#ally oop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royalwilmon · 14 days

Text

this is a prequel of sorts to always on the tip of my tongue! a glimpse into wille and simon's very first taco tuesday. eventually (like, after all of tomt is published, so basically never) this will be one part in a series of mikael pov insights into wilmon's relationship, but i wanted to share this for now! enjoy!! <333

if he likes you, he'll smile

Mikael had been working at Geronimo’s for nearly two months the day that he met Wille and Simon.

He didn’t even think he’d be in the job that long. He had just been laid off from another corporate bullshit position and had been enjoying a proper midlife crisis when another eviction notice forced him to resort to bartending again. Geronimo’s FGT was decidedly not his kind of place. He hated how touristy the area was, hated the shitty bands the owners constantly had in for live entertainment, and more than anything, hated how monotonous the job started feeling just after a couple of weeks.

He wanted to quit. He was seriously considering giving his notice. He nearly did several times, but for whatever reason, he kept hesitating. It was good that he had a job for now, but he was already restless. Something was missing. Mikael didn’t know what he would do or where to go next, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was invisible here. Mikael couldn’t even remember the last time he had an honest-to-God conversation with someone. In this town, the idea of him disappearing forever without a soul noticing he was gone was more reality than fear.

And then, one day, on a Tuesday in autumn just like any other Tuesday, Crown Prince Wilhelm sat at the bar right before him.

Mikael didn’t give a shit about the royal family. He was surprised he even recognized him. He probably only did because Wilhelm was around the same age as Sanna, his daughter. Mikael remembered the headlines when Erik passed away. It was right after Mikael got into that last big argument with Nea before she packed everything they owned, left, and took Sanna with her. He remembered watching the videos of Erik’s funeral on the news, seeing pictures and closeups of Wilhelm, and just thinking about how young he looked.

He still looked young now. His hair was shorter, his face more angular, and he didn’t look sad like he always did when he was on the news. Quite the opposite, really. He had another person with him tonight, a shorter boy who looked even younger, whose smile seemed so bright and genuine that Mikael almost felt blinded by it. As the two boys slid into their respective barstools, bright laughter filled the room, and Mikael thought that today would be different. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know if the change he felt was necessarily a good one, but it was different.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to address the prince in any sort of particular way. For a moment, he thought maybe the prince was trying to be discreet, and he shouldn’t address him at all, but the pair of security staff who followed the duo inside and positioned themselves nearby made it clear that Crown Prince Wilhelm was here. Plus, people around the restaurant noticed him and started staring. All eyes Mikael could see were on Wilhelm.

If the attention bothered Wilhelm and the boy sitting beside him, they didn’t let it show. Mikael couldn’t imagine that it didn’t. He felt awful for the kids. As the stares turned into whispers turned into audible speculation, Mikael felt the urge to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up and leave them alone. But if he was going to quit this job, he at least wanted to do so on good terms so he could still have references. He did not need to have to explain the fact that he was fired because he lost his temper in front of a prince to his next employers.

Realizing that he was staring, too, and was maybe now part of the problem, Mikael cleared his throat, leaning forward on the bar and raising his voice so Wilhelm and his friend could hear him.

“Can I get you boys something to drink?” Mikael asked, trying his best to sound casual and uninterested.

“What do you have with tequila?” Wilhelm asked. His voice was teasing, his smile playful. Mikael was caught off-guard. He hadn’t spent any amount of time thinking about what the Crown Prince might be like, but this young, smiling boy was nothing like what he might have expected.

Mikael didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes a little. He picked up a drink menu and placed it down in front of Wilhelm, dragging his finger around the portion of the menu that listed their cocktails and detailed which tequilas they had on the shelf.

Mikael watched Wilhelm’s smile twist into an amused smirk before he looked down at where Mikael was pointing.

“Mmm, I’ll take a ginger beer, please,” Wilhelm’s friend said, reading the drink menu over Wilhelm’s shoulder. Mikael nodded and reached under the bar, opening the cooler and pulling out a glass bottle. He placed it in front of the boy, who smiled at him brightly and thanked him. Exceedingly polite.

Mikael took a moment to size up the prince’s companion. He certainly didn’t seem royal or even royal adjacent. He looked astoundingly normal. While Wilhelm was outfitted stylishly and professionally in a collared shirt and smart sweater, the other boy came simply dressed in jeans and an old hoodie with the drawstring missing. The two boys looked like they came from two different worlds, but at the same time, there was a sort of familiarity and ease between them that felt… right.

“How spicy is the spicy margarita?” Wilhelm asked, looking up at Mikael with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that Mikael didn’t quite know what to do with.

“No. No, Wille,” the boy cut in before Mikael could even open his mouth to answer. “You can’t keep pretending you like spicy things. You’ll take two sips, spend the rest of dinner complaining about it, and end up wasting the entire drink.”

“You don’t know that,” Wilhelm grumbled, pouting dramatically as he looked back down at the menu.

Mikael had to bite back a chuckle. It was amusing how comfortable the boys seemed with each other. The boy called the prince Wille and teased him knowingly. It was strange, seeing someone so famous casually sat in front of him, so strikingly human. Mikael felt drawn to the prince and his friend, almost like he was a part of their world. Or, maybe stranger, that they were a part of his.

“I’ll order the House Margarita if you can tell me what’s in Geronimo’s Secret Margarita Mix,” Wilhelm said, looking at Mikael with that same playful smile that continued to catch him off guard.

“It’s written in the employee handbook that if we tell someone, we have to kill them,” Mikael said, without thinking. He had a moment of doubt when he thought that maybe threatening violence against a prince might not be the smartest move, but at Wilhelm’s widening smile, he continued. “It also explicitly states that we do not grant exceptions regardless of rank. The only way one can learn the secret of the Margarita Mix is if they have concerns about allergens.”

Wilhelm’s friend laughed at that, beaming at Mikael with a thousand-watt smile.

“Oh, I like you already,” he said. The boy looked at Mikael closer now, considering him in the same careful way Mikael had just done with him. After so much thought about how working in this part of Stockholm made him seem invisible, in this moment, he felt almost unnervingly seen. “I’m Simon. Best friend of Wille. Official title. What’s your name?”

Still apprehensive, Mikael just pointed to his chest, where a nametag was pinned to his apron.

“Mikael,” Wilhelm read, grinning wide.

“Good, he can read,” Mikael muttered to himself before he had a second to think better of it.

His gaze flickered over to Simon, who looked like a kid at a candy store. Clearly, he was delighted that Mikael was instantly willing to poke fun at Wilhelm. Mikael didn’t know why he was chasing the approval of this… kid. Especially at the expense of the actual Crown Prince of their country. It was something to do with Simon’s smile, Mikael thought. It felt familiar. It reminded him of Sanna.

Mikael knew his face fell at that realization. He also knew that Simon had caught it, and Mikael watched as his smile faltered, but only for a fraction of a second.

“Literacy is one of his better qualities,” Simon said to Mikael, glancing over at Wilhelm with a fond roll of his eyes.

“It’s ‘Gang Up on Wille’ day, huh?” Wilhelm muttered, looking up briefly to glare at Simon. Simon just laughed lightly, looking down at the food menu the hostess had given them when they first sat down.

Someone in Mikael’s position would have to be blind not to notice the rush of pink on Simon’s cheeks. Mikael remembered what it was like to be that age, no older than nineteen or twenty if Mikael had to guess. He recognized Simon’s exact blush from his early memories of Nea.

Mikael wasn’t ready to make any assumptions, but he was briefly curious. He thought he would have heard something if the prince was gay. Or bisexual or whatever, Mikael didn’t know. Then again, maybe they were trying to be discreet. But, Mikael thought, there were definitely places more discreet than a busy restaurant in the middle of Gamla stan, just minutes away from the royal palace.

So, they were probably best friends. Still, Mikael noticed the way Simon looked at Wilhelm, like he had just hung the moon. It wasn’t nothing.

None of his business, though.

“I’ll have the House Margarita. Salted rim, please. For now, you can keep your secrets,” Wilhelm said, smiling at Mikael again. “But next time, I’ll find a way to get you to tell me while also sparing my precious life.”

“Precious,” Mikael scoffed, causing Simon to let out another breath of laughter.

Mikael opened his mouth to ask to see Wilhelm’s ID before he stopped short. Do members of the royal family even carry identification? Mikael knew Wilhelm was over eighteen, but he was still legally required to ask. Unless there was an exception for princes? He didn’t think there would be, but he also had no reason to know. Would Wilhelm get mad at him for asking? He couldn’t help but glance over to the security guards, who, admittedly, looked terrifying.

Mikael thought back to how he wanted to quit this job before they fired him. He did not want to have to tell the story of how he was fired for not carding the Crown Prince.

“Can I see your ID?” Mikael asked, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

Wilhelm looked surprised for a moment, but he instantly reached into his pocket to remove his wallet and his ID, which, apparently, he did carry with him. That was good to know.

“I’ve never seen you get carded before,” Simon said to Wilhelm, beaming ear to ear. “This is the best day of my life. I hope the food is good, Wille. This might finally be our place. It feels right.”

Mikael glanced down at Wilhelm’s ID (which was weird, so extremely weird. Wilhelm had so many names and probably the nicest picture Mikael had ever seen on an ID) before handing it back to him wordlessly.

Mikael set to work making Wilhelm’s drink, thinking that their interaction was over for now, but Simon spoke up again, surprising him.

“So, Mikael,” Simon said, his voice curious and friendly. “Have you always lived in Stockholm?”

The answer to the question was no, but Mikael was a very private guy. He didn’t want strangers asking him personal questions. It was none of their business. Especially not the prince’s.

Mikael finished pouring the last of the ingredients into his cocktail shaker before answering Simon’s question with a frown and a shrug. It wasn’t a yes or a no—it was just an acknowledgment. Simon seemed to take the hint, and he just smiled at him with a nod. Understanding, gracious, unnervingly kind.

Simon and Wilhelm were quiet while Mikael finished making the drink. They looked around, admiring the space. For all of its faults, Geronimo’s FGT was fun. Decked out in colorful textiles, weird bird taxidermy, and neon cacti, the place felt like a fever dream interpretation of the American Southwest. Mikael did love it, and so, as it would seem, did Simon and Wilhelm, who each wore small, pleased smiles on their faces as they took in the atmosphere of Geronimo’s.

Giving the margarita a few good shakes, Mikael poured it into a mason jar with a salted rim and slid the drink over to Wilhelm, who thanked him profusely and wasted no time downing half the drink with one prolonged sip.

“Nectar of the gods…” Wilhelm mused, putting the jar down with a satisfied sigh. Mikael still didn’t know quite what to make of Wilhelm, but he thought that he liked him. Or, at least, he was pleased that the prince seemed to approve of his bartending skills.

“Anything to eat?” Mikael asked, using both his hands to point at the pair of menus in front of Wilhelm and Simon.

“It’s Tuesday, so definitely tacos,” Wilhelm said, with so much enthusiasm.

“Which tacos would you recommend?” Simon asked, looking up from his menu to Mikael.

“They’re all fucking great,” Mikael said, truthfully. Since starting here, Mikael had tried and enjoyed pretty much the entire menu. “Birria are good. Fish, too.”

Mikael watched Simon and Wilhelm exchange a look, wordlessly communicating before Simon nodded and grinned, turning back to Mikael.

“Perfect, we’ll try those,” Simon said, before glancing back at Wilhelm. “And we’ll split them so we can both try both.”

“And queso, too. Please. As much as you’re willing to give us,” Wilhelm added, before doing something weird with his eyes. Mikael thought Wilhelm might have been trying to wink, but he wasn’t sure. He might just have something really wrong with his vision.

Mikael left to put in their food orders, and then, a little reluctantly, went back to work. As much as his curiosity made him want to linger by Wilhelm and Simon, there were other patrons sitting at his bar, and more drink orders coming in for him to work on. Even if he had literal royalty at his bar, Mikael couldn’t afford to give them all of his attention. He was cutting his rent a little too close as is.

While Mikael was able to busy himself with the Taco Tuesday crowd, he did occasionally try to listen in to Simon and Wilhelm’s conversation, just to get a better idea as to what their deal was. He wanted to know why they were here, of all places.

It sounded like they were catching up on the past week or so of their lives. Simon must have been a student, probably here in Stockholm, as he spent most of his meal talking animatedly to Wilhelm about various classes and professors. Wilhelm was listening intently, nodding along and peppering in questions and comments throughout.

Mikael realized that their appearance at Geronimo’s was really quite simple. Wilhelm and Simon were two friends, meeting for dinner to catch up on each other’s lives. There was nothing fancy, no royal banquets or expensive wines or anything. Just two friends sat at a bar, eating tacos and talking about their day.

It was… endearing.

When it was getting late, and their plates were all but licked clean, Mikael approached Wilhelm and Simon again, leaning against the bar opposite them. He offered them a sort of smile, a slight purse of his lips that was just about as friendly as his face could get.

“Good?”

“Fucking great,” Wilhelm grinned, repeating Mikael’s praise from earlier.

Giving the boys a satisfied nod, Mikael placed the bill between Simon and Wilhelm. Simon let out a loud bark of laughter before pushing the bill directly to Wilhelm.

“Why do I always get stuck paying?” Wilhelm said, teasingly. Still, he didn’t hesitate to immediately take out his wallet and hand Mikael a card, smiling politely all the while.

“Wilhelm, do not get me started today. You are already on such thin ice,” Simon said, his voice surprisingly serious. Simon must have had plenty of thoughts on the excessive amount of cash Wilhelm surely had at his disposal. It was surprising—in a good way, Mikael thought. Wilhelm seemed to have a friend with a good head on his shoulders. Polite, engaging, and willing to challenge him.

Mikael really, really liked this Simon kid.

He also really, really missed Sanna.

Mikael ran Wilhelm’s card and returned it to him. Wilhelm pocketed his wallet, thanked Mikael again, and then started to get up.

“You’ll be working next week, right Mikael?” Simon asked as he stood. Mikael was surprised at the question and didn’t answer right away. He just stared at Simon for a prolonged moment, raising an eyebrow. “Next Taco Tuesday. We’ll see you here again. Next week?”

Mikael shrugged and smiled a little. He supposed he would stick around until next week, at least, if that meant seeing Wilhelm and Simon again. He was still curious about them. He wanted to listen to them more and try to understand them better.

“Next week, then,” Wilhelm smiled. He crinkled his eyes in that weird and awkward way again—probably a wink. Then, with a final wave, they left Geronimo’s, security detail in tow.

Suddenly, Mikael’s monotonous job felt like the most interesting place in the entire country. Maybe Mikael would quit next week.

But for now, he’d stay. Make a couple of margaritas. Eat a few more tacos. Have a fucking good time.

#ally writes #tomt #i wasnt sure if i was gonna publish this anywhere but it turns out im too proud of it to gatekeep #oops #also me naming this after another jimmy song??? classic me #ok bye

48 notes · View notes

elvisabutler · 2 years

Text

gunmetal

summary: elvis loves his guns. you think he loves you. question is are those mutually exclusive. fandom: elvis presley | elvis 2022 pairing: elvis presley x female reader rating: m word count: 3328 not even remotely talking about it. it happened alright? warnings: gun kink. elvis's sexual issues. minor implied food kink maybe? use of a gun in penetrative ways. masturbation ( m and f ). implied future oral ( f ). older/later elvis described/implied. ( i'm not meaning that in a warning re: weight, it's more i do know that some would prefer to not interact with elvis as he was toward the end of his life in ways that are sexual ). minor daddy kink, as in reader calls elvis daddy and he refers himself as daddy. it's not super in your face. minor mommy kink on elvis's part. also unhealthy bdsm practices because you know, no one in this is necessarily fully sober/in good states of mind. just really y'all, this is a...ride. also thigh riding and squirting. author's note: okay. so let me explain myself. this gif is not indicative of the exact time frame for elvis i chose for this though have at it, pick austin elvis and 73ish as ya man here if you want. i definitely did not. so. i read a set of fics that had kinks i don't have in the slightest because i was curious ( because i've been in fandom/the internet too long and i look at dead dove don't eat on some fics and think it's a challenge ) and i faintly regret my choices with it. but it made me basically be like jimmie where i say things like "i don't know what i'm thinking". said fic set has wormed its way into my brain where it lives and tosses me like two pennies and a bit of lint for rent. this is the bit of lint. i am sorry for this. if y'all actually want another gun kink fic from me, i'll probably write it come november but i wanted to do something different with this. i don't know what this is. when i said unhinged, i didn't necessarily mean sexy. watch this be accidentally sexy. also hi, yeah this is day 13 of kinktober, gun kink with elvis. and yes i have had to edit this three times.

Elvis- You love Elvis. God help you and saints preserve you, but you love him. You love him enough that you forget how he can be, how you forget how he slowly is becoming a version of him that you're not sure you want to be with. He's possessive and mercurial on his best days, possessive and terrifying on his worst. Priscilla had warned you, Linda had warned you, they had both told you that Elvis takes and takes and takes and while he gives and gives and gives it's complicated. It's maybe never what you need.

You're giving though, you're the type of girl Elvis needs right now. Someone to keep him in check, to try and slide him into something inching toward health even as his body wants to rebel against him.

But Elvis takes, Elvis has desires that he'd keep unspoken for some girls. But Priscilla took it, Linda took it- his true girls- his girls he wanted to keep would take it. Would take what he wanted to give them. Elvis likes to combine the things he loves into something he figures is better than the two things apart. It's with his food, his music and truthfully his needs and wants in the bedroom. You're his girl and they're his girls and the values them more anything in the world other than little Lisa. They even outrank you and you know it. Girls may come and go but Elvis's guns? Oh those girls are forever, his personal harem to pick and choose from and keep close.

Elvis doesn't sleep well after shows, everyone has told you that from the second you said hello and he said ain't you the prettiest thing this side of the Mississippi. You are always riled up after shows, always a squirming mess he carts off to the bedroom the second he gets to the hotel. Some nights- like this particular night he's not up to the task of fucking you. A sign of his age, maybe a sign of how his body wants to betray him at the one thing he enjoys as much as- well as much he knows things are twisted in his head. He is hungry after the shows though and after this particular show he's got you in his lap, on one of his thighs, your body bouncing and grinding as you use its substantial size to provide pressure to your clit, to your cunt to every part of your body in between your legs. You're facing him and occasionally your hands drift down to his stomach, wanting to feel it, wanting to feel his chest and every part of him. He always gives you a look over his glasses before moving your hand back up to his arm. He can see your face starting to twist like he knows it does when you're heading toward your release, he's impressed tonight. Normally you require his fingers on your clit or pinching at your nipples. Maybe these big thighs were good for something, tonight.

"Make a mess of your Daddy, darlin'. Stain the jumpsuit, hm?" He murmurs into your ear before feeling you shudder against him, your body taking his words to be a command. He places a light kiss against your neck. You find that it feels sticky.

"Are you-" You start and pause, eyeing Elvis, watching him stare at you with those eyes that if nothing else- if all else fails him- would draw in even the strongest of individuals. "Do I need to help you?"

He hums before exhaling, shifting his body to get a little more comfortable on the chair he's sitting in. "Depends on your answer to my question."

"What is it?" You're genuinely curious, Elvis's eyes seem a little brighter today and you have hope tonight might be a good night for both of you.

His hands move to cup your face, pulling you in for a soft kiss. You have to climb up onto him a little from your position but you find you don't mind. From his pleased hum you can feel vibrate against your body you figure he doesn't mind either.

"I wanna see you play with my guns. One of my favorites. I'll take the ammo and everything out just for tonight." He can already picture it, picture you on the bed, him in this chair, his cock in his hand and you- and you on your shared hotel bed writhing as you brushed your clit against the metal. "'m not feeling up to fuckin' ya tonight, but I wanna come watching ya."

You force a smile on your face, it's not that you don't want to do it- it's a strange request, but not unwelcome- it's just you had hoped it would not be a take take take night and instead be a give give give night. "Which one, daddy?" You added daddy to see him smile.

It works.

He chose one with a long barrel, whispering as your ground your ass against him that it was to give you the length he knew you craved. Sure, you enjoyed his girth in more ways than one but sometimes it was just the length you needed. His pajama pants are down by his ankles as he settles into the chair and you allow your fingers to play with yourself, slowly getting yourself prepared for what you're going to do. You're always a little more wet than normal when you have Elvis watching you and tonight is surprisingly no exception. You never used to be like this, never used to be turned on at the thought of someone watching you but Elvis has a way of turning things you thought you knew about yourself on its head. His eyes are zeroed in on your cunt, watching your fingers disappear in and out, glistening ever so slightly with your juices and he can't help the low groan he lets out at it, his hand moving to lazily stroke his cock. Yes, he'd like to get off watching you on his gun, watching you come all over it like you did his thigh not even an hour before, like you have on his cock but he's not in a rush. Next show isn't even for another few days, so if he wants he could lay you out on this bed like the buffet you are and take his time savoring every last morsel and drop of you.

"What are you looking at?" You whisper a little breathlessly, two of your fingers teasing your clit like Elvis had many times before.

"You." He answers simply, his thumb brushing over his tip. "Watchin' how you're preppin' yourself. Thinkin' I oughta help, but there's somethin' about watching ya."

Your lips curl into a lazy smile. "You're always- You know I love it when you do. Maybe tomorrow morning you can play with me like this? Spread my pretty lips open and taste me. Maybe there will be a hint of the metal."

If a growl leaves his throat, if a growl leaves his throat and has him sounding like his Harley revving up, you and him don't comment on it. "Don't be a tease, baby. Think you might be prepped enough. It's thinner than me, 'member that."

You hum before letting out a heavy and mildly overexaggerated sigh. "I guess you're right." Your hand encircles the grip of gun, noting how cold it is with a shiver. Your eyes look up at Elvis before you tilt your head and drag the barrel across your skin, starting from your neck and moving down to your chest, letting the cool metal brush against your overheated skin. "It's cold."

He gulps as he pumps his cock, watching how your npples pebble after the barrel swipes by them. If he could, if he wanted to get up from this chair, he's walk over to you and warm them up, take your nipples in his mouth and suck on them, bite at them, watch you keen and writhe against him. He won't though, because he just wants to watch you.

When you finally reach your cunt, you practically jump at the first brush of the metal against your cunt. You think maybe you should have sucked on it first, given it some warmth before you had it touch you, but it was too late for that. You take a deep breath and look at Elvis unblinking as you slowly shove the barrel of the gun into your cunt. If you were closer to him you'd likely see how the blue of his eyes is completely taken over by the black of his pupil, you'd see how his mouth has dried out from the small pants he can't stop himself from taking and you'd notice how he looks- he looks like he does onstage. He looks completely full of life and ready to strike at the one person he has in his gaze. You.

His breath is shallow the longer he looks, the longer he looks and pumps himself, the precum covering his cock, his jar of lube unused for him. "Goddamn, little one, you should see- drive a man wild, fucking yourself on his gun. Gonna smell like you, won't be able to be at the range without remembering you- won't be able to shoot it without remembering this. Gonna have to explain to the boys why I popped a boner like a fuckin' teenager."

You huff out a laugh, your body letting out a shiver as it tries to adjust to the intrusion of something you're not used to. "Don't wear such tight pants and they won't know. Is this going to be your new favorite?"

He nods. "Gonna have it tucked in somewhere every damn show. Maybe it'll be a good luck charm."

A good luck charm for you and him, a sign that you two will last like him and 'Cilla didn't, like him and Linda didn't. You did this for him, they didn't, they had- your limits are always far more malleable than theirs were. Not a bad thing but it give him some hope.

You pull the barrel out of your cunt and press it against your swollen clit, hissing as you do. "Christ, Daddy, I didn't realize I'd be so sensitive. I'm- how close are you?"

You want to come, but he hasn't and you refuse to be that greedy, not for him right now. Not for him when he's having a good night, not a great night, but a good one and you want to savor it. If you're trying not to move the gun, letting the barrel stay pressed against your clit in order to stave off your impeding orgasm he doesn't say anything.

His hand moves faster, knowing that he is pretty close, he wants to come for you, wants to show you what you've done to him, how you've made him feel. "Talk me through it, Mama."

Your eyes had slipped closed as you lost yourself in the sensations of the metal, the smell of your arousal and sex in the room, the taste of what Elvis had been eating earlier lingering on your tongue. Your eyes had been closed but they shoot open at the word Mama. He was- oh, he was in that sort of mood. Oh, you could oblige.

"Talk you through it, sweetheart? Talk you through how Mama wants to see you come? I worked hard, I took your gun for you. Would have taken it all night for you but your thigh- You let Mama come on your thigh earlier, she doesn't have that many in her tonight." Your voice is practically a murmur but you know Elvis can hear you, can hear how you sound how your voice has an edge of neediness. "I need you to come so I can, sweetheart. You don't need to wait. The sooner you do it, the sooner we can clean up and we can go to sleep. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Us taking care of each other like that tonight. You did good tonight, just like I did. Come for Mama, Elvis, show me how much you appreciate me."

That does it, you asking him to show how much he appreciates you doing this, how much he appreciates you in his life. He comes with a groan, coating his hand and the towel he had put underneath him with his come. He doesn't say anything, doesn't have the energy to, his head lulling to the side a little as he watches you finally move the gun, finally allow it to press against your clit- rub against your clit in a way that has you shivering. You're close and you know that you could likely come without the penetration, you should come without it, but you decide at the last second to slide the gun barrel back inside you as you flutter around it, coming with a hiss because everything is so overwhelming that your throat can't even manage anything else. When you pull the gun out it's covered in your fluids, glistening in the light of the room. You look at the sheets and realize you might have squirted. A bit of shame twists in your gut at that, because this what what made you squirt? Fucking yourself on your boyfriend's gun? What kind of woman were you? Elvis still hasn't gotten up from the chair, his eyes lazily moving between you, the gun and the wet spot. His lips curl into a smirk.

"Ruined the sheets and my jumpsuit. Ain't you a menace to fabrics." He whispers as you stand up and move towards him. You stop and hold out your hand to pull him up from the chair. He eyes it and shakes his head. You keep it there until he takes it with a huff, stepping completely out of his pants as he does.

"I'm your menace, Elvis. Shower?" You hold his hand, linking your fingers together as you lead him to the bathroom.

"Then bed. Gonna let me lay on ya chest tonight?" He asks, pulling you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you like he's that teddy bear he sang about almost two decades ago.

"If it helps you sleep tonight, yeah." A pause. "Love you."

A low hum and a kiss to your temple is the only answer you get back. You'll take it for now.

#elvis presley x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #i very specifically did not include a lot of tags in this.#i am.#i really did almost just hide this on my ao3.#ally's kinktober 2022 #kinktober 2022 #ally writes #i don't know what this fic even is i truly don't.#WHY I WROTE THIS FOR KINKTOBER I WILL NOT UNDERSTAND.#also no i didn't have an oops when i copy and pasted why do y'all ask.

390 notes · View notes