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precious-little-scoundrel · 26 days

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A little devil’s lettuce

Sarge 2nd Gen, Summer 1983

Elvis Presley fanfiction

Summary: In the hustle and bustle of the day before Jesse’s wedding to Donna, Elaine finds time for a little bonding with her eldest boy and then her husband

Warnings: Fluffffyyy Mcfluffy! but really this is just goey soft, warnings being diaper changes, some heavy/smutty flirting between Elvis and Elaine, the sneaky use of marijuana by Jesse and Elaine, stoned silliness talking about mermaid holes and “little scarves” and making a baby at 42

Graceland is abuzz with wedding preparations, every flat surface seems cluttered with tulle or flowers or programs, and every table not full of that sorta rubbish is supporting refreshments for the out of town friends and family swarming the place.

Only Elaine Presley would think entertaining people for a week ahead of a wedding was an easy thing to do.

Despite it being preparations for his own wedding, Jesse finds himself mildly overwhelmed by the sheer abundance surrounding him. Abundance of noise and people and flowers and shit lying about. He made one attempt to squirrel away upstairs in his old room and was summarily dragged away from that attempt by Marie who wanted to take pictures of him and Donna. Then take pictures of him and Jack, citing what a rarity it was to have the whole of them together. Jack had a ugly black eye on him, he cites a bar fight in california but oddly, no story of victory is forthcoming so Jesse assumes he got licked and made no further inquiries.

Donna is now preoccupied with Ella and with Tracey Cooke, laughing and squabbling over choosing boutonniere combinations like it really matters how much baby’s breath gets pinned to a fella’s chest. With Daddy, all large belt and white pants and glowing tan presiding over the floral squabble, Jesse has little doubt that Donna will win by choosing whatever he decides would suit her cheeks best.

Thicker than thieves those two already.

Jesse sees his chance and he ducks out of the living room and books it through the kitchen, receiving a taste test of some icing from Mary as he goes, and finally lets himself out the back door.

He slumps to a seat on the garage steps, and knowing time is precious, he lights up the blunt he stashed in his pocket for times like these. A harmless little pastime he’d probably get decapitated by Daddy for if he found out, but it does the trick and it don’t hurt anyone while he’s homebound and off the road.

A few minutes later the door cracks open behind him and Jesse goes to smash the blunt beneath his boot until in an air conditioned gust he sees it’s just his mama. Elaine smells the stink of grass and makes a little sympathetic noise before closing the door behind her and sitting down next to him.

“But Mama -your shorts!” Jesse protests, her pale blue linen getting soiled by the steps.

“Eh, it’ll brush off.” she grins and bumps his shoulder in that way he knows she’s about to conduct a check up on him. Sure enough after watching him take a few puffs she asks sweetly, “You alright, Butnin?”

He grins at the nickname and his laugh is a cloud of green tinged smoke, “Yeah mama, just tired, took awhile to get to sleep last night.

“What kept ya up?” Elaine asks, knowing with the wedding there might be all sorts of nerves to account for. But Jesse has never exhibited even the slightest hint of unsurety about marrying Donna. He’s had to wait four years and now he’s finally getting what he wants and there’s never been a more lackadaisical groom about his hitching himself to the old ball and chain. Elaine reaches out and ruffles his long hair anyway and smiles at the way there’s a sheen of reddish chocolate amongst the black locks when she tousles them just so.

He hands her the blunt and to be perfectly frank, Elaine has been feeling that old craving for champagne to dilute all the craziness and so she draws on it, letting the smoke burn her lungs and rush to her head.

Jesse’s been puffing for a good bit by now and feeling uninhibited in a way he’d never be even two puffs in -which is sorta the point of the smoke anyway- but it serves to loosen his tongue until he answers her without prevarication, “Mermaid holes.”

It’s true, it’s kept him up. Probably brought on by a chat with Jack and furthered by Jesse’s confusion over his brother’s lack of dating since the Great Gardener Debacle. He knows the kid isn’t embarrassed, not as much as the rest of them, so it serves to reason he’s got a dolphin harem to keep him occupied or else…mermaids. But then, how do mermaids…work?

Elaine glances at the blunt she’s already puffed on and wonders at its strength, wonders if a little relaxation is gonna turn her into seeing pink elephants or talking like an idiot.

“Mermaid holes?” she repeats, the subject suddenly a little more intriguing that it was before her last puff. Her head feels light and her aching toes are a removed sensation and suddenly everything seems quite fascinating, even the beetle crawling up Jesse’s jeans and the curiosity of mermaid anatomy.

This stuff is way better than champagne, she thinks.

“Yeah mama, where do they go?” Jesse insists with his cherubic face puckered up in grave contemplation.

She stares at him concerned while taking another hit before passing it back. “Where normal holes go?” she mutters but even to herself it’s a flimsy speculation.

“Maybe they grow legs n’shit.” Jesse decides. “Like when ya pull ‘em outta the water, maybe they grow legs.”

“Ah that makes sense.” Elaine nods, her face puckered too, and if anyone caught them at this moment it would be like finding carnival twins, so mirrored are they in expression and carriage. “Or maybe it’s higher up!” she suggests eagerly, “Like a belly button.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Or- maybe the scales pull back.” Elaine warms to the theory.

“Ooh,” Jesse draws his exclamation out with admiration for his mama’s sharp mind, “like daddy’s scarf, or some shit.”

“Yes!” Elaine gushes, entirely baked alongside him and utterly unrestrained, “they’ve got shiny little scarfs to keep them safe! Keep out the sand and salt, keep them safe from being aggravated and chafed.”

“Oh lord, mama,” Jesse laughs suddenly, “do you ‘member that time daddy got sand in his scarf? At the beach?”

They both start snickering at the memory from ‘62. “Yes!” Elaine agrees, carefully running a finger below her eyes to collect the smearing mascara as her eyes fill with tears of mirth, “I do but…he caught that frisbee, didn’t he?” she giggles.”And he looked so good in those red shorts. Tiny little things.”

“Mhmm, but at what cost?” Jesse agrees and mother and son lapse into another fit of laughter, not at Elvis’ expense but in that fond way of sensible people who humor their insane beloved ones.

“And Rosalee wantin’ to cut it off so it didn’t hurt him no more!” Jesse wheezes beside her in reminiscence.

“Daisy had a k-bar from Rex, she was ready.” Elaine recalls.

“And Jack was hopin’ it was fatal.”

“He was not!” Elaine slaps Jesse’s arm lightly even as she giggles, “You all act like he was a terrible child but he wasn’t! He was sweet!”

“To you.” Jesse clutches his belly. “To the rest he was pretty fuckin’ scary for awhile there, made ‘Elvis’ shit himself sometimes.”

“Language!” Elaine reprimands without any heat, “Y’all didn’t see all the mornings that little darling would wake up and laugh his heart out with Daddy playing shark under the covers. They loved each other…at times.”

“Hmm, Mhmm, i’guess.” Jesse concedes, “Jack’s a lot more tolerable now he’s got his own thing going.” he adds.

“Yes, always good to establish yourself, especially with someone like that, so headstrong both of them.” she murmurs with a sigh, “No house was built for two Elvises.” and she starts snickering again at that thought or whatever scenario it inspired inside her head.

“Maybe he’s chilled out ‘cause of the mermaid harem.” Jesse suggests because Jack is still Jack and having his shit straight ain’t in his wheelhouse. Not all of it, at least. Something’s gotta be up, Jesse can feel it, clear as the kid’s black eye.

“Those dimples would make any mermaid grow legs.” Elaine giggles.

“No mama, it’s a scarf, we decided it’s a shiny scarf.” Jesse reminds, nearly falling off the stair that he’s seated on from his wooziness.

“Yes a little scarf.” Elaine recalls as the door behind them opens and Jesse’s soon to be wife, Donna, steps out and observes them and the skunk grass fumes wafting around them.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me -Ms. Elaine!” Donna gasps in glee at this little rebellion in her otherwise entirely circumspect mother in law.

Elaine spins round with the blunt still between her painted lips and pulls it out in a gust of smoke, a wavering grin on her face. Donna’s not sure she’s ever seen her look so young, though she gets that way around Jesse, like he takes her back to her early mothering days.

“Don’t tell daddy!” Elaine vacillates between a beg and a threat but her smile grows and Donna wonders how the stoned lady intends to keep this a secret but she makes a motion of zipping her mouth anyway.

“Won’t hear it from me!” she swears, “But Elvis is asking for you, he’s halfway through a diaper change and can’t find any wipes. He swears you’ve got the disposable kind somewhere. Johnny tried to find them but he’s given up, too.”

“Oh lord, little Desi uses them to ‘remove her makeup’ so- who knows where they might be.” Elaine refers to her eldest grandchild, Ella’s little girl who likes to mimic her grandmother in all ways. Elaine stands up with a wobble that is steadied by Jesse’s shoulder and Donna’s waiting hands. “Wait, who’s getting their diaper changed?” She asks, suddenly confused by the request, “Did Danny soil himself? Thought we were past that.”

Danny is three and potty trained and as independent as he is loving, and much as Elaine is proud of her toddler’s successes, she misses having a baby, a true baby, in the house.

“It’s one of the neighbor kids, Danny’s friend-“ Donna explains, “-they brought their baby sibling along, no more than a year old I bet. The mom’s at work or something.”

“Oh, alright then.” Elaine shrugs, accustomed to strangers in the house, and she opens the door.

“You’re going in?” Donna asks in some surprise and a little alarm.

“Yes, Elvis needs me.” Elaine answers and that’s not something anyone can argue against and so Donna steps aside and makes certain her mother in law doesn’t trip over the threshold in her heeled sandals.

“Do you really give a damn about those boutonnieres?” Jesse asks his girl as soon as mama has closed the door

“Oh not really.” Donna murmurs, “They’re gonna be gorgeous either way. Elvis is seeing to that.”

“Then don’t go back inside.” Jesse suggests with a drunk grin and his blue eyes beg with such softness as he pats his lap that Donna has no choice but to plop atop his legs and stay with him in the muggy heat.

Miss Mary watched Elaine sashay through the kitchen with narrowed eyes, she’d not seen such a hip swinging gait to the lady of the house in years. A decade perhaps, not since the house used to rock with parties and before the champagne had been used like medicine.

“Lordy Miss Laney, you alright there?” she asked carefully, amusedly watching Mrs. Presley stand atip-toe and rummage in a cabinet, pushing aside spray oil and vanilla.

“Yes, grand, just needing that emergency stash.” Elaine assured over her shoulder and Mary paused in whipping the icing lest she be needed to catch a teetering boss lady. “Aha.” Elaine pulled out a package, “Of these!” she explained as she turned round, presenting the new fangled package of disposable wipes.

Stashed behind the cooking oil. Sure, why not.

Miss Mary grinned back and shrugged, “You’ve got dirt on your behind, Miss Elaine.” she pointed out and the elegant lady of the house was swatting at her plush derrière with a bashful grin as she traipsed out of the kitchen in search of Mr. Elvis, still swaying and jovial.

Entering the somewhat crowded dining room, Elaine found a group of people congregating with outstretched hands and feebly helpful concern around her Ella’s Johnny who had Rosalee standing on his shoulders, switching out a bulb as if they couldn’t afford ladders.

“ ‘Lee?” Elaine questioned it with even less reproof than usual, fully used to such bizarre occurrences and entirely baked by this point, Jesse’s weed having turned everything to middling interest and zero concern, even the picture of Rosalee a good ten or more feet in the air and swaying precariously with feet planted on Johnny’s broad shoulders.

“The bulb’s out!” Rosalee explained with a face red from straining to reach the high mansion ceiling despite her human stepstool and her inherited long limbs.

“Oh, the bulb’s out.” Elaine repeated softly, processing as she stared out the dining room windows at the bright sunshine glaring through.

“Hey Mrs P!” Johnny, tried to turn his neck to face her but Rosalee wobbled from the movement and so he went back to parade rest. “Elvis was looking for ya, needed the wipes for a diaper. I couldn’t find them anywhere, I swear Desi buries them in the potted palms or somethin-“

“Oh I’ve got some right here.” Elaine smiled and waved her package in front of his face enthusiastically.

“Oh. Great.” Johnny’s frown lines deepened in confusion at her enthusiasm. “I uh, I tried looking behind the dog food, Elvis said you keep one there.”

“This one was behind the cookin’ oil.” She whispered conspiratorially and Johnny gave his brief, aborted giggle that had made Elaine like him the instant Ella paraded him through the doors.

“Behind the cooking oil. Naturally.” He quipped and Elaine swatted him with the package causing Rosalee to shriek and beg for stability. “Hey Ella. Mama’s found some wipes!” Johnny called to his still searching wife.

“Where were they, mama?” She asked, coming into view and pushing her hair from her face, not even surprised by the bulb changing.

“Behind the cooking oil.” Elaine tapped the side of her nose and giggled while Johnny and Ella shared a bewildered look between the two of them.

“Where’s my fella?” Elaine purred, looking around the semi crowded room as if it were possible to overlook Elvis Presley. Only at Graceland, during one of Elaine’s parties and surrounded by a horde of children was it possible for Elvis to be anything but the center of attention.

“He’s in Rosalee’s room, mama.” Ella informed her, which in turn had once been Gladys' little lilac refuge. It had taken ten years for Elaine to ease Elvis into using it but eventually a long succession of single, halfway liberated teenage children ended up sleeping in it before moving out to seize life by the horns and pave their own lives and pay their own rent.

It would be quite a few years before Marie had need of it, if the sweet little girl ever even needed it, so devoutly home enjoying as she was, Graceland or Circle G, Texas or California, it all was the same to Marie so long as she was with family. Graceland would sooner be seen giving Marie Presley the boot than Marie Presley voluntarily taking leave for good.

Elaine moved her way through her crowded home with a pleasant smile on her face and a discrete hunch to her shoulders that enabled her to slip past the various conversations wishing to clutch at her, an old art of being able to get from one end of a crowded place to the next when needed by husband or child, that she had honed to perfection.

She felt dizzy and tasted a strange surge of anticipation the closer she got to the tucked away little room downstairs, it might seem silly, but she missed him. Everything had been so very busy the past few days that she had seen her own husband about as much as everyone else had, across crowded rooms or smashed together on sofas, wonderful instances that were topped off every night with a bed crowded with children and grandchildren and adopted God sons and daughters.

There had not been a moment's peace practically, and in a girlish moment of someone newly assured of affection, Elaine felt her fingertips tingle when she reached for the knob and opened the door.

He had pulled the shades and the blindes, which with the glare of the rest of the house was hardly a surprising choice, and only the lamp was turned on in a room that was now no longer Gladys’ soft lilac but now Rosalee’s light sage painted walls, copious English ivy plants spilling over the tops of wooden bookshelves lining the walls. The floor was a plush ivory carpet and Elvis sat on it with one leg tucked in and the other stretched out, his white linen shirt and pale blue slacks looking perfectly at home in Rosalee‘s habitat, blending well with the academic and whimsical atmosphere. Elaine leaned on the knob and appreciated the sight of a stranger's little baby, no more than a year old surely, laying on its back in the vee of his long legs, disposed of diaper safely out of reach, midway through a process that had been stalled by lack of wipes.

Not to be thrown by such unforeseen occurrences, Elvis had waited it out until his Tink came for him as he always expected she would, and in the meantime he was making earnest conversation with the infant about the Christmas list, even though it was currently summertime. They were weighing whether or not a chainsaw could be made to size for such little hands, Elvis’ own lean, tan and long fingers squished a doughy bicep playfully and insisted that the child was almost capable.

“Awww looooook at youuu.” Elaine cooed, leaning heavily on the door knob and clutching her chest at the sight, the raucous outside the room having disguised the sound of her opening the door to Elvis’ ear.

He looked up with a disoriented look as if having quite forgotten the world outside him and the baby’s Christmas plan until his eyes landed on Elaine in the doorway and his grin flashed, the old natural one, all cheesy teeth and lips tucked in. “You got my wipes?”

“I do.” She preened.

“Well, hand ‘em over woman, I’m bout ready to gag over here.” he beckoned, rings still glittering on his hand and Elaine didn’t doubt that one day the baby would tell stories about how Elvis Presley changed their diaper without even taking off his bling for it.

Elaine closed the door behind her and traipsed over to him on jelly legs, her heeled sandals sinking precariously into the deep shag of the carpet, she steadied herself on his shoulder and handed down the wipes.

He looked her up and down with curious amusement, as if something was amiss but he couldn’t place it, yet with diaper stench so close he didn’t spend time on it. Elvis took the wipes and began to complete his task, Elaine sank down to her knees beside him and put her chin on his shoulder, watching him work, wrapping her arms around his waist like a clingy little koala to his back.

“Who is he?” she asked her husband about the baby he was tending so naturally. It wasn’t uncommon, their house being constantly full of strangers and friends of friends and their children’s buddies. She had seen Elvis caring for a kid or two like this before, or else baths or a good hosing off or, without fail, he provided them snacks at the least suggestion of hunger or even boredom. But she didn’t know this little one and something about seeing Elvis at this task when their Danny was too grown for it -it made her sentimental and she held on a little tighter, squeezing her appreciation for the sight into his flesh.

“Kid brother of Clarke, the kid two blocks over?” he explained, “The one Danny invites? Yeah, apparently their mama’s workin’ double shift today and the babysitter stepped out and Clarke thought he’d come on here since the house was empty. Poor little feller must’ve been scared stiff.”

“You mean little Clarke walked all that way carrying a baby?” she gasped.

“Yeah,” Elvis grunted. “I sent Sammy H. to go stay at the house and let the mama know her kids ain’t been stole by that trash sitter. Poor woman.”

“Poor woman.” Elaine echoed, neither of them ever quite getting used to the tales of hardship they were uniquely situated to hear of day after day. “Well, you tell her Elvis, tell her we’ll watch him from now on, Clarke too. Danny needs more friends his age besides. -What’s his name?” she asked after a minute of babbling to him herself.

“Dunno, but he responds well to buddy.” He shrugged, “Ain’t that right, buddy, huh? I ain’t forgot about lettin’ you play the piano, Buddy, no I haven’t, Uncle Elvis keeps his word, yes he does.”

Elvis could feel her grin grow behind his back and like clockwork her anticipated finger came and scritched at his right sideburn with her nail. “I’ve missed seeing you with babies.” she whispered with a giggle.

“We have a baby.” Elvis let out that staccato, huffing laugh of his.

“Danny is three.” Elaine pouted.

“And you’re four—ty…twooo.” Elvis goofed as he propped the newly changed and docile little boy up on his roly-poly legs.

“I’ve already had a baby as a grandmother.” Tink mused and she cocked her head to the side and watched the baby wobble towards Elvis with his entire little hands clutched onto Elvis’ index fingers like handlebars. “But I married such a pretty boy.” she sighs as if out of nowhere and drags her hand admiringly right down the length of Elvis’ bicep, in appreciation for the flexed muscle beneath linen.

Elvis let’s out a little squeak of surprise and turns on his ass to give his wife a more searching once over. She stays grinning on her knees, long tanned legs tucked beneath her in those light blue shorts that coordinate with his trousers, loopy grin on her face.

“Lord have mercy,” he falls back a little, taking the baby with him in his scramble till they look like little lambs being watched by a ready to pounce cat, “Aunt Delta spike the punch again?”

It’s not that Elvis doesn’t appreciate when Tink gets…admiring…but she sure does pick the queerest times for it, in his mind. The hell was so dreamy about wiping shit? He’s yet to understand her in many ways but from over twenty years of marriage, he knows those glossy eyes ain’t from eye drops.

“No, nobody’s touched the punch.” she giggles and begins to crawl closer, dyed auburn hair falling forward in large, barrel rolled curls.

The baby boy begins to laugh, thinking she’s playing tiger. Effortless Elaine switches into the role he wants and raises a hand like a claw and makes a dive for the baby's round little belly and Elvis ducks and rolls, taking him with him.

“Careful, careful, Laney, there’s a diaper -“

-somewhere.

He’s not sure where, it’s a mercy his back doesn’t squash it or his head thud in its foamy fullness as he rolls away from his wife, a stranger's kid giggling like mad while braced to his chest. He throws a halfhearted karate kick at her and the angle is awkward with being mid roll and on his side, she grabs his leg anyways and proceeds to tickle his ankle and he aims his kicks in earnest in response. Elaine straddles his leg as he lays on his side and she crows like it’s some victory, then sways in confusion, like she’s second guessing her own success.

He can practically see the slow as molasses thought process in her airy little head. The hell did his wife take? There’s no liquor on her breath and she swore -they made vows to each other, each giving up the drugs and booze that had gotten them estranged from each other and themselves. He knows she wouldn’t. “What now?” he asks her in dry amusement and after much thought and no production, she shrugs and slips off his leg, landing with a wince inducing thump by his side.

“I dunno.” she admits and closes her eyes, small smile on her lips as they lay panting on the floor, the clink of Elvis’ rings the only immediate sound as the baby plays with them between the married couple. “I just missed you.” she says.

“Well, I missed you too.” he melts, throwing his arm out and running his fingers through her splaying hair. She leans into the touch, grin fully breaking out.

“Our boy is getting married.” she murmurs, as in the production of the whole thing, the significance has dwindled except for the quiet moments.

“Strangest thing, that it’s time for that.” Elvis agrees, softly. “I ‘member him just this age, rollin’ ‘round with me on the floor in Bad Nauheim, got more carpet burns than him. Now…Gettin’ married.” he let out a long whistle and scratched at Elaine’s scalp. “I don’t feel that old.” he admitted after awhile.

Whatever mood Tink was in, whatever goofy laziness had imbued her with such sangfroid about her duties and her guests, it served for a much needed little heart to heart and Elvis snuggled closer to her on the shag carpet and let the baby climb over his shoulder and pull at his hair, wincing at the small tortures but determined not to be a wimp.

“I don’t feel old either.” she agreed and her eyes popped open, the grin suddenly going from dreamy to having a decidedly vampiric quality. Elvis had often seen that look on his wife right before he got eaten alive.

“Sweet Jesus -no, simmer down, simmer down. Tink!” he tried to avert the plans swirling in her glossy eyes.

“Doesn’t my pretty baby wanna make me happy?” she cooed to him and between the actual baby tugging at his hair and the wife patting his cheeks it was all a guess to Elvis whether he was a father of a twenty something son or Elaine Presley’s pretty boy, ever at her disposal.

“Mamas, if you needs…some…tenda lovin’ care…” he gave her a significant look of expectation to understand his child-proof code, “then we can go find ourselves a little space in this house and uh…tend to it. Bed’s been real full, I know.” he soothed.

Elaine clutched her heart dramatically again and sighed, staring at the ceiling before propping up on an elbow again and gripping his chin with her hand, she put her face next to his and whispered with throaty care, “What I want, pretty daddy, is to maul you.”

And with that she laid back down beside him, after having watched her words register and the punched out moan of his gust over her lips. She stared back at the ceiling and sighed. “It’ll have to wait, but…soon.”

Elvis licked his dry lips with a tongue that had suddenly gone equally arid. “O-o-okey mamas.” he stuttered out in a whisper that ended with a wheeze as the baby hoisted themselves to dance on his belly like it were a trampoline.

“I’m very wet right now.” Elaine began again after he thought they’d shelved it.

“Laney!” he begged.

“I am!” she hissed petulantly, kicking up a leg and shaking her foot at the ceiling, “It’s making sticky noises when I walk.”

“I-I-I highly doubt that.”

“It is!” She insisted.

“Alright. It is. If you say so…ok.”

“Nothing to do about it though.” she sighed.

“No.” he agreed warily.

“What would you name him.” she asked suddenly, turning on her side and offering her hand as stability for the baby balancing on Elvis’ stomach. Good thing he had muscles of steel or else he’d be a mess right now with the digging little footsteps.

“Name who?“ Elvis sputtered, bewildered by the changes in topic.

“This baby. If he was ours.”

“Oh.” He sniffed. “I dunno, actually. Baron, maybe?”

“Hmm..” Elaine was unenthused.

“Who says we’d have another boy though?” he argued suddenly, “I mean who says this hypothetical baby we ain’t gonna make -no we ain’t mama’s, you’re crazy- would be a boy. What if it was a girl.”

“I’d name her Peace.” Elaine didn't skip a beat.

Elvis pondered that, fingers back to stroking the curls splayed on the carpet, “Mm. Shiloh.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! I’ve missed these babies and I’m grateful for y’all’s patience. Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me. 💋

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