me a kiss.” She dutifully pressed her lips to his pout and smiled as he stroked his fingers down the side of her face. “Stay, okay? Stay until I wake up.”

“I’ll stay,” she assured him.

“Promise me now.”

“I promise. I’ll stay.”

Finally, eventually, his eyelids began to droop and his breathing deepened.

After what felt like hours, still wide awake from her exertions, she decided to go back to her room to fetch a book to read, thinking it would help her relax and fall asleep. She got as far as turning away from Elvis before the pyjama top she was wearing stretched taut and went tight around her neck. Throwing back the blankets, she found that he had a handful of the shirt squeezed tightly in his fist, evidently not trusting that she would keep her promise.

What would it be like to be so fearful of being alone? He always seemed to her to be so strong, such a force, and it was difficult to reconcile that with this overwhelming need for companionship. How strong could someone really be if they couldn’t face spending any time in a room alone? She was drifting off finally, contemplating this, when Elvis jerked, his arms and legs flailing, and he came to in a roar of garbled fragments of words and sounds. She was clutching her leg where he had got a good kick in, finally able to roll out of the danger zone now that he had released her top.

“Are they safe?” he said hurriedly, his voice cracked and thick. “Why won’t anyone tell me?”

“Elvis,” she said softly, giving her shin a final pained rub, “it was a dream, honey. Everyone is safe.”

“I heard her crying,” he insisted. “She’s calling for me.”

“Who was crying, sweetie?”

“My baby,” he snapped. “I’m her daddy. I gotta protect her. I gotta- I gotta… It’s my fault.” She tried to stroke his hair, his face, anything to soothe him, but he batted away her hands.

“Your baby is safe,” she promised. “She’s fast asleep in her bed. She knows her daddy keeps her safe.”

She was looking into his eyes and yet not. It was eerie, like Elvis was not behind them at all and his body was being animated and controlled by someone else who didn’t know how he moved, or how animated his face usually was, how he manipulated emotions with just a tiny lift of a playful eyebrow.

“He’s gonna hurt ‘em, he’ll kill us all,” he insisted, sending a chill down her spine.

“Who?!”

“E- Elvis… Elvis.” Chancy had to swallow down the bile that had risen up into her throat as he whispered his own name, sounding so scared.

“Okay, that’s enough now,” she snapped, wiping away beads of cold sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “That is enough! Wake up now, Elvis. Wake! Up!” She shoved at his shoulder, jolting the whole of his body on the mattress. She didn’t care if it startled him or if he lashed out and hit her (again). She needed him to be awake and not terrifying.

“What?! What are you doin’? Stop! What’s goin’ on?”

“Are you awake?” she demanded, kneeling over him.

“What?” He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes and let his hand slide down his face. “You-You woke me up, ‘course I’m fuckin’ awake!”

“You were having a bad dream. A really bad one.”

“Shit- I- I need to sleep, Chancy, you know I gotta be strong to do my job. You can’t- You can’t mess with me like this!”

“I’m sorry, you were scaring me.” He muttered something under his breath, but relented, pulling her down by her arm and wrapping his arms around her. She half hoped he wouldn’t be able to go back to the sleep, but, again, his breathing deepened and she felt his body relax into the mattress. She lay poised in preparation for something creepy.

At one point, he gave a soft murmur and she jolted like someone had fired a starting pistol, but there were no more nightmares that night. At least not sleeping ones. Thank you to @thatbanditqueen for listening to me ramble and @be-my-ally and @ellie-24 for getting me in the mood with their lovely big daddy elvis fics

#elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #1970s elvis #an enjoyable slide to oblivion

104 notes · View notes