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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

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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

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