#Elvis Presley x black ofc

[buglass]

Lonely Man - Chapter 3

Summary: Jackie tries her best to move on with her life after meeting Elvis in the Bahamas. Elvis Presley is not an easy man to forget. When Elvis calls and invites Jackie out to his first show at the brand-new International Hotel, she debates whether to take him up on his offer. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Jackie!Black!OFC WC: 5.6K+ Chapters: 3/3 Warnings: Age gap, cheating, smut, cussing. A/N: Thank y’all for reading what was originally a little blurb. I decided just to leave this chapter as the last one (not including other future one-shots with them) since I’m not driven to write it but I’ve enjoyed these two sharing some softness between them during their Holiday Blues.

Pics of E from Jan. 1970.

The end of the night left Jackie riddled with more questions than answers. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the softness of Elvis’ lips on hers or the sweet grin on his face as he stared at her. Writing down her address and phone number at that moment, Jackie felt hopeful until she left the hotel room early in the morning. All they did was talk and kiss, but she worried she might have disappointed Elvis. Jackie crept back into her shared bungalow with her parents though every light was off and not a sound came from their closed bedroom door. In the silence, she could come back down to Earth. Elvis was married and had a daughter. If what he said about his agreement was true, she should be in the clear, and still, she felt her guilt eating at her like a necrotizing flesh-eating disease. After readying herself for bed, she laid on her couch mattress staring up at the ceiling and the fan there. The ocean waves outside lulled her to sleep while she fantasized about pretty blue eyes belonging to an unattainable man.

New Year’s Eve was meant to be a spectacle for all of the Bahamas. Jackie had yet to see or run into Elvis since she last saw him the day after Christmas. She knew she should’ve kept her expectations low especially after she called her friend, Tawnie, back home to tell her about certain bits and pieces. Jackie was too nervous to tell her the entire truth.

“Hey, look I can’t be on the phone for too long, but I just wanted to check in and let you know how everything is here,” Jackie said, cradling the landline. 

She was using a phone inside the lobby with an array of phones for guests to use lined up against a wall. The placement wasn’t ideal for a private conversation but it would have to do. 

“Everything’s the same here, girl, you are not missin’ much. I just wish we were spendin’ tonight together for a bit of boozin’ and cruisin’.” Tawnie laughed, the sound crackling.

“I’m not sure I’ll even be doin’ much of that here,” Jackie laughed softly, leaning forward onto the table with her elbows. “I think Daddy thinks I’m goin’ out messing around with a boy and sowing my oats. Which, speaking of, I… Um, I ran into Elvis Presley a few days ago.” She whispered into the receiver.

“You’re shitting me,” Tawnie scoffed. “What do you mean you ran into Elvis Presley? Elvis Presley?” She squeaked.

“Yes, I’m gonna burst at the seams if I don’t tell someone. I feel like a Jezebel giving him any attention.” Jackie confessed.

“Well, I mean he’s a man and he’s a famous one at that. Isn’t he married?”

“Yeah, but he says he and his wife have an ‘arrangement’, but I haven’t seen him in days. Maybe it’s nothin’ to worry about.” Jackie offered shyly.

“I wouldn’t. Did y’all…you know?” Tawnie giggled.

“No,” Jackie answered a little too boisterously, looking over her shoulder into the lobby. “I mean no, I didn’t want to take the chance. He has my apartment address and phone number. There’s not much else I can do from here.”

They spoke for a few minutes longer as Jackie corralled the conversation in a different direction. Her head didn’t feel any less muddled as ideas of Elvis popped into her head repeatedly. She wished Tawnie could have come with them for the sake of company. Jackie loved her parents but she spent enough time around them working at their hardware store back home. 

That night with the promise of fireworks and a countdown into the New Year, resort guests and Bahamians were sprinkled along the beach outside the bungalow. Chairs were set up and towels for people to sit, drink, and watch. The crowd wasn’t overwhelming or particularly abhorrent. The Bahamas was a different sort of slow-paced environment but similar to Virginia. Jackie didn’t look for Elvis or his presence on the beach. She needed to rein in her fanaticism and appreciate the time she was spending with her parents. They were chatting amongst themselves, sitting in the two lawn chairs while Jackie sat on a towel in front of them. Her parents held hands as they did, reminding Jackie of the kind of love she wished to have someday. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” said a man down the beach with a bullhorn. “We are five minutes out from our countdown and fireworks display. Thank you for your cooperation and trust this evening.”

Jackie smiled to herself as she drew her knees up to her chest, her flowy dress hiding her legs and feet beneath it. She nursed her beer until the countdown began, moving to stand up next to her parents.

“Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” Jackie exclaimed, her eyes drifting toward the fireworks the resort employees set off. The sparks lit up the night sky, blues and greens popping. Red and yellow were next.

“Happy New Year, baby,” her father said. Jackie dipped down to kiss his cheek and stepped over to do the same to her mother.

“Happy New Year,” Jackie smiled.

The next two weeks went on without much of a word from Elvis besides flowers with a card, then Jackie read in the paper he was expected to have a show in the new Las Vegas International Hotel upcoming on the twenty-sixth. She could explain it away as him being busy. When she received a call two days before his Vegas engagement at home, it was late enough into the night she was winding down for the evening after a long day of working at her family’s hardware store. Once she showered and put on a T-shirt and pajama pants, she could guarantee she wouldn’t leave for the rest of the night. 

The wood-paneled walls reflected the lamp’s warm glow at Jackie’s side. Framed pictures or metal posters hung on the wall behind the couch. The baseboard heater off to the side filled the room with the perfect temperature though her toes were still cold under the handknit white and red blanket her mother gifted her for Christmas. Jackie was sitting on her couch sipping at a glass of wine and watching TV when she sprung up, her brow wrinkling in wonder as to who could be calling as late. She glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall as she answered, the time nearing a quarter till eleven. 

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Jackie?” Elvis’ voice curled around her name. 

Jackie felt heat rising to her cheeks as she looked around her empty, and otherwise relatively quiet, apartment. She put down her glass of red wine, holding the phone with both hands. The plastic creaked as she gripped it. 

“Elvis? You’ve got some nerve,” Jackie laughed. 

“I know, I know. I was hoping the flowers would tide you over,” he sighed. “Look, honey, I-I just been goin’ nonstop and gettin’ ready for this Vegas show. I don’t mean ta make you wait. I had other obligations.”

The flowers had wilted since then, sitting in the middle of the coffee table back in her living room. 

“Like being a husband and father?” Jackie asked, realizing her tone sounded more like a jab. 

“That’s how you want to spend this time talkin’, Jack?” Elvis grumbled. Unintentionally, it caused Jackie to laugh to hear Elvis be petulant and the nickname added to her already existing nickname. 

“You’re hard to forget about. Fame or not,” Jackie rubbed the tip of her finger along the countertop. “I just…miss you.” The young woman admitted softly. 

“We didn’t get enough time together, honey. I was callin’ because I’ve been thinkin’ about you since. I want to fly you out to Vegas for the show. Everything is booked and taken care of. What do ya think?” Elvis hesitated. 

What did she think? She didn’t know what to think because she would have to explain to her parents why she was going to Las Vegas. She rubbed at her brow, chewing at the inside of her cheek. 

“Can I bring a friend?” Jackie rubbed the back of her neck. 

“‘Course, honey. Whatever makes you happy. I just want to see that pretty face of yours in the audience. It’s not like the TV special. Not really. I’m nervous to be performin’ again but I think you’ll love it. All of it.” Elvis smiled on his end. 

“Then… As long as you promise me there won’t be a weird overlap with Priscilla. I don’t like to think of myself as jealous.” 

“No overlap. I still can’t help if she’s there, baby. I’ll have one of the guys set up everything and call you to check the schedule. I know it’s last minute.” Elvis said. 

“I think my mom and dad will look at me like I’m crazy. I’ll say it’s a girls’ trip.” 

“I can talk to them—“ 

“You are not calling them,” Jackie laughed. 

“I’m only offerin’ a solution,” Elvis hiccupped with a laugh. “I will leave it to you then. I’ve got to get goin’. Jackie?”

“Yeah, Elvis?” Jackie sobered up. 

“I’m sorry if me takin’ forever to call hurt you. You’re a special little girl. I-I’m not trying to make you feel less than, alright?” 

“Okay, Elvis,” Jackie nodded as if he could see. 

“Good. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Jackie smiled. 

There was a click and she hung up too. She exhaled a breath she never believed she was holding until then, grabbing her glass of wine to return to her couch. She would call Tawnie tomorrow and convince her they had to go to Las Vegas. 

“This is really outta sight,” Tawnie whispered.

They were on a commercial flight to Vegas and if Jackie was right and approximated by her wristwatch, they were about to land soon. 

“I can’t believe it either,” Jackie exhaled, looking out of the window as the desert of Nevada seemed to be getting closer to the underbelly of the plane. 

Elvis’ first show at the International would be at midnight, leaving them with enough time to prepare for it. The amount of time they had in between made Jackie increasingly nervous. The smoothest part thus far was landing and grabbing their bags, then heading outside for pick-up. When Lamar Fike called on Elvis’ behalf and gave her a general description of what Joe Esposito looked like, she didn’t expect him to have a sign with her name. To her relief, she didn’t think she would have recognized him without it.

“Jackie and Tawnie?” Joe asked. 

“I’m Jackie,” Jackie introduced herself, shifting her suitcase to the opposite hand. She was surprised by the lack of a Southern accent rolling off his tongue. 

“And I’m Tawnie,” Tawnie said, pushing her sunglasses onto her nose.

“Good enough for me. Let’s get goin’, ladies,” Joe grinned, taking Jackie’s bag from her. Tawnie’s were next and they were shuffling into the car. 

Jackie had never been to Vegas before then. Sin City lived up to its name just from the smattering of various activities and buildings promoting things that would make a Virginian clutch their pearls. The sun was close to setting and slowly the lights along the Strip at various hotels, casinos, and restaurants lit the way. As they pulled up in front of the International, Joe parked just long enough to grab their bags from the trunk before speaking to Jackie.

“Alright, you’ll go to the front desk and check-in under Jon Burrows. Oh, and before I forget,” Joe said, digging into the inside pocket of his jacket after passing off their bags. “Here are the tickets for tonight.” 

“Thanks so much for giving us a ride and all,” Jackie said, peering down at the tickets. She handed one over to Tawnie for safekeeping.

“Need anything else?” Joe asked, looking between both women.

“All set,” Jackie smiled.

At half past eleven, Jackie looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the dress Elvis left for her. Tawnie watched, mouth open in shock as she unwrapped the neatly tied red ribbon from around the box. Jackie packed a pair of dangly diamond earrings to go with the other dress she bought but she felt that much prettier knowing Elvis chose something with her in mind. 

“Ready, Tawnie?” Jackie called from the living room of the suite.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Tawnie called back.

Jackie blew out a breath, grabbing her purse and triple-checking she had her ticket. The amount of people and cameras in the lobby leading to the auditorium was overwhelming. Jackie and Tawnie were seated after some slow shuffling through the line, their table near the front of the stage among select strangers at the long clothed table. Jackie could have touched the stage from where she sat. Tawnie squeezed at her arm excitedly. Both women were grateful when their server came to the table and doled out drinks to help calm their nerves. When the music started, Jackie didn’t care as much for her anxiety and only wanted to hurry the night away to see Elvis. Everyone and everything settled besides the occasional server roaming around or guest filtering in. As the show began, her heart rate picked up a little more, and like lightning, Elvis was there on stage and welcomed by raucous applause. The band was as unbelievable as Elvis looked in his mostly all-white jumpsuit. Jackie looked on with hunger in her eyes that she never had until then, seeing Elvis’ hips sway seductively. 

When Elvis finally looked at her directly, doing so a few times, he would grin and move around the stage so as not to linger near her for too long. When Can’t Help Falling In Love began to play, she shivered at seeing Elvis kiss several women. The man knew how to captivate an audience. For it to be her first Elvis concert, she was easily convinced then that he and Priscilla surely had an agreement after all. Starry-eyed, Jackie watched as Elvis moved down the stage in front of her again and knelt. He smiled devilishly, holding the secret only they (and Tawnie) knew of.

“Don’t be shy, honey,” Elvis smiled, offering his free hand to Jackie. 

Jackie looked sidelong at her table, the faces different from her own besides a few famous ones she swore she saw in the crowd back in the booths. Elvis was crazy to do something as bold. For a second, the alcohol in her system and Elvis had her mesmerized. She took his hand as she stood all in one smooth motion, pushing up on her already-heeled toes to reach him. He lifted her with more strength than she pictured he had. Their lips met and she felt that electricity in her stomach the same as she did a month ago. Elvis flicked his tongue, holding her there for a second longer than he probably should have.

“Phew, Lord, have mercy,” Elvis said near the mic. 

They broke apart and Jackie was undoubtedly flustered as she watched Elvis flit away. She watched with parted lips, sitting back down, and Tawnie placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I think he remembers you, alright,” Tawnie laughed, returning to her clapping.

When the show ended and the curtain came down, Jackie looked at Tawnie in a tipsy stupor. Elvis nodded at the crowd, smiling and saying his ‘thank yous’. Before the curtain dropped, he looked at Jackie again and mouthed ‘I’ll see you’. Jackie didn’t know she could adore the same quiet and meek man she met on the beach now replaced with a megastar that didn’t appear to be afraid of anything. 

“So, what now?” Tawnie asked, taking her pick out of her purse. She grinned sleepily, fluffing her hair.

As Jackie opened her mouth in consideration, they were being approached by one of the Elvis’ team. She wished she knew how Elvis was pulling it off, coordinating her and Priscilla’s presence. They were led through where the concessions were off to the left of the auditorium and through the employee backroom and kitchen. Jackie glanced at Tawnie with a shrug as they went down a set of stairs. Their guide led them to the employee elevator and left them alone inside the cart to head to the top floor. There were already individuals and guests bumbling around by the time the two of them were inside. 

“Oh, my God, is that who I think it is?” Tawnie whispered.

“Too many famous faces to count,” Jackie whispered back. “Let’s get a drink.”

By Jackie’s fourth drink, she could dance carefree enough to not care about who was who. When Elvis did enter the room, people erupted into applause again as they were all personal fans of the star. He was dressed in all-black leather from head-to-toe similarly to how he had been in the Comeback Special. The room settled again into a murmur and Jackie tried not to feel like chopped liver as Elvis made his rounds. Tawnie sat beside her while she chose to stand, wanting to dance out any nervous energy. Not long after a man with long dirty blond hair past his ears and a thick mustache approached Jackie. 

“You’ve got some nice dance moves I was diggin’. Don’t stop on account of me,” the man grinned. Jackie narrowed her eyes as she often did with men she was skeptical of. 

“I don’t dance for strangers,” Jackie flirted and shook her head. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Scott,” he smirked, raising a hand to lean into the nearby wall.

“And Scott, you want me to continue dancing for you like you’re at some kind of go-go and not at Elvis Presley’s afterparty?” She smiled, raising her cup to her lips.

“A beautiful woman such as yourself deserves an audience. Isn’t that right?” Scott brushed his hair back from his face.

“I’d have to say it is,” said Elvis behind Scott. 

Jackie didn’t know who felt more caught but she had done nothing wrong and neither did she have anything to be ashamed of. Elvis walked around to stand in front of them both, his tanned skin radiant under the lights. Eyes were drawn in their direction but most tried to pretend they weren’t paying any mind.

“Elvis,” Jackie said in alarm.

“Who’s your friend?” Elvis tested, his tone lighter than the insinuation. 

“Scott, apparently. We just met.” Jackie shrugged. She observed closely while she was sure jealousy was roiling off of Elvis. 

“I’m one of the stagehands for your show, Mr. Presley. We haven’t gotten the chance to meet in person. It’s nice to meet you.” Scott spoke cordially with a need to impress Elvis. He extended a hand to him that Elvis first just looked at before taking it in a firm shake. 

Elvis had to play his role and if he didn’t want anyone to know he flew a woman out to Vegas then that meant being less of a jealous jerk and more of a friend pining for her attention. “Good to meet someone who can keep up with my craziness. Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Jackie here?” Elvis asked.

“Of course. No problem, Mr. Presley.” Scott smiled, stepping out of the way and rejoining the rest of the party. Tawnie’s attention had been drawn from people-watching to them too. 

“You, too, T. Just for a few minutes,” Jackie said, nudging her foot. “Oh, and I’m being rude. Tawnie, this is Elvis. Elvis, this is Tawnie.” 

“You sure as hell are,” Tawnie grinned, jumping up to face Elvis and greet him. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You, too, honey. Any friend of Jackie’s is a friend of mine,” Elvis smiled, stepping in first to close the gap and hug Tawnie. Tawnie faced Jackie in their hug and mouthed ‘Oh my God’ before they separated.

“I’ll let you two get reacquainted. I might go try to tell Sammy Davis Jr. a joke.” Tawnie smiled, slipping away. 

Elvis watched her go before stepping in toward Jackie, placing a hand on her arm. He wanted to feel her in the most appropriate way the space they were in permitted.

“Don’t tell me that young guy had your attention. I can be one jealous sonofabitch,” Elvis smirked, dipping his head down to meet her eyes. Jackie held his gaze, searching because she knew he was being truthful while trying to hide it behind sarcasm.

“I’ve had my eyes on you all night. I should be the jealous one. I lost count of how many women you kissed. You’re saying I can’t even the score?” Jackie laughed.

“Oh, no, not one bit. I don’t feel anything for those women. It’s all a part of making a good show and everyone happy. Did I make you happy?” Elvis purred, his thumb rubbing circles over her skin.

“I was just as happy when you left this dress in my room,” Jackie smoothed her hands down the front of it, the bodice tight in every possible dip and curve except for the hem where it was flowing around her calves. “But I hope it’s not all for show.”

“Not with you, no. I’m hoping I can see it on my floor later once we clear everyone out of here. What do ya say?” Elvis mumbled just low enough for her to hear.

“I don’t know, Elvis. I,” Jackie glanced around, mindful of any eavesdroppers. “I missed you. I want to talk, too.”

“We always talk, don’t we? I’ll have to extend your and your friend’s stay here if you really would like to play catch up, Jack. I’ve got a lot on my mind to share. You’ll be sick’a me by the end of it, little girl. Let me make some more rounds; then, it’ll just be you and me. Okay?” Elvis assured her. He dropped his head down to press a kiss to her cheek and drew back with a hopeful smile. 

Jackie nodded with the reassurance and the night dwindled as promised. By the time Elvis’ suite started to empty, it was half past two in the morning. Jackie was less confident she could stay up any later and Tawnie called it a night half an hour before to return to their room a few floors below. She slinked away into Elvis’ bedroom as he wanted and instructed ten minutes prior. She didn’t know if she was more grateful for the bed or the privacy of a door. The room wasn’t particularly personalized or special.

Jackie sat on the end of the bed to undo the clasps on her heels and sighed as she stood up to freshen up what little she could in the bathroom. The chatter outside the room grew quieter, forcing her to face her reflection in the bathroom. Was she going to go through with sleeping with Elvis? 

“Jackie?” Elvis called from the bedroom. 

Jackie felt her heart lurch as she swished around mouthwash and spit it out into the sink. She took her used washcloth, adding it to the pile of used towels there. With the last bit of her second wind, she opened the door to join Elvis who looked pleased and equally weary to see her there. 

“Just look at you. Even this late, still just as beautiful. C’mere,” Elvis said, holding out his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Jackie sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth as she crossed the room on bare feet. Elvis’ hand was warm as she took it and pulled her into his lap. He rested a palm on her thigh, nudging his nose into the space between Jackie’s neck and shoulder. 

“Elvis, can I be honest?” Jackie interrupted gently.

“What is it, baby?” Elvis groaned, lifting a hand to her cheek. His lips parted, sucking a spot into her skin along the front of her throat. 

“I’m so tired from flying all day and it’s late. Can we pick this back up in the mornin’?”

“Are you sure?” He asked patiently, then pulled back to look at Jackie. His hands massaged her, squeezing where he could. Jackie became hyperaware of how hard he was beneath her. The man was unstoppable.

 How was he able to keep going after the day and night he had?

 “Never mind. Let’s get you into bed. I’ll go brush my teeth. Turn down the bed. Hm?” Elvis nodded as he gauged her reaction.

“Okay. Thank you,” she told him bashfully.

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you to want me. I’ll take your thank you then. We’ll talk in the morning. Now go.” Elvis smiled, patting her thigh.

“Oh, even in the face of the Sandman, you still find a way to be cocky,” Jackie laughed, sliding from his lap.

 Jackie climbed up the bed and started to pull her dress from the bottom up over her head. She revealed her bare breasts and underwear hugging tight to her round rear. As requested, her dress was tossed onto the floor. Elvis watched the entire thing after standing, his erection staring back at Jackie through his pants. Jackie was unlike the usual women he surrounded himself with. Including his wife. Jackie’s ability to keep him at bay made him want her that much more. 

His little young and precocious thing. 

“Not cocky at all. Just makin’ my promises now. Rest your little head now.” Elvis laughed, turning toward the bathroom and shutting the door. 

Jackie fell asleep waiting for Elvis, curled up beneath the covers she drew back for them both. Elvis joined her after peeling himself out of his tight outfit and shutting off the lights. Tired didn’t truly know him. The uppers he was on made sure of it but he could cuddle a gorgeous woman that stripped in front of him possibly for his sake. Elvis gathered Jackie into his arms, disrupting her slumber briefly and causing her to stir enough to back into Elvis. 

“Sleep tight,” Elvis mumbled atop her head.

Jackie was too generous in thinking she would wake up in the morning. The sun was high in the sky by the time she woke to wandering hands roaming over the length of her stomach and up to her breasts. She groaned softly while she took a few seconds to register where she was, a few seconds passing until she recalled Elvis was behind her. The urge to pee had her bounding out of bed for the bathroom, mumbling about coming back soon. Jackie also wanted the opportunity to use his mouthwash again before she thought about speaking first thing that morning. She returned to bed, Elvis waiting in the same position with his eyes closed at first. He welcomed her back as she scooted in with her back to his chest. 

“Are you hungry?” Elvis murmured. He left kisses, a cool trail at the back of her neck that woke her up completely. The heat pooling between her legs took priority over any other need. 

“Yes, very,” Jackie breathed, inching her hips back into the waiting bulge. She could feel the chill of his pajamas covering him from top to bottom which she never expected. The room was chilly enough and his warmth was appreciated.

“What would you like?” Elvis breathed, sliding a hand down her side to her hip.

“What’s on the menu?” Jackie slowly opened her eyes.

“I can show you better than I can tell you,” Elvis said. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder and slid calloused, but soft, fingers down to the front of her. He cupped her heat, testing and feeling while using his long fingers to rub at her. Jackie sighed, lifting her hips into his hand. When Elvis retracted, she whimpered in her neediness while he beckoned her to raise her hips to draw her panties down. “I wanted to show you how grateful I am for reassuring me I’m on the right path and maybe God brought you into my life to be a guiding light.” 

Jackie was mildly incredulous by the mention of God, as she too struggled with purpose and direction in her life. She blushed because she was stuck on feeling as if she were being thanked for contributing to his adultery. Elvis had to be telling the truth about his arrangement because there he was with her and not anyone else. She forced down the rampant twenty-one year old thoughts clanking around in her head when Elvis was touching her again. His hand circled over her clit with just the right amount of pressure, her breath catching in her throat and making her pause the same way her thoughts had. Elvis used his free hand to squeeze at one of her breasts, pinching at the nipple as he pressed his pelvis into her ass. 

“Oh, baby, I hardly have to do anything. You’re already so wet for me. This what you been hidin’?” Elvis' deep baritone rumbled in her ear. 

The hand on her chest made its way to her throat, possessive but gentle. The hand between her legs dipped until he sunk his middle deep inside of her. Jackie made a high-pitched noise that he hummed his approval to. Elvis was drawing his finger out to replace it with two, pumping them slowly, then quick enough that she knew she would get off if he kept at it. 

“Elvis,” she hissed. For the first time, she wondered if and when his entourage would come and go from the suite. Elvis told her how he was never really alone and that made her worry someone could hear her. 

“Come on my fingers, baby. Don’t be afraid to be a naughty girl. Open up for me,” Elvis moaned. 

He was still humping into her from behind, straining against the fabric of his pajamas and creating a small blotch of pre-come. Elvis withdrew his fingers again, forcing Jackie to be aware of just how empty she felt. His hand rubbed at her clit again to get her there before his fingers were inside of her again, working at the sensitive flesh. It was all too much for Jackie to be strummed at and picked like one of his guitars. Her peak was sudden and all at once, the pressure building like a compression chamber. Jackie pressed her head back, moaning out freely and forgetting about any other worries she had beyond that room. Actual tears crept from the corners of her eyes as she trembled and Elvis held onto her like a vice while actively using his fingers to keep her orgasm going. Jackie reached for his wrist when it became too much and he pressed a light bite into the side of her neck. 

“Mhm, too much, little girl?” Elvis asked. 

“Somethin’…like that,” Jackie breathed heavily. She swallowed hard, a failed attempt at catching her breath. 

“I wanna fuck you,” Elvis mumbled. “Is that alright?” 

Jackie could have laughed. Elvis had a filthy mouth and gave his team props for hiding it well enough that it took her by surprise every time he cussed. 

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” Jackie licked her lips and started to roll over onto her back. 

Elvis gave her the room to do so and then sat up. He unbuttoned his pajama shirt to toss it aside and followed up with the pants, kicking them away carelessly down the bed. Then there they were, somewhere neither of them thought they would be for two different reasons. Jackie’s mouth salivated as her eyes took in Elvis’ lean frame and his girthy cock. He moved up onto his knees, displaying his entire body. His hair was messy and he looked more exhausted than he was moving. Either way, Jackie found him to be one of the most beautiful men once again. She didn’t know if she would ever stop thinking that. Elvis’ eyes looked over her, wanting to save every inch of her to memory in case the day came when she didn’t want him anymore. 

Jackie opened her legs up to him and he moved carefully between them, bumping into her as he did. Elvis lowered onto his forearms, a hand coming up to smooth down her hair. 

“I should’ve bought you some kind of head wrap if I thought you were stayin’ or comin’,” Elvis smiled, seating himself. They were pressed into the other but he didn’t rush to fill her. 

“What do you know about that?” Jackie laughed. Elvis' cheekbones jumped and stuck out as he smiled in return. 

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, little girl,” Elvis grinned before he stole a kiss. Jackie sighed as the humor left the room. When he first lined himself and slid into her, she felt a pang of realization that her affection for Elvis extended beyond more than her heart could take. Jackie wrapped her legs around his waist and he didn’t let up on his kisses until he was speeding up. His movements remained unrushed, breaking their kiss to drop his head beside Jackie’s and let out moans she would never forget. 

When they finished, Elvis stayed put atop of her, sliding down to rest his head between her breasts. He panted and closed his eyes, at some point reaching for one of Jackie’s hands and pressing the back of it to his lips. 

“I’d like to keep seein’ you. Even in Virginia and have you fly out to Memphis sometime. I don’t think I’d like it very much to go as long without seein’ you,” Elvis proclaimed.

“I think the sex has you not thinkin’ straight,” Jackie smiled.

“I’m serious. You’re somethin’ special. I’ll prove it to you, don’t you worry.” Elvis hummed, pressing another kiss to the back of her hand.

“You are somethin’ else, Elvis Presley,” Jackie sighed, combing her fingers through his sweaty hair. 

FIN

[kinascum]

CHARMED ᯓ★

Austin Butler x Reader

wc: 1.7k | summary: y/n, an interviewer at Variety, scores an interview with Austin Butler. | nav - taglist

FLUFF. no major warnings.

You sit in the quiet of the Variety office, surrounded by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clack of a keyboard echoing through the open-plan space. Your heart beats a little faster than usual today as you prepare for the interview of a lifetime. The email with the subject line "Austin Butler Interview: Confirmed" still sits open on your screen, a stark reminder of the excitement and nerves you've been juggling since you read it. You've done this before, of course, but something about Austin feels different. Maybe it's the way his blue eyes seem to look right into your soul in every magazine cover, or the way his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine when you watch his interviews. You're a journalist with a knack for making even the most guarded celebrities open up, but you're not immune to the charm of Hollywood's golden boys.

The clock ticks closer to the scheduled time, and you stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your blouse and taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. You've spent hours researching his career, from his early days on the small screen to his breakthrough performance as the king of rock 'n' roll. You've rehearsed your questions, honed them to perfection, and now all that's left is to wait for the moment when he walks through the door.

When he does, it's like the air in the room shifts. He's taller than you expected, with a presence that seems to fill the space around him. He's dressed casually, but it looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, his jeans fitting just right, and a leather jacket thrown over a simple white tee. His eyes scan the room, and when they land on you, you feel a jolt of energy. He smiles, a genuine, warm smile that reaches his eyes, and you can't help but return it, feeling a little bit like you're melting.

You extend a hand, and he takes it, his grip firm but gentle. His skin is warm, and for a second, you're lost in the sensation of his touch. "Y/N," he says, as if he's known you for years, not minutes. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." His voice is like a caress, and you blush, hoping it's not too obvious. You've always been a little shy around the people you admire, and the fact that he's looking at you with such kindness isn't helping your nerves.

As you lead him to the interview set, you notice the way his boots scuff the floor, the quiet confidence in his stride. He seems to be at ease in his own skin, a stark contrast to the flurry of activity around you. You offer him a seat and take yours opposite, placing your notebook and pen on the table. You've done this a hundred times before, but today, your hand trembles ever so slightly. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you thought you'd outgrown, and try to remember to breathe. The cameras start to roll, and you're aware of every little detail: the sound of the film crew moving around, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the background, the way the lights cast a gentle glow on Austin's face.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "So," he begins, his voice like a purr. "What's the first question you've been dying to ask me?"

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. You clear it, hoping he doesn't notice, and glance down at your notes. But as you look back up, you realize that the question you've so carefully prepared isn't what you want to ask anymore. There's something about the way he's looking at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way you never have before. And in that moment, you know that this interview is going to be unlike any other.

You take a deep breath and dive in, asking him about his preparation for his latest role, one that's earned him critical acclaim and a slew of award nominations. His eyes light up, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks back to those intense days and nights spent becoming someone else. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully, his voice deep and resonant as he recounts the hours of research, the months of practice, the moments of doubt and triumph. You're captivated by his dedication, his passion for his craft shining through every word.

As you listen, you find yourself leaning in, hanging on to every syllable. His words paint a vivid picture of his journey, and you're drawn into the story as if you were there with him. You ask follow-up questions, eager to learn more, and he responds with the same thoughtfulness, never rushing, always choosing his words with care. His honesty is refreshing, and you can't help but admire the way he's handled the pressures of stardom with such grace.

But then his gaze starts lingering on you a beat too long, and when he smiles, it's a smile that says he's not just talking about the movie anymore, and suddenly, the air in the room feels charged with electricity. You blush, your cheeks grow warm, and you feel your heart race in your chest. Your hand fidgets with the pen, and you realize you're playing with your hair again, a nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in high school. But with Austin, you're feeling anything but professional.

He leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and asks you a question about your own work, your favorite stories, your dreams. And you find yourself opening up to him, sharing things you never thought you'd say out loud, let alone on camera. His voice is a gentle coax, drawing you out of your shell, making you feel as if you're the most interesting person in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you start to believe it.

The conversation flows like a river, twisting and turning through topics of art, life, and love. His stories are peppered with laughter, and you find yourself smiling more than you ever have in an interview. His hand reaches out, resting on the arm of your chair, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through the fabric as he pulls your chair closer to his. It's a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt through your body, making you aware of every inch of space between you as you catch a glimpse of how his muscles flex under the studio lights.

You notice the way his fingers tap against the chair, a subtle beat that matches the rhythm of your heart. His eyes, so blue and deep, seem to see right through you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can read your thoughts. You realize you're not just asking questions anymore; you're exchanging glances, sharing silent moments filled with understanding. The chemistry between you is palpable, and the crew seems to have melted into the background, leaving just the two of you in the spotlight.

The interview comes to a close, but the energy between you and Austin doesn't dissipate. As the crew starts to pack up, he lingers, his hand still resting on the arm of your chair. "Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "That was one of the best interviews I've had in a long time." You blush, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was an honor."

He stands, and you follow suit, the space between you closing as you exchange pleasantries about the weather and the traffic. His eyes never leave yours, and you can't help but feel like there's something unspoken hanging in the air. He's charismatic, down-to-earth, and thoughtful—everything you've read about him, but seeing it up close is like experiencing the gravity of a star for the first time. His words come out measured and deliberate, each one chosen with care, as if he's afraid of saying too much or too little.

As you walk him out, the quiet of the office seems to amplify the sound of your shoes on the floor. The lights seem to dim, and the world outside the glass walls fades away. You find yourself lost in the depth of his gaze, the way his eyes seem to dance when he smiles. He pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees wobble. "Y/N," he says, and the way he says your name feels like a secret shared between the two of you. "Could I interest you in a drink? To celebrate a successful interview?" His words are followed by a cheeky grin as he addresses you in an overly formal manner.

You're surprised by the invitation, but something in his tone tells you that it's more than just a professional courtesy. You hesitate, your heart racing as you laugh nervously. You've never mixed business with pleasure before, but the way he's looking at you, the way his thumb brushes against the back of your hand as he holds the door open, makes you want to throw caution to the wind. You nod, trying to sound casual. "Sure, I'd love that."

The bar he chooses is dimly lit, the kind of place where whispers are the loudest sounds and secrets feel safe. He orders a whiskey neat, and you ask for a glass of wine. As you sit across from him, you can't help but notice the way the light plays with the shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He talks about his love for music, the way it's shaped him as a person and an actor, and you listen, enraptured. His passion is contagious, and you find yourself sharing stories from your own life, things you rarely speak of outside of your closest friends.

The conversation flows as easily as the alcohol, and you realize that you're not just talking about work anymore. You're laughing, sharing, connecting in a way you never have with an interview subject. His hand reaches across the table, and he takes yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. It's a simple touch, but it feels like a promise, a question, a door opening to something new.

A/N: kinda in a love-hate relationship with this one yall

tell me if yall want to be added to this masterlist's taglist !!🩶🩶🦫

[onceshy-twicebitten]

I’m bout to send some more gay!emmett cullen vibes. Here is a list of songs I feel like gay!Emmett would totally listen to! This is my own take on it, so I hope you like it! I kept Country and Classic Rock the most since he’s from Tennessee. I only did 3 genres because of how much I’d chosen 😅

Today Pop:

Rare - Selena Gomez

Hot Girl Bummer - Blackbear

Adore You - Harry Styles

Wish You Were Gay - Billie Eilish

Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time - P!ATD

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

Hollaback Girl - Gwen Stefani

Straight Through My Heart - Backstreet Boys

Green Light - Lorde

Blow Me (One Last Kiss) - Pink

Same Love - Macklemore ft Mary Lambert

Dangerous - Big Data ft Joywave

Old Town Road - Lil Nas X ft Billy Ray Cyrus

Almost the entire Love Simon soundtrack

Classic Rock:

Should I Stay or Go Now - The Clash

Africa - Toto (obviously)

It’s Still Rock and Roll To Me - Billy Joel

Barracuda - Heart

Your Love - The Outfield

Dream On - Aerosmith

Don’t Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra

Working For The Weekend - Lover Boy

Dancing In The Dark - Bruce Springsteen

Back In Black - AC/DC

Jessie’s Girl - Rick Springfield

Sweet Home Alabama - Lynard Skynard

Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater

Rock You Like A Hurricane - Scorpions

Old Time Rock And Roll - Bob Segar (he likes to blare this one and dance in a button up and his underwear ofc)

Stairway to Heaven - Led Zepplin

Carry On My Wayward Son - Kansas

Literally everything by Queen

Highway To Hell - AC/DC (when Edward goes on tangents about a damned soul, he plays this)

Surfin’ USA - The Beach Boys

Immigrant Song - Led Zepplin

Paradise City - Guns n Roses

Behind Blue Eyes - The Who

Hey Jude - The Beatles

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart - Elton John

LITERALLY KNOWS ALL 80’s songs. Especiallg The Jackson Five.

All Elvis Presley

Country (the best part about Country is that Edward absolutely hates country) :

Soldier - Billy Gilman

Kerosene - Miranda Lambert (Bella knows this one)

What Was I Thinkin’ - Dierks Bentley

Boondocks - Little Big Town (he screams this)

Anything Garth Brooks or Kenney Chesney (especially She Thinks My Tractors Sexy)

Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood

Where I Come From - Montgomery Gentry

Mama He’s Crazy - The Judds

Wagon Wheel - Darius Rucker

Parking Lot Party - Lee Brice

Pontoon - Little Big Town

Beer Never Broke My Heart - Luke Combs

Red Solo Cup - Toby Keith (he fucking loves this song so much)

Dude loves Dolly Parton

Yes to Tim Mcgraw

He doesn’t like to tell people, but he knows almost all country Taylor Swift songs

Yes, he listens to country all the time. It drives Edward insane. And he’s so shocked when Bella sings along.

——

Add some songs and headcanons about the music emmett listens to!

[buglass]

Love a Man in Uniform

Summary: You really like seeing Elvis in his Army uniform and even more so without it, but the hat stays on.

Chapters: 1/1

WC: 3.3K

Rating/Warnings: Explicit; Smut aka minors DNI, late 50s

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Black!OFC, Elvis Presley x Black!Reader

A/N: I saw someone’s comment somewhere on here that they wanted Elvis to keep the hat on when they you know and I was already itchin’ to write Army Elvis. God bless the troops.

Being the daughter of an Army sergeant was far less exciting than one would think. When your father wasn’t off working long hours and days, he left your mother with you in a single-parent household. You didn’t know whether to be happy or cry when he got orders to Germany in nineteen fifty-six when you were seventeen. The only thing you knew about Germany was the war that just passed when you were a child.  

You had come to like Germany after all. Your mother and father reassured you it would be less like how it was back home feeling his absence. As the years went on, you finished high school on base and worked the local shoppette near the barracks. Usually it was a mixed bag of interactions from people since Jim Crow was ongoing back home, but most people were nice and conversational. 

You were restocking the shelves, knelt down as someone hovered nearby and you spared them half a glance. The man cleared his throat and you could hear some shuffling further down the aisle. You still didn’t look up fully at the man whose pant legs and hat in hand were all you saw of him and a posse of people hanging further back by the other end. 

“‘Scuse me, ma’am, can you tell me where I might find ointment for a cut?” The voice said. 

You heard about Elvis arriving the year before to Germany but you never so much as ran into him or met him. Your father moved your family off base once you graduated from school which completely lowered your chances. Now that you worked near the barracks, the odds had gone up and you had time to forget about him. When you did look up, he was towering over you and you had never felt smaller. You were taken aback by how beautiful he was in person compared to the magazine and newspaper photos that lined the stand in the store. You fumbled with the goods you were restocking on the shelf as you tried to stand, sweeping your hair from your face.

“I, um--it’s a few aisles over. Next to the cough medicine and Band-Aids.” You stammered, shyly meeting his eyes while he smiled.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Elvis said. 

You suddenly became unconvinced that he had no idea where to find ointment and when you looked at his hands you couldn’t necessarily see a cut either. You knelt back down to pick up what you were placing on the shelf, giving him a look as he lingered still.

“Is there somethin’ else I can help you with?” You ask nervously.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” He asks, all of his attention on you.

“Y/n,” you say.

“And how old are you, y/n?” He continues his line of questioning.

“Nineteen, almost twenty here soon,” you squint at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Go to Bad Nauheim ever?” Elvis humors, beginning to peruse the items on the shelf. 

Other customers are starting to notice now and it makes you nervous that he’s seemingly procrastinating to have a conversation with you.

“Not really. I hear there’s nothin’ to do but see where Elvis Presley lives,” you joke, placing your dropped item back into the box stacked beside you. “I can show you to your ointment, Mr. Presley.” You say, beginning to walk two aisles over. Elvis follows in his amusement.

“Where are you from?” He asks another question.

“Tennessee originally, but my Daddy was stationed in Missouri for a while before we moved here.” You say easily.

“I thought I heard that familiar accent. Listen, honey, I obviously don’t really need a Band-Aid, but I would like you to stop by this house I’m rentin’. I don’t care for the barracks too much. We happened to stop in and I saw ya. Thought I might pique your interest. So do I?” Elvis said, moving to stand in front of you.

“Do you what?” You ask.

“Do I pique your interest?” Elvis repeated.

You wanted to laugh because while you had never dreamed of Elvis Presley before, it was too good to be true so you must have been dreaming. You lick your lips as you reach around Elvis, grabbing the bandages first then the ointment.

“People will talk,” you say.

“You think I’m not used ta people talking about me? It does no good worryin’ about that sorta stuff. You’re pretty, very pretty. I would like your company. My buddy Charlie back there can give you a ride if you need one.” Elvis offered, dropping his chin to his chest to catch your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’re sure it won’t cause too much fuss?” You ask warily.

“I’m perfectly sure. If it makes you feel any better, my grandmother and father also live with me. The people we have over are either battle buddies or strangers. We’ll listen to music and talk. What do you say?” Elvis looked at you expectantly. 

His eyes were unrealistically blue and you could feel his charm radiating off of him. If you were honest with yourself, you were ready to say yes ages ago. Elvis Presley was asking you to his home which you were sure nobody back home would exactly believe. Missouri not so much, but in Tennessee your friends or families could attest to Elvis’s kind and accepting nature.

“Tonight?” You ask.

“Tonight,” he breaks into a half smile.

You were still in shock by the time evening came. Instead of taking up Elvis’s offer to be given a ride, you borrowed your parents’ car for the night. You informed them generally of where you were going but didn’t want to worry them with who you were seeing. Wearing your best dress, you did up your makeup but kept it simple. You added a spritz of perfume in the car and the next few minutes were a blur after you bypassed the waiting girls outside to knock on the front door. Informed of what you would look like and your name, you were allowed in without issue.

Elvis was playing on the piano when you arrived so most people’s attention was on him. His eyes drifted to you while he played, dressed down in his button up shirt, tie, dress pants, and dress shoes of his uniform. You would have thought he would have changed by now but most of the men there still wore their uniforms. He finished the song he was playing and half sang in order to greet you. There was a half-hearted hug on your part as he bent down to kiss your cheek. That made you more nervous that he was so carefree about his affection. You were a little more reserved and private about who or what you did in your spare time. 

“Anyone give you trouble gettin’ in here?” Elvis rumbled low. He had yet to completely release you, an arm around your waist as he peered down at you.

“No, no problems.” You say.

“Good to hear. Did you want something to drink or eat before goin’ upstairs?” He asked calmly.

While his tone wasn’t suggestive, you knew why you had come there. You were no better than any other young woman that was just as virile as some of the young men present. When Elvis invited you to come by his place, you knew what you wanted and how you wanted it. You shake your head to his question and he scans your face again. As if it clicks in his head, his lips part in response.

“Go upstairs without me. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” Elvis rasps, starting to pull away. “My room is hard to miss.”

You follow his instructions though you feel it’s awkward to remove yourself. It’s not that you stand out but most of the people there have never met you before. But you knew being honest with yourself that it was probably something the regulars had seen before. When you get to Elvis’s bedroom, it is apparent between the sack of mail and his uniform jacket hanging on a nearby door. His hat hangs from the mirror and you grab it, thumbing slightly at the fabric. You didn't know what it was about seeing Elvis in uniform. Anything else you had seen him in just didn’t do it for you and he looked perfectly slender and taller somehow when he was dressed that way.

“Somethin’ catch your eye?” Elvis says from the doorway, making you jump. You turn around with his hat in your hand as he moves to shut his bedroom door behind him.

“No. Well, yes. I think you look damn good wearin’ this,” you admit, shy as your eyes meet his again. 

Now that you’re alone with him, reality sets in again that you’re alone with the Elvis Presley and he was unashamed to have been interested in a woman such as yourself. Elvis nods and slowly makes his way in front of you, gentle as he holds onto a part of the hat.

“It feels like just another monkey suit. Y’know what I mean, honey?” Elvis scoffed, moving past you to put on a record as promised. 

You go to sit on the end of his bed as he flips through an assortment of records, kneeling down. He would stop occasionally only to then continue flipping through the covered vinyls. When Elvis did settle on one, he stood up again to play the record and you quickly recognized the surly and crooning voice of Ray Charles. 

“You were playin’ this downstairs,” you say. “I couldn’t recognize it at first.” 

“I’m a big fan of Ray Charles. His music does somethin’ to me. I want to record more of his songs someday, but hell, I don’t think I can sing it as well as him.” He said. 

Elvis turns back to you, moving to sit on the bed at your side. When he sits, the bed dips, and his eyes drift back to his hat. You try to find the right way to express that you want him and think it might be too forward. Elvis takes the hat from you to place it on his head, further displacing his already strewn strands of hair that managed to fall out of place. He places a hand on your thigh through your dress and you feel that same tingling sensation you felt in your pelvis in the shoppette again. 

“Can I kiss you? Your lips are perfect, baby.” Elvis said, making his point by looking at your full lips.

You just nod because you’re nervous again and fully aware of the experience at hand. There was a steady tinkering sound outside of pebbles from people below trying to get Elvis’s attention. But they were too late because you had it in full and he was leaning in, soon kissing you. He was gentle, his hat tipped back far enough that you didn’t have to worry about bumping into it. Your boldness amped up as you take the hand he left on your thigh to direct it between your legs beneath your dress. 

You hiss as he takes the permission, running with it as he presses his hand into you right where you need him. You moan into his mouth as the kiss deepens, clasping a hand at the nape of his neck. Elvis presses forward so your back is on the bed and he massages at your clit through your already wet underwear. You feel his fingers working your underwear aside, gliding over your lips and using the wetness there to tease at your hole. You suck in a sharp breath, at some point kicking off your heels to hook a leg over one of his. Elvis draws back, a ruddy color covering his cheeks and nose as his arousal came to the forefront.

“One second, baby,” he groaned. Elvis sat back and stood up, licking his fingers clean. You felt heat coming to your cheeks seeing a man taste you so freely. He started undressing starting with his shirt and pants. Both went onto a single hanger and he smiled to himself. “Can’t risk having to get these dry cleaned.” He explained.

“Can… Can you keep the hat on?” You ask hesitantly.

“You want me to keep it on while we…? Sure, why not. Does it turn you on?” Elvis grinned, keeping the hat in place as he closes in on you. 

“It’s something about when you wear it. I grew up around the military all my life… I don’t know what it is, Elvis.” You admit, eyes scanning him from head to toe. Your eyes linger a little longer on the bulge within his underwear.

“Everyone has their thing, don’t they? Don’t be shy about it, baby. It turns me on knowing I can make you feel good. Do you want me to make you feel good?” He asks, his voice deeper than before.

“Yes, Elvis,” you whisper.

He crawls over top of you again then reaches beneath your dress to peel your underwear from your body. He tosses the fabric aside, returning his hand back to your slit. Elvis moves up, settling on a forearm as he watches your face for every change in expression and moan from your lips. He drops his head to steal another kiss, his tongue bolder than before and curling around yours. This time he groans, soon working a finger inside of you and making you shudder. You were past the foreplay already as much as you wanted to believe and trust Elvis would take his time, you wanted him now.

To get your point across, you reach down and grab a hold of him through his underwear. You don’t treat him like this fragile thing. Squeezing at his cock, you massage him before helping to get rid of his underwear too. Elvis obliges and works out of them to kick them off to the floor. He groans again as you shift, hooking your legs around his waist to draw him forward.

“Baby,” Elvis breaks the kiss as he moans, his resolve quickly weakening as the head of his length brushes at your pussy from top to bottom. “I should grab a rubber.”

“Just pull out, okay?” You whisper, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. 

“Y’sure?” Elvis grunts, holding onto the base of himself as he purposely rubbed his head into you forcefully.

“Yes, please, Elvis. I need it. I need you,” you beg.

The music beyond the door was finally turned up a bit louder which was a relief to you. You worried someone might be listening out for you both since the star of the household left to come upstairs. Elvis kisses you again and bears his hips forward, sliding his way into you and making you gasp against his mouth. He hikes your dress up to grab purchase onto your hips, resting right at the bones there to push you down to the hilt of him. You hook your legs behind his thighs, lifting your hips encouragingly as you adjust around him. It had been long enough since the last boy you slept with that stretch took some getting used to but then again, you think, Elvis was bigger than you estimated.

“Goddamn, baby. You’re tight,” Elvis whispers and drops his head into your neck which pushes his hat back, kissing and nipping at the skin there. 

He draws his hips back carefully, testing what you can or can’t take and thrusts forward. Your legs are trembling as he speeds up not long after when he realizes how vocal you are. He parts his lips, grunting as he holds his mouth right where your voice vibrates from your throat. Your hands and arms intertwine around his neck because if you don’t hold onto something it will drive you crazy. 

Elvis sucks in a sharp breath, pulling back and you loosen your arms to give him the room to move. He sits up on his knees and pushes his cap back down into place just over his brows, then guides your legs back toward your chest and watches as he fucks in and out of you. You forced your eyes open to watch him, amazed at how focused his looks. His lips purse as he spits down onto his cock and your cunt, his hips picking up in speed again. The head of him brushes that sensitive spot and you angle your hips down as your first orgasm of the evening builds, drawing tight like a spool that needs to be unwound. Elvis drops a hand down to your clit, his thumb working expertly as he reads into your body’s response to him.

“Oh, Elvis--you’re gonna make me--” you stammer, becoming breathless with every passing second. 

Elvis bucks into you that much harsher, your toes curling in response and your legs shake as he remained dead-set on bringing you to completion. Your eyes shut then, tossing your head back into the bed as you came on him and he hums in response to show his approval.

“Mhm, baby. That’s a good, little girl,” Elvis praises. 

He pulls out and drops down to close his mouth on you, lapping up the mess he created freely. He moans then directs you up onto your knees. “Don’t worry. You’ll still be able to watch me. That’s what you like, hm, baby? You like seein’ how I fuck you?” 

“Yes, Elvis,” you whimper. 

Your face is pressed into the bed after he angles you downward with your ass in the air. He balls a hand up in your dress and uses the other to line his cock back up with your steadily dripping hole.

“You’re a good, little girl. You take me so well, baby. I’m so close,” Elvis breathes as he sinks into you again, mesmerized by the sounds he causes you to make. “Tell me you love it, baby. Say how good I make you feel.” 

“I love it, I love it…” You gasp, pressing your hips back into him. 

The sound of skin slapping fills the room as Elvis no longer tries to stave off his own climax. You watch him, realizing a secondary orgasm was approaching seeing him like this. His dark lashes had become heavy as he watched your hips meet and then looked at your face. The way his hat framed his features, you had the perfect view and wished there was a camera on hand to remember the way he looked for the rest of your days. 

“Oh, y/n, you are a naughty girl.” Elvis playfully scolded and tossed his head back for a brief second. 

His hips moved with less consistency and you knew he was about to cum. He pulled out at the very last second with every bit of restraint he could manage, squeezing at the head with his free hand and pulling your dress down your back. Elvis gasped as he came, leaving streaks across your ass and along your spine.

“Fuck…” He moaned, dragging the head along your pussy again. Elvis’s cock jumped as he did so. He blinked slowly as he sat back and held your dress in place to keep it from being stained or dirtied by his cum.

“You can take the hat off now, if you want.” You joke, pushing up onto your hands to be on all fours again.

“I think I just might,” Elvis said, smiling.

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away

Mature 18+

Summary: By 2025 in an alternate dystopian future, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC Chapters: 1/? WC: 3.6K+ Warnings: Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, oral, p in v, slight age gap, sex worker, uncut, sci-fi science-y biology nonsense, cussing, etc. A/N: This idea popped into my head because who wouldn’t want Elvis to be alive right now? Enjoy this sci-fi/dystopian take <3 Kind of a long one but so much detail had to be crammed in. Likely shorter chapters in the future lol Next Chapter

The Washington D.C. lab was as cold as most of the minds that filled it. Melody wasn’t brought up to be emotionless but when the country was turned over into the hands of one man and the government bent over to follow, much of her life had changed as she knew it. So she put on the facade of being a loyal subject and obsessively studious. Melody wasn’t much of a fan of anything to do with structure and working out of an office, so she focused on majoring in STEM. The only way she felt her mind could be stimulated in the way music, television shows, and movies did for her was by being on her feet in a lab.

Melody chewed on her bottom lip as she flipped through the notes on the tablet. As the underling to the head biologist, she was meant to double and triple check stats and findings on the subjects. That’s what the people in their vats were meant to be referred to--subjects. Not human beings or real people. Lately, the older she got and the less naive she became to the government’s rule, Melody quietly questioned if she could live with herself. Since she joined Truman Labs last year after six rigorous years of higher education, she put on a show of doing what she was told and doing it better than anyone else who came before her. Melody’s eyes drifted over one famous face after the other, recognizing a few and others not as much. 

Checking the queue of who was next to fill the empty columns was nothing abnormal. Her eyes drifted over the list of five new names, using her index finger to scan each paragraph describing the traits attached to the subject. The bottom of the list and final name stated ‘Elvis Presley’ and his specimen number ‘EP3577’. Melody had heard of Elvis Presley, sure, but since the government regulated the Internet since she was a teenager, delving into older celebrities and music was based on physical media she could obtain. 

In the following months, Melody bit her tongue and did as she was told. Elvis’s DNA was collected back in his Army days, she read, the notes describing how his specimen was obtained were as simple as that. It was the company’s way of assuring there was more DNA to spare if need be. A short clip, to her surprise, showed a young Elvis Presley in black and white getting his hair cut on a military installation that stood today. Melody was taken by the sadness that crossed his face and the smile he put on for show. 

The weeks carried on until the sac surrounding what could appear to be a fetus grew rapidly within its vestibule. Melody watched and monitored him as the weeks grew into months and he was a full-fledged young man of about twenty to twenty-one years old. That’s how the government and the world liked them. Each celebrity was youthful and spry so they ultimately had a long enough lifespan to be useful again. Melody didn’t know what it was about him that stuck out to her besides how handsome he was. She had seen plenty of handsome men and beautiful women come through the lab. Knowing he died at forty-two may have affected her or it was the commercials broadcasted as of late promising to bring him back to the stage. 

She hated it.

She hated knowing they would soon keep him under lock and key the same way the real Elvis had been. That’s what her grandmother who raised her was able to convey one of the nights they met for dinner.

“Now, baby, we shouldn’t talk much about Before. I don’t mind it. They already know how excited folks are about Elvis returnin’.” Her grandmother said.

“Yeah… I was just curious.” Melody offered. Her grandmother had no clue that she worked for Truman Labs. Only that she’s a scientist with an okay-paying job that helps her get by on her own to afford an apartment and modest car.

“He was just eccentric. One of the first White boys that brought flavor and rhythm to America’s attention. Back then,” she clasps her hands over her bowl of food. “Similar to now, you weren’t supposed to be gyratin’ and swingin’ your hips on TV. It was lewd. I’m surprised they want to bring him back at that age.” 

“Do you still have some of his records?” Melody asked, stirring her food nonchalantly.

“Of course, baby. Go on and listen to whatever you like. Finish up your food first, you’re a growin’ young girl.”

“Grandma, I’m twenty-five years old,” Melody laughed.

“You’ll always be my baby. Now hush and eat.” Her grandmother dismissed, causing Melody to smile.

That evening she reacquainted herself with Elvis Presley’s music and gratefully enamored with the vinyls of Elvis simply talking or being interviewed. His southern drawl was much thicker than some of the southern twangs Melody encountered in the metropolitan area. 

She softened for him a little more, hardly noticing it once she was back at work.

The following week, Melody was checking vitals as necessary but lingered on Elvis a while longer. The application displayed everything from Elvis’s heartbeat to statistics of survivability. The lead biologist, Randall, wandered over to her side and crossed his arms over his chest as he peeked over to the tablet. He was pushing forty or already well into his forties. She wasn’t sure. The gray hairs among the brown strands and his bushy mustache threw her off. He was lean and tall, a bit too wiry for her liking. Melody knew when he was nearby because he always sprayed too much cologne. 

“You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?” Randall, leaned over to whisper jokingly.

“Ha, ha. I’m only being cautious so months of our hard work comes to fruition,” she glanced over to him and then back to Elvis. His genetically blond hair was spliced into being as black as his mother’s. It was insisted upon to save costs on his appearance. Melody watched his floating and bobbing figures, a couple of tubes connected to him swishing in the life-sustaining substance.

“It’s okay to like him. Every girl your age back then did. More or less. The world will be happy to have him back.” Randall nodded, looking up at Elvis. She screwed her mouth to the side while debating what to say and what not to.

“What about his family? Doesn’t he still have relatives that are alive today?”

“Some, but who would speak out against the regime? They’ll end up with a bullet between their eyes before someone intervenes on a family’s behalf.” Randall lowered his voice.

“Right,” Melody answered tersely.

“Are you alright, Mel? You’ve been tense lately.” Randall asked, crinkling his brows.

“This is just…important. It’s nothing more than the usual stress. I’m okay.” She nodded.

“Well, don’t be afraid to let me know if you need to put in some leave. Give the rest of these freeloaders something to do.” Randall said, clapping a friendly hand on her back. He left to check on the said freeloaders and Melody felt her shoulders drop as the tension left her. 

The day came when the five subjects would be transferred to the Training Wing. Melody was anxious about the entire process. The Training Wing could be stringent and border on abusive, from what she heard. Each celebrity clone needed something in particular about them ingrained into them in a small amount of time. Truman Labs was manufacturing nature versus nurture. In the past year, she learned that some things were just ingrained in every person. Sure, they had to be retaught how to play an instrument or act but they picked up on it like they were born to do it. 

One of the other scientists pulled the switch down for the specific group to be drained, a yellow light flashing above his head to alert what was happening. Melody couldn’t stand still, pacing and attached to the tablet as she checked the vitals of all five persons. They slowly lowered to the bottom of their tanks, a few crumpling where they ended up and unable to walk if they tried. Elvis was one of the few that started to come to and open his eyes. His hair hung in his face and he raised a hand slowly to wipe it from his forehead. The awaiting training teams dressed from head to two in white scrubs stood by with five gurneys, two to one. The first few doors were opened with a hiss as they began removing tubes and strongarming the subjects, loading them up onto the carts and strapping their soaked forms in.

Elvis’s head rolled when he was on the cart, his eyes landing on Melody as she stood back. Her full lips parted as his strikingly blue eyes focused on her and his unstrapped arm hung off the gurney as if reaching out. That was strange as the subjects were usually too disoriented to acknowledge what was going on but there he was focused on Melody. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes back to the tablet, checking his vitals. Elvis’s heart rate had gone up and by the time she was looking at him again, he was using what little strength he had to bat off the training team members. 

“Do you have a sedative on hand?” Asked one of the escorts, a stocky woman.

Melody was distracted by Elvis’s eyes holding her gaze, impressed by how much he shoved against the hands trying to wrestle him down. The whimpering sounds he made tugged at her, stabbing into her gut and up into her heart. There was that uncomfortable feeling again, seeing him as a person and not a lab rat. Melody nodded distractedly once she regained her internal composure. The tablet was left on a desk as she walked over to one of the few refrigerators that held all sorts of drugs and syringes on hand. Melody made quick work of drawing the sedative up into a sterile needle and approached Elvis’s gurney, plucking at it to clear out any bubbles. 

Elvis seemed to calm down the closer she got to him until he saw how sharp the needle was. He made a sound of discomfort, cringing as Melody gained in on him and turned over his arm.

“It won’t hurt too much,” she told him gently. “You’ll sleep,” Melody said, hoping he understood enough. Injecting the sedative, Elvis looked unsure and the space between his brows crinkled. His expression changed within seconds, his face relaxing until his eyes rolled shut.

“Thanks. He’s one strong son of a bitch,” said the same woman. “I thought they hardly knew what was going on at first?”

“Me too,” the male training member cosigned, exhaling a deep breath.

“Yeah, I don’t know. That was new for me, too.” Melody whispered, bringing a hand up into her hair and scratching at her head.

The first few days were always the toughest for the subjects when adjusting to their bodies and their unusually developed minds for their age. It had been just over six months since they were processed in a tube to where they were now under watchful eyes and cameras recording their every move. Elvis had his own housing as they all did. In some form or fashion, the apartment-like housing quarters were meant to replicate where they lived when they were that age as much as possible. The notes labeled his living space simply as ‘Audobon’ for the street he lived on back in nineteen-fifty-six. Every inch of the living quarters was paneled by two-sided glass that Elvis couldn’t see through but any observers could always watch him from room to room.

Melody observed as his caretakers and teachers filtered in and out over the days and weeks, teaching Elvis how to dress and carry himself. His guitar lessons were scheduled here and there in between and his speech therapist would usually follow. He was doing well besides the slight stutter he had grown accustomed to. But, the collective notes reassured her it was very characteristic of him after all. Any other free time was focused on what Melody called 'The Brainwashing' where a VR headset with subliminal images displaying the past of the real celebrity was given to the clone after they were sedated for up to an hour a day. Sometimes music or movies were played over the speakers too while they slept.

Elvis and Melody had yet to see one another directly since he was strapped to the gurney. As was protocol, Melody checked on the subjects solely for their vitals and acuity. Admittedly, she couldn’t wait for the day to come to encounter Elvis for herself. When the day did come, the steel door to his housing clicked as the large bolts holding it in place were unlocked after approval for entry was gained. The stethoscope around her neck felt heavy. Melody held the tablet at her side. She bumped the blood pressure cuff in her lab coat pocket, nervous to meet Elvis though she had long since come to terms that most of the celebrities weren’t who they were made to be. It felt inauthentic to her either way and yet Elvis filled her stomach with butterflies.

Melody stepped inside and waited for the door behind her to shut. Another heavy clunk and she was locked in with Elvis. From what she had observed, he grew used to his circumstances though he sometimes lashed out at the staff when he didn’t quite get his way. He was genetically a Presley--it was fitting. Melody followed the sound of guitar strumming and playing, finding him in his bedroom lying back on his bed in the same fifties garb he would have worn with the guitar atop of him. She knocked at the door out of politeness, shuffling into the room. Elvis lifted his head suddenly, jumping as he looked over to her. His eyes went wide as he moved to sit up.

“You’re that lady from the-the lab? Where they took me from,” he said warily though he appeared awestruck.

“I am. I’m Melody and here to check on your vitals. Is that okay with you?” She shuffled, clasping her hands together and the tablet against her stomach.

“You told me before that shot wasn’t gonna hurt any,” Elvis said, moving his guitar to his side on the bed. “You lied ta me.”

Melody didn’t know what to make of him, squinting just as a smile grew on his face. Her lips parted in thought before she found herself laughing.

“I’m sorry, but I had to be sure you stayed calm. It’s all protocol we have to follow. Not somethin’ I necessarily wanted to do.” She pressed her lips together, amused. 

“Mm, I see. I’m gettin’ used to it, the pokin’ and proddin’,” Elvis said playfully. 

Melody crossed the room humming in return, placing the tablet on the bed. She drew out the blood pressure cuff from her coat pocket and stood in front of Elvis. His socked feet were flat on the floor, his back straight as he let his hands lie in his lap. Melody grabbed a hold of the left sleeve of his button-up shirt to begin rolling it up.

“I’m sorry you’re bein’ poked and prodded,” she amended.

“Most of ‘em aren’t as pretty as you,” he tried as he looked down at her hands. “Otherwise, it’s, uh, not so bad.”

“You are just a baby, you know that?” Melody laughed as he raised a brow. Elvis might have looked twenty-one but to her, he was just a boy.

“Not where it matters,” Elvis smirked.

She should have known to expect it but to her knowledge, Elvis never openly dated Black women. Melody narrowed her eyes and didn’t respond, focusing on the task at hand as she finally got the cuff around his arm. The earplugs to the stethoscope were brought up before she took the bell and pressed it into the nook of Elvis’s arm. His eyes never left her while Melody honed in on his pulse and squeezed the pump to the cuff. Elvis’s free hand began to wander, lifting until it settled on her waist. Melody jumped, unable to bat him away while she watched the seconds tick by on her worn wristwatch. She never thought to take any of the warnings seriously about how much he enjoyed touch and attention. The job should have been mostly in and out. 

That was how most of her visits went and she wanted to be less entertained and inviting to Elvis’s woes and whims, but he was unbelievably personable. His charisma was that of the original Elvis who died in seventy-seven. For the benefit of making Elvis into Elvis, the lab as a whole and inspectors didn’t seem to mind when he grew fond of someone. In their notes, everyone appeared to agree it was for the better that Elvis remained a lady’s man through and through. 

Then came the time for Elvis to be given the first woman of many that he would come to encounter within the lab alone. After a few months of running jokes about watching Elvis touch himself, Melody put her feelings aside for the sake of following rules. A year was coming up since Melody first synthesized Elvis’s DNA and she came to like him and borderline possibly love him. The latter was something she struggled to admit even to herself. As was custom to the rock stars Truman Labs created, there were women on hand and hired as was the norm for the New Age. Agencies of sex workers contracted with the government and most favored working in the biotechnical field strictly for the chance to bed a celebrity. 

Melody could have thrown up. She knew somewhere around this age that Elvis slept with a woman for the first time but she didn’t see why it mattered. When men were in control, it didn’t have to make sense. She guessed it was like they took pity on the male subjects to validate their collective horniness. She was on the evening shift that night, grateful to be mostly alone apart from a couple of others who made the arrangements to provide protection and essentials for a romantic evening. Anyone else was in the Security Center monitoring. 

She roamed around to the glass window that peered into Elvis’s bedroom where a thin but curvaceous woman with a pixie cut dressed in a tight black dress befitting of the fifties era was leading him by hand. Elvis was slack-jawed, a tent bulging in his trousers. Melody tried to refrain from being jealous when they were on the couch watching a movie together and Elvis made the first move, tipping the woman’s chin in his direction to kiss her. She didn’t blame either one of them. 

But why did she feel that way? 

The woman--going by Jenny--pushed Elvis down onto his bed and he grunted, staring up with wide eyes that only a virgin could convey. “I-I ain’t never done this before,” he said.

“Oh, I know, honey. I’ll be real sweet to you. I promise,” Jenny said, her voice buttery and recognizably southern.

Then she was kneeling between Elvis’s legs, rubbing her hands up his pant-covered thighs. Melody swallowed as she forgot about the notes she was meant to be taking as she had done a hundred times before. Jenny reached up to unbutton and unzip Elvis’s pants as he perched himself on his elbows. Elvis released a shaky breath as he lifted up his hips while Jenny wrenched his trousers and underwear away. His uncut cock sprung free and Jenny cooed at Elvis warmly. The way he was trembling, Melody was sure he wasn’t going to last any longer than a few minutes and that meant they would have to book her again. 

Melody groaned as she rubbed her brow, forcing herself to move to a different spot. She wanted to tell herself she didn’t need to look but her eyes were on them again. Jenny was quick since by then her lips were wrapped around Elvis’s length and she bobbed carefully. He held the base of his cock for her, his opposite hand gentle on the back of her head. Melody froze, watching his face convulse and change with every movement. 

“Fuck, baby, you keep doin’ that and I’ll… I’ll come,” Elvis grunted. Jenny made obscene mouth noises as she pulled off of him and his cock jumped as cool air met wet skin. 

“It’s okay if you do. But, I guess I can stop.” Jenny smiled, pulling back. Elvis breathed out in response as if he was relieved to hear it. “Do you have a condom, sweetie?” She asked.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. One second, honey.” Elvis sat up, reaching down into the pocket the pants pooling around his ankles. He dug free a shiny, square blue wrapper that Jenny took as she stood. She moved skillfully, tearing the plastic and removing the condom. Jenny rolled the rubber on familiarly, moving with ease over top of Elvis to straddle him with her dress and heels on. 

Elvis braced his hands at her hips, watching her with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that caused an ache deep below Melody’s belt. Her heart was racing and she shivered, hoping the attention from every other observer assigned to Elvis that evening was on the couple. Melody was gripping her tablet hard enough her hand was starting to hurt before she noticed. Elvis’s head fell back as Jenny sunk down onto him, eventually lying flat on his back as her hips bounced.

Melody cleared her throat, suddenly sure she had all the notes she needed and could later review the recording if necessary. Elvis’s eyes opened again at some point and he turned away from Jenny to look toward the window he couldn’t see out of. Melody paused again, wary that he could see her somehow. His top lip curled as he moaned out and he shut his eyes again, his hands sliding under Jenny’s dress by her hand showing him where to touch her. Melody turned on her heel to return to her desk in the lab.

“Oh, my God,” Elvis hissed, his voice echoing into the hall over a speaker.

Melody was screwed.

[buglass]

Me, Me More Cowboy

Chapter 2

Summary: Based in the mid-1960s, ranch hand Elvis Presley is a new hire to the West Family Farm. He grows irate as cattle and livestock turn up missing over 6 months. Unbeknownst to the ranch, the hippie woman, Lilibet, he sees on occasion in their small town—along with members of her commune—is behind it. An ongoing dispute of right and wrong both morally and romantically ensues as Elvis takes Lilibet up on her offer of viewing things through her perspective.

Pairing: Cowboy!Elvis Presley x Lilibet Stevens!OFC

Chapters: 2/5

WC: ~6K

Warnings (for the entire series): Some historical and geographical inaccuracies, fluff, slow burn, no beta reader, mention of DV, cult/commune culture, and some smut.

Last Chapter Next Chapter

✧ Chapter 2 ✧

ELVIS

The last thing he remembered hearing was his name. Coming to, he felt the plush thickness of a bed, lying atop of a duvet. Too hot to possibly be underneath one. Still, the room was cool when he didn’t move a muscle. The more he became conscious, the more the ache at the back of his skull permeated. The room was lit by a bedside lamp, the outside beyond shuttered windows dark. His mouth opened and closed, parched from the heat of the day. Where was he? It wasn’t the West household. Then, he remembered as the smell of rosemary and mint took his breath away. Riding with Lilibet became every rider’s less-than-ideal predicament of being thrown off. 

Elvis groaned as he rolled onto his side, slowly reaching up to the back of his head. Proper gauze and adhesive were placed over the wound. He moved to sit upright on the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door behind him screeched open. Lilibet was peeking her head in when she saw Elvis’ back. He looked down at the length of his body, his open shirt piqued his interest. The fabric still clung to his sweat-riddled torso though the drafty occasional breeze was welcomed. 

“I’m happy you’re awake. We had to have the doctor look at you. I was worried you were concussed,” Lilibet said softly.

Elvis moved to look at her from over his shoulder, dragging a leg up onto the bed. Nothing else was hurt or broken. His back could use a warm compress or bath. 

“How the hell did we manage to get here?” Elvis asked, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table.

“Well, someone gave us a ride when they saw us along their way by car. I had them take you in their backseat and I rode Prestige up here to the commune. I didn’t know what else to do. We were closer here than the next big hospital or clinic.” Lilibet stepped fully into view, wearing the same thing as she had earlier without anything on her feet this time. She meddles with one of the braids on the side of her head, twirling a few strands around her fingers. 

“I must’ve been out for a while if the sun has gone down,” Elvis said. He wanted to swear at having to be with Prestige in the cover of the night. The damn horse always had an issue with him. He was overdue to switch her out with another one but never wanted to complain on the farm. 

“It has, but our doctor promised you don’t have a concussion. He said it’s probably because when I told you about the blood you…fainted. Also, it didn’t help that you might have been exhausted and needed rest. Are you hungry? We’ve got some supper waitin’ on you—” Lilibet hurried in a ramble.

“Whoa, honey, slow down. I’m still gettin’ my wits about myself. What time is it?” He held up a hand to give Lilibet pause.

“A little after seven.”

“Come sit for a second,” Elvis beckoned, patting the bed.

Lilibet blushed, the hue faint along her nose and cheeks. Elvis watched with a bit of a raised brow until she crossed the room and sat next to him.

“Can I be honest with you?” She whispered.

“Since we’re here, you might as well lay it on me, Lil’ Bet. What’s got you tense? I’ve seen you lost in thought before but you look like you’re ready to be sick.”

“It’s our fault y’all had to chase after those cows. I’m sorry. It’s been eatin’ away at me and I wanted to take it back… My friends—my family—they had it stuck in their heads that they were saving the animals from harm.” Lilibet looked away, her dark eyes downcast out of embarrassment. 

“Honey, if I didn’t know that then I wouldn’t have come askin’.” Elvis’ voice was warm, naturally buttering her up. 

That was the thing about him and women, he couldn’t help but speak sweetly to them with stars in his eyes. Lilibet was no exception, pain aside and the inconvenience of the past few months, she sat ever-present in his chest. Every time they spoke, he found her slightly tough exterior was easy to break past once he got her talking. Elvis didn’t know if he should go into detail about how he and the West family spread themselves thin to ask around town. Plenty of people spoke of their suspicions based on their moral compasses and tried to help one of the few local providers of Water Valley. Word spread faster in Water Valley than it ever did back home for Elvis.

“Which ones, which of your friends?” Elvis asked gently, reaching for her hand. His fingertips brushed over the tops of her fingers. Lilibet withdrew from his touch, her back straightening. Her walls were back up. 

“Will you report them to the police? It was a mistake.” 

“A mistake made more than once is a choice, Lilibet,” Elvis answered tersely. 

“They thought they were doin’ the right thing based on our principles and upbringing,” Lilibet argued. 

“What dictates your right and wrong as the correct way to go about things versus ours? You’re a smart girl, Lil’. You don’t feel good about what you did. There’s got to be consequences. That’s the way the world works. You’ve got a lot of life to live, little girl.” Elvis lectured. 

He watched as her face contorted as he spoke and finally rested into displeasure. Elvis knew he was rubbing her the wrong way but had a job he needed to finish. Hell, he would hear about it when he got back.

“Do you have a phone I can use?” Elvis asked, a shot in the dark. It would allow him to see where Lilibet lived and if what people said about the commune was true. 

“At the main big house. We’ll have to walk over there. This is my mama’s house.” Lilibet plucked at her duvet, avoiding his eyes. 

Elvis raised a brow, mentally scolding himself for not being more observant. The light pink of the walls and floral wallpaper on the lower half of the surrounding space should have been obvious. One corner of the small room was lined with a crate of worn vinyl records and a small record player case splayed open on the floor. Her wooden dresser lined the wall in front of the door, covered with a few pictures, oils, and lotions. The rest of the room was relatively plain. He turned his head back to the nightstand, a couple of books held up by a bookend against the small lamp behind his glass of water. 

“Okay, Lilibet, take me to this special house ‘a yours. I’m only gonna call the farm and let them know I didn’t die from crackin’ my head open.” Elvis pushed up onto his feet, turning around completely to face Lilibet. 

She was still sitting as she looked up at him. Her eyes dipped to his chest, the thatch of hair there a slight dusting leading down the center of his stomach and just below his belly button. Lilibet’s lips parted with unspoken words that Elvis wanted to siphon from her lips. She cleared her throat as she moved to stand off of the bed—her bed. Elvis’ eyes followed her as she moved, stepping around the bed. The second time they had ever been so close. He recalled how she felt in front of him on the horse, the jilting of their ride causing her backside to rub into his groin. Elvis did his damnedest to think of something else, doing math and long division to make the swelling of his cock go down.

Lilibet snuck a look up at him over her shoulder, halting them at the doorway, “My two little sisters and mama are home. I hope you’ll mind your manners. I’ve never had a man up in my bedroom like this before. They know you were hurt.” She warned.

Elvis didn’t know what she had to worry about. He could barely touch her hand without her recoiling, which didn’t signal to him that she was leaving room for him to pursue her. Elvis wasn’t sure he had the time to pursue her. How bad would it look if he went that route? Would the Community Leaders condemn her? He believed Lilibet was a product of her environment the same as anyone else.

“This would not be the first place I picture us,” Elvis dropped his voice, honest. 

His cards weren’t quite on the table but he needed her to see them individually. Lilibet shivered, quick to play it off as she stepped forward and broke out of their bubble to head downstairs. Elvis smiled as he followed her, glancing toward the shut doors of the level they were just on. The steps cried as he came down into the lit entryway. He hobbled into his boots left by the door, pulling his pant legs down over them. Same for his hat hung on a hook, he slipped it free and held the top of it in one hand. Lilibet was watching him after she grabbed her boots and hunched over to pull them on. 

They stepped out into the muggy night to the sound of woodland creatures rustling. An owl cooed in the distance, backup to the orchestra of crickets chirping. Elvis slid his brimmed hat into place and began buttoning his shirt back up as they walked across the dirt road into the open grass field. 

“I’ll make my phone call and be out of your hair,” Elvis made conversation, the quiet of the night heavy. The aloneness in the air clung to him like the humidity. 

“You’re never in my hair, Elvis. Except leavin’ my job earlier was a risky move. I wasn’t here the whole time, you know. I made sure you were in good hands.” Lilibet clasped her hands together, kicking her boots at the Earth below.

“I’m sorry. I should have been less…forceful ‘bout my concerns. I can’t make up for your hospitality and care any sooner.”

“Maybe you can teach me a thing, or two, about farming and what you do. It’ll be my penitence. Everyone here seems to think y’all wrongfully kill animals for profit. I’m not sayin’ you have no right to do so, but corporations don’t sit right with most folks here.” Lilibet shrugged, her eyes landing on him. 

He met her eyes boldly, the brim of his hat causing shadows to mask his expressions. Elvis faced forward as the big house grew larger. She could be right about it being a fresh start, renewing his interest in farming and Lilibet. She was kind and sincere. Things about a woman he had a hard time passing up on. Lilibet was unlike any other woman he knew and if he was going to tread down the path of getting to know her, he had to bend to her will just enough to hook her. 

“Don’t know how much I could teach ya without all the tools on hand—”

“We grow our own things too. We have some animals you probably work with, if I’m not mistaken,” Lilibet amended.

“Hmm. Mm, okay, Lil’ Bet. I’ll consider it but it depends on the schedule and how much free time I have. We’ll work out the kinks at a later date. Deal?”

“Deal,” she grinned triumphantly.

LILIBET

Watching Elvis drive away with a stranger while he was unconscious had been nothing short of a nightmare for her. She was sure he would blame his injury on her and the commune, and sure poor Prestige didn’t mean to do wrong by them but what good was an unrideable horse? Horses needed patience and understanding. Elvis could brew something mean when he felt strongly about someone or something. Frustration was his biggest enemy. That was partially why Lilibet didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. 

Prestige calmed down since then, harsh breaths coming from strong lungs through her nostrils. A hand smoothed down her pale brown coat, Lilibet gently coaxing her that it was alright. Once sure, Lilibet hoisted herself onto the saddle and pulled the reins into her hands. 

“Alright, sweet girl, I’m gonna need you to play nice with me for a bit longer. Can you do that?” She asked.

Prestige didn’t fight her along the way, a fluke in everyone’s day that a slithering snake would find itself in the roadway. Lilibet led Prestige toward the stables but not into them. The empty ones weren’t prepared for an unexpected horse. Lilibet hopped down, grunting as she landed, and led the mare the rest of the way into a training ring where she wouldn’t have to worry. She could breathe for a second knowing that part was done. 

“Okay, Prestige, be good,” Lilibet cooed.

She sighed as she shut the gate behind her, the latch catching. The next half an hour dragged on the same way the journey did. Lilibet had to explain to four men—the driver, two community leaders, and their in-house doctor—who, what, when, where, and why. Putting her foot down, Lilibet insisted she wasn’t a little girl anymore and wouldn’t be questioned about Elvis’ care. It was the last she heard from them for the day, not including the doctor. They wanted to keep Elvis in the main house but she didn’t know what he might say. The men helped to carry Elvis’ limp form upstairs to her bedroom after he was transported by car once more. She picked up Elvis’ fallen hat that landed on the stairs, hurrying back to the doorway to place it on a hook. Lilibet was silently grateful that her mother and sisters were out. 

The doctor lifted Elvis’ fallen eyelids, shining a flashlight into his eyes. Lilibet waited by the door, fanning herself with a hand. Her bedroom always got the worst of the sun during the mornings.

“You said he fainted when you mentioned blood?” Dr. Geller asked.

“Yes, but he was already woozy. He didn’t look too good at all,” Lilibet grimaced.

“Well, then, we can only wait for him to wake up. I’ll clean the wound on his head, wrap it, and leave a salve. Otherwise, inform him that he should probably avoid horse riding for a while.” Dr. Geller sighed, standing upright. 

He was no average doctor. A man who lived by medicine and helping people but found a higher calling in providing care at the commune for free under the spell of worship. Lilibet thought it was equally admirable and nonsensical. 

“Will do, Doc,” she nodded quickly. 

She stood by and watched as Elvis was bandaged up until they were left alone. Lilibet saw sweat permeating on his brow the closer she got. She tugged off his boots to take with her downstairs. Kneeling on the bed next to him, she thought up a cold rag to grab when she had a moment. Elvis was unmoving, fragile in that state, and she could take him in without worrying what he thought of her. She felt something for him some odd months ago, too afraid to ask or question if he felt the same way. She would die of embarrassment if she misread his intentions. Lilibet blinked, reaching for the top button of his shirt and the next with unsteady hands. She feared the hellfire that would come with besting anyone associated with the West family. They were kind but known to get in scraps if they ever felt someone was disrespecting them. 

Lilibet stepped away from Elvis, trying not to stare at exposed tanned skin. If she went any further with removing his clothes, she was crossing a line. He would just have to sweat it out. As mentally promised, she left and returned with the cool rag to place on his forehead. The glass of water was last on her list and there was nothing else left for her to do other than wait. She had to get back to work, adding to her stress. When she heard the front door open and shut downstairs, she rubbed at her brow as she moved swiftly. Lilibet shut her bedroom door to a crack and she nervously smoothed down her dress.

“Someone home?” called her teenage sister, Lillian.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” Lilibet called back, bounding down the stairs loudly in her boots. “I’ve got a favor to ask. A man upstairs, a good friend, Elvis has hit his head in a horse ridin’ accident. He’s asleep but I’ve got to ask you to look after ‘im. He’s nice and a proper gentleman. Nothin’ for us to worry about. I owe him this much.” 

“What’s in it for me?” Lillian raised a brow, putting her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and of course, barefoot. Lillian seldom wore shoes. 

“I’ll babysit Addie and I’ll bake you those cookies you’re always askin’ me to make you,” Lilibet sighed, throwing a hand up.

“That’s all you had to say. What am I s’posed to tell mama?” 

“We are being hospitable and fine young women doing the Lord’s work. Butter her up. Tell her that Dr. Geller and two community leaders know he’s here and it was an accident. Got it?” Lilibet tipped her chin down.

“Got it,” Lillian agreed.

By the afternoon, Lilibet was given a ride home as always by Corinne and her boyfriend, Jude. She kept the details of her morning to herself, aiming for casual conversation if her input was required. Her mind was stuck on Elvis, picturing what it would have been like if he had been awake and in her bed under different circumstances. The idea of dragging her fingertip down his sternum to the lip of his pants where they were buttoned made the pressure between her legs uncomfortable. Lilibet pinned her knees together for the rest of the ride until they stopped in front of her house. She thanked Jude through his rolled-down window and waved to Corinne as they started down the dirt road to their side of the commune.

Lilibet was met by the smell of her mother’s cooking coming from the kitchen which made her prickle with nervousness. Her mother, a stern but soft woman, moved about in the kitchen routinely and hardly looked over her way as Lilibet crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

“I am all for kindness out of the pureness of our hearts, but I did not expect to have company from town this evening,” her mother said.

“Neither did I, mama. He’s in real bad shape from horse riding. There was a snake and it spooked her.” Lilibet said hurriedly.

“My love, you do not need to explain your generosity. I only want to know if we will have him for dinner,” her mother asked, finally looking her way. Her gray hair was similar in length but done up and clamped against the back of her head. Lilibet gave her mother a small smile, seeing the woman who survived through more than she had personally seen in her own life. 

“Better safe than sorry,” Lilibet shrugged, a playfully smug look crossing her face.

“So, you know this man? Do you like him?”

“Mama,” Lilibet whined, putting her things on the small dining table. “We’re only friends. I see him in town sometimes. That’s all.”

“Mhm, I took a look at him. Is he Indian? That tan of his is somethin’.” Her mother spoke conversationally, grabbing her boiling pot by the handles to pour the water down the sink without spilling its contents.

“I can’t say that he is, mama, maybe it’s just he works in the heat all day. Is there anything you need from me till then?” 

“No, go check on your company. I should be just fine here. Maybe walk your little sister home from the main house later,” her mother waved a hand, taking out the potato masher from a drawer.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lilibet agreed easily.

When Elvis woke up, she was relieved though she trusted Dr. Geller to know what he was talking about in giving his diagnosis to Elvis. Many people in the commune sounded as ridiculous to her as they did to outsiders some days. Elvis was a farmer and their days weren’t particularly short. Lilibet didn’t have the wherewithal to make sense of what led them to a walk through the unmowed grass and field. She was taken from her thoughts as their knuckles brushed together. 

“Sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Elvis said, glancing at her. 

Lilibet stayed quiet the rest of the way, pushing open one of the French doors. The main house was always bustling with little kids, women, and a few young men. Some were fathers or outright teenagers. Whenever she came to the main house on a whim, she was grateful her mother decided to stay in a single-family home instead. Lilibet led the way toward what everyone considered to be an office in the back, the walk a couple of minutes, one of the only public phones available inside. Because of the hour, no one was occupying the space. If anyone looked their way, they didn’t say anything or care too much. Lilibet held the door open for Elvis after flipping the light switch for the desk lamp, gesturing for him to go ahead and make his phone call.

“This place really is somethin’,” Elvis said, his hat in his hands again. He strode forward, long legs carrying him toward the big desk. Lilibet hated that she was staring at all. When Elvis turned on a dime, drawing back the big leather chair, he caught Lilibet. He smirked as he sat down and began dialing out to the farm. The call was quick though Lilibet tried to appear less like she was listening and more as if she were waiting to escort Elvis back. 

“Alright, see y’all soon. Bye-bye,” Elvis said, hanging up the phone. “Lil’ Bet?”

“Yes, Elvis?” Lilibet answered, lifting her head.

“C’mere for a second,” Elvis demanded. His forefinger and middle finger curled to draw her over to him. 

Lilibet pressed her tongue into her cheek as she left the doorway, pushing at it so it was cracked. She tried not to wring her hands or appear anxious but that was the effect he had on her. He was rugged, smelling of sweat and faint soap. Elvis was all the things she typically avoided, afraid to be judged and ridiculed. But then, he was beckoning her over and when she was close enough he took her hand into his own. Lilibet may have stood over him, but Elvis was wholly in control. He watched her with tired eyes, slowly pulling her in close and the sweat on her nose began forming again. Her lips parted as his legs spread open for her, offering her a seat that she struggled to refuse. 

Lilibet swept a hand at her back as she sat down to keep her dress from catching and Elvis took the acceptance of his invitation further. He pressed his lips into the back of her hand, murmuring, “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me today. I shouldn’t have a beautiful woman runnin’ around like a chicken with its head cut off because I was so careless.”

“I would have done the same for anyone who needed my help,” Lilibet stammered, squeezing her legs together. Elvis hummed, pressing another kiss to the back of her hand.

“Would you have?” Elvis breathed over her skin. “Or did you feel indebted because of what you and your friends did?”

“I-I, no. I consider us friends. Don’t you think of me as your friend?”

“I do… That’s why I want to help you. A trade-off. You keep your friends from the animals and come by the farm at least once a week.” Elvis offered.

“Once a week?” Lilibet pulled at their hands, grabbing Elvis’ attention behind heavy, dark lashes.

“How else are you gonna learn somethin’ ‘bout farming?”

“Then, you have to come here, too. Learn why my friends and I felt we were in the right,” Lilibet said.

“I saw a chapel out in the distance. Are you gonna preach to me, angel?” Elvis asked, dropping their hands into her lap. 

“Only if you sing my praises.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

ELVIS

Lilibet, Lilibet, Lilibet. 

She’s all he thought about and tried (and failed) not to make it too obvious that he couldn’t get her from his mind. Stopping in at the corner store meant he lingered by the counter a little longer and made it his mission to make her laugh at least once. Once they devised a realistic schedule with shared days—Sundays were Lilibet’s day on the farm and Saturdays were Elvis’ at her commune—he found himself looking forward to the end of the week. How slow the week would drag on if he didn’t venture into town and worse if Lilibet wasn’t around. He didn’t know how else to approach her about spending time with him so he waited. Playing the long game usually got him somewhere with a woman, even if it was just to hold her hand or kiss her. 

First came Sunday, leaving him to travel back to Lilibet’s property. He didn’t ride a horse. He and Prestige needed a break from one another and his head was thankful for it. The West family didn’t mind him driving one of their vehicles as long as it came back in one piece. Lilibet must have heard him because she stepped outside, holding her boots in her right hand as she braced the other against the doorway. She was in another one of her long, flowy dresses with her hair in a bun. Elvis felt his heart lurch in his chest as he rose out of the truck, leaving his hat behind in his awe. He forced a breath out and a smile as he shut the door to the truck and disturbed the dirt beneath his boots to make his way over. The wooden stairs creaked under his weight. Lilibet smiled, full of teeth and sweetness he wanted to taste for himself. 

“Right on time, Mr. Presley,” Lilibet grinned, dropping her boots onto the small landing to step into them. 

“I would be a fool to be late. What have you got in store for me today?” Elvis smiled, bearing his hands onto his waist. 

“You wouldn’t believe it, but I was thinkin’ we would go to the stables. Give you some more etiquette on our big beauties.”

“Oh, hell,” Elvis breathed. He started to back up as Lilibet moved forward, not very far from her as if they were magnets. He stopped only once on flat Earth and Lilibet almost ran into him. Flirting wasn’t hard, especially when she least expected it. Lilibet gave him a look, suspicious as she stood there peering up at him. Elvis curled a finger, his knuckle coming up to brush the underside of her chin and hold it there. She tended to look away from him otherwise. “Will that make ya happy?” 

He asked knowing that it would and he wouldn’t have come on his day off at the ass-crack of dawn for just any woman. 

“As long as you’re not too shell-shocked by splitting that noggin of yours open,” she snorted, breaking away from Elvis’ spell and brushing his hand away. “I’m one of the few that has chores in the stables. Let’s get a move on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elvis complied, turning on his heel after Lilibet. 

Elvis trekked after her like a lost puppy, flanking her as he spoke about his desire to play music at the local bar in his free time.

“… I’m not much of a drinker, so it’d be more for the music. I can carry a tune or two. Just you wait and see. I play at the farm a lot more for the Wests.” Elvis said.

“Talent and beauty? God really has his favorites,” Lilibet humored. 

The pair went on to enter the large stable, a few men, women, and children wandering in and about. One of the kids, no more than eleven, was shoveling dung. Lilibet led the way toward the back and Elvis followed like a diligent student. She grabbed a nearby brush and handed it to Elvis, halting in front of a spotted Appaloosa named Spot. 

“I want you to go in and become friends with Spot here. He’s one of the sweetest boys we have. You two should get along swell without fear of being hurt,” Lilibet stretched out her arm, pressing Elvis to take the brush. He looked unsure but didn’t want to back down from a challenge.

“Alright, I’m trustin’ you,” Elvis said, grabbing the brush.

“You should, Elvis. I won't let you get hurt again.” 

Lilibet meant it and she was coming to terms with the fact that she cared deeply for Elvis in a way that had her weak in the knees. Elvis took a deep breath that rounded his chest as he pulled the latch free to the stable door. Spot seemed to huff, a hoof brushing the floor as Elvis stepped inside. Lilibet shut the door behind him and left the latch untouched. 

“You know the drill, E, soft-spoken and don’t act afraid,” Lilibet’s lips quirked at the latter.

“No one is afraid,” Elvis snapped playfully, inching toward Spot. “Alright, boy, it’s nice ta meet ya. We’re gonna get acquainted.” 

Spot lifted his head from where he was eating hay, giving Elvis a passive look before dropping his head down again. Lilibet chuckled to herself, moving to grab a saddle and reins for Elvis because she was confident in his abilities. After ten minutes of Elvis brushing Spot, Lilibet let him fully take over and lead Spot out by walking at his side. 

“Now, why don’t you give him some free rein? Take everything off of him,” Lilibet grinned, a warm feeling growing in her chest. 

Elvis didn’t complain and moved easily around Spot. Spot soon bumped into Elvis with his nose pressing into his ribs and Lilibet knew the two would get along fine. Elvis stood back with Lilibet as Spot stretched his limbs, taking off across the fenced-in field. Elvis’ shoulder bumped into Lilibet’s and he watched her instead of Spot after a while.

“What’s next on the list?” Elvis asked, his tone deeper.

“Slow your roll, cowboy, you won’t be riding Spot today. One step at a time. We’ll introduce you to more animals and then we’ll have lunch and that’s it.” 

“Hmm, you run a tight ship.” Elvis grinned, looking back out over the field. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Lilibet sighed.

Then came the next weekend. Elvis was all work until the evening when he insisted Lilibet join him and the Wests that night for his performance at the local bar. Lilibet showed face at five in the morning riding Spot to the farm. She thought seeing one another more than once a week would be good for their bond. Elvis met her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a deep green thermos likely containing coffee. Because it was early morning, he was without his hat and for once wearing a T-shirt and dusty jeans that had seen better days. Lilibet admired the hair nearly touching his shoulders, freshly washed and dripping onto his shoulders. Elvis sidled up next to Lilibet, offering a hand to help her down which she took with ease though she didn’t need it. It was the first time Elvis would see her wearing jeans and a T-shirt, too. She thought it was only right if she would be getting dirty doing God-knows-what. 

“You’re wearin’ the hell out of those pants,” Elvis commented freely.

“Aren’t I here to work?” Lilibet smiled. Anyone or anything else would have barely been able to get a peep out of her for how early it was. 

“That you are, Lil’ Bet. That you are.” Elvis hummed, exchanging the thermos for the reins. He led the way for her and Spot, chatting casually here and there to the horse just to make Lilibet laugh or look at him like he was crazy. Once Spot was taken care of and housed in one of the stables, Lilibet poured herself a cup of black coffee. 

“I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar,” she mentioned. Not her favorite, but not the worst if she had to bear it, and Elvis bookmarked it for the future. He dusted off his hands on the back of his pants and retook interest in the thermos. 

“Save me a cup,” he mentioned, walking past her toward the large open doors. “I’m gonna show you the cattle today. You’ll see the whole thing and familiarize yourself with our dairy process, which I think will be to your hippie satisfaction.” Elvis smiled over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t call it hippie so much as carin’ about what happens to the animals. It applies to human life, too,” Lilibet sipped at the coffee for a while longer before giving up. She dumped the cup’s contents and caught up with Elvis to hand it over as they continued on their path.

“I’m guessin’ you dislike what’s happenin’ in Vietnam?” Elvis asked. 

He sounded like he was attempting to refrain from judging her, but his voice had an edge. Men like him loved America through and through but that didn’t mean he had to agree with everything that occurred. 

“Why should we send our troops to a war that isn’t ours? I know I’m not a man that can be drafted but I’ve got eyes. I couldn’t imagine if my sisters were instead my brothers and sent over there,” Lilibet said, keeping her voice low.

“I hear you there, honey, I do. How old are they again?”

“Addie is six goin’ on seven and Lillian just turned sixteen,” Lilibet rubbed at her brow, a nervous tick.

“Your mama must’ve been keepin’ a theme with the names and changed her mind, huh?”

“Well, until Addie. My father’s name is Luther but with Addie, she named her after her. Her name is Ada.” Lilibet looked toward the ground, scuffing her boots along the dirt road.

“And is he…?” Elvis began to ask.

“Dead? Unfortunately, no. Just a man in Arkansas still who likes ta hit my mama and scream in the faces of his children.” Lilibet sighed, sliding her hands into her back pockets.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to open up a wound… I served for two years back in fifty-eight to sixty. Froze my ass off in Germany. Not sure what for but, hell, I was proud to do it. Half the time I feigned sick but it’s nothin’ compared to those men dying over there. Not at all.” Elvis’ mouth set into a pout. 

Lilibet looked at him standing there, his gaze appearing far away. She felt strange for thinking it but she admired his openness and how quickly he spoke to apologize to her. Lilibet wouldn’t have faulted him either way. The only persons she found at fault were Luther Stevens and Pres. Lyndon B. Johnson. 

“No, I appreciate having someone to talk to about life. Real life. Sometimes at home, it feels like I’m livin’ in a Twilight Zone episode. I feel like no one gets it. Or they pretend they don’t,” Lilibet complained. 

“You don’t need to pretend with me. I’m no more perfect than the next man and I’ve lived enough life to see that authenticity is everything.” Elvis tipped his head to the side as he held Lilibet under his unwavering eyes, slowing down as they came to stand outside the dairy stalls and its building. 

“You’ve got quite the heart and mind. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you. Ever.” Lilibet breathed. Another perfect mark was added to her report card for him.

“That’s all I can hope for,” Elvis gave her a crooked smile. He finally twisted the cap off of the thermos to pour the coffee. “Ever milked a cow before?”

“No,” Lilibet grimaced for the first time that day.

“Well, you’ll get used to it today, Lil’ Bet. I can promise you that much.”

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away - Chapter 3

Summary: By 2025, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship in an alternate dystopian future. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC WC: 6.8K Warnings: 18+, Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, infringing upon bodily autonomy, cloning, smut, paranoia, & anxiety.  A/N: I’m so happy people are enjoying this oddball take on what it is to be a celebrity in the modern age even after death. Sorry it took so long after the first two chapters! Slightly rough start to the month but I’m hoping this long chapter will help. Enjoy.

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The dressing room air carried the thick scent of their coupling, or maybe the smell was stuck in her nostrils and aided by her paranoia. Melody wiped herself clean with a nearby box of tissues and Elvis helped to pull and crimp her dress back into place. He was gentle in helping her do so, smoothing down her hair and dabbing away smeared makeup with a napkin. The intimacy caused her to shiver as she watched Elvis in the mirror and he picked up on her nervousness. He would give her gentle smiles, reassuring Melody everything would fall into place. 

“I will talk to you after the show, okay? They’re makin’ me socialize after with a bunch of people I’m meant ta impress,” Elvis whispered, dropping his head to press a kiss to her shoulder.

Melody wanted to look as hopeful as she did but she was afraid. She turned slowly, forcing a smile onto her face as she did. Some parts of her still felt reserved in light of their unexpected romp. She hated how Elvis had affected her in the past year and came to accept that his natural charm and charisma would make her feel things she didn’t care to explore. 

“After,” Melody agreed.

Elvis hummed, a deep sigh escaping him as he dropped his head to kiss her lips. He bit down into her bottom lip playfully, tugging at it before drawing away. They spent more than enough time together that his absence would become suspicious. Elvis had a show to put on and Melody needed to return to her seat. A few minutes passed and both were back in their designated places. Melody was sure everyone in the room and the entirety of the Kennedy Center knew what she had done. Elvis was confident there weren’t any cameras but she should have known better than to trust that the Regime wouldn’t keep a watchful eye on their new prized possession. Elvis was one of many experiments with a tracking device implanted into them the second they were big enough to insert one. Melody sighed as she forced herself to settle in between suited jackasses and military men and women alike. 

The era planned to be promoted was Elvis back in the fifties. Seeing him come out on stage was lackluster compared to his impending future. Melody felt a sinkhole developing in her stomach picturing that sweet boy in front of her becoming intoxicated by fame. Elvis was jittery but ecstatic to be welcomed by endless applause and smiling faces. He still had so much time and room to grow. There were twenty years on their side, at least, unless modern times expedited the process. The nagging feeling for Melody returned because she knew that on average, most of the clones usually fell victim to the unavoidable fate that was death. If the subjects didn’t die at the same age as their predecessors, it was either before or after.

Elvis shimmied across the stage near the front and center, his band as simple as the original Elvis when he first gained fame. Melody’s eyes drifted to the drummer, the bassist, and the lead guitarist. They looked nothing like DJ Fontana, Bill Black, or Scotty Moore but they served their purpose. Melody swallowed back her concern when Elvis looked happy for the first time in a long time as he always did when he sang. When the two of them locked eyes, although just for a second, the sparks between them flew. Elvis smirked at their shared secret and just for a second he could feel another chub growing. He was riding a high that Truman Labs couldn’t replicate. The woman he wanted craved him as he did her and so many people wanted to hear him sing. He grabbed the neck of the microphone feeling happier than ever in the past year.

Three months passed.

Melody had to watch as Elvis went on tour and he was left without knowing realistically when he could fit her into his schedule again. Similarly to the real Elvis, he was touring nonstop across the country because States—now four Districts instead of fifty separate territories—demanded the revenue and the space for a show. Most of the money went to the government but the people in those districts could benefit from the influx of a clone’s presence. Bartering became much more affluent since then, and those still willing to spend money on buying off-brand products helped stimulate the local economy. 

Work went on and someone else filled the room that was once Elvis’ Audubon home. Each new subject was still just as interesting but she was lucky to get by without being reprimanded for her inappropriate evening with Elvis. When she tried to stay behind to find Elvis after his show at the Kennedy Center, not only was she denied access but it didn’t appear he could escape his obligations. Anyone who paid for the separate ticket were the only ones allowed to visit him. If she tried to pass on her phone number to Elvis, someone might mistake her as a crazed fan wanting his attention. So she was left with images of being fucked on a couch in his dressing room. Melody would catch him on a nighttime television show that was carefully curated and ironically open to what Elvis could say or do. 

Over time, the hurt faded for her. Melody understood it wasn’t his fault and how inevitable it was. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to be a little selfish. She felt she had more than enough on her plate as it was at work and she didn’t need the blowback of falling in love with Elvis Presley weighing on her shoulders. The days went on one after the other and Truman Labs reached the point where production of clones could be slowed down as more than enough filled the entertainment industry. Melody’s conscience could rest for a while. Later in the week, just before the weekend, she didn’t feel like dragging herself out of bed. Lately, she was starting to dislike Truman Labs. Her team was expected to switch gears into Truman’s Grocery line which made her stomach twist and turn. Engineering food products with subpar and bare minimum supplements made her crave her childhood. Back when food wasn’t completely shitty and tasted real. 

Melody rolled her head toward her glowing glass clock, frowning as the number read a quarter past six in the morning. She had another hour before she had to get to work. When a heavy knock thumped at her door, she jumped. Rarely did she ever have guests besides her grandmother and her grandmother wouldn’t knock as hard. The worst-case scenario played out in her head. Someone found out or realized what she and Elvis did. Or maybe she had an unpaid fee somewhere that she forgot about? Either way, a visit from the Regime meant she fucked up. She shivered as she pushed away her covers, the cool dank cellar an unwelcome chill down her spine. Melody crept out of bed, sliding on fuzzy slippers, and grabbed her discarded hoodie once she was past the couch. 

She wished she had a peephole for once. 

Melody pulled open the door and was greeted by the expected Regime officer. He plucked his hat away from his manicured and polished haircut, the brim of his hat black and the rest of it the dreariest green she ever knew along with the tan and greens of their uniform besides the black tie. His name tag read ‘Everett’ and he cleared his throat, brows going up briefly. 

“Ms. Cunningham?” Everett asked. 

“Yes, that’s me,” Melody said slowly, holding the door.

“Well, that’s good to hear. We’ve been looking for you. Specifically Elvis.” 

“Elvis?” Melody said softly, attempting to remain passive. 

“Hey, E,” Everett called back over his shoulder into the stone stairwell leading down from the ground level of the tiered home. 

There was shuffling in the now browned and crunchy grass until long legs descending came into view. Everett stepped back as Elvis filled the space and replaced his guard dog in the doorway. Everett turned to head up the cement steps, giving them the privacy Elvis must have asked for. Melody couldn’t breathe just yet. She needed to measure the engagement and why Elvis came to her door at all after how much time passed. 

“H-Hi, honey,” Elvis stammered. 

He looked as sheepish as he did when they met and spent time together. Melody felt her cool exterior melting as she realized maybe he also felt wary of her. Though it was cold outside and Elvis wore a jacket, she said, “Come inside. It’s cold out.” 

Elvis didn’t need to be told twice. Melody’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears and chest. The basement was mostly dark except for the partial light of daytime and the sun slowly rising through the few high windows. She looked around as she became aware that Elvis was in her place and she couldn’t remember how many dishes she left in the sink or when she lazily tossed a pair of underwear toward her hamper if it made it in. Melody swallowed down some of her pride as she shuffled toward the couch covered in various blankets to sit down. Elvis followed without hesitation and sat as humanly close next to her. He didn’t lose any of that need for human touch. 

“Nice little shorts you got on,” Elvis said about her pajamas. His fingertips grazed over her thigh and she gasped softly. Melody placed a hand on his wrist though the blood rushed down in a hurry. She needed to clear the air between them. 

“I was about to get ready for work. I’m surprised you’re awake right now,” Melody said. 

“It’s about my bedtime. But I-I had to see you. We were coming back ‘round to the East District and it’s been driving me crazy not being able to see or talk to you since that night. No one would listen to me.” Elvis ranted. 

“So… It’s not that you got your fix?”

“Goddamnit,” Elvis muttered, moving to hold Melody’s hand. “No, Mel. Not at all. When I asked for someone to go back and get you, that same kid, he couldn’t. Said he would get into trouble if anyone saw him sneak in someone who didn’t pay for the Meet and Greet. Then, everything happened so fast. They didn’t even give me a phone till recently.”

Melody heard him and read his expression but if she were truthful with herself she missed him. She feared who he would meet on the road and how much his new circle would brainwash him, which was hypocritical considering that she actively aided in altering his thoughts and feelings for the benefit of Truman. 

“And that guy, Everett, does he do that often? Help you get to women?” Melody tested. 

“Does it matter? The answer is no anyhow. We just only started trustin’ each other. Givin’ the other leeway. That’s probably why he was comfortable enough to do me this favor. The guys around me have connections I don’t have when it came to findin’ you.” Elvis fiddled with her fingers. 

“I… I missed you,” Melody forced out. 

Feelings weren’t her forte but Elvis needed to know. The past three months made her sick to her stomach and she wanted to be by Elvis’ side even if they had to hide the fact. Her thoughts alternatively went to finding ways to get to him again and tell him she wanted Elvis all to herself.

“Didn’t I always tell you that you don’t have to be shy with me?” Elvis said, cupping a hand on her cheek to meet her eyes. 

Melody’s mouth set into a pout as she drank him in. He had a somewhat fading blue eye shadow on his lids that made the blue of his irises stick out even in her dim basement. Melody felt that stirring feeling in her chest and gut that told her she loved him. She loved that version of Elvis because he was sweet and stubborn. All the things that she hid away, Elvis lived it loud and proud. She was wasting time she didn’t have to spare. Melody pressed forward, climbing onto Elvis’ lap, and dropped her mouth to his in a kiss. Elvis didn’t hesitate to grab handfuls of her ass, guiding her forward into his lap as he kissed back. His tongue lapped at her, parting her lips like he hadn’t fed in three months. Melody hated that she loved the one person who would take effort to love. Her selfishness kept pulling and tugging at her, wanting her to beg that he stay and give up on chasing a dream implanted into his head. Truman Labs had a success rate of ninety-eight-point-two percent. How was she going to manage to work against that? 

Melody pulled back and Elvis chased after her. She pressed her hands into his chest and he pressed his back into the cushion. She loved seeing him that way, lips swollen and slick with spit. The look in his eyes also changed, and she wanted every inch he was willing to give her. Elvis pressed his hips upward as if on cue and she exhaled softly. 

“I need to know if this is a game before going forward. I have a lot of thoughts and a lot of feelings. I need to know if you’re doing this just to…cover your Districts,” Melody blinked, searching for a slip-up. 

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever loved. I came back to you,” Elvis’ eyes softened. “I’m not lookin’ to hurt you… I’ve been holdin’ back for so long and I didn’t get the chance to say what I-I—“

“I love you,” Melody cut in. Elvis would keep rambling if she didn’t. 

“You do?” Elvis asked in the most boyish way possible. Melody was sure, for the first time in a long time about anyone or anything, how she felt. She had too much time to think about the pros and cons. Elvis was one-of-a-kind even if he was a replication of his former self. 

“I do, which is why it’s hard for me to see you go. Why it was hard for me to be with you at Truman and I couldn’t be close to you in the way I wanted. This is highly, highly unethical… I shouldn’t entertain it because maybe you’re conditioned to feel attached to me.” Melody breathed, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.  

“No, Mel. Don’t do that,” he looked on with pursed lips. “I wouldn’t have tried so hard if I didn’t feel the same. You saw for yourself that I’ve always had a thing for you. Don’t minimize it. I love you. You hear me? I will do whatever I have to to make you happy. What will make you happy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t ask you for what I would want or need.” Melody shook her head. For the first time in a while, she was crying and didn’t know why. Elvis cupped his hands, the cool metal of his pinky ring grazing her skin. He held her face between his hands and shook his head. 

“What is it? What do you need?” Elvis pried. 

“I‘ll be miserable without you around. I need you with me. I breached my contract by being with you. It’s not only within the Lab but after. They’ll terminate my contract and I’m not supposed to speak on ever wanting to defect… But, how else am I supposed to have you? They’ll work you like a dog like they did with the real Elvis,” Melody sniffled, softly sobbing. “Then you’ll die and I’ll be without you all over again.”

“Honey,” Elvis exhaled softly as he took it all in. “This head of yours is always so full of worry. Seeing the Districts for myself, I get it. The stories some of the men that tour with me talk about are beyond imaginable. Is that how I died, because of the Regime?” 

“No. I’m not supposed to say,” Melody shook her head. 

“You also aren’t s’posed to be givin’ me a hard-on but here we are,” Elvis smirked. 

“Little shit,” Melody snapped out of it and into their usual banter. “I can’t help myself.” She grinned. 

“Neither can I. You’re gonna give me your number and we’ll figure it out. Take some leave. They don’t need you, do they?” Elvis asked distractedly. 

He returned to kissing her, moving to her neck. Melody didn’t need very much convincing to do as he said. His hands slid to the bottom of her hoodie and underneath to warm, smooth skin. Elvis groaned against her neck as he grabbed her hips and brought her weight down to grind against her. Melody could be a little late to work though D.C. traffic was a gamble she didn’t like taking. 

“And there’s no one else?” She whispered. 

“No one, baby,” Elvis answered firmly. 

“Then, let’s be quick.”

Elvis nodded and Melody smiled. They both scrambled with her hoodie to remove it and avoid being too warm. Elvis did the same with his jacket, exposing the rest of his plain button-down shirt. Melody looked down at her pointed nipples showing through her camisole, the cold of the basement getting to her quicker than she had planned. Elvis was pulling at her shorts while he took her in with parted lips. His mouth snapped shut as Melody reached down between them, undoing his zipper and pulling him free through the slot of both his underwear and trousers. 

“Help me pull my pants down. Don’t need them gettin’ caught on the goods,” Elvis joked though his voice had deepened. 

Melody obliged him and tugged his pants down out of the way. Since they were at it, Elvis pulled his underwear down, too, leaving nothing in their way. Melody wasted no time as he held the base of his cock, drawing back the skin to expose a slick and leaking beaming red tip. Melody groaned at the sight of it as she spit on her fingers and slid them between her folds. She scooted forward on her knees, using the back of the couch next to Elvis’ head to balance her weight. Elvis sucked in a breath as her wet heat teased at him, rubbing along the head with her opening to ensure the descent wouldn’t be painful. Elvis watched, hypnotized by the way Melody rubbed her pussy onto him. He could come like that if she let him. Elvis bit down into his bottom lip and when he had enough, he gripped her hip over her shirt to guide her forward.

Melody spread her legs wider, her chin tipping into the air as she moaned out. “Will your Regime dog care?” Melody panted.

“No, not at all. Let me hear you, baby. You don’t have to be quiet here. Show me how good you feel.” Elvis grunted, shaking his head. He wanted her to lose herself in the moment with him. The last thing he was thinking about was John Everett. Melody moaned again when she bottomed out, leaning forward onto the couch where Elvis rested his head with her elbows. She bounced her hips speedily, the skin of his thighs meeting her ass. Elvis’ expressiveness quickly reminded her how much she enjoyed having sex last time. Every bit of pleasure was written on his face from the wrinkled brow to how his lips formed an ‘o’. 

“This is your pussy,” she whispered in his ear.

“Goddamnit, Mel, you’re gonna make me come if you keep talkin’ like that. Slow down, slow down.” Elvis nearly begged. He breathed out when she decidedly slowed down, soon gripping her hips to control how fast she went. Melody enjoyed when he took over as much as she liked to see him become nervous about losing his wits. 

“Too much?” Melody smiled, dropping her mouth to Elvis’ earlobe to toy with it.

“You are a dangerous woman when you wanna be,” Elvis huffed. “You still have ta come yourself.”

“You can always use your fingers and mouth. But, another time. We need to finish because I have work and you need to sleep. I know you haven’t yet.” Melody said. 

She spoke just in time because Elvis decided to get her off before she changed her mind about letting them go slow. He would be damned to disappoint her otherwise. He planted his feet on the floor, asserting his hold on her waist as he fucked up into her. Elvis pinned her hips to jam the head of his cock into her G-spot, causing Melody to wrap her arms around his neck as if holding onto a pillar during an earthquake. Her moans were a lot louder, frantic, and shrill as she felt the building tension turn to expanding warmth.

“Oh, my God, I’m coming. I’m coming!” She shrieked, toes curling against the couch. 

Melody whimpered helplessly and Elvis slowed down when she moved as if she was trying to escape his thrusts. He hummed, the sound husky approval as his hand came around to circle on her clit. She jumped and twitched around him until she began bouncing her hips again. Elvis watched with pursed lips and a look that bordered on serious. Melody knew she had him in the palm of her hand now, using her leverage on the couch again to stroke the singer dry. He was grunting and his eyes shut as he shot his hot load into her, spurt after spurt painting the inside of her until she could feel it hit the back wall. Not long after did a mess form where they were connected, Elvis’ come spilling onto the base of his dick and slowly down his balls.

“Mel… Holy shit,” Elvis said at last.

“I’ll get you a cloth,” Melody said, working to catch her breath. 

Elvis stopped her as she tried to break away, reeling her in with a hand half on her cheek and neck to pull her into a kiss. For so long, she wondered how she could feel that way for a subject but Elvis was Elvis. He was still so curious and accepting even then. He might not have shared the same soul as the original but he was just as good and she was afraid of losing him because of it. No one else would compare otherwise.

“Now, go,” Elvis mumbled against her lips. 

Melody nodded only to stand on wobbly legs. She disappeared off into the tiny bathroom, sucking on her bottom lip to taste Elvis again. Returning with a dry towel, she handed it to Elvis who made easy work of his clean before handing the towel back to Melody. 

“I don’t think that was very quick of us. It’s a quarter ‘til seven. I have to jump in the shower but give me your phone and maybe you and Everett can find somewhere safe for us to meet.” Melody offered. She used the towel to spruce up between her legs and grabbed her underwear from her shorts as a temporary fix. Elvis was tucking himself away before sitting down on the couch again. He blew out a breath and swept a hand through his hair.

“Sounds good, honey. I’m thinkin’ his home. He’s originally stationed at the Pentagon and lives in Crystal City. It’ll make for a good meetin’ spot that isn’t a hotel. If I’ve learned anything, hotels have even more cameras than the streets do sometimes.” Elvis nodded, stretching his arm out over the back of the sofa. 

“When do you normally wake up in the evening?” Melody asked. More so out of politeness. At Truman, he would wake up anywhere between five and eight at night. Since he was touring, she figured there was room for that to change. 

“Lately? About six,” he weighed, his eyes focused on the bit of her stomach that showed. “Why?”

“One: you need to sleep more. Two: I think we should talk.” Melody said.

“It’ll have to be after my show. That’s if I can skate past the rest of the officers with sticks up their asses. Everyone is a little more…lenient. More than they were before at the first leg of the tour,” Elvis grimaced. “Hell, they gave me a phone.”

“Well,” Melody sat beside him, flopping as she did. “Just be careful, E. Before I forget, give me your number.”

Elvis dug into his front pocket to retrieve his smartphone. It was odd to see him in his fifties clothing with a modern device. Additionally, she couldn’t remember if it was the Regime or Elvis who insisted on wearing the dated garments. 

“I think we should use a special code word if we think something is wrong,” Melody added, clueing Elvis into her suspicions about him being watched. “Like… If something feels unsafe. Maybe there’s a camera or microphone we saw. I’m thinking… Peacock?”

“Peacock?” Elvis laughed as he watched her add her number.

“Believe it or not, you back then really liked them. Felt they were a symbol of eternal life and resurrection. I guess it’s fitting to think about.” Melody shrugged. Elvis raised a brow but weighed it as he was still a believer of God in his current lifetime and shrugged in understanding. 

“Peacock it is,” Elvis agreed.

Melody hated having to play ‘normal’ when she got to work. When she arrived, she was twenty minutes late and expected an earful from Randall. Upon arriving at her desk, a nondescript business card with a golden eye on a black background sat on her desk. Melody furrowed her brow as she looked around and slowly flipped over the card to a QR code. Her phone was locked away, probably for the better. She slipped the card into her purse as she tried to settle in. She felt like she had enough on her plate from having a morning quickie with Elvis and him being escorted by a sympathetic Regime officer. Melody’s attention was drawn to the side where two junior scientists were whispering.

“Did you hear that the British monarchy is following suit to something similar to the Regime?” The guy said in a failed attempt at whispering.

“It’s actually fuckin’ crazy,” said the seated young woman.

Melody rolled her eyes but not at them. Any other society that followed what America was doing just spelled bad news for the rest of the world. 

“Cunningham,” Randall called from the other side of the lab. 

He was the only one with an office although it was glass all around. Standing in the doorway, he waited for Melody to lift her eyes to him and she sighed. She knew it was coming and he only used her last name when he was disappointed. Melody pushed away from her desk, leaving her things and the strange card in her purse. She crossed the floor past their empty tubes where Elvis first looked at her to get to the office across grated drains. Randall insisted she step in first before the wooden door was shut behind either of them. He rounded his desk and sat back, clasping his hands together as he leaned into his chair. Melody thought he looked too smug for her being twenty minutes late. 

“Look, I had a weird start to the morning—” Melody began.

“Mel, that’s not why I called you back here,” Randall said, waving his hand. 

“Why else would you…?” 

“The card.” He said plainly.

“What? What about it? I just got in. I have no clue who placed it there—”

“Melody, I placed it there,” Randall explained away, holding his palms out. She looked warily at him because she had no clue what he was getting at but worse, she didn’t know why or what the runaround was all about. “I think you are more of a free thinker than you care to admit to.”

Melody’s mind began turning in on itself as she watched Randall closely and glanced out the windows of his office. He was admitting to something treasonable and life-ending if she understood correctly.

“At the Kennedy Center, I saw you come from backstage. Look, I’m not judging you. I think it was bound to happen. All of the tapes and time spent with Elvis, the guy knows how to get a girl. The Regime isn’t going to let you just be with him,” Randall sighed, interlacing his fingers. “You’ve been off since that night and I’m guessing his tour has something to do with it.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Technically, I saw nothing. But, I know you’re worried about losing your job for what you feel. Whatever has happened, I think it would be bullshit to fire you for it. All I’m saying is… Consider the card. Consider opening your mind up to what life used to be like. Also, try not to be late anymore. We want to keep the Eyes Above away from us as much as possible, don’t we?” Randall said.

Melody nodded stiffly as he gestured toward the door for her to go. She shoved her hands back into her lab coat pockets once she was in the open space again. Clicking at the pen in her pocket, she focused instead on getting to Elvis in the evening rather than the implication Randall left her with. He took a big risk in opening himself up to her judgment when she could report him. Sure, Melody could lose her job, making her life more difficult. Randall could be killed in a public execution. 

Evening came after a ten-hour shift of Melody surreptitiously carrying her anxiety the entire day. She checked her phone during lunch to see she had a waiting text from Elvis:

Can’t wait to see you tonight. Here’s the address.

Below the text was the underlined address and she was reminded of how careful they had to be about what they sent the other. When she got home, she deadbolted herself in. Barely able to focus, she connected her phone to a VPN and didn’t bother leaving it connected to the WiFi. She dug the card from her discarded purse on the couch, walking deeper into her home and toward the bathroom to shower. Melody didn’t have time to waste since it was already past eight and she had to hit the road again to head into Virginia later tonight. 

Melody leaned into the sink with her back and rear pressed into the counter. She held the card steady in her palm while she used her camera to scan it. The link that appeared rerouted her to a private tab in her browser, and she worried her layers of security wouldn’t be enough. The same golden eye on the front of the card appeared and the script below it stated, ‘Invite Accepted’. Both disappeared and were replaced with golden coordinates, causing Melody to scramble for a pen and a napkin to scribble them down. The numbers disappeared after about a minute like dust in the wind and the eye returned. 

She exhaled as she pondered what she got herself into.

John Everett lived in one of the hundreds of high-rise apartments and condos commandeered by the Regime for military housing near Reagan International Airport and the Pentagon. Melody found a guest parking spot, the evening not as cool as it tended to be. Spring seemed to be trying to sneak its way into the city. She dressed down post-shower, sporting the same hoodie from this morning and baggy sweats that pooled around her clunky, sherpa-lined shoes. She squeezed at the strap of her purse as she entered the quiet and lonesome lobby. The ride up on the elevator gave her momentary peace, the space warmer than the outside. Any time she was close to Elvis gave her pause to reel in her emotions and calm down. Sometimes she wondered after a year of checking in on Elvis if she conditioned herself too.

Probably, as all guidelines were out the window with them.

Melody stepped off the elevator when the lift stopped and bounced as it did. The feeling made her dizzy. She walked down the hall, passing doors on either side until she got to the middle of the hall and double-checked her text messages to be sure it was the correct number. Melody knocked, shifting from one foot to the other. Barely two seconds later the door opened, Elvis filling up the doorway with his lithe figure. It was the first time in a while she saw him in a plain white T-shirt tucked into his slacks. Melody wasn’t complaining as the entire look cinched his waist and his hair was a little messier than normal as if he showered not long ago. 

“A sight for sore eyes. I’m getting quite the treats today seein’ you in something other than a lab coat and dressy clothes,” Elvis flirted. Melody felt her face bunching up into a smirk and scrunched her nose at him.

“Are you gonna let me in and stop oglin’ me?” Melody teased, stepping in past the threshold and Elvis. 

Elvis smiled as his eyes then his head followed Melody. He shut the door, locking it before following Melody inside. He reeled her in by her waist so they were side-by-side, using his fingertips to direct her chin up and catch her mouth with his. Elvis kissed her sweetly, the moment chaste. Melody undoubtedly needed it to remember he was real and actively working to be with her. 

“You seem tense,” Elvis murmured.

“I am. I’ve got to talk to you,” Melody shivered from the kiss. “I hope you had a good show tonight, too. I’m sorry I have a lot on my mind. Don’t let me take away from that.”

“It’s okay. Just a warning, John is in the kitchen. It’s alright though, hm?” Elvis asked worriedly.

“Okay,” Melody agreed despite her dismayed mood.

Elvis led her the rest of the way into the condo. It looked how she expected it to from a twenty-something-year-old man living alone, or so she thought. She peeked around and spotted a kid’s bedroom with the door ajar and the light off. The lights from the living room and kitchen spilled into it, making it easier to see toys and whatnot past the doorway. 

“Does he have a kid here?” Melody asked. She didn’t want to bring unnecessary strife into the Regime officer’s life and much less did she trust him to be on their side.

“Shares custody with his ex,” Elvis whispered. “It’s just the three of us here.”

The man in question was chopping up vegetables on a cutting board in the kitchen while food sizzled in a pan behind him on the stove. John was dressed down, too, similar to how Melody was, in a loose-fitting gray T-shirt that simply said ‘ARMY’ on the front of it and black sweatpants that hung low on his waist, the band of his underwear showing. The dark-haired man looked up from his cutting and gave a warm smile.

“Make yourself at home, Melody,” John said.

“Thanks and thanks for having me. I’m sorry this is interrupting your dinner.” Melody answered shyly.

“It’s no bother,” John shrugged.

“I figured this would be better than the hotel they made me shack up in. You’d feel even more jittery about the whole thing,” Elvis said, tugging Melody away and down a hall to a bedroom. “Not like they don’t know where I am.”

They entered a spare bedroom, most of the accouterments plain and solely for a guest to fall asleep. A couple of pillows, a plain dark blue comforter, and an additional blanket laid on the end of the bed. Melody felt she could breathe a little easier since they were alone and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Elvis rubbed his hand on his chin as he shut the door behind them with a soft click. He sat down next to Melody, leaning in close as he always did as if trying to read her mind. 

“Can I kiss you? Before we start talkin’ about all the serious shit you have on your mind,” Elvis asked, his tone softer than the words. 

Melody opened her mouth to speak, letting her purse slide off her shoulder and onto the bed. Her brows wrinkled but she nodded because she needed something to ground her and there Elvis was. His bright eyes searched her face for what was wrong but unable to resist having the opportunity of being near her. Elvis slid a hand up along her cheek to pull her in, his lips soft on hers again. Unlike the kiss at the door, he deepened it with every ounce of passion he concealed for the past year for her. Melody groaned into him, her palm resting on top of his thigh as their tongues swirled around the other’s. Though Elvis was getting turned on again as he had been this morning, he didn’t think it was the most appropriate to soil John’s guest bedroom by having sex. More or less. Melody could agree but she could also see herself convincing Elvis they could be quiet enough to get away with it.

“Okay,” Elvis exhaled, pecking in between his words. “What is it? What’s on your mind?”

“This card I got today. Hold on,” Melody said, turning to her purse to draw out the napkin and business card. “This was left on my desk by my boss. The napkin has these coordinates that the QR code spit out. I wonder if it changes daily or weekly. Hell, monthly. I don’t know.”

“Randy?” Elvis raised a brow, taking the business card and the napkin.

“Yeah… I think he’s part of some sort of movement. One where we would be going against the government,” Melody lowered her voice.

“Shit, honey, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get involved with this. I’d be sick to see you get hurt because of him.”

“But, what if this is the only way we can be together? We could change things so you can have the life you want like we always talked about. Truman and the Regime will only go according to and similarly to the original Elvis’ trajectory in life. It’s sadistic, controlling the direction your life goes in…” Melody grimaced.

“Mel, while I do agree, they publicly execute people for this sorta shit. I don’t agree with what they’re doin’ to me. But I’d never play for an audience again. We’d be runnin’ for the rest of our lives and if we…” Elvis sighed, swallowing back his hesitation. “If we had kids, if I got you pregnant, they wouldn’t have a normal life.”

Melody knew Elvis was right. What if their love for one another was fleeting? Elvis was young. She still had yet to ask him what he had gotten up to in the last few months. How many other women were there? Or had he realized that it was her fault he was in his circumstances at all? 

“One step at a time. Can’t we at least see what this is all about? They censor resistance groups all the time until it’s time for them to be publicly humiliated or executed. What if this is one of our chances to change things?” Melody frowned, wanting Elvis to open his mind. But she knew. She could tell by the way Elvis looked at her apologetically that he couldn’t force himself into it just yet. 

“I’m not ready to chance it. I’m just not and I think we should quit talkin’ about it before somethin’ bad comes from it. Okay? I just went three months without you and thinkin’ you wouldn’t have me.” Elvis shook his head, reaching for Melody’s hand to hold.

“So, that’s it?” 

“Mel, I think we should let it be. Just for now. I want you to be my girlfriend. We should give it a shot and see how things play out. My career is takin’ off and I’m excited about it even if the Regime is backin’ it. I-I know that’s selfish of me but life can be good. Even better if you join me in makin’ the most of it.” Elvis said.

“I… Okay, I’ll agree only if you promise me that the second you or I start to feel the pressure is too much, we use the card again,” Melody bargained.

“You’ve got a deal, little girl. Now, can we go back out? I feel rude sequestering ourselves,” Elvis smiled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

“Sequestering,” Melody laughed. “You’ve been reading a lot more haven’t you?”

“It’s the only thing that makes the noise stop in my head besides the music. Come on. Are you hungry?” Elvis asked. He tugged Melody up to bring her along while the coordinates and golden eye remained prominent in her mind.

“I could eat,” she assuaged. 

Taglist: @sissylittlefeather @ccab @livelaughelvis

[buglass]

BLOODSONG

Summary: 28 year-old journalist Lorraine Morrison works for the Las Vegas Tribune where her writing is growing stale. In an attempt to switch up what she writes for her readers, she tries becoming a last-minute Vegas show critic and attends a late-night show of the one and only Elvis Presley. He catches wind of the review and he’s not exactly ecstatic about it. When he invites Lorraine to interview him, little does she know he’s just a tired, bloodthirsty vampire wanting her approval.

Content Warning: Mature (M 18+), MDNI

Pairing: Vampire!Elvis Presley x Black!OFC or Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Black!OFC

Words: 6.2K

Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Horror themes; vampirism obviously, blood, penetrative sex, oral sex, biting, 1970s

A/N: Made this chapter 1 of 1 since it can be more of a one-shot unless anyone is interested in more but otherwise I’ll leave this as a standalone. Let me know what you think and enjoy, fellow vampire-lovers. There was no beta, so sorry for mistakes.

1973

“What a crock load of shit this is,” Elvis tossed down the newspaper. “Who does this girl think she is? A few bad shows, then she writes that I’m out of practice, repetitive, and unfocused. Goddamnit,” he grumbled, puffing on his cigar. It was far more for show and taste than actual enjoyment. Elvis had come to like how it made his lungs feel as if he needed to breathe and get the smoke out.

“You were bloodletting after all after feeding on that poor girl,” Larry added.

“I knew she tasted weird for a reason. Anyhow, Larry, I need to find this girl. Get her to see that I’m puttin’ my heart and soul into this damn coliseum.” He threw up his hand.

Elvis propped his boot-covered feet up onto the couch, plucking his sunglasses from his face. Larry watched him from where he stood by the couch, calm as he had since become used to Elvis’ temper tantrums as his familiar.

“Well, the Vegas shows have been a little…repetitive, E. I don’t see why you bend to the Colonel’s will.” Larry said sheepishly.

“My word is my bond. I agreed to do these shows and so I’m doing them. The bastard can’t live that much longer to rule my life. I’m bored, Larry. I-I need to know what my purpose is. I can’t live the rest of eternity wondering if this is all for nothing.” Elvis grumbled, looking to the strewn newspaper pages. Having forgotten the woman’s name, he picked it up again to scan the page just beneath where the headline was and read, By Lorraine Morrison.

“You have to find fulfillment outside of fame. You’ve taken quite the risk by being in the spotlight with your…longevity.” Larry said.

“Maybe Lorraine can teach me how to appeal to humans again. If what she says is true. That my ‘pandering’ is the main drive outside of my gyratin’. The hell does she know? Find her. Offer an interview with her.” Elvis said, honing in bright eyes on Larry.

“This sounds like an ego thing once again,” Larry raised his alarm. “You can’t bring harm to someone in the media. They always tell someone when they’re involving themselves with someone famous.”

“Tell her to be discreet. That it’s of the utmost importance for…security. I don’t know, man, make up some shit. She works at the Las Vegas Tribune so make it happen.” Elvis shooed at his familiar.

“Of course, Elvis,” Larry said, his mouth shutting at the request.

Lorraine Morrison was a smart, quick-witted, and keen woman. She always dreamed of being in a big city writing for larger papers in New York or Washington D.C. but learned to settle for the big leagues of Las Vegas, Nevada. That was her sarcasm speaking more than anything. Vegas was a debaucherous, crowded and mafia-ran waste of space. The only benefit to being in Vegas was very much so like New York City, the city never slept. That was if someone liked to gamble or see half-naked women. Lorraine could think of better things to do with her time. 

Her column was growing stale and the one thing she had never done before was see any of the shows with hit talent performing around the city. The only person she could fathom sitting through was one Elvis Presley. He remained a mystery to her because being that she was only twenty-eight years old, she had no real recollection of him bursting onto the scene and changing music history. By the time she could remember seeing anything about him, he was already in movies.

Clearly, she wasn’t big on television growing up.

So when the time came to select what show time she wanted at the Hilton for the Las Vegas Summer Festival, she went at midnight where a journalist would go unsuspected and Elvis might not be at his best. Lorraine dressed nicely as she would have for any evening outing, her hair picked out and a dress to show her slim, tall figure. She wasn’t praying for his downfall or for him to be out of sorts, but she wanted to see how much of his all was at play without Las Vegas Tribune printed on her forehead. 

Lorraine sat stage right for prime viewing. The room’s lights had dimmed and started the show off dark, quite the dramatic entrance and music playing up Elvis’ arrival to the stage. She dug out her notepad from her purse from where it was tucked away only soon to be given pause. Elvis walked up and down across the stage, leaving Lorraine a little starstruck. He wasn’t the same dopey man she saw in movie posters or the man she thought she remembered ever seeing on television. 

His aura drew her in before he even officially started singing. The suit was a bit much for her taste but only Elvis could pull off something as extravagant and close to Evel Knievel. Throughout the show, Lorraine scribbled a few notes here and there, especially in appreciation for the band and the backup singers’ ability to keep up with last-minute changes that Elvis made during the show. She left that night concluding Elvis had a sort of inflated ego while at the same time realizing it wasn’t his fault. His one-hundred-piece band and stagehands reflected just how much people adored him.

It didn’t help that he was quite the giver too.

Elvis gave away scarf after scarf on stage along with some of his jewelry like it was nothing. Lorraine could give him that much. If a fan was lucky enough to visit Vegas and then spend the money on a hotel and a show, they could easily get a return on investment. That’s part of what she wrote in her column and led her to get in touch with one of the Memphis Mafia members. She was requested by name at the front desk of the Tribune and in turn called at her desk from what she was doing by having to go see what was needed.

“Are you Lorraine Morrison?” The suited, long-haired man asked.

“Depends on who’s askin’. Why?” Lorraine asked, tilting her head skeptically.

“Well, ma’am, I’m Sonny West. You recently saw a show you wrote about in your newspaper and Elvis would like to extend a more in-depth interview opportunity.” Sonny said, clasping his hands in front of himself. He was undoubtedly proud to name-drop his boss.

“Elvis Presley,” she asked in disbelief, chuckling. “I’m no Rolling Stone. Why would he want me to interview him?”

“He doesn’t like disappointing his audience. So,” he reached inside his blazer to an inside pocket and withdrew a card. “Here is my number to come collect you, if necessary. He insists on providing you a ride to the International if you so choose. Otherwise, please be available in two days. The interview will have to be around one AM.” 

“Right… Okay.” She shook her head in mild shock, taking the card from Sonny. 

It was all so odd and fantastical that she couldn’t shake it from her mind even when she returned to her desk and when she got home that night. The complete unknown that was Elvis Presley struck her. Had he hated her review of the show? Two days was two too many in her eyes.

“He’ll be right with you, take a seat. He’s getting cleaned up from the show.” Larry said after some introductions and being escorted to Elvis’ top-floor suite. 

Lorraine smiled politely, holding onto the strap of her bag, and was struck by the quietness of the room. There was no big gathering outside of a few members who she assumed played roles of security and Larry. Lorraine walked deeper into the room, going to the couch to sit down and thumbing at the strap. The late hour wore on her though she tried to sleep before then. That much was impossible with how wired she was thinking about meeting Elvis. So little had been conveyed to her about what to expect that she was riddled with anxiety about the whole thing. 

The door to the suite opened after a while, a few men walking in first then Elvis trailing in behind them. He plucked his purple-tinted sunglasses from his eyes as he stepped in. He was dressed in dark, layered garb that Lorraine found impossible to imagine wearing in the heat of Nevada. What Lorraine missed was how he sniffed the air before his eyes landed on her. He looked pleased and broke his attention away from his guest to look at the men surrounding him. Elvis didn’t want to intimidate her by leaving her to be the only woman in the room.

“Ms. Morrison,” Elvis said, walking over to her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You, too, Mr. Presley. But please, call me Lorraine.” She asked, moving to stand up and taking Elvis’ proffered hand to shake. Lorraine felt struck by the contact and while her expression remained placid, internally she was stirred by the eye contact he held with her.

“And you can call me Elvis. Are you hungry, thirsty? I’ll have the boys go grab you a bite to eat, if you’d like, sweetheart.” Elvis said, dropping his hand.

“No, no. I’m alright. I’m a little too tired to fathom the idea of eating at this hour,” she waved off the idea. “I’d really like to get started, if that’s alright? You’ve made me curious the last few days.” 

“I guess I could say the feelin’ is very mutual. I actually think I recognize you,” he said slowly, moving to lower into a nearby armchair to sit across from the sofa. “I was tryin’ to draw you up to the stage and you just wouldn’t budge. Isn’t that right?” He gave her a half smile.

Lorraine lowered back onto the couch cushion, giving Elvis a knowing and suspicious look that he would be able to recall her from so many nights ago after the amount of shows he put on everyday and night.

“Possibly,” she said, removing her bag from her shoulder to rest on the couch. “I believed there were plenty of suitable candidates coming up to you that weren’t me.”

“Oh, honey, but they didn’t look like you,” Elvis added suggestively.

Lorraine looked down and away, digging into her bag for her journal and pen. The tape recorder came out next, placed onto the table between them that had yet to be turned on and started. She wanted to be less swayed by his flirtatiousness. He was a man who too often got exactly who and what he wanted. Lorraine didn’t plan to add to his tally.

“I’m sure they often do not, Elvis,” she pressed her tongue into her cheek. “So, why have you requested me here? What do you hope to get out of this interview?”

“I-I feel out of touch. What you wrote, your hit piece, it stuck with me. I know how to rouse an audience but you… Your criticism reminded me of the movie days. Not quite to the same level, no, but I want your opinion on where I’ve gone wrong. I’ve been around for quite some time, you see.” Elvis said, hanging his arms off the sides of the chair. One hand pinched the arm of his sunglasses, swinging them back and forth as he spoke.

“I am sorry if you took my column to heart, Elvis. It was nothing personal. Actually, I didn’t grow up as a fan. More like a…passive bystander as you grew to stardom.” Lorraine cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her notebook.

“Hmm,” Elvis hummed. “I think I can change your mind. A hard feat to come by. You’ll be just about the only one to know or realize what I’m willing to share with you tonight. Can y’all go do something else?” Elvis’ attention snapped to the hovering men. He waved a hand at them as they looked expectantly to Elvis before shuffling out of the room. Larry lingered nearby before Elvis said, “Shoo, man, go. Come back in about an hour.”

“Yes, Elvis.” Larry said, the door shutting behind him. 

Lorraine thought it was strange even for a celebrity to have a group of men react in such a way. Elvis stood up again and wandered to his nightstand, dropping off his glasses. He walked around, drawing Lorraine’s attention to him, and picked up a cigar box from the dresser. Elvis sighed and walked over to the glass windows overlooking the city and fiddled with his lighter to singe the end of the cigar.

“As time goes on, I see how much the world is changin’, you know?” Elvis said. “What’s acceptable, what’s not acceptable. I’m going to tell you a few things first before you make your mind up about me or press record on your machine there.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of my being here?” Lorraine asked, her confusion growing by his mysteriousness.

“Honey, you won’t believe me when I tell you.” Elvis glanced over his shoulder. 

“Try me. I don’t think much of anything can really throw me off. Not living here.” Lorraine shrugged, pen at the ready.

Elvis was swift, standing in front of her before she could react and swallow her words. Was she having a heart attack? She was frozen as he stood before her, inspecting her face to gauge what her reaction might be. Elvis sat down at her side and she could only move her eyes to follow him.

“Vampirism is too unrealistic, honey. The rest of the world wouldn’t believe you if you tried. Showin’ you is easier.” He answered calmly, raising his cigar up to his mouth for a puff.

“I… Uh. Um,” Lorraine stammered. “Holy shit.” She whispered.

“I won’t hurt you. I only find interest in ladies who find interest in me and I am extremely intrigued by you. More than I planned to be.” Elvis said, his eyes drifting down her body then back up.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say right now. You just… You just crossed the room. In a blur.” Lorraine's voice pitched as her panic rose.

“I did,” Elvis agreed.

“So y-you drink blood and…” Lorraine asked, turning her head to look at Elvis.

“Sometimes. Not as much as I should some days and others I prefer the girls that are hopped up on pills. You can smell it on them. It’s like when you’re drinking and become drunk,” Elvis said, reaching down to pick up Lorraine’s fallen pen she didn’t seem to notice she dropped. “And the whole burnin’ up in the daytime thing is untrue.”

“Clearly,” Lorraine squeaked, taking the pen back. “Elvis, I can’t use this. Even if I tried to then my career would be relegated to that of shitty tabloid headlines and articles. That-That was a fluke. I must’ve blinked and you’re angry with me for what I wrote or this is a very untimely moment to lose my mind.” Lorraine chuckled in disbelief, beginning to stow her things back into her shoulder bag.

“Lorraine,” Elvis warned. “I’m no liar.”

“Then, prove it. Prove that you’re a vampire.” Lorraine stilled what she was doing.

“And how would you like for me to prove it to ya?” Elvis raised a brow.

“Can you fly? Turn into a bat, or something. Let me see your teeth,” she demanded.

“You watch too many movies, man, no I can’t turn into a bat or fly,” Elvis shifted and opened his mouth. “See?”

Lorraine turned her head away instinctively and slowly leaned in to inspect Elvis’ teeth. They were sharp right at the canines but some people just had sharp teeth, she thought. Lorraine didn't know why she was still sitting there while Elvis chose to waste her time and make fun of her in the process.

I’m not making fun, a voice said in her head.

Elvis’ eyes dropped to her face again and he shut his mouth. She moved to stand, opening and closing her hands into fists. Lorraine was sure now she was losing it and the devilishly handsome man was somehow playing an elaborate trick on her.

“Okay…” She breathed. “Why would you tell me all of this? Does the rest of your entourage know? Is the Memphis Mafia aware? Oh, my God, are they also vampires?” 

“No, Lorraine. Honey, I know it’s a lot. I get tired of hidin’ sometimes and there’s somethin’ about how you go almost unaffected by me. Normally people fawn when they’re near me, but you snap outta it. I find that appealin’. Before with the article, I thought goddamn it and wondered what you could know about putting on a show every night for an audience. I wanted to sink my teeth into and make you feel what others have felt in my presence.” Elvis admitted.

Lorraine felt a laugh rising up from her throat as she turned to face him. He had no idea exactly who she was by looks but he had come to think deeply on two versions of her that went untouched by his persuasion. To her, it was amusing to see that ego didn’t die with the undead. She placed a hand to her chest as she walked toward the windows and tried to hide what arousal she felt. His confession stirred something in her that she wanted to shove down and bury.

Can you hear my thoughts?, she realized from before.

Sometimes. If I focus, Elvis supplied.

Shit, she thought.

Lorraine looked over her shoulder again and Elvis was moving to stand. He walked because he could, she now knew, and stood behind her. He looked to her thoughtfully, dragging a ring covered hand down the back of her arm. Lorraine shivered, reminded of a gazelle that was being hunted by a lion. That’s what Elvis was to her.

“Aren’t you curious? How could I make you feel?” Elvis rumbled, dropping his lips to her ear to speak closer. His charm was dialed up and she didn’t know just how capable he was of using persuasion to sway anyone into doing as he liked. Elvis tried to refrain but to him humans were easy to get to comply because some part of them wanted to.

“I… I suppose.” Lorraine said dreamily, seeing part of their reflection in the window.

“Let me take away your worry, darlin’,” he whispered, dropping his head lower to drag his lips across the side of her throat. 

Lorraine swallowed and flinched, pulling away from Elvis and brought her hands up. She stepped around him and returned to packing up her things. 

“This is too much. I-I can’t, alright? I’m grateful for the opportunity but I can’t just let you fuck and suck me because you want to. I have morals, Mr. Presley, and those morals say I don’t want to be used.” Lorraine grimaced, tucking her recorder into her bag at last.

“Whoa, honey, I like and respect women. I do, but over time things become repetitive. Not everyone wants anything serious with me and I don’t think that makes you less than for givin’ it to me. I don’t have to sleep with you to make you feel good.” Elvis explained, trailing after Lorraine.

“Then find someone else for the evening. I just… I need to go home. To think about it.” Lorraine said. She turned to look at Elvis, quietly pleading with him and she didn’t know if she would ever be face-to-face with the star again. He could heed her words and decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Think on it. Here,” he said and went to the desk to grab a piece of stationary to write on. “Take the phone number to the room. This will have you contact me directly. If you change your mind, someone will come pick ya up.” He tore the page from the notebook, approaching Lorraine mindfully to offer her the paper. She took it with a shaky hand and Elvis was afraid he might have traumatized the poor girl. 

“Good night, Elvis,” she said, taking the paper from his hand on her way out.

“I think you laid it on too thick,” Larry said, combing through Elvis’ hair to style it for an evening show he planned to attend.

“She’s not like these other women and little girls, man. She doesn’t even react under my persuasion--hell, not for long anyhow. What the hell am I supposed to do if she runs around tellin’ people what happened?” Elvis grumbled, picking at the fabric of the chair he was sat in.

“I doubt she will tell anyone. People are believing less and less in God, so why would they believe you are a vampire?” Larry chastised. “Two extraordinary things but with or without proof, sometimes both are too outlandish to believe in. Give her time.” 

“It’s already been a week, Larry. She would have called by now.” Elvis frowned.

Lorraine didn’t call for another two weeks before her curiosity ate away at her so much she couldn’t take it anymore. The way Elvis kissed her neck and stood close to her stuck with her like the ghost of him was breathing down her neck. He had been so unsure about her thoughts about him while still being able to hear exactly what she thought. The King of Rock and Roll was thrown off by her. So, she kept the whole ordeal to herself because she stood on the fact that no one would believe her if she explained why she ran out on Elvis Presley.

The car came around twelve-thirty and she was at the International by twelve forty-five. She donned a sleek black dress and heels that shimmered in the light; leaving her back, throat, and arms bare. Tonight, she was making it clear that his story would have to be told another time. She still had to figure out his intentions in regard to there being an interview at all. Would there be an exchange of give and take?

She excused herself from her Memphis Mafia escort, explaining that she wanted to grab a drink from the bar. Knowing she had to wait while Elvis finished up his performance and would likely shower before seeing her gave her more time to do as she pleased. He didn’t look too sure about diverting from the course but Lorraine promised she would be at the bar waiting. He caved and she started to open up her black clutch to withdraw some cash. Lorraine downed two drinks by the time she was asked for and they made their way to the elevator.

Her nerves settled into something calmer and slightly more confident as every floor was passed and they rose higher and higher. Lorraine fidgeted with her clutch, digging her thumb into the bulb where it clasped. She was walking forward but she felt like she was floating, not in total control of where she was being taken. A door was opened for her to step inside by herself, the crony staying behind and shutting the door after her. She assumed Elvis told them no one was coming in or out while she was there which gave her some relief. 

Elvis was dressed down from the last time she saw him in a pajama set covering him from top to bottom though the button-up shirt was left open. Hair covered his chest and partially down between toned abs and just below his navel. Lorraine’s lips parted in realization as she hovered in the foyer of the room that she wasn’t giving him credit where credit was due. Elvis stood there observing her, admiring her hair that grew to the sun and the well-fitted dress down to her bare, glistening legs that were defined by the heels she wore. He was struck by how much he was the one who was victim to her. Elvis raised his eyes to her face again and her high cheekbones until their eyes met.

“Come,” he demanded, holding his hand out to her. 

Lorraine knew so few words needed to be said and she didn’t know that she had the right ones to say. She placed her purse onto a nearby table as she made her way over to take Elvis’ hand. 

“Take off your heels.” He said, his voice thick with want and watching her every move.

There was something arousing to him in how he knew she didn’t have to listen to him but chose to. Three weeks had passed and left too much to his imagination. Lorraine obliged, reaching down to hook a finger into one heel and the next. She sunk down half a foot and his lips twitched into a slight smile. He was already towering over her though she was above average height, but now he felt he had the advantage entirely. 

“Have you been drinkin’?” Elvis asked. He led her over to the bed where the covers were already drawn down. Guiding her to the side of the bed to sit, she nodded as he stood above her. 

“Only a little. I’m just so nervous… I forgot that you could smell it that much.” Lorraine said, her face becoming hot though the blush wasn’t completely noticeable on her dark skin.

Elvis slowly started to kneel down and brought his hands to her thighs, letting them slide down to her calves. He hummed and leaned in to press a kiss to the right knee and then the left. Lorraine gulped, watching with parted lips as Elvis moved confidently.

“It’s no bother, honey. Why don’t you lie back for me? I told you I would make you feel good and I keep my promises,” he said.

Lorraine felt some sort of realization and the image of Elvis with his face buried between her legs sat at the front of her mind. She took in a shaky deep breath as she laid back and Elvis sort of followed. His hands slid up along the side of her thighs, hooking into her panties to draw them down away from where he could smell her arousal. He groaned knowing she was turned on the second she walked into the suite. Elvis tossed the underwear aside, hiking her dress up further. He dragged her with ease to the end of the bed so that her heat was right in his face.

“Are you sure you want to…?” Lorraine whispered, giving him an out.

“You have no idea how hard this makes me, baby. You had me wait almost a month to taste you,” he said, moaning as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “I want to taste and know every part of you before we get to me.” He hummed. 

Lorraine twitched just from the softness of his lips where she might have assumed or expected roughness. She tried to wrap her head around Elvis being a vampire, and in some ways she could. The way he drew people in and they bent to his every whim told her that he was being truthful. On the other hand, she knew that meant immortality was more in reach than anyone ever knew or that humans were being fed on like any other animal she could find in a grocery store. 

Elvis dropped his head to where he was beckoned, latching his mouth onto her awaiting clit. 

“Baby, you taste so good…” he groaned in between swipes of his tongue. “I wish you could see how wet you are for me, little girl.”

She moaned out and the simplicity of having Elvis’ mouth on her was enough to turn her on. A man that was considered a superstar wanted to lick and fill her up until she was cumming against his face. He made the most obscene noises as he gripped a hold of her thighs, pinning her sex to his mouth as he suckled and lapped at her relentlessly. Lorraine panted, driving her head back into the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders.

Elvis enjoyed seeing her come undone because for all of her composure, he didn’t think he could get her to break. As unethical as the entire thing was to come on to a journalist, he never strayed from his desire if it crossed his mind and their profession happened to detail things about him in a certain light. People would say or think what they wanted. That was one thing about humans that never changed. He cocked his head back into Lorraine’s hand she dropped in his hair, urging him forward as his tongue swiped viciously. Her breath faltered and stuttered the closer she got. Elvis played with her sensitive entrance with a manicured fingertip until it was just wet enough, pushing it past twitching and pulsating muscles. He curled the digit up into her, his eyes raising again to watch as she began shaking and losing her breath.

Lorraine dug her feet into his back, whimpering as her climax rocked her entire being and she strained against Elvis. One hand tamped down on her thigh as she tried to escape her pleasure and he hummed his approval, then finally withdrew his soaking index finger. 

“Mm,” he groaned, licking at her cunt one last time before moving to stand up. “Would you like to have sex, honey?” He asked, wiping the back of his mouth with his clean hand. 

Lorraine was busy trying to catch her breath and come down from the high of having a man know what he’s doing between her legs. She could have said he was crazy for asking but he was right to do so in a position such as his. She wanted to give him whatever he wanted if it was always like that. Lorraine watched a crooked smile cross Elvis’ face and she mumbled a curse because she knew he was listening to her thoughts. 

“Tell me yourself,” Elvis said.

“I want you.” Lorraine answered.

She was slow to sit up, her feet touching the floor for balance as she grabbed the hem of her dress to pull it up over her head. Lorraine tossed it to the same spot Elvis left her underwear and peered up at him. He was beautiful in black. His tailored pajamas made his eyes pop like everything else he wore. Lorraine breathed out easily once she brought her heart rate back down and dropped her eyes to the waiting bulge almost eye level with her. Elvis started to shrug off his pajama top to let it fall to the floor as Lorraine dipped her fingers past the band of his pajama pants. His cock sprung up and free as his pants pooled around his ankles. 

“You don’t have to,” he assured her, bringing a hand to the side of her neck. 

“I want to. For a little while,” Lorraine said.

She was quick to silence the idea and opened her mouth for him. Elvis sucked in a breath as she worked the head past her lips and held his gaze doing so. Her cheeks hollowed as she bounced up and down around him.

“Goddamn, baby…” He moaned out, his head falling back. 

Lorraine couldn’t take all of him, at least not all at once. She had to be careful fitting him down into her throat and avoiding teeth by slowing down. She only sped up when it was about half of him in her mouth. Lorraine moaned in return, looking at the curve of his jaw as he drew his head back then brought it back down with closed eyes. He opened them again to look at her and huffed.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby, if you keep it up. Go ‘head and sit up for me.” Elvis breathed, pulling his hips back from her mouth. Lorraine licked her lips as she followed his instructions.

“Where do you want me?” She asked, clearing the hoarseness from her throat.

“Lie on your side with your back to me in the center of the bed,” Elvis said. Lorraine moved again and laid there knowing he would fill the space behind her. His cock poked at her here and there as he adjusted, briefly grabbing at her ass before sliding his hand down to lift up her thigh. “Gimme a kiss, darlin’.” He whispered.

Lorraine lifted her head and flattened her fro, pressing back into Elvis as he cocked his head up then down for their lips to meet. He pressed forward, his wanton lust permeating as they kissed and it deepened. Their tongues curled together and only then did Elvis brush the tip of his length against her sex again. Lorraine reached down between her legs to guide him in and hiccupped as purchase was made. He filled her to the absolute brim, moaning against her lips as he buried the head into her G-spot. Elvis broke the kiss, letting his nose nuzzle the side of her throat and she had almost forgotten until then that he wasn’t just a man.

His hips were slow, unrushed as the late hour of the evening left time to do whatever anyone wanted when everyone was typically asleep. 

“You’ll let me taste you again, won’t you, baby? It won’t hurt for long. I promise.” Elvis whispered, kissing at the side of her neck. 

Lorraine should have been more afraid but somehow she trusted him to not want to hurt her or make her feel bad. She held her leg up and wrenched her hips back as he shifted, reaching a hand around to work at her clit again. She clenched down around him as a moan worked past her lips and he sped up. 

“Okay…” Lorraine agreed, because again he could have anything he wanted as another orgasm bubbled up to the surface.

She was trembling as his hand rubbed a little firmer at her and he rolled them over so she was on more on her stomach than her side. Elvis’ breath was more noticeable then and when her orgasm hit, his teeth were sinking into her. She yelped from a combination of the slight pain that quickly subsided as Elvis’ hips snapped unforgivingly into her. Slapping skin filled the room and her mind was overtaken by complete euphoria that was unlike any drug or climax she ever had before.

Lorraine whimpered helplessly as she heard Elvis moan in between gulps. He slid down close with his weight against her back, snaking an arm around her torso to hold her close. One of his hands was pinned to her hip again, holding her in place as her orgasm settled only to recur. She didn’t know how long that went on, the up and down of cumming until she was too spent to possibly handle it any longer. She panted, trembling as Elvis finally drew his mouth away with his promise in mind to not hurt her. He worried he might make her too lightheaded for her first time and usually first-timers begged for him to continue. Too many years of experience told him that was a bad idea. 

Elvis pulled out, sitting back on his knees and grabbing a cheek to spread her apart to see her abused hole. She turned her head a little more so she could watch him after pushing back her hair unabashedly, his mouth bloodied and his pupils blown. Elvis jerked and pumped his hand around his cock. His heavy-lidded eyes were focused, his mouth hung open as he got closer and closer. Elvis’ face contorted as he came, spurts landing onto Lorraine’s ass and in between to dribble along where she was already dripping from. His hand released her, panting as he caught him on the bed and hunched over Lorraine.

“Fuck, baby,” he said at last.

Elvis looked down at the mess he made and forced himself to straighten up. He moved from where he hovered above Lorraine to lie next to her and blew out a breath. She was still in too much of a daze and he had to reel in his bloodlust while he could.

“I think I’m ready for that interview now…” Lorraine joked, stretching out her legs.

“Tomorrow.” He agreed, leaning over to press a blood-stained kiss to her forehead.

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away - Chapter 2

Summary: By 2025, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship in an alternate dystopian future. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC WC: 5.4K+ Warnings: Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, smut smut smut A/N: Thank you to everyone for their kind words on this story and for engaging with it. I’m having a great time writing for an audience again! I hope you enjoy this one.

Next Chapter

Melody left the laboratory early in the morning, the cool winter air on her cheeks a welcoming feeling. For the last four hours of her shift, she kept replaying the way Elvis’s face looked in the throes of pleasure. She forced herself to be productive, leaving her notes on him unfinished to focus on the next lineup of celebrities that would replace the last five. She sighed as she squeezed her legs to find relief she wouldn’t receive until she was home.

As a relatively lowly and modest scientist, she resided in a split-level home. The basement was her makeshift studio apartment, the main level filled with a family with too many members in it stomping around, and the upper level above that of a married couple. To Melody, they were lucky to have the top floor but she assumed they also paid more. Her dank home required a dehumidifier to run consistently to keep the mold away. The owner of the home had done well to turn it into something relatively cozy and liveable with carpet and wallpaper, but the walls radiated coolness all the same and the ceiling creaked with movement. She slammed the door shut behind her, dropping her tote bag off to the shanty side table that had one leg held up by a paperback. Melody hung up her coat on the rack screwed into the wall, the weight of the day--or night, rather--wash away at last. Still, there was that ache and she wanted to resist giving Elvis the satisfaction he didn’t know he had.

Melody stepped on the back of her boot one after the other to slide them off, reaching back to the door to lock it. She glanced at her bedroom area which was divided by half a wall meant to be a partition between the quaint living room and kitchen. She screwed her mouth to the side as the swollen ache returned, her legs carrying toward her bed. Melody threw herself back onto the all too hard and thin mattress, reaching over into her nightstand for the one thing that could make her feel better. 

Her vibrator buzzed to life with a twist and her hand was shoved into her pants hurriedly. She groaned softly as she found purchase on her clit, her eyes shut as the vibrator was replaced with the idea of Elvis’s tongue. He wouldn’t know exactly what to do with but being the older of the two, Melody would guide him in the same way ‘Jenny’ had. She pictured a fistful of his hair in between the fingers of her free hand, a sigh escaping past her lips. Blue eyes bore into her, holding her gaze and her breaths came a little quicker as her climax wound up. The feeling was quick and harsh, her toes curling as her legs shook until she grew overly sensitive to her toy.

Panting, Melody let the shame wash over her for feeling anything toward a subject. Let alone an inexperienced young man. Her eyes opened as the fantasy dissipated into nothingness, staring up at wooden beams. 

Fuck.

Nothing good could come from viewing Elvis in the way she just did and for the rest of the night, she focused on making dinner and watching a show on her laptop. She was doing a piss poor job lately of shoving down what she believed to be a net negative. 

Melody didn’t see Elvis until the end of the week, once again checking his vitals in person. He more than once requested her company but had been turned down after a game of telephone. His first on-stage appearance was coming up in a matter of weeks and to save all their necks, everything had to be perfect. She entered his home, the heavy door shutting behind her with a click. His housing quarters were a bit warmer than she expected thanks to the old-fashioned space heaters Elvis turned on. 

She found him seated at his piano, playing a few keys but not quite drumming out a tune. He was in a much more colorful short-sleeved shirt for the day--green--with lacy floral patterns that showed bits of his skin here and there. Elvis turned at his waist, looking over his shoulder at Melody. His mouth formed a crooked smile and he scooted over, patting the bench at his side.

“Come sit, Mel. I’ve been practicin’ for the upcomin’ show. It’s not perfect and I know I won’t be playin’ much piano, but maybe I-I can in the future.” Elvis stammered, rambling out his thoughts. His eyes briefly dipped toward the V-neck of her shirt and the cleavage there.

Melody pursed her lips together because she couldn’t be too rigid with him. She would be a liar to say she didn’t like to be doted on. He had no clue what she was feeling and neither was it his fault. Melody obliged him, placing her tablet onto one of the drab cushioned seats. She shrugged out her lab coat because she might pass out if she kept it on between it and her deep red long-sleeved cotton-knit shirt and polyester dress pants. Joining Elvis’s side, their arms brushed one another.

“And how are you feeling today, Elvis?” Melody asked conversationally, watching his long fingers glide over the keys. 

“Well, I had a date earlier this week that was, um, eventful. I’m guessin’ you saw. Like everything else I do.” He answered carefully, his attention back to his playing. 

Melody examined his expression thoughtfully, watching the hue of color sprout onto his cheeks. He was still so young, she thought. His shyness would have been adorable under any other normal circumstances. They were in a lab where he was grown in a test tube and watched every second of his life. Curating what the real Elvis did and became was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. Melody licked her lips and she raised a fingertip to drag it over the smooth white outer casing of the piano. 

“What you did… I can’t say anything negative about it. You have needs. We all do,” Melody paused, choosing her words carefully. “How does it make you feel that I saw what happened?”

Elvis’s brows scrunched up together and his fingers stopped their improvisation. 

“I want to be alone a lot of the time for the sake of privacy. I don’t like it when there’s no one here with me,” Elvis lifted his head to look at Melody. “But, I-I can’t seem to shake the weird feeling that I did somethin’ dirty. That everyone saw me do it. That’s on y’all to watch, but I want to be on my own someday.” He confessed.

Melody searched his eyes as he did to her, a mirror of one another. Elvis wasn’t the first to complain about being stuck in the lab. They were given time to use other parts of the Training Wing. Sometimes it wasn’t enough. They were caged animals being tested on, viewed to be without thoughts and feelings.

“You were made to be this larger-than-life thing and we have to perfect that.” She answered.

“I’m not a thing and can you quit giving me whatever script they keep you on? What do you think? When am I supposed to feel better about being manufactured?” Elvis grimaced. His anger wasn’t truly directed at Melody. There was no one else to take it on at the moment and he valued her insight and criticisms alike. That didn’t mean he knew how to rein in his frustration.

“I have to be mindful about saying what I think. You know this,” Melody urged softly, reaching for Elvis’s hand. She knew he would appreciate the touch. His mouth set into a pout and he drew their hands up to kiss the back of her hand. Elvis held his lips there in thought, glancing at her as the tension wrinkled his brow. “I care about you and your happiness. I can’t control the outcome of my job. Creating you and giving you purpose has been everything I hoped you would be. I wish I could make you happy.”

“What if I want a family? What if I want to be normal like you?” Elvis’s face contorted, anguish written all over it. “What if I’m not meant to be the old me again? Y’all won’t even tell me what happened to the other me and how he died.” 

“We’re under strict rules, Elvis. Rules that extend far beyond these walls. They should have discussed this in your education,” Melody sighed, getting tired of her glacial responses. “I think if you give it time, you’ll come to like being Elvis Presley.”

“I sure as shit hope so. I’ve been playing with a couple of the guys and sometimes they tell me about how excited people are,” he lowered their hands onto his thigh, his foot bouncing up and down. “It’s a lot of songs to cover. I told them I’m only doing ten max for the show because I’ll forget the words if we keep pushin’ to do more.”

“They’ll want you to release and record more than just the old songs,” Melody whispered playfully, wanting Elvis to lighten up.

“Will you be there?” Elvis asked, playing with her fingers. 

“I can try to be, but normally you’d be out of our hands when the time came. It’s an odd arrangement and handover. Let’s just play it by ear.” Melody attempted again. This time she broke the boundary herself, leaning over to press a kiss on Elvis’s cheek. He lifted his head to meet her eyes, his blood pumping a little faster at the contact. Melody didn’t often reciprocate Elvis’s affections and over the past year, he learned to accept it in the best way he knew how. 

“I know I’m not supposed to--” Elvis began.

“Don’t,” Melody whispered, pulling away to stand. She could feel it in her bones what he was going to try to say and what she refused to hear. Elvis had first loves when he was young but for the sake of everyone else that was meant to enjoy his authenticity, that couldn’t be the case. She couldn’t be the case for him. Melody wiped her palms against her pants, the friction a welcome feeling as she glanced toward one of the few cameras perched in a corner. 

“You didn’t know what I was about to say,” Elvis followed, his arms hanging at his sides. 

“You forget that I’m older than you. I’ve lived life to know what you were about to say.” Melody shook her head, shaking out her hands.

“I think if my DNA is from oh so goddamn long ago that I’m the older one here. That’s beside the point, Mel. I-I can’t help what I’m feelin’. It’s tearin’ me up. You’ve been avoidin’ it for months now.”

“Stop talking, Elvis, please,” Melody begged, turning to him with a dour look in her eyes. Elvis opened then shut his mouth, a hard look forming on his face and she knew they were crossing into yelling territory for him. Either that or the silent treatment. Elvis sat down on the couch where she left her things, pursing his lips.

“Do what you have ta and just go. At least schedule for me to go to the music room when we’re done.” He grumbled. 

Melody held back her wince as his disappointment festered into the space. She strongly disliked his sour moods. She shut off the part of her brain that wanted to apologize and make him feel good to simply go back to her job.

⇩

“Alright everyone,” Randall announced to the lab boisterously. “I’ve got tickets for Elvis’s show at the Kennedy Center if you want them. They’ve been so graciously provided by Elvis Presley Enterprises in collaboration with Truman Labs and the Regime. First come, first serve.”

Melody huffed, looking up from her desk where her attention was drawn from. She had obvious reasons for disliking the open floor office arrangement, not a single real cubicle in sight throughout the lab. 

For the better interest of everyone, she passed on her check-ins with Elvis to one of the lower team members. She tried not to check the recordings once she was sure Elvis was acting spitefully. The notes from a few weeks before--just after Melody turned Elvis down--showed he requested another sex worker specifically of her complexion. She tried to repress just how shocked and irritated she found the whole thing to be. Melody did it to herself as she walked along the halls on her rounds to check everyone else’s progress, the video from the overnight shift attached as a file. 

This was the fourth time he was seen by one of the sex workers and the third woman. Her name was noted as ‘Deborah’. She was dressed a little more casually than her counterparts had been, in curve-hugging shorts and a form-fitting horizontally striped T-shirt. Her hair was carefully styled, deep black bumped waves and curls sitting just at her shoulders. The pair danced to records in Elvis’s bedroom, swaying from side to side, and after about twenty minutes he was taking her hand toward the bed. 

“I wanna try somethin’ I’ve been practicin’. You’ve got to tell me if you like it or not, okay?” Elvis asked, directing her to sit on the edge. Deborah parted her smooth legs, tipping her chin to her chest as she looked up at Elvis. 

“What have you got in mind?” She hummed, reaching forward for his trousers. He laughed as he gently pushed her hands away and shook his head dismissively. 

Elvis was a pleaser and since he had discovered the joys of sex firsthand, he originally started with Jenny in his exploration of female anatomy. Sometimes Melody wondered how it may have conflicted with his belief of the Bible though there wasn’t necessarily a church for him to praise inside of or Gladys Presley to scold him. The video continued with Elvis between Deborah’s legs this time around and Melody could swear his eyes drifted up to the nearest camera, a smirk plastered on his face as he helped her undress. He placed her clothes onto the unused leather armchair and turned back, his erection in full view below the surface of his pants. 

Melody bit down on the inside of her cheek as she watched Elvis hover over Deborah, his palms on either side of her while they kissed. She grabbed a hold of his face with both hands, her manicured nails shining under the light. Elvis moaned softly, flicking his tongue at her lips before pressing kisses down the center of her well-endowed breasts. Melody looked down at her own and scrunched up her nose. Elvis kissed from left to right along her stomach and down to the thatch of hair above her sex. He groaned as he slid down onto his knees in front of her, digging his fingers into his thighs to yank her closer.

Deborah’s legs hung off his shoulders, her toned calves held by her toes. She lifted her head in mild surprise but looked as sexed out as Melody hoped to feel. Maybe as much as Elvis wanted to imagine making her feel, too. Melody tried to begin walking again during her rounds, peering into subject number one’s quarters. Deborah’s moans caught her attention, a full head of hair between her legs. Melody changed the camera angle and she let out a shaky sigh as the ache between her legs became uncomfortable. 

Elvis was in full control, his boyish glee lost and replaced with a confident, aroused young man who was after what he wanted. He watched Deborah’s every twitch, breath, and convulsion as his tongue worked wildly against her. The cameras didn’t get a full view of his mouth but one could use their best educated guess. Deborah panted, dropping a hand into Elvis’s greased hair as he pressed forward into her. Her legs began quaking and she threw her head back into the bed. 

Melody turned off the tablet before she could watch Elvis fuck the woman, continuing her walk down the hall with annoyance building in her chest. Since then, Elvis asked to see her and refused to have his vitals checked. The Training Wing team members nipped it in the bud with threats Melody never cared to hear about.

“Ticket?” Randall said, having come to stand in front of her desk. He was holding out one of the few tickets. Melody stood up as she broke free from her thoughts and the load of paperwork she was signing off on.

“Um, I don’t know. I feel like he’s not particularly happy with me,” she excused, slowly taking the ticket. It was printed out like something that could be found in the fifties but much sturdier. 

“You can’t not go,” Randall scoffed at the idea. “You know he gets into these moods. He would regret making you feel like you can’t show. We all know how much he wants you to be there. He’s just exhausted. Soften up on the boy just a smidge.” 

Melody pressed her lips together, showing she didn’t like the idea. Randall’s eyes softened, displaying a sort of understanding that they weren’t supposed to admit aloud. Sometimes she wondered if her promotion over a year ago, above everyone else within the lab, was because of her empathy. She never could fully hide it even if she thought of herself as hardened. She thumbed at the ticket as she held it between her hands and sighed.

“Alright, I guess I’ll see him at the show,” Melody said.

⇩

The nerve-racking part about a subject's first outing into the world was how overwhelming it could potentially be. They might find the potential freedom to be too much after over a year in captivity or the expectations to be too high. Melody worried about every aspect when it came to Elvis. Colonel Tom Parker might have been six feet under but usually an actor or musician’s new manager and team consisted of military members with experience in the entertainment industry. Eyes would be on them under the guise of typical fame and celebrity besides the Regime carefully breathing down their neck. 

Melody arrived at the Kennedy Center nearly an hour before the show was meant to start. She spent too much time perfecting her hair and outfit to want to stay still. Deep down she wanted to speak to Elvis and let him know she came just for him. The dress she spent too much of her savings on was also just for him. The champagne-colored silk fabric left her shoulders out, covering the remainder of her while leaving nothing else to the imagination as it hugged her body. She didn’t know realistically whether or not she would get to see Elvis. The last time they spoke was when she turned him down because of the cameras in the lab. Being at the Kennedy Center was slightly less under surveillance. She walked in alongside uniformed men and women and the rest were Plain Jane civilians who could afford the tickets. 

Melody exhaled as she found her seat on the lower level floors, her heels clicking as she walked, not surprised to see just how close to the stage she was. Truman Labs wanted to keep their people happy and sometimes it wasn’t a raise they received but instead an evening out among the same people they hated. The majority of the audience had yet to file in so as Elvis’s little band of men set up and performed sound checks, he wasn’t on stage and rather peeking his head out to scan what little crowd there was so far. As Melody was shuffling into her mostly empty row, his eyes spotted her first. Within a couple of minutes, a dressed down military member in only their dress shirt and tie tucked into their button-up sporting a headset and clipboard was signaling for her attention. Melody looked around, paranoid that she had done something though she was far from being a vagabond. 

“Madame, can you come with me?” He asked politely.

“Me?” Melody asked warily, standing slowly. She gripped her sparkly clutch and started walking out of the row. When she was closer, he nodded and leaned in close, moving the microphone of his headset from his mouth.

“It’s Mr. Presley. He says that he knows you and wants you to come backstage.” The stagehand nodded again, turning on his heel for her to follow. 

Her heart started racing knowing Elvis had seen her after all. Very sneaky of him since she didn’t have the chance to notice. What was she going to say, ‘break a leg’? Her curtailed feelings weren’t as tapered as she thought. Despite everything, she wanted to be close to him and to give him the normalcy he craved. Her thoughts were going a hundred miles per minute until her escort knocked on the dressing room door.

“Come in,” called Elvis.

Her escort, whose name tape read Draxton, opened the door for her and she smiled politely as she stepped inside. The dressing room looked the same as any other, lacking the same feeling of elsewhere that the Regime was watching at all times. Melody’s eyes took in the room, a seating section off to her right and racks of clothes for Elvis behind it. He was seated across the room in the chair in front of the vanity. Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. The door shut with a click and it became unbelievably palpable that they were finally alone. That took her off guard but she was happy to see they had true privacy.

“You look… Wow, you look just beautiful,” Elvis started, rising from his chair. He was dressed in the same fifties look he would have normally been wearing back at the lab, all black from the jacket, pants, shirt, and striped tie. It wasn’t Melody’s favorite era but fuck, he knew how to wear his clothes. A couple of his fingers were covered in rings now too, accentuating the length of them. “I can’t believe you came. I’m a ball of nerves. I’m ‘fraid everyone is gonna call me a fake or hate the show.” He admitted.

“Thank you, Elvis,” Melody stepped further into the room though Elvis was closing the distance between them. “You’ll feel right at home before you know it. One thing I can tell you is that the original Elvis would feel the same way. It’s why he kept moving, so maybe think of that. Just enjoy and trust yourself.”

Elvis hummed as if he weren’t listening, placing a hand on her waist. He stood over her even with heels and she felt a little smaller and vulnerable being alone with him. Not because she was afraid of what he would do. She was open to him more than she had been in the lab.

“There’s no cameras here,” Elvis muttered, his chin dropping to his chest to catch her eyes.

“That we know of.” Melody protested weakly. She breathed a little heavier as the hand holding her clutch came to rest on Elvis’s arm. He dropped his head lower, pressing a kiss to her temple and down to her cheek. How could he be such a ladies’ man even then? Melody’s breath caught in her throat and her want simmered. 

“We have a little under an hour,” Elvis whispered against her skin. “Everyone’s off runnin’ ‘round like a chicken with its head cut off. We can lock the door.” He said in between kisses, reaching her neck. When the tip of his tongue grazed there, she felt her resolve crumbling. 

“Elvis,” she whispered, using the moment to deny him. She wasn’t pulling away and he knew she felt somewhat safe enough to give herself over to him. Elvis pulled away, taking her clutch for her as he stepped around her. He placed it on the side table between the armchair and couch on his way to the door, twisting the small lock there on the back of the doorknob. “There will be others.”

“What do you mean?” He strolled back over, slipping his arm around her waist to lead her to the waiting couch. Elvis took her closest hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“You’ll meet and want other women,” she excused, a poor attempt at refuting her arousal.

“Not when it ain’t forced onto me. The other times I was bein’ a bit of a little shit. Thought you might get jealous.” Elvis admitted shyly as they sat. From then on, he wasn’t touching her in some way and leaving kisses in his wake.

“You think I didn’t notice?” Melody laughed. The sound faded as his hand rested on her thigh, sliding down to the hem and underneath it.

“I can show ya, make you feel good. Show my gratitude for you and everything you’ve done for me. I want you, Mel. Don’t you want me? You can tell me the truth now.” Elvis breathed, latching his mouth onto the side of her neck.

They were crossing and disrupting far too many ethical guidelines that she thought she was above. Melody felt herself moaning and couldn’t believe it was her making the sound at all. The last man she had been with was well over two years ago after a year-long relationship. She was so deeply invested in her job that she left no other time to engage with any other man. 

“I… I want you. I’ve wanted you for too long. But, I’m not supposed to do any of this. It’s in my contract.” She whispered. 

“Fuck the contract. That’s all I needed to hear.” Elvis grunted. 

He pulled back and brought a hand up to her jaw, directing her eyes to his. She could have moaned from that alone seeing his dominant side come through. He pressed his lips to hers in a harsh kiss, wanting and needing it beyond Melody’s understanding. She turned her body toward him and he caressed a hand along her calf before swinging her legs fully up into his lap. Melody deepened the kiss herself and Elvis curled his tongue around hers, the two of them becoming famished for the other. How much time had they wasted? Melody could have exploded with how content and turned on she was to have Elvis want her as much as she did him. One second they were sitting upright, then lying back the next. Elvis moved over Melody, changing where he was positioned to move between her legs. His fingers slid beneath her dress again, drawing it up to make room for him and expose her cotton thong beneath. His thumb found its way to her clit, circling gently as they continued kissing. 

“Elvis,” she breathed. “I think we’re past foreplay.” Melody broke away, reaching to undo the belt at Elvis’s waist and draw his trousers and underwear down. His fingers slid to her slit where she was more than wet, the fabric of her underwear completely ruined. Elvis sucked in a breath as his fingertips were covered with her arousal, drawing them back up to his lips to taste her. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Whatever you say, honey.” He was nodding, dropping his eyes to watch Melody’s hands free his cock from its confines. Melody’s mouth watered seeing his uncut dick hang heavily in front of her and Elvis sunk, bullying his hips between her legs. She removed her hand from him to pull her thong aside as he held the base of his cock. Elvis watched with parted lips as he rubbed the head against her.

“Go on. You won’t hurt me,” she promised, clasping a hand on the back of her neck. The touch snapped him out of whatever trance he was in as he met her eyes again, saying everything and nothing. He kissed her again, a little gentler before as if realizing she wasn’t going anywhere, and pressed forward to slide into her. The stretch for Melody was a lot after a years-long dry spell and Elvis wasn’t exactly small either. She whimpered into his mouth, pressing her head back into the arm of the couch as he filled her. 

“Melody,” Elvis hissed. 

She forgot it was the first time he was having sex without a condom. Worse, that’s exactly how she liked it and needed him most. Melody wanted to feel every part of him that no other woman had the chance to taint.

“Elvis,” came a knock at the door and a male’s voice. “We need you for a soundcheck here soon.” The knock came a second time at the dressing room door. Melody tensed and tightened up around Elvis but that didn’t stop him. He pumped into her, unrushed as if someone wasn’t at the door looking for him. Elvis sighed, bracing a hand on the back of the couch and leaning on his forearm with the other next to Melody’s head.

“You have to stop,” Melody whispered.

“No, the door’s locked,” Elvis grumbled, stealing a kiss. “Just try not to moan too loud,” Elvis said slowly before smirking. His hand moved to cover Melody’s mouth just as she was about to ask how that would be possible. Elvis bucked into her a bit more hurriedly, the head of his cock driving its way into her G-spot time and time again. She whimpered out against his palm, her eyes squeezing shut as she hooked her leg over the back of his. His clothes were still half on, giving her something to grip onto. Elvis reached between them to lift the hem of his shirt to keep it from getting any of their fluids onto it. His hips pounded into Melody needily, breathing harshly out of his nostrils. “Gimme ten minutes, man! I’ll be out soon.” He finally called back. 

Whoever was at the door must have taken the answer at face value and left. Melody’s first orgasm was already building, like a balloon filling with air ready to pop. Elvis dragged his hand away from her mouth when he felt the coast was clear, settling for holding her jaw.

“Look at me, honey. Are you gonna come? I want you to come. You’re so wet for me. I don’t think I’ll last much longer. You come in here with this dress on and make it hard ta stand up as soon as I see you.” Elvis grunted. Melody swallowed hard, gasping and completely enthralled by his dirty talk. 

“Right there. Don’t move. Oh, my God, Elvis. I’m gonna come. Please, please.” She preened, not sure what she was begging for when Elvis did exactly as she asked. Her legs tightened around him as she shook, trembling with her climax that was out of her hands as Elvis drove into her, hit after hit buried into where she came undone. Melody cried out louder than she meant to, wishing they could afford a second and third orgasm together as she rode out the first one.

“Oh, my God, Mel. Where do you want me ta…?” Elvis asked nervously, his voice layered with want for a very specific outcome. He dropped his head to kiss her exposed neck again, nipping and biting by then. Elvis gripped a hold of her waist then slid his hands to her butt for a handful.

“Inside me, please come inside of me,” Melody moaned. A couple of pumps later Elvis coughed out a final moan of his own at her ear, twitching inside of her as his seed filled her to the brink. 

“Oh, shit.” Elvis panted, doing less to hold up his weight as he caught his breath. He turned his head just enough below Melody’s chin for the sake of fresh air and she raised a hand to smooth his messy hair as they rode the aftershocks of what they had just done.

“How’re we gonna figure this out?” Melody swallowed down air, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hell if I know,” Elvis mumbled, letting his eyes close. “Let’s not think about it. Part a my dreams just came true.” He chuckled.

And that left Melody with the worst feeling, the seed of wanting Elvis to herself against the will of everyone and everything else working against them. What the hell was she thinking? How would they be together when the image of them alone didn’t fit the bill?

“Okay,” she answered meekly, her head filled with unrealistic ideals.

Taglist (please let me know if you would like to be added):

@sissylittlefeather @livelaughelvis @ccab

[buglass]

Me, Me More Cowboy

(A Short Series)

Summary: Based in the mid-1960s, ranch hand Elvis Presley is a new hire to the West Family Farm. He grows irate as cattle and livestock turn up missing over 6 months. Unbeknownst to the ranch, the hippie woman, Lilibet, he sees on occasion in their small town—along with members of her commune—is behind it. An ongoing dispute of right and wrong both morally and romantically ensues as Elvis takes Lilibet up on her offer of viewing things through her perspective.

Pairing: Cowboy!Elvis Presley x Lilibet Stevens!OFC

Chapters: 1/5

WC: ~5.8K

Warnings (for the entire series): Some historical and geographical inaccuracies, fluff, slow burn, no beta reader, mention of DV, cult/commune culture, and smut.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this little spin. The original one-shot will be well over 20K+ words so I’ve broken it up into chapters for the sake of making it bite-sized. The title is based on the hit Brudi Brothers’ song. Please feel free to give feedback or thoughts. Thanks for reading :)

Next Chapter

✧ Chapter 1 ✧

ELVIS

Elvis Presley was a Tupelo boy through and through but the call of Tennessee sounded out to him for some time. Winter had come and gone. Despite his family managing to put food on the table between what they grew and bought, Elvis still felt they struggled to do so. His mama would never admit to it and his daddy was damn near no good about closing the gap. He heard stories of Memphis’ city-like charm and music scene which was out of his depth. The closest Elvis got to music was his guitar and church. The older he got, the more he sought it out and saved up for records he couldn’t bring along the way. There was nothing for him back home besides a quiet life and stagnant progression. 

If he wanted to do something with his life, he had to get out from under his mama’s wing and his daddy’s lazy habits. He had been contributing financially to the household since he was a teenager. Elvis’ parents sent him on his way with a few dollars to hold him over until he could find a job in Memphis and settled for bussing in a diner temporarily until he found pinned, handmade posters for ranch work helping cousins Sonny and Red West on their family farm out in small-town Water Valley—an hour away from Memphis. They promised housing, food, and a moderate income in exchange for work.

When Elvis came to the ranch by hitchhiking, selling his dingy Chevy truck, and using his charisma to his advantage, he first met Red then Sonny. Their families lived on opposite sides of the shared one-hundred-thirty-eight acres, their parents opting to live with their respective grown sons. 

“We’re probably gonna end up buildin’ somethin’ small for the both of us to get the hell outta dodge,” Red scoffed.

That’s what families did, confined by tradition and obligation though both men were in their twenties. The two of them gave Elvis an extensive tour of the property aided by a rusting pick-up truck that rumbled as if it was on its last leg bumbling on dirt roads and uneven paths. The newly built horse stables sat empty which gave Elvis a bit of relief since he didn’t know how he felt about the towering beasts. Elvis rode on the bed in the back, his large pea-colored duffel bag from his time in the Army held between his strong and capable legs as he took in the expansive land. The truck eventually came to a halt outside of the chicken coops, with a few hens and roosters roaming about outside. On the opposite side, goats were corralled and gathered. Some were eating and others looked their way curiously.

“We’ve got a spare bedroom in our house,” Sonny said. “That’s where you would stay.”

“We’ll get ya some better jeans than those, too,” Red added, gesturing to Elvis’ worn and torn pants.

The first month took some adjusting, waking up before the sun and the Spring heat turning to Summer breathed down the back of his neck. He liked handling the animals and watched as they grew used to him, trusting he wouldn’t hurt them. Red and Sonny did explain that sometimes the cattle were sent to and bought by a butcher in town or further away. Same for some of the chickens, but otherwise the West family prided themselves on being strictly dairy-related. The goats came second for their cheese and milk. Their greatest use was clearing the land and clothing production. 

Come Monday, they were loading up cases of bottles of milk from both the cows and the goats to drop off at the corner and grocery store in town. Elvis secured the straps over the cases, making haste to load up. They couldn’t afford to let the milk sour by taking their time and making the drive. Sonny rode passenger after he insisted that Elvis man the wheel. 

“You’ve got that lead foot,” Sonny laughed.

Elvis did enjoy driving fast.

Within twenty minutes, the pair arrived at the storefront and pulled into the paved parking lot. The door to the truck cried out as the old hinges moved and Sonny followed, climbing up the back of the bed. Sonny hoisted himself up with a boot on the top of the rear tire and swung his other leg over the side. Elvis came around to wrench the tailgate down and they moved the cases to the ledge it provided. 

“Go get a dolly, E,” Sonny directed.

“Yes, sir,” Elvis nodded. 

Sonny was three years his junior but that didn’t make him any less his boss. Elvis wiped the condensation of the bottles onto the front of his striped button-up shirt as he started toward the store. Sometimes Mr. Tom Parker, the owner of both the corner store and grocery, greeted them and other times he was too busy in his quaint back office to recall when they would arrive. The bell to the door tolled as Elvis pushed it open, reaching for his cowboy hat with his opposite hand to remove it from his head. The slightly cooler inside was welcome as the air conditioner on the truck was out and rolled-down windows could only provide so much succor. 

The store was filled with shelves that Elvis easily towered over, the slight hum of the plugged-in refrigerators holding beverages and groceries filling the small store for those who didn’t want to make the grueling trip into a fluorescent lighting hell. Behind the counter sat a young, black woman he had never seen before. She was flipping through a magazine long before she noticed Elvis watching her. He wasn’t staring at her solely because of how she looked or what she was, but she was beautiful all in her own right. 

More beauty than his eyes could stand. 

Her cheekbones were high and her long hair was done in two downward braids on either side of her. The outside heat didn’t stop her from donning a cardigan over what he assumed to be a dress, the front of the bunched material cupping at her breasts. She glanced in his direction because of the bell above the door but said nothing to him. When she moved to stand, she left her magazine open and tiptoed around the divide to walk the aisles. A stack of forgotten boxes and an adhesive pricing labeler took up half of an aisle. Elvis caught himself stuck, watching as she casually walked around to the waiting bunch as if minding her business instead of working a job.

“‘Scuse me, miss, is Mr. Parker in the back there?” Elvis asked.

Lilibet squinted at first, not quite looking at Elvis as she had started labeling cans and stacking them onto the shelf. His presence kicked her productivity into gear for what little it was worth. When she finally looked him dead in the eye, she softened as her incivility had nothing to do with Elvis. 

“He is. Want me to go grab him for you?” Lilibet offered, pausing as the pricing gun and large can in her hands went slack.

“I know where his office door is. Hard ta miss,” Elvis chuckled to lighten the mood, showing he wasn’t a threat. The same way he had done to the animals he cared so dearly for. Her large eyes and thick lashes made her look like a fawn he wanted to coo at and placate.

“Have at it,” Lilibet shrugged. She returned to her task as quickly as she spared him a few words. 

Elvis nodded, walking down the same aisle she filled to pass her. She smelled of rosemary and mint as if she carried it in her pockets. Elvis exhaled once he was down at the end and in the corridor where the janitor’s closet, water closet, back door to the store, and Mr. Parker’s office were. He rapped his knuckles against the thick wood and a grunt came from the other side. Elvis grabbed the steely knob and twisted it open to a smoke-filled room a la cigars and the heady smell of body odor of the overweight man propped behind his desk. Elvis stood in the doorway to make it quick so Mr. Parker would ready their payment for both stops there and the grocery store. 

“Good mornin’, Mr. Parker. Just stoppin’ in to let you know we’re rearin’ to bring in some milk. We’ll stop by the grocery store too right after.” Elvis said.

“Good morning, my boy, good to see you. Happy to have anything from the West family. Good quality, too. Come by when you’re done.” Mr. Parker said between puffs, holding the cigar between his lips once he was done speaking. 

“Yes, sir,” Elvis agreed with a polite smile. 

Elvis left the office for the janitor’s closet to grab the dolly knowing he would get an earful from Sonny about the whole thing taking as long as it did. He could bite the bullet with no problem. In the past month, he, Sonny, and Red formed a brotherly bond that included shit-talking without repercussion. Not including the wrestling bouts that broke out and noogies to the top of someone’s head. Red swore they were going to make him go bald if they kept at it. 

“You givin’ a soliloquy in there?” Sonny asked the second he was in view.

“You ever quit bitchin’?” Elvis smirked before he fully got the words out. 

“When you get to work, yeah.” Sonny laughed. 

They stacked the crates one after the other until Elvis figured it was enough. He didn’t want to risk breaking a single bottle to prove a point. His hat stayed in place as he tugged the door to the store open swiftly, using the dolly to catch the door. Elvis wheeled over to the cold section to place the crates in groups of six. He made two more trips before returning to the truck, mentioning to Sonny how Mr. Parker requested to be seen once they were done. 

When Sonny returned, Elvis was sitting in the passenger seat, prompting him to the other side of the truck as he counted through the cash he was given. The truck rocked as Sonny’s large frame slid in beside Elvis.

“You know that girl inside?” Elvis asked soon after.

“Why? Got a problem with ‘er?” Sonny raised a brow, disapproval in his tone.

“The opposite. I didn’t catch her name. Don’t see too many… You know. I grew up with black folks, like kin. I don’t mean nothin’ by it.” Elvis shook his head. He dug his finger into the top of his cowboy hat where it lay in his lap.

“Good. ‘Cause I can’t stand a racist,” Sonny grunted, shifting forward to slide the bills into the back pocket of his jeans.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Elvis wasn’t much of a drinker and was known incontestably as the household homebody. He spent more time with Sonny’s side of the family—his parents and six other siblings. Why did he need to go out when they were their own party? Sonny damn near had to beg Elvis to go out because he needed something to do that didn’t include one of his sisters in his ear or even seeing his one other brother’s face. Red was lucky to be invited at all. Elvis obliged under friendly incumbency. What he quickly learned about Water Valley was that unlike much of the South, black and white people lived relatively symbiotically, especially due to the small population. 

When Elvis was dragged into the only bar in town, he was fully expecting the plain, usual sort of music he found lacking any diverse rhythm and swing he grew up around. The entire place was a mixed bag of company though people somewhat stuck to what they knew besides the performers on the simple wooden stage that was one step up from the creaky floorboards. Elvis lagged, the West cousins wandering ahead grabbing a table. He broke from his thoughts, warmth spreading through him with the realization he was the happiest he had been in some time. Even when he sent most of his money back home to his parents, all the people he knew and loved were the same ones he worked and lived with.

LILIBET

Lizabeth Marie ‘Lilibet’ Stevens was the daughter of two working-class parents and was born in Arkansas. By the time she was old enough to understand how hard her daddy hit her mother and what made her little sisters cry, her mama took them away to colorful Memphis without warning. Her mother scraped by with mere pennies or bills she scrounged secretly from her father. When her calling turned out to be the commune down in Water Valley, Lilibet found new normalcy. The commune made up one big house where most resided, if they chose, and the rest of the surrounding land was covered in what could be seen as shacks or shotgun houses. There were horses which she had loved since she was an itty bitty thing and enough dogs to go around that each family in the commune could easily have two. The chickens weren’t her favorite—they liked to peck and got in the way. The feral cats were her second favorite because some days they weren’t too bad and soft to the touch when they let her pet them.

Everyone had a job or place of some sort to help that was based on winning Godly favor. Not contributing was frowned upon unless someone was injured, sick, or out of sorts. Lilibet didn’t know much else or see anything wrong with how she was being raised or taught to view the world. As of late, she questioned a few things though there was no one she trusted to convey her thoughts. She was in quite the bubble though sometimes someone said something she couldn’t grasp if they referred to somewhere like Memphis. When she had the time or control of the remote to watch one of the only televisions around, she was enthralled by what she read. Some parts about the rest of the world seemed strict but others seemed a lot more carefree than she had been told.

If she were truthful, she was afraid of the rest of the world but so curious about it.

When she was faced with a tan and tall cowboy, she grew nervous the second he entered. For how quickly she saw the man, his blue eyes stuck with her. His type could either be sincere and warm or cold and demeaning. Lilibet was mildly embarrassed to be seen behind the counter reading her magazine to pass the time. The usual rush of morning folks already passed earlier that morning. The lull between the lunch and evening rush typically left her with nothing to do. Being seen as lazy always bothered her. She took a job at the corner store to earn money for herself. Back at the commune beyond the town’s center, everyone shared and did everything together. 

As she entered her twenties, she began resenting her mother’s preferred way of living she and her two other sisters had been dragged into. While she respected her mother’s decision to leave their abusive father, she accidentally entered another abusive relationship by becoming a part of what some might say was a cult. The rest may have called it free-thinking, but sometimes boundaries were overstepped where the men benefitted more than the women. She didn’t want to think about how misogyny still managed to taint their upbringing and home.

As Lilibet got closer to the gentleman, her eyes dropped to his long fingers which worked against the brim of his cowboy hat. When she did finally raise her eyes just enough, she was too shy to hold his gaze but managed to soften her features. She went back to labeling the forgotten cans she left in the aisle before he spoke. His voice was a lot deeper than she expected it to be. Gentler, too. When he disappeared to the back, she wished she asked his name since they would see each other again in due time.

The time came two weeks later during an outing with some of the only other young women in their twenties—Corinne, Grace, and Morrow (her parents were hippies through and through). They were seated at the bar, leaning forward onto forearms as they all spoke excitedly and giggled. After already sipping down their first drinks, they were all unbelievably chatty. Lilibet liked to just listen since Corinne and Morrow had the most to say and everything was dramatic and heightened. The two of them liked to play off of the other. Lilibet was turning in her seat as the music on the small half-round stage drew her attention. The first week after she encountered Elvis—Mr. Parker informed her of his name after asking if she should expect deliveries—she stopped expecting to see him. Eventually, through word of mouth, as most news traveled in a small town, she learned he worked on the West Farm which was nearly half an hour away by car. 

No wonder why she never saw him. 

But she did that night for the first time since their original encounter. Last week, he wasn’t with Sonny for the drop-off. Instead, Sonny’s brother took Elvis’ place. She tried to mind her business to hide her disappointment. Elvis was standing near the doorway of the bar, unable to notice Lilibet with how many people filled the bar that Saturday night. Nearly all of the town could have filled the place, especially once someone looked up to see there was a second floor slightly shrouded by dim lighting and the thick railing blocking seated bodies. She crossed one leg over the other, smooth skin gliding under her linen dress and her faded, hand-me-down cowgirl boots knocking together. Lilibet bumped her elbow into Grace at her side.

“There’s that Elvis guy I was tellin’ you about. Don’t be too obvious,” Lilibet said, holding her straw at her lips.

“You told me dark hair, handsome, and white. How am I s’posed to point him out in here?” Grace snorted, turning her chair to look around the bar.

Lilibet waited until Elvis was seated and she glanced around before pointing in his direction. She thought she was caught when Elvis’ head shifted in a way that could have been mistaken for being in their direction. She wasn’t sure because he didn’t make a show of holding her attention. Lilibet dropped her eyes and turned back toward the bar again, clearing her throat.

“Oh, he is handsome. Makes for eye candy in this cesspool of a town,” Grace smiled, proud of her sarcasm. Her name shouldn’t fool anyone. She was mouthy and confident. Lilibet swore she could read her mind because everything she kept inside always found its way fumbling past Grace’s lips.

“He’s a farm hand. I’ve never seen him here.” Lilibet used her straw to stir her drink.

“We’ve barely been here before,” Grace reminded her. “West Farm, that farm? Lots of people in the commune don’t care for them. Says they slaughter their animals haphazardly.” 

“Really?” Lilibet asked, not knowing any better. Neither of them did. “I wouldn’t’ve taken him as the type to get his hands that dirty.”

“Those animals deserve better than being someone’s food,” Grace said firmly.

Lilibet should have summed it up as Grace being drunk rather than a good idea yet she agreed. Most things were easier when everyone agreed. Worse, Lilibet was one of the few in the commune who partook in eating meat. She was a little hypocritical but she could empathize better with a cow than she could with a chicken. Then, that’s when the conversation spread to Morrow and Corinne who were also convinced the moral decision would be to free the West Farm cattle. In the back of Lilibet’s mind, she thought it was asking for trouble but they were preached at about how they should follow their hearts and do the right thing. How did they know the cows were being sent to slaughter? 

Lilibet had never even laid eyes on the farm herself.

“Maybe we should think on this. We hardly know where to go to get there and how will we get there,” Lilibet cut in.

“Borrow a car,” Morrow offered with a snap of her fingers.

“My boyfriend has one.” Corinne nodded.

“The horses?” Grace suggested.

“They’ll hear them clunkin’ ‘round once y’all take off with ‘em. This is one big mess waitin’ to happen. I don’t want any part of it. I couldn’t face gettin’ in trouble. My mama would be beside herself.” Lilibet shook her head, having started on her third drink in the past half an hour.

“You’re bein’ such a normy square, Lil,” Morrow cracked a smile.

“A square that won’t be in jail for the night. Sheriff Schilling might be a nice man but he can be a piece of work.” Lilibet said.

Lilibet fussed about the idea even as they saddled up. Their horses, belonging to the commune as a whole but generally untouched at the hour it was, were tied up outside in the bit of grass and alongside the building where riders could tie their horse’s reins. Somehow driving a car was far worse than drunkenly steering a horse. Corinne was the only one with a vague idea as to where the farm was. Lilibet stayed quiet on the matter as they rode at a steady gallop. Lilibet didn’t know why went with them. Her guilt would have eaten at her if something happened to her friends otherwise and she wasn’t there to stop it. Then again, the world was spinning and she was lucky her horse, Chip, was as cooperative as he could be.

The next hour was a blur of large animals, wind in her face and hair, and vomiting off the side of Chip. She was fortunate to find the softness of a bed and pillow on her face when it was all over. 

ELVIS

“I can’t believe this shit,” Elvis snapped. “I-I swear we secured that gate. There is no way in hell.”

When the news was brought to him about the cattle, one of Sonny’s sisters had been the one to find that some of their cattle strayed from their pasture and passed it on to Red’s side of the family and Sonny directly. Not only did she see it for herself but there were phone calls and a house visit by Water Valley cops responding to concerns. 

“It’s not your fault, E. Can’t be. Besides, there could have been any number of us that done it. Don’t let it get you down. All we can do now is go out and round ‘em up. Any good with a rope?” Sonny asked seriously, his brow crinkling deep in thought.

They stood outside along one of the dirt roads of the property and Elvis grimaced, knowing what was coming next. He had yet to fully acquaint himself with the horses, sure they could smell his fear and would react poorly to his wary disposition. 

“Aw, hell, Sonny,” Elvis breathed. “No better time than the present to become skilled at somethin’.”

“That’s the spirit. Good man,” Sonny clapped a hand on his back.

“‘Good man’,” Elvis mocked as they started toward the horse stables.

The mistake Elvis and the West family made was assuming the cattle escaping was a mistake. Because when it happened a second and third time, it made no sense for any of them to be so careless. None of them enjoyed having to convince the cows back home. Even with the aid of a herding dog, it was a pain in the ass. Production and profits slowed down every time they thought they were in the clear. One night, Elvis took it upon himself to stay up, shotgun in hand and a chair poised toward the pasture the remaining cows resided. The first few nights, there was nothing and eventually shifts were exchanged and taken over by West family members. 

Nothing then, too.

Weeks passed with nothing until he encountered any trace of someone risking being shot for a statement. That night, he was dozing off as he became fairly complacent about the whole thing. The sound of Earth being displaced by heavy, hooved movement caught his ear. At first, he thought he was dreaming it up for how quickly it stopped and crickets chirped in the cooling summer heat. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, damp with sweat and tickled with an anxious trigger finger. He had always liked guns. The way they made him feel in control and unafraid of the rest of the world. 

Elvis moved to stand, almost tipping the lantern next to his boot, and he squinted in the dark, beginning to raise and cock the shotgun just below his chest.

“If anyone is out there,” Elvis shouted in the dark, black night. The only visible beings under the moonlight were the white spots on the cows and the grouped shadows surrounded by harrowing trees. “You’d better think carefully unless you wanna be shot!”

Silence at first, practically nothing and so loud of a nothing that Elvis’ ears rang painfully. There was some trotting he heard going the opposite direction, fading into the distance. The slow steps that did come his way seemed to hesitate, hooves starting then stopping before turning away and fading into the night as well. Elvis’ throat bobbed as he held his breath, waiting to confirm he was alone again with the cattle. 

He exhaled only then.

LILIBET

Lilibet was losing sleep and not solely because the venture of freeing West Farm cattle was a late night job. Somehow her friends got more people in on the idea. More wasn’t a lot but it was enough. Corinne’s boyfriend was a deep believer in doing the right thing, so much so it bordered on wrong because of it. Morrow’s fraternal twin brother joined, too. Lilibet felt it was mostly out of brotherly love for his sister than actual interest. As for Lilibet, even three months later she still felt inclined to keep an eye on everyone and mostly without drinking. When she laid in her bed at night, she thought about the ruckus their actions caused. Sure, some of the cows were on the loose but she felt terrible. 

The horses shouldn’t have been ridden so late and neither should any of the West family been trapped taking shifts for their cause. She recalled seeing Elvis, slumped in his chair sleeping when he could before the sound of the horses woke him. What little bit of light came from the lantern covered him in shadows once he stood up and took half-assed aim. Lilibet’s group was too far away for any real damage but it wasn’t worth being seen or discovered.

“You heard ‘im. We’re goin’ home. Go and I’ll be lookout in case they send someone for us,” Lilibet whispered to her fellow riders.

She watched them disperse into the trees and when she turned back, Elvis was there and stern. Lilibet wanted to tell him the truth. Every time since then when she saw him in town making deliveries as needed or shopping for himself, she wanted to say something that wasn’t a quick hello or a quick goodbye. She lacked the courage and convention to open herself up to him. There was no way either of them were alike. What could they speak about or have in common? Lilibet led Chip forward a few times before shaking her head and turning away to trot after her friends.

Days passed since then and she was firm in her belief that she wanted no part in continuing. A message was sent but playing with the livelihood of the richest family in town was a looming threat waiting to come down on them. 

When Elvis came into the corner store later in the week, he saved the pleasantries and beelined for the register. Lilibet sat straight, his brows rising as he held his hat between his hands as normal. 

“Hi, Lilibet. I know this is gonna sound intrusive, but I’ve got to ask you somethin’. I hope you know I don’t mean ta offend ya,” Elvis said.

None of it sounded good, not as good as their rapport as of late. Though her guilt sat on the outskirts of every waking minute and thought, she enjoyed passively getting to know Elvis. They had yet to dive into one another’s lives but she felt something deep within her chest every time they locked eyes. She disregarded it as her own delusions and fantasies but the hunger in Elvis’ eyes couldn’t have been imagined. Sometimes he caught his eyes dipping to her lips when she spoke and his own would part subconsciously. What little hope she had to feel his strong, scarred hands on her was replaced by common decency and understanding that politeness didn’t directly mean anything. 

A sweat broke out across Lilibet’s nose.

“Yeah, okay. What is it?” she asked, dog-earing the page of her latest magazine read.

“Would anyone where you live be prone to showin’ up at the farm? I mean, I know you told me that the community is very…liberal. Nothin’ wrong with that but I can’t see why else we’re bustin’ our asses to get these cows back.” Elvis grimaced, toeing the line of treading carefully and downright accusing the commune.

Lilibet never outright spat it out that her commune was filled with hippies but anyone could see it or speak on it. The commune loved it when people did ask questions because the more the merrier. The more in touch someone was with God and a higher power, the more free they would be. That’s what they would say but Lilibet felt the iron fist of the commune around her throat at times. Her mother was so quick to please that the amount of things Lilibet or her sisters were lended out to do in the hierarchy soured her feelings about their beloved home.

“I think you should speak to the Community Leader if you have any concerns. I can’t speak on it or others’ beliefs,” Lilibet said meekly. 

“I don’t think I could ever truly say I knew you were holdin’ back until now. Now, I’m sure what it looks like, Little Bet.” Elvis said, using the nickname he had chosen for her. His voice was laced with warning and sickeningly rich sweetness that twisted her insides and dropped between her legs. Her face grew hot as she met Elvis’ eyes and knew then he could see her. She was flayed by him to the bone, unable to hide the hand she had been dealt.

“Where can I find this Community Leader?” Elvis pressed, his brow furrowed in contempt.

“It’s easier to show you—”

“Show me.” Elvis said firmly.

With a sign left on the door noting Lilibet’s projected return, she prayed Mr. Parker would stay put in the grocery store for the remainder of the day and not fire her. Elvis came into town by horse so that was their only means of travel to the commune. There were worse things—such as walking. Lilibet wore a long, patterned dress that pooled just at the top of her boots. Elvis was a gentleman, asking if she was sure about riding forward, and helped her up onto the saddle.

“What’s her name?” Lilibet asked, cooing at the horse while petting.

“Prestige,” Elvis said, grunting as he climbed behind Lilibet. “She’s also a pain in my ass. We get along when we can.” 

It was the closest the two of them had ever been outside of face-to-face conversations. The already beaming sun felt hotter, its flames licking at her shoulders as the heat of Elvis pressed into her rear and upper back. The sleeves of Elvis’ shirt rode up as he reached for the reins, steering Prestige in the opposite direction of West Farm. 

“What if you’re wasting your time?” Lilibet asked after ten minutes. At the pace they were going, they had time for a bit of chit-chat. 

“And what if I’m right? I may not know you, Little Bet, but I think it’s safe to gather who is comin’ ‘round to my doorstep at night.” Elvis said above her, eyes dropping to his company. Sweat had long since formed between them but there wasn’t much either of them could do to lessen it. Lilibet’s less pure thoughts faded into discomfort riding in the Summer heat, temporarily put at bay by tree cover. 

“If it’s nighttime, how can you tell?” She asked.

“Can’t, but it’s a feelin’ I can’t shake. Bit of common sense helps, too. Anyhow, this is why we’re goin’ to speak to your Community Leader and this will soon be water under the bridge. Won’t it, Lil’?”

“I—” Lilibet began. 

Prestige was startled by something neither of them could see. With Lilibet’s familiarity of horses, she gripped the reins as Prestige reared back onto her hind legs. Elvis, who lacked the instinct and force of habit, flew back hard into the ground and got the wind knocked out of him. 

“Whoa, girl!” Lilibet commanded, steering her away from whatever was on the ground and Elvis. She didn’t want to see him get trampled in the process. Lilibet grit her teeth as she pulled hard at the reins and directed Prestige off to the side. A snake was slithering away and out of view by the time she could calm the horse down and hop off. 

“Stay,” Lilibet pressed, hurrying to tie the reins to a low-hanging branch. 

She rushed her way over to Elvis who hardly moved but when he did, he blinked as if he weren’t all there. He groaned as he gained consciousness and her heart hurt further. They should have never touched their cattle. 

“Oh, my God,” Lilibet whispered, bringing her palms to either side of Elvis’ cheeks.

“Told you she was a no-good sonofabitch,” Elvis croaked, letting his eyes shut. 

“At least you’re talkin’,” Lilibet said frantically. “Can you move?”

“I could but goddamn, I don’t want to. Head stings somethin’ terrible right now.”

“Okay. Just… Try not to move too much.” Lilibet breathed shakily.

“I think my head is bleedin’. My stomach is turnin’ just thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Elvis breathed, opening his eyes to look at Lilibet. 

She was moving without hesitating, tearing a part of her dress to create makeshift gauze. Lilibet told him to stay calm while she folded the wrap and placed it beneath his head. When his eyes fluttered shut, she panicked and shook at his shoulders.

“Elvis? Elvis!”

[buglass]

Me, Me More Cowboy

Chapter 3

Summary: Based in the mid-1960s, ranch hand Elvis Presley is a new hire to the West Family Farm. He grows irate as cattle and livestock turn up missing over 6 months. Unbeknownst to the ranch, the hippie woman, Lilibet, he sees on occasion in their small town—along with members of her commune—is behind it. An ongoing dispute of right and wrong morally and romantically ensues as Elvis takes Lilibet up on her offer of viewing things through her perspective.

Pairing: Cowboy!Elvis Presley x Lilibet Stevens!OFC

Chapters: 3/5

WC: ~6.4K

Warnings (for the entire series): Some historical and geographical inaccuracies, fluff, slow burn, no beta reader, mention of DV, cult/commune culture, and some smut.

A/N: Things kick up a little more here finally. Thanks for reading my new comfort characters lol <3

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✧ Chapter 3 ✧

ELVIS

He was nervous—couldn’t-stop-shaking-nervous to perform that night knowing Lilibet would be watching. Any number of the Wests could say they heard him singing in or around the farm. That was nothing. They had become his family and left him complacent about singing around them. But the town and Lilibet were different. Elvis was prepared to sing Hank Wiliams’ Hey Good Lookin’ and Ray Charles’ version of I Love You So Much It Hurts. Both were musical giants he was taking and putting his spin on. 

Some part of him thought Lilibet might not show. What if she felt obligated because of their agreement? If her flirtatiousness were also obligatory then he would spiral. Lilibet seemed genuine enough. Rarely did she ever not tell him how it was. 

“What if I forget the words?” Elvis breathed out, straightening the ascot beneath his black button-up shirt to match his all-black get-up in the mirror. Maybe he was taking too many notes from Johnny Cash’s book. Sonny was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. 

“You drive a song into the ground when you like it. You won’t forget and even if ya do, you’re still one helluva singer, E. Besides, I think you’re more worried about what that girlfriend of yours thinks,” Sonny smirked.

“She’s not my girlfriend yet. I want to ask her tonight but I don’t want her to feel bad for me if I make a fool of myself up there.” Elvis huffed, smoothing his gelled hair back. 

“I think you’re worried for nothin’—”

“You’re worried for nothin’,” Elvis mocked.

And by the time the hour struck nine, they were out the door and various West family members drove down to the bar in different vehicles. Sonny’s family easily filled one truck, some riding in the bed. By nine-thirty, he was taking the stage and most patrons were already seated as he took out his guitar and settled in behind the microphone. He let out a breath, stepping back as he checked his guitar was tuned, and coyly scanned the audience. Had he come earlier, he might have gotten to see Lilibet and speak to her. Elvis wasn’t sure if it would make his nerves any better or worse to know where she was. Every other face, while familiar, wasn’t hers. 

He cleared his throat with no real previous warm-up and stepped toward the microphone again. “Good evening, everyone, thank y’all for being here whether purposely or accidentally. I’m gonna sing a couple tunes and then after that, if you hate ‘em, I’ll be out of your hair. Enjoy,” Elvis said.

LILIBET

She didn’t mean to be shrouded in one of the darkest parts of the bar, but the place was only so big. Lilibet thought Elvis might show up before his actual showtime but she was twenty minutes early and he was nowhere to be found. When he did walk in, he beelined for the stage. She watched as he calmly searched the above floor and below, not quite finding who or what he was looking for. Lilibet was seated with Morrow, convincing her they should go to the top floor and stand against the wooden railing. Elvis was too busy tuning his guitar to see her at first. When he spoke into the mic, she switched her perspiring drink into her opposite hand as she leaned forward. Elvis would have to look up to his right to see her but with only two songs, the time would fly.

“This is Hank Williams’ Hey Good Lookin’,” Elvis introduced before strumming on his acoustic guitar. 

Lilibet might have been drunk or merely in love but she didn’t expect Elvis’ voice to sound as raw as it did. Of course, his country twang was expected but his voice wasn’t as nasally as Hank Williams. Elvis’ voice was guttural and deep, changing pitch based on the emotion behind it. Lilibet felt something click in her brain that she had been withholding for months since they met. She wanted to touch and hold Elvis in the same ways he had shown interest but was too timid to openly request of him. Her lips parted and Morrow bumped her elbow into her.

“When are you gonna tell him how you feel?” Morrow pestered.

“I don’t wanna go down that rabbit hole. The last thing I need is to read the whole thing wrong,” Lilibet said. Soon after, Elvis was ending the short song and as if his ears were burning, his eyes finally found Lilibet. Elvis smiled wide as their eyes met and Lilibet instantly began smiling too. Morrow raised a brow, her suspicions confirmed.

“And what was that?” Morrow tested.

“Just a hello,” Lilibet dismissed.

“Right, sure it was.”

Elvis rolled into his next song, a ballad that Ray Charles put his irrefutable charm and voice on that no one could usually copy. Elvis was good at not quite imitating and making it his own. When his eyes drifted toward Lilibet again, his particular choice of lyric made her blush and she suddenly had to sip her drink. Maybe they were dancing around the inevitable. Lilibet would be lying to herself if she believed Elvis cared anymore about ratting her out to the Sheriff. 

The rest of the bar looked as tantalized as she felt. Lilibet’s eyes wandered to widowed Mrs. Declan who often drank her sorrows at a table, puffing on a cigarette with a long filter. She usually couldn’t hold her tongue the same way she couldn’t hold her liquor. Her eyes drifted to the table over to the Pardison brothers, the local roustabouts who brought more trouble than good and kept the Sheriff busy. Though Lilibet had to admit, they were generally kind despite their ways of life. Lilibet let her eyes drift back to Elvis once he finished the song and plucked out the last few chords on his guitar. Applause broke out around the bar from bottom to top. Elvis tipped his head and leaned into the mic one last time.

“Thank you very much. Have a good night, y’all,” Elvis smiled, stripping his guitar from his body. He stepped aside to put his guitar away into its case before standing below where Lilibet was. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, please let down your hair.”

“You’ve got all the ladies eyeballin’ you,” Lilibet called down, tonguing her straw between her lips again. 

Morrow laughed at her side, leaning in to whisper she would give them time alone, and left. It was true, like big cats waiting to pounce, ladies she knew of passively from the town followed his every movement. Elvis held his hands onto his waist as the jukebox in the corner next to the bar kicked up again. 

“That includes you, doesn’t it?” Elvis smiled up at her. Lilibet tapped a finger against her chin and shrugged dramatically.

“I plead the fifth,” Lilibet said.

“Oh, no, you can’t go quiet on me now. I’ve got to hear what you think.”

Lilibet didn’t want to admit what she thought. Elvis’ dark features and clothing made his eyes stand out like never before. She was starting to grow tired of the ache permeating deep within her. 

“If you won’t come down, then I’ll come ta you,” Elvis waved a pointed finger, decided. 

He climbed the steps up to the second floor making Lilibet’s heart lurch in her chest. She put her near-empty glass aside on the closest table, smoothing her clothes. Lilibet had taken the advice of Morrow and Corinne to change her look to entice Elvis. Her usual plaits were undone to leave her hair in a stretched state down her back, kept out of her face with a thick headband. Wearing a halter top and a skirt felt out of her depth. As Elvis approached, she saw the hunger in his eyes she often tried to deny was there. Lilibet was emboldened by her cocktail and held eye contact even when he pressed a warm hand to her bare side. Even with her platform heels, Elvis towered over her. 

“My Rapunzel,” Elvis said sweetly, bringing his free hand up to brush at her hair. Lilibet shivered, both soon leaning into the wooden railing together. “What did ya think?”

“You’ve been holdin’ out on me is what I thought. I think you should be up in Nashville makin’ music and not breaking your back anymore.” Lilibet smiled, straightening to hold her hands on Elvis’ waist. For the first time, she was making a move and showing him she had the same level of interest. 

“Both songs make me think of you,” Elvis expressed openly. “Lil’ Bet, I can’t keep pretendin’ I don’t feel anything for you. That you make me want to do backflips. When you say jump, I would ask ‘How high?’. What do I have ta do to make you see that I wouldn’t hurt you? That’s it, right? You’re afraid that I wouldn’t do right by you.”

Lilibet wasn’t ready for the earful but it had to be heard. She bit down into her bottom lip, knowing Elvis had an inkling about her reservations. Since they had been spending time together, at some point she let it slip how her father was the kind of man she never wanted to attract. 

“I don’t know that you won’t hurt me,” Lilibet tilted her head.

“You don’t but you know me. You know where my heart is. Even when I get pissy and upset, I would never lay a hand on you,” Elvis breathed, the hand playing with her hair resting on the side of her neck. “I have fallen for you and if I gave a shit about what either of us looked like, I wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. So, what’s holdin’ you back? Do you not want me?”

“I do… I just want you to mean it. I also don’t want the Community Leaders to get involved in us. My mama would start gettin’ them involved and criticizing. Pressing you and it’s uncomfortable. I’ve seen how they try to get people to change and convert to their beliefs.” Lilibet searched his eyes, waiting for the pin to drop.

“I do mean it. I can handle a couple of hippies,” Elvis paused. “Free-thinkers, Lilibet. You’re a big girl and I’m a big boy. What I care about is whether you have feelings for me. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Lilibet sighed, the weight of it falling away. 

Elvis said nothing as he lowered his head, allowing Lilibet a chance to pull away if she wanted. His lips were plush against hers, leaving the skin there buzzing. Lilibet let a whimper out as Elvis parted her lips with a slip of tongue to deepen the kiss. How had she gone months without kissing him? Lilibet fisted Elvis’ dress shirt, pulling him closer as he cradled her face between his large hands. She was scared because she knew she was falling for Elvis, too, if she hadn’t already. Elvis broke away first, his thumbs swiping affectionately along her cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And whenever you’re ready to love me, I will be here for you.”

Lilibet swallowed past the forming lump in her throat as she caught her breath. 

“What does that mean for us?” Lilibet asked slowly.

“Whatever you want it to mean. Besides, honey, you can’t shoot me down when Spot and I have a date tomorrow,” Elvis grinned.

“Oh, is that what it is? Wanting to keep your relationship with Spot ongoing. I see through your game,” Lilibet laughed, her eyes crinkling at their corners.

“Well, you haven’t run for the hills yet.”

“Good point. I don’t think I will,” Lilibet said. Elvis nodded in obvious amusement before his eyes dropped below then landed on the jukebox.

“Dance with me?” Elvis asked, his eyes landing on her again.

“I would love to,” Lilibet agreed easily, the light in her eyes remaining for the rest of the evening.

Sunday morning was an attack on Lilibet’s senses. Not because she drank too much, but it was too early after a long night of dancing and drinking and the loud, blaring buzzer of her alarm was deplorable. Elvis was the perfect gentleman with no expectations or implications dropping her off at home. Lilibet thought he was with a group of people but somehow managed to pull off being alone with her. In her weariness, she still mustered the courage to lock lips with Elvis and bid him a good night. Having sex with him would not involve her mother being under the same roof. 

She dragged herself out of bed to look somewhat presentable, opting for overalls with a T-shirt, boots (of course), and a bandanna to keep the morning dew from frizzing up her hair—either way, her braided, signature pigtails did most of the work. Lilibet replayed the weight of Elvis’ hands all over her, tempted but tame. He would kiss her bare shoulder as they danced, holding one of her hands close to his chest as they swayed. When there was just enough space between them, he would look her straight in the eye and smile like he had all the time in the world. Lilibet had been keeping the most obvious secret close to her chest and now it was out. Elvis was the reason she could drag herself out of bed and feel proud to spend her time wisely. 

Her beliefs and belief system began to slip, its woven web in her life losing value and meaning. When she thought about the commune, she supposed it was because she knew it was a cult. The benefits were held over everyone’s head like a weighted blanket. When you were comfortable, it felt amazing. When someone didn’t expect it, how suffocating and calamitous it felt. But they saved her, her sisters, and her mama, so they owed them their lives or some semblance. Lilibet didn’t know anything about being on her own except she needed money. That was why she worked for Mr. Parker in the first place. She meant to explain to her family that she wanted to be on her own, but she was still working on that part.

 Lilibet was seated on the front step, chewing at the skin of her bottom lip when Elvis drove up. He parked a ways back so the dust wouldn’t kick up from the wheels. He looked like his usual self, freshly washed jet black hair tucked away under a cowboy hat, worn jeans, and a carton of eggs in hand. Elvis smiled, bleary-eyed and looking as tired as she felt. Lilibet pushed onto her feet, wanting to cave into the idea that they return to bed. They were adults and she liked to believe that they were capable of only sleeping. 

“What’s this?” Lilibet gestured toward the carton.

“The quickest gift I could find on short notice,” Elvis explained, handing the carton to her. 

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did. These are without a favor being needed or obligation. So, what’s on the agenda today?” Elvis rubbed his palms together. His eyes wandered over to the landscape, some friendly faces milling. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Lilibet asked on a whim. Elvis’ head snapped back to her, his eyes momentarily going wide. Though he was in his late twenties, he looked more boyish than she had ever seen in his shocked state. 

“Inside… To your bedroom? That I’ve only seen once under dire circumstances?” Elvis stammered.

“Are you ‘fraid a little girl is gonna bite you?” Lilibet teased.

“Your mama won’t shoot me, will she?” Elvis gave her a look that told her to zip it. 

“The plan is the chapel down the road, but service doesn’t start for another few hours. So, our options are slim. I think I would like to lie down in bed again for a few more hours,” her lips twitched into an unwanted smirk. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Mm,” Elvis cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah, it’s alright with me if it’s alright with you, honey. Whatever you want. Church will be good. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Well,” Lilibet said as she turned for the front door. “Hold your horses and you’ll tell me what you think. It’s still all a part of you understandin’ this place. I remember church as a girl, you know.”

The two of them stepped inside the house and Lilibet moved a little quieter. The floorboards creaked under their weight as they shuffled in. Lilibet stepped out of her boots, curling a finger for Elvis to follow her to the kitchen to put the eggs away on the counter.

“You still are a little girl,” Elvis huffed.

“You know what I mean,” Lilibet sucked her teeth, brushing past Elvis. He grabbed her arm and quickly loosened his hold.

“Nothin’ they do or say can scare me much. I’ll take it in stride.” Elvis dismissed.

“Good. You’ll see, but,” Lilibet lowered her voice. “For now, stop stompin’ ‘round and take off your boots.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elvis agreed, dropping his head to steal a kiss. 

There went that fluttering in Lilibet’s chest again. She wanted to chase it as Elvis stepped away, his footsteps much lighter before shucking off his boots. He held them in one hand, thinking better than to leave a pair of unaccounted men’s boots at the door. Lilibet led the way upstairs, knowing every whine and screech the steps would make depending on where she stepped. She was grateful her bedroom was the closest to the stairs, and once Elvis followed in after her past the threshold, she shut the door with a click and turned the lock. Exhaling slowly, she undid the hook of her overalls on one side and the next. Elvis set his boots down at the end of the bed, walking around to the opposite side to sit. His hat followed, leaving it to hang on the post of the bed frame. Lilibet wondered how he managed to look as sure and confident in everything he did. 

“I’m gonna change back into my pajama shorts. Don’t look,” Lilibet warned. Elvis had yet to turn to look at her since he sat down on the bed.

“I won’t. I’m not.” Elvis answered plainly.

Lilibet was quick, relieved to be out of the material and in something silkier. She left her bandanna in place out of laziness as she climbed into bed beneath the covers. The two of them would fill her full mattress when she took up one side of it as it was. 

“Can I look now? And… If I’m honest, I don’t wanna wear my outside clothes in your clean bed,” Elvis said over his shoulder.

“You can look, I’m decent,” Lilibet whispered. “You can take off what you’re comfortable with. I hate not bein’ able to sleep because of somethin’ I have on.” 

She caught sight of Elvis’ raised brow and smiled. Elvis turned just enough to look at Lilibet before hooking a finger into one sock, then the other. She watched for the first time as Elvis stripped down in front of her. He stood up to pull his pants off, folding them haphazardly into a makeshift pile beside the bed. 

“Should I take off my shirt?” Elvis asked politely, turning to face her. Lilibet found it difficult to keep her focus on the more appropriate places. His hands were paused at the highest button, waiting for her response. She shut her mouth when she realized she was staring and poorly shrugged off the question.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

ELVIS

Lilibet’s poor, virgin heart. She was adorable and the problem was he liked to make her squirm. Could he sleep in his clothes if he had to? Sure, but he wouldn’t miss the chance to be close to her. He kept his shirt on because he was sure Lilibet would burst into flames if he bared any more skin. Elvis kept his eyes on her while he watched hers dart down then up and back again. He liked it, he liked knowing she was looking and that she wanted him. He slid underneath the covers, lifting his arm to coax her to his side. Lilibet pressed into him, her limbs spilling over him as the mattress accommodated the extra body. He thought he was warm, but Lilibet was a human space heater working overtime.

“Should I open a window?” Elvis rumbled, his fingertips rubbing up and down on the arm on his chest. 

“No, no, this is okay,” Lilibet squeaked. 

She was soft and always warm. Lilibet always smelled like mint and rosemary. Being as close as she was, he could smell it in her hair as if she used some kind of organic shampoo. Elvis couldn’t have been happier despite the tension ongoing at the farm. Not a single cow had been lost since he confronted Lilibet but there were losses. Most of the cattle they could wrangle back and some were attacked by predators out in the woods. Sonny told him they were looking to convict whoever the perpetrator was and he kept his mouth shut. The West family, he learned, could hold a grudge for as long as they still breathed. When he spoke to his mother on the phone, he vented to her honestly. She was one of the only people he could express frustrations or worries to. Naturally, she told him to do the right thing until he divulged that the woman he cared for was a part of it. 

“Life is never as simple as we want it to be,” his mother lectured.

And like always, she was right. 

That left Elvis with no straight answer and in Lilibet’s bed because he wanted to be. He thought he wanted ‘simple’ until he met her. Elvis hummed against her forehead, keeping his hands in appropriate places such as her back or arm. She looked tired considering he didn’t drop her off until about one in the morning. Lilibet didn’t say or move for a while, assuming she was asleep until he felt a curious hand inching toward his waistband. He shouldn’t have been hard for her as quickly but he was and he couldn’t get The Flamingos’ I Only Have Eyes For You song out of his head about her. Her touch was slightly clumsy getting there but God—he hissed as her grip found his cock. Anything she did to him could make him come. With a few months since he last felt a woman’s touch, he was ready to spring for Lilibet like an unexpected volcanic eruption. 

“Lil’ Bet,” he whispered.

“Mm?” she hummed innocently, her wrist rolling as she worked his length in her palm. 

“We can save this for another time if you want. We had a late night,” he bit out, his moans deep but soft above her. “I’ll make a mess… Work the tip a little bit, baby. Yeah, like that.” Elvis puffed out short breaths.

“Do you not like it?” Lilibet asked, disappointment in reach. 

“No—yes, honey, I do. Just… Use some spit on your hand,” Elvis breathed, opening his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to do  anything you don’t wanna do.”

“You’re not,” Lilibet answered, withdrawing her hand to spit into her palm. “It’s the first time I’ve gotten you to feel as flustered as I have.”

“You don’t know flustered, Lil’ Bet. Not yet.”

He meant it because there were things he wanted to do, to taste, and he planned to show Lilibet the greener grass himself. Instead, Lilibet had taken him by surprise with her exploration and he found fucking into her wet hand equally enjoyable. He kept his desires in check, concerned he could scare her if he turned himself loose. Elvis had long since given up on keeping his eyes open, working his way into Lilibet’s space by nuzzling her neck and the underside of her jaw to leave kisses in his wake. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked. Lilibet pressed back into the shared pillow, Elvis leaning back to gauge her reaction. She sucked him in with her big brown eyes, their almond shape half-lidded. Elvis’ cock twitched in her hand at the sight of her and she nodded in agreement. He moved onto his side and slid a hand beneath the hem of her shirt. “Kiss me,” Elvis pleaded.

She didn’t need any more encouragement. Lilibet shivered at the touch of his cool fingers sliding up and over her chest, squeezing and massaging at her breast as they kissed. Lilibet’s hand still worked around him until he touched her wrist and pulled it away. He needed to focus on her alone without the distraction. Lilibet felt herself whining as he moved over her, pulling her over by her waist to the middle of the bed. The covers were on his back, creating a slight cavern of warmth around Lilibet. He wanted to devour her but he knew every step was a risky one he couldn’t turn back from. Hell, he didn’t even have a condom on hand.

Elvis moved between her legs for the sake of room, brushing them aside with his bare thighs. He pressed kiss after kiss to her stomach and only lifted his head to push it back into the palms in his hair. His hands slid underneath her to unclasp her bra and as he did he heard the familiar sound of footsteps in the hall. Elvis steeled himself above Lilibet and she followed suit. He could feel her heartbeat thrumming wildly beneath the surface. A door clicked shut and he raised a brow at Lilibet.

“Bathroom,” she whispered.

“Do you wanna stop?” Elvis asked. He adjusted and lowered himself into Lilibet using his forearms. The fabric of his boxers and her shorts were the only things hindering direct contact. While he enjoyed the slight roll of his hips against her, he left it up to Lilibet to decide.

“I never thought my first time would be…panicked,” she admitted.

“It doesn’t have to be right now. I won’t enjoy any part of it if you dislike what’s happening. Okay? We can try some other time.” Elvis said. His brow crinkled as he waited for her reaction to sense some sort of calm from her. When she sighed and met his eyes, he felt some relief. 

“Can we just sleep ‘til then?” Lilibet asked softly. 

“Yeah, honey, whatever you want.” Elvis nodded, moving from between her legs behind her. He gathered her to his chest as she wiggled back into him and he did everything in his power to will his hard-on away. 

Elvis hardly slept at all for the next hour and a half. Lilibet woke with a start in his arms, reaching clumsily for her bedside clock for the time. She sighed and sunk back into the mattress and his arms. 

“Wasn’t gonna let you oversleep,” Elvis mumbled, sliding a hand down to the side of her thigh.

“Just makin’ sure. We should probably get goin’ before everyone wakes up.”

Elvis wanted to deny her that much when he never got to hold Lilibet that way before. He was warm and she was pliant under his touch. The day where she held no tension in her shoulders around him had come. Without another word, Elvis withdrew and moved to sit up on his side of the bed. He rolled his shoulders and leaned his head from left to right. The only sound came from the jingle of his belt and its buckle as he stood up to pull his pants back on.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Lilibet asked hesitantly. Elvis furrowed his brow as he turned to look at her and tucked his shirt back into his pants. 

“No, honey, why would you ask me that?”

“Because you didn’t get to finish and I got nervous, so…” Lilibet trailed off, looking away from him. Elvis made a sound with his tongue as he walked around to her side of the bed and caught her chin with a calloused hand.

“I’m a grown man, honey, I don’t need to force myself onto you. Hell, what kinda man would that make me? When the time is right, it will happen. That’s not right now. Come on, let’s get you up. I’ll wait outside for you while you get yourself together.” 

Elvis made his way back downstairs with his boots and hat in hand after Lilibet went first, tiptoeing toward the bathroom in the hall. He didn’t put his boots on until he was outside again and able to exhale deeply. The dirt moved beneath his shoes, scattering as he approached the truck and reached inside for a discarded cigarillo. He pried a matchbook from his front pocket and struck one to light the end. Leaning into the truck, he waved the match to put out the fire, toking at it as he looked up to where one of Lilibet’s bedroom windows would be. 

With the farm growing wary of the townspeople, he could feel the pressure rising. Someone had to be held responsible for their losses. Something told him if she knew he reported her friends, she might end things with him then and there. He sighed, letting his eyes drop as he flicked the ash from his cigarillo with his thumb. When Lilibet stepped out, refreshed, and smiling at him he thought maybe he was ready to find a new religion in her. Not because they were attending her hippie church but because he would kiss the ground she walked on. 

“Ready Freddy?” Elvis grinned, bending down to stub out his cigarillo. 

“Ready,” she called from the deck. 

They walked in a comfortable silence. At least, to Elvis, it was comfortable. He wondered if he should press the issue with Lilibet on whether she was content with how far things went. He learned from the past that she could have a million thoughts racing and cover it well with a mask. Their shoulders bumped together as always and Elvis took it upon himself to hold her hand. Lilibet looked at him, showing how little she expected of him as the surprise crossed her face. He squeezed her hand, his eyes softening as he looked at her. Lilibet brought her other hand over the ball their hands created and led the rest of the way into the chapel. Elvis plucked his hat from his head with his free hand.

The building was far nicer than Elvis imagined. From the outside, he believed it was a simple wooden chapel that the wind could blow over. Inside were lacquered wooden beams upholding the high A-frame and windows up high that allowed beams of sunlight to hit patrons. The back wall didn’t have the typical daunting image of Jesus crucified but simply a large, hand-carved white cross and rich purple drapes on either side. Lilibet soon tugged him toward an empty pew. By the looks of it, they were undoubtedly early. 

“My mother and sisters will join us. Make sure you leave some room,” Lilibet commented as she sat in the end corner.

The second he was moving to sit next to Lilibet, a short and stocky man was gunning it in his direction. Elvis’ legs brushed Lilibet’s as he scooted past her and placed his hat on the pew in preparation for introductions.

“Who’s this comin’ up, honey?” Elvis whispered.

“Who?” Lilibet turned her head to see who he was speaking about then cursed. “That’s Joe. He’s one of the Community Leaders.” She said sourly.

“It’s not often we get a new face that comes around. Joe Esposito,” Joe proffered a hand to Elvis. “One of the Community Leaders here in The Haven.” 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Elvis Presley. Usually, I’m on the West Family Farm workin’,” Elvis offered, taking the hand in front of him to shake. 

“What’s got you all the way out here?” Joe raised a brow, releasing Elvis’ hand. The implication was laced with plenty of unsaid suggestions. Either way, it left an unsettling feeling in Elvis’ belly. 

“I could ask the same. You sound like you’re from the Northeast. I like to see what my girl gets up to,” Elvis said. 

Lilibet stood then, clasping her hands together in front of her. She was wearing the same thing as she had been earlier which made Elvis look around—no one person dressed alike. Even Joe was dressed up, opposite to some of his community members. 

“And that’s all. He’s not lookin’ to join us in the community,” Lilibet interjected. 

“I’m only being friendly to your company, Lilibet,” Joe playfully scolded though his eyes told another story.

“Of course,” Lilibet said with the same glimmer of disdain. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you, sir. I’m sure we’ll get to speak after the service.” Elvis tipped his head, a silent dismissal.

“Nice meetin’ you, too, Elvis,” Joe said, leaving them alone again. 

Elvis’ eyes tracked him until he was far enough away and they were sitting. He stretched his arm out behind Lilibet’s shoulders and tried to catch her gaze. 

“What was that about?” Elvis mumbled.

“He’s a creep. I remember when I was younger, he just had this air about him. I didn’t like how he spoke to me like I was being served on a platter. Besides… I didn’t know if you still wanted to speak to one of the Community Leaders about everything. It’s your right and I’m no one to stop you from revealin’ the truth.” Lilibet said tersely.

“Lil’ Bet,” he spoke sweetly. “I’m not lookin’ to hurt you. While I don’t like seein’ the Wests stressed out about their losses, they can recover. I pride myself on right and wrong, I know I would be hurtin’ you in the process.”

“So… You’ve decided not to say anything?” Lilibet asked.

“I have and I want you to trust me. I won’t tell anyone about what happened,” Elvis grabbed one of her hands, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Good?”

Lilibet nodded. The worst was yet to come. Normally, courting a girl meant he encountered her parents sooner rather than later. They were behind schedule and there he was, an outsider, courting a young woman severely enthralled by a religious sect. Elvis didn’t often let things get to him but when he sat back and realized where he was, he felt like a lamb waiting for slaughter. 

His attention was focused on the abhorrently gargantuan cross when Lilibet bumped her arm into him and he looked confused before seeing three ladies standing beside the pew. They all had their mother’s face, so there was no mistaking who they were. Lilibet’s mother, Ada, stood tall and proud on a similar thin frame and dressed up as others of her generation would be to the nines. She held the handle of her small purse in her hands as she waited for an introduction. Lillian, the middle child, looked at Elvis with familiarity and a half-smirk. Addie, the youngest and no more than eight years old, didn’t have much of a clue what was going on. Both sisters were dressed similarly to Lilibet in that their mother didn’t force them to wear anything other than what they were comfortable in. Elvis sprung up and Lilibet followed to make room.

“Mrs. Stevens, it’s good to meet you finally. Formally,” Elvis said, proffering a hand.

“I didn’t know we would be havin’ company here at church. It’s nice to see you again. Elvis, was it?” Ada took his hand, their hand-hold gentle. Their hands fell apart seconds later.

“Yes, ma’am. Elvis Presley and you two must be Lillian and Addie. It’s nice to meet you both. Your sister talks highly of you two. I’ve always wanted a sibling,” Elvis smiled warmly. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Addie piped up, staring at her eldest sister. Lilibet’s brows shot up as she looked between the three of them. Lillian was laughing.

“Addie,” Lilibet blushed. She gestured for Elvis to move down and he picked up his hat. Ada sat on the end with Addie next to her, then Lillian next to Lilibet. 

“She does have a crush on me,” Elvis leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to the youngest. Addie gasped and laughed. Lilibet bumped his arm and Elvis quickly feigned an injury, rubbing at the spot. Individuals moved behind the pulpit as people took their seats. An older gentleman with long, graying hair and a goatee to match braced his hands on the stand.

“We’re going to be a little delayed here this morning. We’ve got Sheriff Schilling from the town outside wantin’ to ask some questions. As you all may have heard, the West Family Farm had some of their animals go missin’,” the man explained and promptly held up his hands as people began murmuring. “No one is pointin’ the finger at anyone. But please give Sheriff Schilling the respect he deserves for the next hour.” 

Elvis’ dark brows came together and Lilibet looked at him, the fear in her eyes obvious. He pursed his lips and moved to stand, excusing himself with his hat in hand past the ladies. 

“I’ll be right back,” Elvis muttered. His hat was on his head before he stepped outside and found the Sheriff, Sonny, and Red standing there. “What the hell is goin’ on, Sonny?”

“The Sheriff said someone in town gave a tip that this hippie retreat might have been behind our troubles,” Sonny said.

“Yeah, E, we didn’t just come to this conclusion ourselves,” Red shrugged, his thumbs hooked on his belt loops.

“This is embarrassin’ the hell outta me. Lilibet just introduced me to her mother and sisters. They haven’t even started their church service. Can’t you come back later?” Elvis frowned, scanning their faces for a modicum of empathy.

“No can do,” Sheriff Schilling said. “If a crime was committed, I have to investigate it. We’re looking at either a misdemeanor or felony for trespassing, theft, and possible restitution for losses. One of my deputies is on his way now to help speed up the process but there’s nothing else I can do.” 

Elvis bit down on the inside of his cheek, letting his anger simmer. Who could have possibly known to point the finger in Lilibet’s direction? He bore his hands down onto his hips and stepped aside from the doors, picturing his Lilibet in handcuffs. Something in his chest stirred as he began devising a backup plan; one where he would convince her to skip town if he needed to. 

Shit. 

[buglass]

Lonely Man - Chapter 2

Summary: After consoling Elvis on the beach, Jackie can hardly get him out of her mind for the remainder of Christmas day. She feels guilty for even considering him in a lustful way when the diamond-laden ring on his ring finger is so apparent but doesn't expect to see him ever again. The two of them run into the other at their resort, to Elvis’s elation, but Jackie is not as sure.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Jackie!Black!OFC

WC: 3.7K

Chapters: 2/?

Warnings: Elvis touches himself, suggestive and foul language, age gap, fluff, and mild angst.

A/N: Didn’t expect to want to write another (long) chapter for this but here we are. I planned to have this jump to New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day but then Jackie and Elvis took on a life of their own. Enjoy!

Read Chapter 1 here.

Even after returning from the beach to his real life, Elvis can hardly get her out of his head. Jackie’s presence brought solitude and peace he thought he would find in the crashing waves and chilled sand. Elvis tried to remain normal when he returned to his vacation villa, joking around with the Memphis Mafia and kissing his little daughter hello. The same with Priscilla, he attempted to remain completely attentive in his husbandly duties. But, he was thrown off kilter.

When Elvis excused himself later into the night to shower, he got the worst idea and impromptu ache of his life--the untended mass between his legs. He grunted his dismay as the warm water washed down the front and back of him. He pursed his lips as he tried to mentally talk himself out of it, lying to himself that he was stroking the foreskin back to wash himself, but when he closed his eyes all he saw were perfectly full lips that he wanted to see wrapped around his cock. Elvis sucked in a sharp breath as he bucked into his calloused palm, thinking of Jackie and her all-too-straight teeth and the smoothness of her voice. Would she sing for him if he fucked her in just the right spot? 

Elvis wanted to be disgusted with himself but he couldn’t. Looking at other women and cheating generally were his forte. When he wasn’t caught, he could bask in it, giving another piece of himself to another woman. There were worse things he had done in life. He clenched his jaw again as his head reeled back and he pictured grabbing a fistful of Jackie’s long, thick hair from behind. That little bathing suit and skirt of Jackie’s barely left anything to the imagination. Then he was cumming, quicker than he wanted, because he didn’t want to be in the bathroom or shower embarrassingly long enough for anyone to ask questions. Elvis shuddered and grunted as the evidence was washed away from the tiled floor and down the drain.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

How long did Jackie say she was staying in the Bahamas? He couldn’t remember nor should he have been seeking her out. For the benefit of them both, he hoped she was leaving soon. 

ꜜ

At twenty-one, Jackie was still the baby of her parents. She was their only child and thus they spent the holiday season in Bahamas after a successful year of running their family-owned business back in Virginia. When she returned to their beachside bungalow, she spoke animatedly about running into Elvis Presley himself. She boasted that it was true while her parents looked at one another, entertained by how excited she was.

“I was startin’ to wonder what took you so long,” her mother chuckled.

Then Jackie, being the fantasist she was, daydreamed while she made herself a late lunch. She shivered thinking about how close the two of them sat together and when Elvis put his arm across her shoulders. He always seemed to need to be touching and holding or gently pressing his lips into her palm and staring into her eyes. It was no wonder he had people that adored his company. After about an hour, she insisted that she leave him alone so that he could have time to himself.

“Let me walk you back,” Elvis grumbled, displeased by the idea. 

But he was still a gentleman. Jackie’s face felt hot, tingling with sweat as her nervousness pitched a fit at the idea. Elvis’s hand brushed hers, sending sparks up her arm until their fingers latched and curled around the other’s. Elvis saw the bungalow she was staying at with her parents, not so quick to let her go until she pulled away, staying down the beach as she walked inside.

By the following night, at dinner, her head was a little less full of Elvis as she came back to reality. Jackie was convinced that the fluke encounter was a once-in-a-lifetime ordeal and they wouldn’t see each other. She deluded herself into believing everything she felt was likely one-sided. Jackie had never seen Elvis date a Colored girl before. Sure, he hung around Colored folks and was friendly. That never equated to that sort of interest. Wasn’t he also married? The guilt chewed away at her for having such unholy thoughts about the man. 

Her parents paid for the resort’s evening Christmas spit roast meal, a variety of people spread out table after table. Music played gently in the background over a speaker, the chatter of everyone at a decent level. Jackie scooted her chair up some more, thanking her server as their drinks were brought out. She crossed her legs at the ankles, slipping her bare feet from her sandals. Directing the straw of her fruity drink to her lips, she hummed as she scanned over the groups of people. Her eyes darted as there was some movement in the distance at the corner of her eye. Jackie was coughing as her drink went down the wrong pipe spotting Elvis.

Elvis was laughing at something that Joe said, shuffling in with his gang of men. Priscilla wasn’t feeling too good and bringing Lisa would have been crossing over into her bedtime. He was grateful to let loose if he was honest. He smoothed down the front of his button-up as they were led to a couple of reserved tables. Elvis drew looks, of course, but the people there were mid-stuffing their faces. Jackie picked up her napkin to dab at her mouth and her mother patted her back to help her slight choking. 

The sound drew Elvis’s eyes in her direction and his stomach dropped and twisted as he looked in Jackie’s direction. His lips parted thoughtfully, admiring the flower in her hair and the way her dress cupped her breasts. Elvis directed his eyes back to Joe who was talking about something he missed. The waiter pulled his attention away again, settling for water and glancing back across the grassy seating area to Jackie. Jackie excused herself from the table once she noticed how much of her lipstick smeared. 

“I’ll be right back,” she smiled at her parents. 

Elvis’s eyes trailed after her, his brows pinching together. He breathed out harshly through his nostrils as he tried to rein in his impulses but he was muttering something about being back in a few. When one of the guys tried to follow after him, he waved a hand for everyone to stay seated. He pinched the front of his trousers, attempting to fix the growing tightness there. Jackie was rounding a corner by the time he caught sight of her. She sighed as she pushed open the women’s bathroom door, shuffling in. She took in her reflection, pleased she didn’t smear as much makeup as thought. 

A couple of minutes passed and she was stepping out of the bathroom, slowing to a stop as Elvis stood there outside of the door. He was leaning against the opposite wall, lifting his head at the sound of the creaking door. Jackie’s heart rose into her throat and she smoothed out the front of her dress self-consciously. Elvis gave her a crooked smile as he pushed away from the wall to close the distance. The bathrooms were tucked away in their own hall, as empty as the rest of the resort was during the height of the holiday season.

“Did you follow me?” Jackie squinted.

“Would it be bad if I did?” Elvis said, his expression flirtatious.

“It’s one way to get a woman’s attention,” Jackie licked her lips, chuckling. She was happy to see him, naturally, but she was so sure someone like Elvis was too busy to be seen somewhere normal such as at dinner. 

“I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about the things you said to me. How sweet you were about all’a it. I… I wanted to thank you for earlier today. I don’t let people see me like that often.” Elvis stammered, reaching for Jackie’s hand as he had done that afternoon.

“You must be used to not being seen,” Jackie spoke easily.

“It’s like people just look right through ya, the human standin’ there. I can’t take it sometimes. Then, you… You don’t seem impressed with a lick of me.” Elvis said gently, looking down at their conjoined hands. 

“It’s not that I’m not impressed,” Jackie breathed, stepping out of the bathroom doorway. “It’s this.” She tapped at his wedding band, her thumb grazing over his knuckles. 

“Oh,” he hummed, pulling her toward the wall he had been leaning on. “That’s stoppin’ you from bein’ my friend?”

“You talk sweet to all your friends like this, huh?” Jackie asked, pressing her tongue into her cheek. 

She needed to get back to her parents. It was rude to keep them waiting for a married man she didn’t know from Adam. Elvis’s eyelids lowered, scanning over her as he tried to gauge his options. She didn’t seem to be fraught with disgust or worry per se. Elvis brought her knuckles up to his lips at last, dragging his lips along them. Jackie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched.

“This alright?” Elvis asked, his voice deeper.

“Mhm,” she mustered.

Elvis turned her hand over and pressed warm lips into her wrist. He lowered a hand to her waist to draw her closer. Jackie let out a sigh and he directed the same arm up over his shoulder. They were borderline nose-to-nose. 

“And this?” Elvis whispered. 

“It’s, um… It’s nice. I have to go.” Jackie whispered back. She was no prude, but the older man couldn’t swindle her into being a floozy. Not really. But, he was Elvis Presley. Her heart was hammering in her throat as she could smell every trace of cologne and deodorant on him. His natural scent had her head spinning too. Elvis shook his head slightly at her and she wanted to ask what he meant by it until his lips met hers. Elvis didn’t press too much, gentle and testing. If she wanted to pull away, she could. Jackie groaned softly as she returned the kiss, her nervousness peaking again. Someone cleared their throat as they passed by, a woman entering the women’s restroom behind Jackie. She pulled away like she touched a hot stove, touching her fingertips to her lips.

“I have to go,” she repeated, embarrassed. She stepped away from Elvis, rushing out of the corridor and back into the lobby. Elvis caught her arm to slow her down.

“Whoa, whoa, honey,” he said sweetly. “I didn’t mean to scare ya. I-I can’t be the only one feelin’ this too. Am I wrong?” He kept his voice low.

“No… But, I am not like that woman who came up to you on the beach, Elvis. I’m the goin’ steady type where the man has to meet my father and get his approval. Not this girl that,” Jackie glanced around anxiously. “That comes onto married men.”

“It’s an arrangement,” he lied. “You aren’t doin’ anything wrong that she doesn’t know about.” Elvis’s brows came together. The latter was partially true. Why else had he been in the hot seat with Cilla before?

“An arrangement?” Jackie asked, skeptical. They were starting to draw attention to themselves for more reasons than one and she wanted to get back to her parents. She sighed, tilting her head back to hold Elvis’s gaze.

“One where a married couple agrees to let the man…dabble. I’ll tell you what, as your newly appointed friend we can just talk,” he said, finally releasing her arm. “One of the men I was seated with has a separate room here in the resort we were going to later. Why don’t you come on up after dinner?”

“To do what exactly?” Jackie narrowed her eyes, looking at the hand that fell away. Elvis had a few things in mind about what he wanted to do but he didn’t like having to convince a woman into wanting him. Jackie might run off if he confessed to her how he wanted to make her writhe under his touch.

“It’s mostly singin’ and listenin’ to records usually. We only brought guitars, so I guess it’s that and singin’. Usually becomes a little party.” Elvis said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What room?” Jackie bit down into her bottom lip, contemplating.

“Five-O-three. Think on it.” Elvis said, stepping back out of her way. Jackie raised a brow at the superstar, surprised he was letting her go. She kept her eyes on him until she was unable. Elvis watched her go, enjoying the momentary relief of being left alone. A worker soon caught his attention, asking for an autograph on their notepad. “And who am I making this out to?”

Jackie appreciated the rush of air on her face as she returned to the seating area outside, the wind whipping against her, touching and curling around her in the same places Elvis touched. She could taste him on her lips. When she was seated, her parents were giving her a look as if asking where she had been again for the second time today. Jackie averted their eyes as she took hold of her much-needed cocktail again.  She wanted to tell herself she would be good but her mind kept swirling around the idea of going up to see Elvis. Maybe the ache between her legs would go away, too, if she just gave in.

Elvis came back out, gently dismissing the fans who followed him out to the dinner. The hotel staff didn’t allow it anyhow, blocking off the dining area to alleviate the responsibility. Elvis sat back down, leaning forward onto the tabletop as he jumped back into his role. Jackie was watching behind the rim of her glass, soon meeting Elvis’s eyes from across the way. He winked at her before giving his boys his attention for the rest of the evening.

ꜜ

Why was she standing at this hotel door? Jackie turned to leave and came back, then turned away again. She could hear the tempered rowdiness inside of guitars strumming, glasses clinking, and songs being sung. The invitation was extended and it was her responsibility to show face and politely exit after a few minutes. Jackie swept her hair out of her face, hesitating to bring her curled fist to the door. She let out a breath as she knocked and forced herself to be content with knowing there were too many people there for Elvis to act on his wants. 

A red-headed man answered the door, bracing his hand against it as he smiled. He raised a brow before speaking, “And who might you be?” He asked.

“Um, I think I have the right room. Elvis asked me to stop by…?” Jackie offered.

“Hey, E, you’ve got a visitor,” the man called back over his shoulder.

“Who’s at the door, Red?” Elvis called, the guitar playing coming to a stop.

“You tell me, man,” Red answered, scoffing. He stepped back from the doorway, replaced by Elvis. His face lit up as he took Jackie in, taking her by hand to pull her inside.

“I’ll be damned,” Elvis laughed. “You actually showed. I really thought I might have scared ya off.”

“I can’t stay long, but I thought it would be rude to ignore your invite,” Jackie answered shyly, following Elvis inside.

The hotel room was simple but big enough to fit the substantial number of people there. The seating and kitchenette area were separate from the bedroom, the door to the unlit room ajar. I recognized some of the women from downstairs behind the desk and others seemed to be the average tourist or Bahamian. 

“Boys, this is Jackie. Jackie, these are the boys. Everyone else is…mostly new,” Elvis explained, placing a palm on the inside of her arm. “Want somethin’ to drink?”

“No, one was enough for me at dinner. Can we talk?” Jackie suggested boldly. 

Elvis’s lips parted as he peered down at her, unsure if the question was meant to be as suggestive as he would have liked. With all of the eyes on them, especially Elvis, Jackie wanted a second alone without the pressure of being performative. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing, honey. Y’all go 'head and turn up the music. We’ll be right back,” Elvis said casually. Jackie tried not to acknowledge the disappointment and grimaces on some of the faces of the women. Elvis led her to the dark bedroom, ushering Jackie inside first. He shut the door behind him and squeezed past Jackie to round the bed for the lamp.

“Shit,” he swore after bumping his knee, grumbling. When he reached the lamp, it clicked, and he turned back to face his company. “You’ve got me all to yourself. I think this has got to be a record.” He smirked, lowering onto the bed. 

Jackie didn’t take the insinuation lightly. He would have been correct to infer where her mind wandered off to. That wasn’t why she wanted to speak alone. Jackie sighed, moving to sit on the very end to keep some space between them. Elvis moved down the bed, hopping until he sat on the corner of the same end. He thought he was so clever. Thirteen years between them and his flirtatiousness carried on with ease. 

“G'on, what do you need to talk to me about?” Elvis nodded encouragingly.

“I… I wish I knew. I came here to say that I find you interesting. I find what’s in your heart,” she pointed at his chest. “And what we talked about to be a conversation I will remember for the rest of my life. I don’t like when men make me another notch on their belt. It’s boring, if I’m truthful, and you’re not boring but I thought you might like that someone isn’t trying to rush you into bed.” Jackie’s mouth set into a pout, huffing as the words came rushing out.

“That’s part of why I am rushin’ to get you into bed,” Elvis brows went up, pursing his lips in thought. “So, what would make you feel better? Waitin’ to see if I fall for you? I don’t want to put on a ruse that will make you feel better in the moment, then worse off later. You’ll come ta hate me either way, won't ya?” Elvis spoke honestly.

It was the most honest he’d been with a woman in years. The truth hurt Jackie all the same and she kept a stony expression to hide behind it. Elvis Presley was not a man a woman courted hoping to find love. She wanted to pull her hair out for thinking highly of him when he didn’t regard her in the same light.

“You don’t know what I would come to feel,” Jackie grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh, quit bein’ ugly with me, Jackie. I’m only playin’,” he said lightly, reaching over to pull at her arms. “Would you like to know a secret?” 

“What?” Jackie answered stubbornly.

“I’m plumb tired as all get out. So, would you lie with me for a while? We can talk. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Elvis said, realizing he was touching Jackie. He pulled his hand away, holding up both to show just how serious he was. Even if they didn’t sleep together, he planned to keep in touch with her. She was the sort of woman he could bounce ideas and thoughts off of. Jackie took in a deep breath as her walls crept down and she looked back toward the pillows.

“Just talkin’?” Jackie asked.

“And some old fashioned cuddlin’. Okay?” Elvis smiled. 

Jackie hated how much she was leaning into what he wanted. It was one of the few topics they spoke of on the beach and how his entourage came to be. He really didn’t do ‘lonely’ very well at all. Jackie slipped her sandals off, dropping them to the floor and started crawling up the bed. Elvis waited until she was settled to join her, sidling up next to her. She was stiff as a board until he brought an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his chest. 

Elvis started the conversation about philosophy and various laws of ethics he had been reading on. Jackie related it back to religion and how people often used it as their guideline for remaining a good person also. They continued on like that for another hour and sank lower until they laid flat, facing the other. Elvis was holding Jackie’s hand in front of their faces, watching her as she spoke. Jackie felt it too in their lethargy but she refused to break the tension. Elvis felt his fear tick up at taking the chance as if he were a teenage boy again. He didn’t want to fuck it up by crossing a clear line she had set.

“Can I kiss you?” Jackie broke. Because life was short and they both knew that from the conversations they were having. She was in the Bahamas, in a bed next to Elvis and giggling about life and death. There was nothing more outlandish that had occurred in her short life.

“Yes, please,” Elvis rumbled. 

His eyes dropped to her lips and he wrenched their hands down out of the way. Jackie’s eyes went half-lidded and Elvis knew he had an in. The worst part was knowing that he was far from putting on an act about her. Jackie was bringing out the best and worst of him; the best because he wasn’t only fucking her and the worst because he enjoyed her company and wanted to fuck her. Elvis closed the distance, sighing as their lips met for a second time that night. He kept his hips far away from her as his cock sprung to life.

Jackie shivered at the touch, pressing forward to deepen their kiss. She hated how he made her feel. The feeling of Elvis’s lips against hers sent a zing down her core and she was inching forward with her hips toward his like a magnet. She swallowed, breaking away before she made a decision she couldn’t take back.

“Do me a favor?” Elvis breathed, his voice thick and wanton.

“Mmm?” Jackie groaned.

“Write down your address in Virginia for me.” Elvis exhaled.

[buglass]

Ch. 1: Are You Hopeful Tonight?

Pairings: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x OFC

Chapter(s): 1/?

Warnings: slow burn, angst, mentions of racism, partially implied sexual situations

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 2.5K

Song Inspo: Are You Lonesome Tonight? - Elvis Presley & Fever - Elvis Presley

Summary: Hope Haynes has done much in her life leading up to this revolutionary tell-all, but nothing quite like this. No one greater had ever swept her off her feet until she formally met Elvis Presley during the rise of his career and height of new fame. Haynes tells her story for the first time to give insight into the beloved late King of Rock n' Roll. Despite decades of rumors he was prejudiced, Are You Hopeful Tonight? goes into great detail to set the record straight and remember Presley in a different light when love and hate knew color. Or so it was thought. 

© 1991 Chapter 2 Here

A/N: Hi, hello! A little nervous since I haven’t written fics in some time and this will be quite the introduction back into it. Excited to see what you think! I prefer to typically write 1st or 3rd person if that bothers anyone. I proofread this myself but if you spot any mistakes please let me know! Feel free to picture Elvis as himself or Austin. Some bits and pieces are historically accurate but may not add up chronologically or coincide with the film. This would have been “published” 2 years after the song Fight the Power would’ve been released. It won’t entirely be a memoir, but a retelling of events, memories, and Hope’s writing. Here are some references that I feel will ease not only my mind but others as well.

♡ ♡ ♡

I never liked spoilers or skipping to the end of a book. It is worse when not given a choice because you lived the ending. It is the one time I think I will forgive myself for knowing what happens. - Hope

Chapter 1

That was the thing about fame and celebrity. Not only was it choosy but sporadic. Either someone had it or not. Maybe they knew the right people in the right place or time. That something in that particular someone was in Elvis Presley. He had Soul that knew no bounds.

It did not matter who you were or where. You heard the hit That’s All Right playing on a forty-five record or the radio. There were plenty of black artists with the same blinding celebrity (additionally, original lyrics) and not enough room for them in the mainstream. Sam Phillips at Sun Records had tried, but bills need to be paid. Even black radio stations diversified their range. Who could blame anyone? Despite the racial barriers and tension, it was not peculiar to be familiar with white culture. Elvis bridged the gap to some degree. The majority of folks who didn't care for it were older and privy to keeping things the same. 

I could feel the change coming. Just not when. 

Doctor King had been making headway around the same time at just twenty-five, but word traveled slow, and others were afraid. Either way, the younger generation wanted things to be different. I never felt any different from anyone else outside of being told I was. There is an invisible line constantly present yet flamboyant signs of being unwelcome. As a little girl, I understood that despite feeling the same as another little girl of pale complexion, I was not. I never felt that way on Beale Street. Most of us found solace in the surrounding area. A different world all on its own. Looking back, I imagined Elvis felt similarly. Not that I always was around to catch him on Beale Street. Everyone has at least one story. Once, my good friend Aletha came back to me years before about how she spotted a "white boy" walking about and staring in a suit shop window or perusing the area like he owned the place.

“Ain’t it just the most absurd thing you ever heard, Hope?” She had said.

“It’s somethin’, alright,” I replied in amusement, not thinking much of it. “But I don’t think him buyin’ a three-dollar shirt is ownin’ the place.”

  Only when I saw him for myself did I believe it. By then, it was commonplace. I stood across the street leaning against the cool brick in the shade, nursing a hand-rolled cigarillo. Too many vehicles and passersby blocking my view. Slicked jet black hair, its ducktail staring back, and only a reflection I could barely see in that same shop window he was ogling. My eyes wandered to the sign Lansky Bros. and back to him again. That time he went inside seemed to be for more than a measly shirt by the state of his dress. I never fully caught a glimpse of his face, but something about him had been familiar. I didn’t take to staring at white men much anyhow. My mama always said I had to be careful around those folks. Move off the sidewalk, keep your eyes down, and don’t do this or that. 

By 1956, I was twenty and Elvis was twenty-one. He had become one of the biggest names out of Memphis for Hound Dog. There was not a soul who was not aware of him. I had so much as became a passive fan. His take on music struck a chord in me that I was embarrassed to admit. My daddy detested the idea of listening to anything but black artists among generally supporting all things black. It left a deep-seated pit in my stomach. It was unavoidable once in the throes of Club Handy. The summer heat had simmered down to autumn and made for lax evenings. Gaining access to the club before the peak influx was the most ideal. The odds of a mass of commotion outside had been less expected when he showed up and hurried inside. I watched alongside Aletha from a nearby window while people tried to clamber or beg their way. Only then, as if the wailing guitar filling the air had stopped, did I turn to see him striding along with B.B. King. B.B. had spoken of Elvis in passing at church long ago, but nothing like seeing them conversing excitedly while rounding the bar. 

“You might wanna close your mouth before ya catch flies.” Aletha leaned in to tease.

“I’ll do you one better,” I murmured before finishing my glass and giving myself an excuse. “Catch more with honey.” I breathed out after a burning gulp.

“Hope…” Aletha said skeptically. She looked ready to wrangle me into my seat. It might have been the booze burning in my belly loosening me up. I figured there was no harm in approaching. One second I was smoothing down my skirt and hair, then standing beside B.B. the next. He took notice when my arm brushed his. His face lit up quickly in recognition.

“Just when I didn’t think the night could get better. There’s always Hope.” B.B. grinned, too proud of himself for his tired-out pun. 

I suddenly felt my heart in my throat when Elvis’s head turned from the bartender towards me. I had never seen such bright and open eyes on me before. Neither such an ostentatious lace shirt paired with a suit jacket did nothing to hide the skin beneath. My eyes raised again to somewhere more appropriate—the healing cut on his cheek and its unusual hue shiny with a salve. I had heard about what happened at whichever gas station he had been at in the papers. No one ever took him for a legitimate ruffian before then.

“I finally had a moment to catch up with you. You’re hardly around in Memphis anymore. Thought I’d catch you before you get lost in the events of the evening and the road callin’ your name,” I smiled and placed my empty glass on the bar. “Don’t be rude. Introduce me.” 

“If you gave me a moment, girl.” B.B. chuckled and took the slightest step back so Elvis and I could see one another. “EP, this is essentially my little sister and shadow Hope. Hope, Elvis.” B.B. gestured between them. Elvis was the first to outstretch his hand and I followed suit. His touch was gentle and appropriate for greeting a lady. No different from any other woman he might be meeting.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Hope, is it? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Elvis grinned while trying to catch my eyes. I was shaking his hand much too long while the shock rippled through me and the alcohol failed to uphold its purpose. The most downright sinful electricity filled me when he spoke. I swore the Creator himself was ready to strike me down for it. I was nodding despite myself.

“Yes. I mean, thank you, Mr. Presley--” I started.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. That would be my father. Just Elvis is fine.” He offered a lop-sided smile. I would have blushed if I could have. The rosy blush on my cheeks did enough on its own. The budding sweat, on the contrary, could be blamed on the close-knit environment. Elvis, too, if I was truthful. I finally let go of his hand and looked at B.B. as if just remembering he was standing there. There was an amused, silent exchange the blues singer gave me that was gone as quickly as it had shown.

“What are you havin’?” B.B. asked and signaled the barback again. The opening was closed again as B.B. leaned against the bar while I took the stool.

“Whisky, neat.” I raised a brow and felt the smirk creeping on my lips. If B.B. was paying, I was drinking. Elvis placed a hand on his chest and held the other upward in defeat.

“Now, that is not a girl you want to mess with. Huh, B.B.?” Elvis smiled at me again. With all their drinks handed out, I felt that much lighter. Our glasses and bottles clinked in a chorus of ‘cheers’.  After a few minutes of chatting, pretending everything was normal, Aletha joined my side. I loved her like a sister, but it could not have been more poorly timed. Someone had come by to let B.B. know his set was next. 

“Break a leg,” I told him from behind the rim of my glass.

“I hope it’s both.” Elvis quipped before letting out a hearty laugh. The sound was unlike any other without the static of a poor radio signal or television screen in the way.

“Let’s hope.” B.B. clapped his free hand on Elvis’s shoulder and spun on his heel towards the stage. 

The unoccupied stool left room for Elvis to scoot over, and he did. I would have paid for that sort of sober confidence at twenty. What are the chances I would get to speak to Elvis Presley alone ever again? Let alone see him where women would not be trying to tear his clothes off. Aletha was more than favorable. She passed the (forsaken) brown paper bag test and was narrow-nosed. Curvaceous in places that would take months' worth of meals for me to compete. My insecurities blinded me once I introduced them. Their casual banter carried on with inquisitive, casual plights. Aletha never appeared to have the same shyness or awkwardness I carried with me everywhere. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Elvis said. His eyes scanned the crowd, lingering there. 

“Sorry?” I looked up from the amber liquid swirling around in the glass. Taking to people watching and B.B. setting up had been a lazy escape.

“You’re awfully quiet,” He repeated and cocked his head to the side, dipping to meet my eye level. Stray strands of hair fell into his face. I hated how much I liked it. The teenage girl in me wanted to save it to memory for when I would have to reminisce about his lost presence. I shrugged and shook my head dismissively. “Let’s dance.” He reached back to place his nearly empty bottle atop the bar.

The panic returned, my heart hammering in my chest. I spared a glance at Aletha observing. She shrugged and reached to take my glass from my hand. The look she gave me said I would be crazy not to dance with Elvis Presley. My mouth fell open ready to utter an alibi without a chance. He pulled me out to the floor. Wistful bodies moved to the guitar, and B.B.’s voice crooned a lovelorn tale that sent my mind elsewhere. Elvis drew me into his arms, one hand on my lower back and the other clasped in mine. Time seemed to slow down. The worry of being near a man different from me felt pointless under his touch.

“This alright, darlin’?” Elvis leaned in with his lips near my ear. All I could do was nod. When he withdrew, he was watching me, reading my face. It warmed my chill exterior Elvis was willing to ask. All I could do was focus on him lest I catch anyone staring. There was a flash and another in our specific direction. Someone took a picture of us, that worry festering again. 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked and dropped my chin down towards my chest. Maybe if I shrunk, I would magically become the size of a pea. We swayed from side to side as the bystanders' cheering became louder. Elvis stepped in closer with his knee nudged between my own. He dropped his head so I could hear him better and held my hand against his chest. Lord, what was happening?

“Why should it, Hope?” He rumbled and brought their hips closer. “It don’t matter to me.” Elvis affirmed. Every movement shared was guided by those devilish hips. 

“I think you know why,” I answered a bit too breathlessly for my liking. How tempting to close my eyes and let Elvis sweep me away. 

“I’ve never been one to care about those sorta things. It’s how I was raised by my mama and daddy. Sometimes folks don’t know what they’re missin’.” He explained warmly and drew back enough to smile at me. I was unaware, at the time, of his childhood in Tupelo or the friends he kept. Elvis’s smile was shit-eating though not cocky. Playful at best. 

“First I’m hearing about it…” I trailed off. 

A weary sigh left me. I gave in to the closeness, lying my head on his chest. He was firm and steady. Parts of myself stirred that I didn’t often face. The warm ache in my lower stomach, familiar and unwelcome, was assuaged by him and the density of the room. I swore it felt akin for him as well. I wanted to snap out of it. Instead, I wondered what it would be like to have him on my bed. Whatever spell Elvis Presley had cast on me was reeling me in. I had never gone that far with a man. I was not planning to start there. When the song faded away, I separated from Elvis. The distance helped to clear my head of the cobwebs. That picture was going to be in the papers tomorrow. The world could not find a more avid reader than my father. He would be the least of my worries once every consumer of the paper got a look at me. I tucked my hair behind my ear before joining in on the applause. Pretending was not something I was ever capable of doing. I excused myself, moving out of reach from Elvis. There was a tug at my arm to slow me down and I tugged right back.

“Hope, wait a minute, would you?” Elvis asked. “I can’t understand what’s wrong if ya don’t talk to me.” His long legs carried him around to face me quicker than I could manage.

“That’s it, Elvis, I don’t have to. I’m not some trollop you can carry off into the night. Alright?” I answered heatedly. A poor attempt to put my foot down and create space. Beelining towards where Aletha remained at the bar, I pointed towards the exit that would lead us downstairs. She gave me a look of disbelief once more. I thought Aletha of everyone would be understanding of how ludicrous it had become. Had she been watching us at all? When her eyes skipped past me, I turned again to find Elvis waiting patiently. I was so sure he was a man who had become accustomed to getting what he wanted. The three of us could be stubborn together.

“I would like to see you home, at least. Aletha too, if she’s comin’.” Elvis offered, waiting. He pursed his lips at me when I didn’t answer immediately. In the lull, his eyes lit up again. I would be added to the list of people who struggled to tell him no.

“You are trouble.” I looked at him meekly from under my lashes.

“I’m evil, sugar.” He said, pearly teeth shining bright. ♡ ♡ ♡ A/N: I wouldn't have written this or posted it without the encouragement from the people who left comments and asked to be tagged. Thanks for reading! This chapter was mainly just to set the foundation as much as possible. It gets better (I think...). Taglist: @wonderprince @4niah

[buglass]

Ch. 2: Are You Hopeful Tonight?

Characters: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x OFC, Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x black!fem!OFC

Chapter(s): 2/?

Chapter 1

Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst, sexual situations, racial tension

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 3.2K

Song Inspo: You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’, It’s Now or Never, Trying to Get to You - Elvis Presley

Summary: Hope attempts to juggle the pressure of sharing intimate details nearly two decades after Elvis’s passing in a television interview. Reminiscing is not only painful but awkward as she shares Elvis and herself with the world.

A/N: Thank you for the kind words, likes, and reblogs. I’ve loved writing for our little community within the fandom!

♡ ♡ ♡

Chapter 2

1991 “Tonight,” Oprah stared at the camera while leaning into the arm of her chair. “We are joined by some of the most important women in Elvis’s life. Recently after her book was published, we learned that Hope Haynes is one of those women. Welcome, Hope.” She said smoothly and met my eyes. My heart felt as if it would break free from my ribcage. I knew it came with the territory or that I could deny the interviews. As keen as Priscilla had felt to keep Elvis’s memory alive, I had felt the same in an entirely different light.

“Thank you for having me, Oprah. It’s all so very unforeseen. Despite writing the book from my perspective, I only care about how Elvis has been portrayed.” I said with an exhale. Clasping my hands together, flashes of memories passed behind my eyes in a glazed look. I prayed it went unnoticed.

“You do so well explaining that in Are You Hopeful Tonight? I must admit. It’s the most harrowing and detailed piece of non-fiction I’ve read in some time. Fourteen years have passed since Elvis’s death. You come forward now. Why?” Oprah squinted though her tone was kind.

“Well… It’s something I kept quiet for a long time. I expected to die with this knowledge. Colonel Tom Parker was part of why it was difficult to have a future with Elvis. We all know now after the estate sued him, he was more hands-on than he needed to be. That Fight the Power song didn’t sit well with me either. Calling Elvis a racist was wrong. A generation of kids just pointing the finger was upsetting,” I wrung my hands. “Anyone who knew Elvis in the black community and music business such as B.B., Sammy Davis, Jr.--the list goes on--knows that he didn’t have a bad bone in his body.” 

“It must be painful to watch from a distance with what you know. Were you in his life much leading up to his passing?” Oprah said woefully and placed her hand on her chin.

“Not as much as I wished once he neared the end of his life… I think I’ll always regret letting the distance grow between us. I had to move on eventually, as did he. Writing the book was a time machine waiting to happen.” 

1956

The engine to Elvis’s Cadillac shut off with the turn of his wrist. I started to reach for the door handle and Elvis stopped me with a sound from his throat. “Don’t even think about it. Let me walk you to your door.” He protested after stepping halfway out of the car. I stayed put and sat back into the seat. The car felt too silent without Althea. I was wary of Daddy being there to open the door to see me with a white man. If he did, I silently pleaded with God that he would be forgiving as it was Elvis Presley. The ruckus alone when getting out to the car had been tempestuous. Although I looked just like the women outside of Club Handy, the disapproving whispers had been enough to make me feel silly. Elvis walked around the front of the car to pull open my door the rest of the way. I stepped out and pulled my pocketbook onto my arm, taking the hand proffered before me. He was warm and steady as he had been in the middle of the dancefloor.

 “I’d like ta see you again,” Elvis started as he led me to my door. “If you would be so kind as to give me your number or write down your address. The touring never stops, of course. This is the longest I’ve gone in a while without being on stage. I go to Hollywood not long now. But, when that’s settled, I think it would be good ta hear from you.” He stopped at the front door after we made it onto the porch.

“I--I don’t know what to say to that. You know how people feel about race mixin’. We couldn’t even be in the same restaurant if we wanted.” I looked down at our conjoined hands. Seeing such a stark difference in front of me felt strange at the time.

“We don’t need a restaurant. Come for supper at my place. You could meet my mama and daddy. Patsy and my mama will cook a fine meal that would beat the socks off’a any restaurant, Hope.” Elvis spoke decidedly. How he looked at me made me think it was possible to live in his fantasy world. What worried me most was his family wasn’t as kind as he said. I sighed and shook my head with a light chuckle. Digging out a notepad and pen, I scribbled my name, phone number, and address for the star. There was nothing but lightning bugs, heavy silence of the night, and a cool breeze grazing our faces. The tug and pull of the paper seemed loud once it was free. It caused me to look up again to the windows where the light inside the den was lit. Elvis grabbed the piece of paper and stepped forward. I naturally tensed up at the closeness as if I had not been held by him the hour before. 

“I think you should write down that address for me.” I said, holding the notepad up with the pen. It was a quick way of stopping him in his tracks. 

“Oh, is that right?” Elvis grinned. He pocketed the first page I gave him to take the pen and notepad. He wrote out the address in quick sharp cursive and handed it all back to me. I peered down at the address 1034 Audubon Dr with mild glee. Staring at it didn’t make it feel any more real. Elvis placed one of his palms over mine and leaned in. 

“Good night, Hope.” He whispered. Lips brushed the side of my cheek before he pulled away.

I had no time to react while he strode back to his car. He always had a way about himself. The charisma and charm were never-ending. I wanted to hate how girlish and in awe I felt. His presence had drawn me in tenfold. 

I didn’t hear from him for a month. 

Too far from my mind, Elvis taking on Hollywood, I at the time had no recollection of the small tidbit. A worn diary entry jogged my memory alone. 

August 28th, 1956

Dearest Diary,

There had been nothing more fascinating to talk to you about until Elvis Presley waltzed into Club Handy. I don’t want to divulge much in hopes of not winding myself up (as you can see from the emptiness and skipped entries). He has my number and address as I have his… 

He’s been on my mind since I saw his piece in TIME magazine. Probably the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen any celebrity be. Last I read in the papers, he’s off in Hollywood filming a motion picture. An expected hit. I haven’t heard from him since that night. The days drag while I wait for his call and think it’s too good to be true. He owed me nothing. All the time spent thinking ‘what if’ and being generally upset feels wasteful. There was still no good reason why Elvis Presley would put his fame at risk for me. At least, I don’t think so. 

-H

September 20th, 1956

He called.

The audacity of this man. I’d ask, ‘who does he think he is?’ but we all know damn well who. I don’t think I can even truly express the flood of anger and annoyance filling me up to the brim. 

Yet, I’m happy he did.

-H. xx

My mama was the one who got to the phone. I had no reason to expect a call after the amount of time that passed. My little sister, Bev, sat between my legs on the floor while I plaited her hair. I was humming when mama broke me from my reverie.

“Hope, baby, it’s for you.” She called from the kitchen. Mama was hard to read. I got up, expecting it to be Aletha or anyone else.

“Who is it?” I asked slowly. My eyes dropped to where the receiver pressed to her bosom. 

“A kind boy who says he’s Elvis. There’s only one kinda man with that name.” She raised a brow and offered the phone to me at last. I must have looked as wide-eyed as I felt. My cheeks were hot, sweat beading on my nose. I was beginning to wish he had written instead.

“Thank you, mama. I’m sure it’s a…coincidence,” I beamed and walked towards where the phone's cord met its plug. My back was left to my family and I leaned into the wall in quiet excitement. “Elvis? Hello, stranger. I would have thought you were too big for the likes of me.”

“Hope, you are one of the most memorable people. A taste of home don’t compare to these big wig folk.” He responded effortlessly.

Another thing about arriving at Elvis Presley’s home was that it wasn’t short of fanatics outside. It was a sight that the modern eye could barely fathom—milling young women by the dozen surrounding a meek gate. The car was dense in metal while the window's glass was thin. Riding in the passenger seat, I could hear open curiosity as to who I was when we pulled up in one of a few of Elvis’s cars towards his home. My anxiety was far too high to fathom putting it into words then. The majority, if not all, were white women and questioned what I was doing on that side of town. Comments of ‘oh, she must be the maid’ or something along those lines followed after me like a shadow. The words dug into my chest and clawed at my heart. Elvis must have noticed from how he peered at me once he parked. The chiffon scarf at my neck felt too tight while I tried to play timidly. His hand met mine in my lap as I lowered my eyes to where they met. I gave him a half-hearted smile while he squeezed once in quiet confidence and dismissal. Unaffected, Elvis bounded out of the Cadillac and opened my door for me as he had a month ago. Between watchful eyes and the people inside I was about to meet, my stomach churned. He waved towards the awaiting fans from the front of the car. Elvis took my hand once at the passenger door and led me out while strangers called from the road. I could hear the click and snap of personal cameras. He didn’t act fazed at all. It wasn’t something I would ever grow accustomed to. I didn’t want to. My eyes only ever were for him by that point. 

“You’re nervous, huh, darlin’?” He asked and pushed the car door shut behind me. 

“I can’t help but be with everyone starin’. Worse if your mama doesn’t like me,” I whispered. “Please tell me my lipstick isn’t on my teeth?” I smoothed out my dress and kept my eyes downcast from the flock. Elvis placed a hand on my back and led me toward the door. 

“You don’t have nothin’ ta be worried bout,” He answered sweetly and pushed the door open. “Sattnin, daddy! I’m home. C’mon and introduce yourselves.” He called out. Elvis smiled at me and winked as we passed the threshold. Nothing to be worried about would be ideal if my skin color was lighter and my hair was dissimilar to wool. I watched as Elvis’s mother rounded a corner with a beer bottle. She smoothed her free hand down her dress and offered me a smile. Vernon appeared from another room and postured himself against the nearby entryway. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister and Misses Presley. It’s lovely to be here.” I said. My eyes roamed the foyer while my heart felt like it wouldn’t slow down enough.

“You as well, Hope. Dinner is almost ready.” Gladys smiled. She fiddled with the beads of her pearl necklace absentmindedly.

“You’d better have come hungry.” Vernon grinned in return.

After dinner, Elvis convinced me to go to his room. My mind was running a million miles per minute to understand what would be his reasoning. He assured me in quiet words that it would be better to spend time alone and to go ahead to avoid attention. Mothers had senses like a hawk. I wanted to avoid the wrath of Misses Presley my first time meeting her. Regardless, I was in Elvis’s bedroom and too afraid to sit on the bed or touch anything. I left the door cracked and clasped my hands together. After five minutes, I grew bored and looked closely at a few photographs. I picked up the silver frame holding one of Elvis and his parents as a boy.

“What you lookin’ at?” Elvis asked from the door. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My face grew hot since I didn’t hear him push the door open. Glancing over at him, I put the photo back in its place and turned towards Elvis.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming. I’ve never been in a bedroom this big.” I spoke carefully. “Are you sure it’s no issue being in here?”

“Well, as long as we keep our voices down, and they don’t travel to Dodger’s room, I’m sure we’ll be alright,” He grinned as if entertained by the thrill. He further explained to me how everyone retired to the family room, teasing. “Sit with me, Hope.” Elvis crossed the room and sat down on the end of his bed. My eyes were the first to follow him along with my body. He pat the spot next to him when he saw I wasn’t moving. My legs started moving on their own until I was next to him in seconds. We were close enough I felt the heat coming off of him. I crossed one leg over the other, wondering about the star’s intentions. Meeting his parents gave me enough confidence to feel secure in what he wanted. Elvis was still a man with needs. My father huffed and puffed about the dark desires of men for too long for me to ignore. 

“You must have been busy filming your movie. Are you nervous?” I asked softly. My fingers played with the ends of the scarf at my neck, a nervous habit.

“I’m always nervous about somethin’. Like it runs in the Presley blood. I’ve always wanted this since I was a youngin’, you know? Once I could understand what it meant to be in the public eye. Here, let me turn on some music.” Elvis offered and bound from the bed to rifle through his record collection. He turned slightly to hold up Fats Domino’s Here He Comes Again! Album causing my eyes to widen. Elvis drew the vinyl out of its pouch and dropped the needle. He returned to my side again after setting the volume to give them enough privacy and room to talk. 

“The world is a scary place. What’s scarier is not following your dreams or your heart.” I admitted while I tried to relax. The music was soothing. Not that we were doing anything wrong. I seldom was alone with a man.

“And what dreams do you want to come true?” He asked while watching me. Elvis’s eyes carried a weight to them as I met him halfway. His sincerity was nearly staggering. My eyes dropped to his full lips before the guilt caused me to look elsewhere. Elvis placed a curved finger under my chin to meet his eyes again.

“I… Maybe, one day, I can own a cafe or bookstore. A place of refuge. I’m not sure it will ever be more than a dream.” I muttered shyly. His hand moved to spread across my cheek to keep my attention on him. 

“You seem like a smart girl, Hope. Too smart for me, probably.” He let out a low laugh. The sound of it warmed me. I wanted to be the reason he laughed every day and hear his aspirations. “You never know what might happen,” Elvis spoke with something else behind his words. I wasn’t aware at the time how much of a giver he was until years later. Staring at him again, Elvis held my gaze while I leaned closer and rested my hand on his knee. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t allow myself to close the gap. He did it for us. We melted together and soon were lying on our sides. His hand slid to the middle of my back to draw me in. I should stop him--should was the keyword. 

A rumbling noise of approval from him went straight to my core. I carded a hand through soft strands that were deceptively longer than they looked. A few minutes had passed and they were getting too close. Elvis started to draw back, breathing heavily. I didn’t want it to stop and tried to press in again. Elvis stopped me. “Hope…” He panted and pushed up onto his elbow. “We should stop now before we get any worse.” 

“Is it something I’m doin’?” I asked half-heartedly. 

“No, no. Nothing at all. I think I would be remiss to ruin things by going too fast. It would be better to…hold off.” He responded almost as if embarrassed. I didn’t need to see it to know what I felt pressed against me. “Let’s take a breather and talk. I want to hear more about this cafe bookstore thing you’ve got goin’ on in that pretty head of yours.” He rolled over onto his back. I moved to sit up and straightened my skirt to pull it back down.

“And you need to show me what other negro artists you’re coveting over there.” I gave him a reassuring smile. A third time I bent to his will since knowing him. The ache was distracting initially. I found myself enraptured by our conversations and showing one another our favorite songs on each album we managed to get through. The fondest memory that always stuck with me was the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice singing Mood Indigo surrounding us. I wasn’t as hesitant as I’d been in Club Handy and sunk into his arms. His strength somehow gave me less to worry over. I’d forgotten about the fans on the drive and his family beyond the room. One of the last times I would feel safe in his arms.

“You weren't the only one who says Elvis was their first love.” Oprah perched her chin onto her hand and stretched her index finger over her lips. 

“Elvis was the kind of person that you couldn’t help loving. He was a flirt and a go-getter. As much of an entertainer he was, Elvis was also a lover. He had so much to give. Too much that he didn’t see when he was beyond his breaking point in all forms.”  

A/N: Been looking into so many real-life events to keep it interesting. I finished Elvis and Me a couple days ago before I originally started on this. I was so wrapped up in it and finished it in two days. So many details surprised me and even threw me off that I had to sit with my thoughts for a few days. Anyhow, might skip ahead in the timeline to speed things up in the next chapter! Please let me know if you want to be tagged. Taglist (some people couldn't be tagged for some reason): @wonderprince @4niah @matchaluvr123 @mirandastuckinthe80s

[buglass]

working on ch. 2 of Are You Hopeful Tonight? and happy to hear feedback :)

[mamasturn]

ate this up.

Are You Hopeful Tonight?

Pairings: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x OFC

Chapter(s): 1/?

Warnings: slow burn, angst, mentions of racism, partially implied sexual situations

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 2.5K

Song Inspo: Are You Lonesome Tonight? - Elvis Presley & Fever - Elvis Presley

Summary: Hope Haynes has done much in her life leading up to this revolutionary tell-all, but nothing quite like this. No one greater had ever swept her off her feet until she formally met Elvis Presley during the rise of his career and height of new fame. Haynes tells her story for the first time to give insight into the beloved late King of Rock n' Roll. Despite decades of rumors he was prejudiced, Are You Hopeful Tonight? goes into great detail to set the record straight and remember Presley in a different light when love and hate knew color. Or so it was thought. 

© 1991

A/N: Hi, hello! A little nervous since I haven’t written fics in some time and this will be quite the introduction back into it. Excited to see what you think! I prefer to typically write 1st or 3rd person if that bothers anyone. I proofread this myself but if you spot any mistakes please let me know! Feel free to picture Elvis as himself or Austin. Some bits and pieces are historically accurate but may not add up chronologically or coincide with the film. This would have been “published” 2 years after the song Fight the Power would’ve been released. It won’t entirely be a memoir, but a retelling of events, memories, and Hope’s writing. Here are some references that I feel will ease not only my mind but others as well.

♡ ♡ ♡

I never liked spoilers or skipping to the end of a book. It is worse when not given a choice because you lived the ending. It is the one time I think I will forgive myself for knowing what happens. - Hope

Chapter 1

That was the thing about fame and celebrity. Not only was it choosy but sporadic. Either someone had it or not. Maybe they knew the right people in the right place or time. That something in that particular someone was in Elvis Presley. He had Soul that knew no bounds.

It did not matter who you were or where. You heard the hit That’s All Right playing on a forty-five record or the radio. There were plenty of black artists with the same blinding celebrity (additionally, original lyrics) and not enough room for them in the mainstream. Sam Phillips at Sun Records had tried, but bills need to be paid. Even black radio stations diversified their range. Who could blame anyone? Despite the racial barriers and tension, it was not peculiar to be familiar with white culture. Elvis bridged the gap to some degree. The majority of folks who didn't care for it were older and privy to keeping things the same. 

I could feel the change coming. Just not when. 

Doctor King had been making headway around the same time at just twenty-five, but word traveled slow, and others were afraid. Either way, the younger generation wanted things to be different. I never felt any different from anyone else outside of being told I was. There is an invisible line constantly present yet flamboyant signs of being unwelcome. As a little girl, I understood that despite feeling the same as another little girl of pale complexion, I was not. I never felt that way on Beale Street. Most of us found solace in the surrounding area. A different world all on its own. Looking back, I imagined Elvis felt similarly. Not that I always was around to catch him on Beale Street. Everyone has at least one story. Once, my good friend Aletha came back to me years before about how she spotted a "white boy" walking about and staring in a suit shop window or perusing the area like he owned the place.

“Ain’t it just the most absurd thing you ever heard, Hope?” She had said.

“It’s somethin’, alright,” I replied in amusement, not thinking much of it. “But I don’t think him buyin’ a three-dollar shirt is ownin’ the place.”

  Only when I saw him for myself did I believe it. By then, it was commonplace. I stood across the street leaning against the cool brick in the shade, nursing a hand-rolled cigarillo. Too many vehicles and passersby blocking my view. Slicked jet black hair, its ducktail staring back, and only a reflection I could barely see in that same shop window he was ogling. My eyes wandered to the sign Lansky Bros. and back to him again. That time he went inside seemed to be for more than a measly shirt by the state of his dress. I never fully caught a glimpse of his face, but something about him had been familiar. I didn’t take to staring at white men much anyhow. My mama always said I had to be careful around those folks. Move off the sidewalk, keep your eyes down, and don’t do this or that. 

By 1956, I was twenty and Elvis was twenty-one. He had become one of the biggest names out of Memphis for Hound Dog. There was not a soul who was not aware of him. I had so much as became a passive fan. His take on music struck a chord in me that I was embarrassed to admit. My daddy detested the idea of listening to anything but black artists among generally supporting all things black. It left a deep-seated pit in my stomach. It was unavoidable once in the throes of Club Handy. The summer heat had simmered down to autumn and made for lax evenings. Gaining access to the club before the peak influx was the most ideal. The odds of a mass of commotion outside had been less expected when he showed up and hurried inside. I watched alongside Aletha from a nearby window while people tried to clamber or beg their way. Only then, as if the wailing guitar filling the air had stopped, did I turn to see him striding along with B.B. King. B.B. had spoken of Elvis in passing at church long ago, but nothing like seeing them conversing excitedly while rounding the bar. 

“You might wanna close your mouth before ya catch flies.” Aletha leaned in to tease.

“I’ll do you one better,” I murmured before finishing my glass and giving myself an excuse. “Catch more with honey.” I breathed out after a burning gulp.

“Hope…” Aletha said skeptically. She looked ready to wrangle me into my seat. It might have been the booze burning in my belly loosening me up. I figured there was no harm in approaching. One second I was smoothing down my skirt and hair, then standing beside B.B. the next. He took notice when my arm brushed his. His face lit up quickly in recognition.

“Just when I didn’t think the night could get better. There’s always Hope.” B.B. grinned, too proud of himself for his tired-out pun. 

I suddenly felt my heart in my throat when Elvis’s head turned from the bartender towards me. I had never seen such bright and open eyes on me before. Neither such an ostentatious lace shirt paired with a suit jacket did nothing to hide the skin beneath. My eyes raised again to somewhere more appropriate—the healing cut on his cheek and its unusual hue shiny with a salve. I had heard about what happened at whichever gas station he had been at in the papers. No one ever took him for a legitimate ruffian before then.

“I finally had a moment to catch up with you. You’re hardly around in Memphis anymore. Thought I’d catch you before you get lost in the events of the evening and the road callin’ your name,” I smiled and placed my empty glass on the bar. “Don’t be rude. Introduce me.” 

“If you gave me a moment, girl.” B.B. chuckled and took the slightest step back so Elvis and I could see one another. “EP, this is essentially my little sister and shadow Hope. Hope, Elvis.” B.B. gestured between them. Elvis was the first to outstretch his hand and I followed suit. His touch was gentle and appropriate for greeting a lady. No different from any other woman he might be meeting.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Hope, is it? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Elvis grinned while trying to catch my eyes. I was shaking his hand much too long while the shock rippled through me and the alcohol failed to uphold its purpose. The most downright sinful electricity filled me when he spoke. I swore the Creator himself was ready to strike me down for it. I was nodding despite myself.

“Yes. I mean, thank you, Mr. Presley--” I started.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. That would be my father. Just Elvis is fine.” He offered a lop-sided smile. I would have blushed if I could have. The rosy blush on my cheeks did enough on its own. The budding sweat, on the contrary, could be blamed on the close-knit environment. Elvis, too, if I was truthful. I finally let go of his hand and looked at B.B. as if just remembering he was standing there. There was an amused, silent exchange the blues singer gave me that was gone as quickly as it had shown.

“What are you havin’?” B.B. asked and signaled the barback again. The opening was closed again as B.B. leaned against the bar while I took the stool.

“Whisky, neat.” I raised a brow and felt the smirk creeping on my lips. If B.B. was paying, I was drinking. Elvis placed a hand on his chest and held the other upward in defeat.

“Now, that is not a girl you want to mess with. Huh, B.B.?” Elvis smiled at me again. With all their drinks handed out, I felt that much lighter. Our glasses and bottles clinked in a chorus of ‘cheers’.  After a few minutes of chatting, pretending everything was normal, Aletha joined my side. I loved her like a sister, but it could not have been more poorly timed. Someone had come by to let B.B. know his set was next. 

“Break a leg,” I told him from behind the rim of my glass.

“I hope it’s both.” Elvis quipped before letting out a hearty laugh. The sound was unlike any other without the static of a poor radio signal or television screen in the way.

“Let’s hope.” B.B. clapped his free hand on Elvis’s shoulder and spun on his heel towards the stage. 

The unoccupied stool left room for Elvis to scoot over, and he did. I would have paid for that sort of sober confidence at twenty. What are the chances I would get to speak to Elvis Presley alone ever again? Let alone see him where women would not be trying to tear his clothes off. Aletha was more than favorable. She passed the (forsaken) brown paper bag test and was narrow-nosed. Curvaceous in places that would take months' worth of meals for me to compete. My insecurities blinded me once I introduced them. Their casual banter carried on with inquisitive, casual plights. Aletha never appeared to have the same shyness or awkwardness I carried with me everywhere. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Elvis said. His eyes scanned the crowd, lingering there. 

“Sorry?” I looked up from the amber liquid swirling around in the glass. Taking to people watching and B.B. setting up had been a lazy escape.

“You’re awfully quiet,” He repeated and cocked his head to the side, dipping to meet my eye level. Stray strands of hair fell into his face. I hated how much I liked it. The teenage girl in me wanted to save it to memory for when I would have to reminisce about his lost presence. I shrugged and shook my head dismissively. “Let’s dance.” He reached back to place his nearly empty bottle atop the bar.

The panic returned, my heart hammering in my chest. I spared a glance at Aletha observing. She shrugged and reached to take my glass from my hand. The look she gave me said I would be crazy not to dance with Elvis Presley. My mouth fell open ready to utter an alibi without a chance. He pulled me out to the floor. Wistful bodies moved to the guitar, and B.B.’s voice crooned a lovelorn tale that sent my mind elsewhere. Elvis drew me into his arms, one hand on my lower back and the other clasped in mine. Time seemed to slow down. The worry of being near a man different from me felt pointless under his touch.

“This alright, darlin’?” Elvis leaned in with his lips near my ear. All I could do was nod. When he withdrew, he was watching me, reading my face. It warmed my chill exterior Elvis was willing to ask. All I could do was focus on him lest I catch anyone staring. There was a flash and another in our specific direction. Someone took a picture of us, that worry festering again. 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked and dropped my chin down towards my chest. Maybe if I shrunk, I would magically become the size of a pea. We swayed from side to side as the bystanders' cheering became louder. Elvis stepped in closer with his knee nudged between my own. He dropped his head so I could hear him better and held my hand against his chest. Lord, what was happening?

“Why should it, Hope?” He rumbled and brought their hips closer. “It don’t matter to me.” Elvis affirmed. Every movement shared was guided by those devilish hips. 

“I think you know why,” I answered a bit too breathlessly for my liking. How tempting to close my eyes and let Elvis sweep me away. 

“I’ve never been one to care about those sorta things. It’s how I was raised by my mama and daddy. Sometimes folks don’t know what they’re missin’.” He explained warmly and drew back enough to smile at me. I was unaware, at the time, of his childhood in Tupelo or the friends he kept. Elvis’s smile was shit-eating though not cocky. Playful at best. 

“First I’m hearing about it…” I trailed off. 

A weary sigh left me. I gave in to the closeness, lying my head on his chest. He was firm and steady. Parts of myself stirred that I didn’t often face. The warm ache in my lower stomach, familiar and unwelcome, was assuaged by him and the density of the room. I swore it felt akin for him as well. I wanted to snap out of it. Instead, I wondered what it would be like to have him on my bed. Whatever spell Elvis Presley had cast on me was reeling me in. I had never gone that far with a man. I was not planning to start there. When the song faded away, I separated from Elvis. The distance helped to clear my head of the cobwebs. That picture was going to be in the papers tomorrow. The world could not find a more avid reader than my father. He would be the least of my worries once every consumer of the paper got a look at me. I tucked my hair behind my ear before joining in on the applause. Pretending was not something I was ever capable of doing. I excused myself, moving out of reach from Elvis. There was a tug at my arm to slow me down and I tugged right back.

“Hope, wait a minute, would you?” Elvis asked. “I can’t understand what’s wrong if ya don’t talk to me.” His long legs carried him around to face me quicker than I could manage.

“That’s it, Elvis, I don’t have to. I’m not some trollop you can carry off into the night. Alright?” I answered heatedly. A poor attempt to put my foot down and create space. Beelining towards where Aletha remained at the bar, I pointed towards the exit that would lead us downstairs. She gave me a look of disbelief once more. I thought Aletha of everyone would be understanding of how ludicrous it had become. Had she been watching us at all? When her eyes skipped past me, I turned again to find Elvis waiting patiently. I was so sure he was a man who had become accustomed to getting what he wanted. The three of us could be stubborn together.

“I would like to see you home, at least. Aletha too, if she’s comin’.” Elvis offered, waiting. He pursed his lips at me when I didn’t answer immediately. In the lull, his eyes lit up again. I would be added to the list of people who struggled to tell him no.

“You are trouble.” I looked at him meekly from under my lashes.

“I’m evil, sugar.” He said, pearly teeth shining bright. ♡ ♡ ♡ A/N: I wouldn't have written this or posted it without the encouragement from the people who left comments and asked to be tagged. Thanks for reading! This chapter was mainly just to set the foundation as much as possible. It gets better (I think...). Taglist: @wonderprince @4niah