#au elvis fic

[sissylittlefeather]

Oof goddamn this was hot.

You know I love me some vampire Elvis. Mmmmmmm...

His First Bite: A Sinned Awakening Story 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's 1959 and Elvis has just been bitten. He doesn't know how to navigate his new life but a night on the town changed it all.

TW: Harem warning, mentions of blood/gore, SMUT, oral, dirty dirty feelings

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.5k

A/n: Well here it is... a dirty extra chapter I had locked in the vault for a year.🫣 When I started writing this, I totally chickened out and could not write such scenario but Vampire!E has been living in my head lately...begging to be let out.😏 I touched a bit on this scene in part 9 when I wanted to show more background of vampire!E and show why he is the way he is. Its just filth and couldn't post it til now so please enjoy this bad boy 😈🩸

♱

Paris 1959

The hungry pit in his stomach was relentless. Nothing could satiate him. Everything he ended up eating would be wasted a few moments later when he puked it up. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. It must have been whatever was left over from his illness. At least he was off for the next few days and didn’t have to think about anything Army-related. Some of the guys convinced him to go to Paris for a few days. 

It couldn’t be a bad idea, he hadn’t gotten out of Germany since he first arrived. He needed a break from Army life and the incessant pressure that they put on him in here. As much as he wanted to focus on what he was doing here, he couldn’t help but think of home. He missed his old life and the love that he had from his fans. He constantly worried if they would tolerate him and his music when he got out of here. He knew things could be over tomorrow and the next best thing would come along, making him lost and forgotten. He missed being on stage and engaging with the people who loved him so much. 

He straightened his suit as he stepped out of the car. He looks up at the old building with big sparkling letters “Moulin Rouge.” It was a well-known nightclub here in Paris. It was said the girls were divine and they were just the thing to make him distracted with how awful he’s been feeling. He just wanted someone’s attention. Make all this noise in his head disappear. With not being able to eat right, he also constantly heard this pounding in his head. It was relentless and he couldn’t drown it out. Every noise was too loud for him and it was driving him up the wall. Maybe he just needed a distraction and it would all go away. 

The club was told he was coming. They sectioned off a table in the front for him and a few other army buddies to sit at. They served them champagne and anything else they wanted. He wasn’t interested in any food tonight, he wanted to watch the girls on stage and drown in their presence. This nightclub should have been called what it really was; a strip tease club.

The girls started to come out would dance to whatever song the band was playing. Slowly, their clothes would come off piece by piece revealing their perfect bodies. The place erupted with cheers and whistles when there was nothing else left to the imagination. Every girl had a different routine and drove everyone in there insane. Even Elvis. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time and the slightest thing was making his cock hard. It pressed hotly down his thigh and he did everything in his power to not palm it through his pants. He did everything to try and ignore it but these girls were making him think horrible things. 

Toward the end of the night, he was becoming restless and the pounding in his head was worsening. He was starving but no food would help. He didn’t know what was happening but he might have to see a doctor if this carried on for much longer. Elvis stood up and leaned down to one of the guys, “Get the girls up to my room.”

“Which one?”

He thought for a moment and couldn’t decide.

“All of them.”

They were staying in the hotel next door and he figured it would be easy to sneak them upstairs. He was on the top floor and no one was bothering him thankfully. He took off his jacket and went to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Something was lacking in his eyes. There was no spark in him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was but he could see there was something wrong with him. He blamed it on his illness. Whatever he had nearly killed him. 

He heard footsteps coming to the door and the loudest thumping in his ears. He couldn’t figure out what it was but it was taking over his senses. He walked to the door and tried to gather himself before letting them in. The door opened and a dozen girls, either in their costumes or thin robes stood before him. 

“Please, come in,” he says warmly. They each walked in one by one and that thumping sound only increased. They all looked at him with lust, not believing they were in the same room with him and wanted to tear him apart. Some of them made themselves comfortable and sat on the bed or in a chair but all eyes were on him.

“You all were lovely tonight, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he says low. He takes a sharp breath in before speaking again and he can distinctly smell all of their perfume. Some wore a floral type and some wore something more natural. It was so strange to him to be able to pick up on all these scents and then something else hits him like a truck. He smelled something so sweet, so delicious, his mouth watered at the thought of it. He couldn’t figure out what it was but they all smelled the same way and he wanted them closer to him to find out what it was and lick it off of them. 

There was an empty chair behind him by the window and he sat down, spreading his legs out before him. He could hear them all take a sharp breath as they looked at him. He didn’t know how to get them closer other than inviting them to him. There was one girl with big blue eyes and red lipstick who didn’t stop looking at him from the moment she walked in. She was really beautiful and there was something about her he liked. 

“Come here,” he says gently with a smile. 

She happily walks over and steps to the side of him, wearing a sly smile. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it. 

“What’s your name darlin’?”

“Claire.”

“Oh, I love that name… you were so mesmerizing up there,” he coos as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her onto his lap. That warm, sweet scent flooded his senses once again and his whole body responded to it. It was a hunger and a lust that burned through him. He had trouble breathing with her this close. 

She sighs into his touch and plays with his shirt. 

“Thank you, we were happy you could make it. We heard you were in Europe and wondered if we’d ever get a kiss from the one and only,” she teased. 

“Is that what they’re saying about me?”

“I don’t know about everyone else, but us girls were quite interested,” she quips. 

He looked down at her lips and they were plump and inviting. His eyes continued to trail down her chest and the robe that she wore was practically see-through. Her hard nipples poked through and he couldn’t help but want to suck on them. She was warm in his lap, radiating with need with every second that went by. He places his hand on her face and takes another deep breath in. God that smell was electrifying. He needed that wherever he went. 

“All of you can kiss me for as long as you want,” he hums as he presses his lips to hers. 

They were soft and full and she let out a soft moan when his lips crashed into hers. She looks up at him dazed and shocked at how good it was. She went in for another kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. Another wave of her scent came hurling at Elvis and he groaned because of it. The way he was acting was strange even to himself. He had never been like this with any woman. 

Another girl walked to him and waited for her kiss. The girl in his lap didn’t get up as one by one, every girl in that room got kisses from him. They all groaned when they felt his lips on theirs, pure ecstasy pouring into them. It made his cock hard just the way they were reacting to him. He didn’t have to do much and these girls were dying for attention from him. 

The girl in his lap started to unbutton his shirt and slip her hand across his chest. Her skin was so soft and the pounding sound he heard in his head only got worse. He pulled her in closer and started to kiss her more feverishly. She loved it and let her robe fall off her shoulders. He slipped his hand along her waist and his mouth moved down her face. He covered her face in warm wet kisses and moved down to her neck. That pounding sound became crystal clear when his fingers touched the side of her neck where he could see her pulse. His hand slid down to the top of her breast and the sound he heard matched the feeling of her heart pounding away under his hand. 

I can hear their hearts… how is that possible…

Everything in him was telling him to put his mouth on those spots. He needed to feel it against his skin. His hand squeezes her breast and he brings her nipple to his mouth. He sucks and squeezes her, making her make this soft moan that makes his cock harder. He felt someone at his legs, rubbing their hands up and down his calves and their breathing ragged. 

Someone pulled his hand off of the girl and brought it to their own breast, making him squeeze her too. 

"Please touch me," she cries.

He pauses and looks at these women fawning over him. They were all so desperate for him and the sounds of their heartbeats nearly drove him mad. He had to focus on one at a time. 

His mouth was back on her nipples and sucked and teased them till they were red and swollen. He moved up her collarbone to her neck and groaned when he felt her galloping heart race against his lips. His mouth sucked on her neck harder and he felt this overwhelming power surge through him. She trembled against him and held onto him tighter.

The girl at his feet slowly started to slither her hands up his thighs and palm his length through his pants. He groans deeply and quickly looks down at her. It felt so good, he hadn’t had anyone touch him like this in so long. He watches her hands try to unbutton his pants and reach into them to pull his cock out. She looked up at him with innocent eyes and slowly pumped him in her hand. God, he could fuck her all night with the way she looked at him. He nodded his head at her to keep going and she happily obliged.

That mouthwatering scent continued to swirl in his head and almost became too distracting. He began to feel overwhelmed if he didn’t get what his body was craving. He started to breathe heavier as the girls around him took turns kissing on him. They kissed any part of him that they could get their hands on. It drove him wild and he started to kiss them more feverishly and nip at any exposed skin he could get his mouth on. They responded with moans and sighs from his touch and it made him feel intoxicated. A buzzing high started to take over and he wanted more from them. This hunger inside him couldn’t be suppressed.

He returned his attention to the girl on his lap and grabbed the back of her head forcefully.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

She takes a sharp breath in before reaching down and jerking his cock slowly, groaning when she feels the size of him. His eyes roll back and buries his face in her neck. That sweet smell was the best from there and he feels like he’s in a frenzy. He can’t control how much he wants to stay there and bask himself in her scent. 

He sucks and nips at her neck harder, feeling a pool of warmth reside under her skin. His jaw has this sharp pain that takes over his mouth but he tries to ignore it. He found it harder to breathe and all he could think about was wanting to nip at her neck a little harder… like that would be so satisfying for him and help this hunger inside him.

He lets that dark voice win and sinks his teeth into her neck. She screams out in pain but her blood pools in his mouth quickly and once his tongue tastes that perfect nectar, he’s unglued. It was the best-tasting thing he’s ever had in his mouth. It was rich and sweet and made the hunger inside him come more alive. He held onto her body tighter and started to suck harder and gulp mouthfuls of her pooling blood. He was in heaven. She scratched at this chest and continued to cry out in pain.

The other girls started to see the blood dripping from her neck and became frightened. They all quickly stepped away and gasped in horror. Elvis took his teeth out of her and felt so good but the moment he opened his eyes and saw what he had done, he was mortified. The girl’s face was scared beyond belief and scrambled to get off of him. She covered her neck and winced in pain. He didn’t know what he had done. He bit someone and he liked it far too much.

He stands up from the chair and begins to panic.

“Darlin’ I-I-I, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you-,” the stammers and they all cry out terrified and turn their faces away from him, like his very appearance is the most horrifying thing they’ve ever seen. The bathroom was directly to his right and he could see crystal clear, even from here, these bloodthirsty red eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening. In long strides, he rushed to get a closer look at himself. His eyes were terrifying and blood was smeared all over his mouth. 

“Oh my God,” he says shakily.

When he opens his mouth, he can see the razor-sharp fangs that descend from his normal incisors. He truly was terrifying and couldn’t understand what was happening.

He was a vampire.

That was the only thing he knew for sure. The hunger he’s had these last few days wasn’t for food but for blood. And that incessant pounding in his head wasn’t a headache, it was everyone’s heartbeat he could hear, calling out to him like a siren. It was fuzzy, but he remembers that night the army captain came to his bedside and promised to give him a gift, something to guarantee him making it out of Germany alive. He couldn’t believe it. He felt deceived and fearful. He didn’t know what this meant for his future. 

He heard the girls murmuring in the other room and he realized he needed to do something about them. He walks back into the bedroom and they all tremble looking at him. He felt helpless and just wanted them to forget what they’d seen.

“I’m sorry.. p-please forgive me,” he pleads. They all hold their breath and look away from him.

He takes another step forward and begs for them to listen.

“Please! I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forget what you’ve seen!” He pleads.

They all look at him and the fear washes away from their faces. They look at him with awe again and want to get closer to him. Elvis was relieved and breathed normally again.

He could make them forget whatever he needed them to. They wouldn’t remember how his eyes were monstrous and bloodthirsty. 

He had power.

His throat felt tight and that hunger he had earlier came back with a vengeance. He tried to calm himself so he wouldn’t scare them again was difficult but he had to try. He looked at them all in the eyes and licked his lips before speaking.

“Do you trust me?”

They nod their heads at them and look at him like they want to take a bite out of him.

“Good don’t be afraid of my eyes or my teeth, I’ll be gentle,” he breathes, “Do you want me?”

They nod their heads and whimper at the question. That made him feel disastrously weak and pull his shirt off his body and pulled his pants down. He got on the bed and sat up with the pillows behind his back, his legs spread and his cock at full attention.

“I want you too… I’ll try to please you all night, if that’s what you want.” He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, there were a lot of them and only one of him but he just wanted them close. He wanted to bask in their scent and fuck them til the sun came up. 

One of the brunettes came forward first and got between his legs, looking at his cock with anticipation. 

“Come closer,” he begged, “Get on top of me.”

He could hear how her heart pounded against her ribcage at the request. God, he couldn’t get enough of it and it excited him in the worst of ways. 

She straddles his hips and presses her wet cunt to his shaft. They both groan when they feel how needy they are. He pulls her close and starts to suck on her neck. She groans at the sensation and grinds herself against his length. He felt the bed shift in weight and more of the girls wanted to get closer to him, hoping they would get an ounce of his attention. Elvis had never felt so deprived of human touch but this searing thirst in his throat made it so much worse. His hands squeeze onto her hips and gently lifts her up and sinks her down on his aching cock. She squeezed tightly around him, not prepared for the size of his length. He momentarily lifts his head from her neck and looks her in the eyes, encouraging her to move. She groans helplessly and slowly bobs up and down on him. He curses how good her pussy feels. So warm and tight around him.

He looks to the right of him and another girl is trembling watching Elvis please the girl on top of him. He motions her to come closer to him with a flick of his finger. She kneels on the side of him and rubs his chest. He guides his fingers under her dress and to his pleasure, she’s wearing nothing underneath it and is soaking wet. He rubs his fingers back and forth through her folds until they are covered in her arousal. He then pushes two of his fingers at her entrance and slowly thrusts them in and out of her. She holds onto him tightly, overwhelmed with the feeling of him inside her, and cries out his name. Just watching these girl’s faces get off because of him made him want to cum.

Another girl to his left started to kiss on him and beg for his attention. He pulled her close and sucked on her breasts, making her groan prolifically. He couldn’t get enough of them. He had never done something like this but it had never felt so right. He began to thrust his hips harder into the girl on top of him and he could feel her walls flutter after every move he made. The hunger washed over him again and he wanted to make this beautiful girl cum all over him while he sunk his teeth into her neck.

He pulled her close and wasted no time. His hips drove into her, making her cry out his name and he sucked on where he wanted to take a bite. He felt this overwhelming instinct come over him and he gently sunk his teeth into her neck. She cried out but didn’t stop moving on him. He let the blood pool into his mouth before greedily sucking it out of her. It was the best feeling he could have imagined. He felt satisfied beyond belief. The sound of groans filled the room as some of them watched him make these girls come undone. His fingers still pumped in and out of the other girl and he could tell she was about to finish. She was grinding herself on his fingers begging for release.

He groans into the girl’s neck when he feels her walls pulse around him and squeeze his cock. He had to take his teeth out of her neck to make sure didn’t bite any harder as she rode him through her orgasm.

“That’s it baby, keep cumming. You feel so good,” he growls. She keeps her eyes closed and nods her head, grinding herself at the base of his cock. He turns his head to the side and watches the other girl cum on his finger, squeezing them for dear life. She drips down his knuckles and he nearly loses it at just the sight.

The girl on top of him slumps onto his chest, gasping for breath. Elvis takes the opportunity to lick the remaining blood that was leaking from her neck and give a satisfied groan.

“Please forget I bit you, I’m sorry for the pain,” he whispers in her ear. She hums in agreement and slowly gets off of him. He then slowly took his fingers out of the girl next to him who was also just as spent. He wanted a taste though. He wanted to see if a certain person’s blood tasted any different from another. He pulled her in and took a bite into her neck and reveled in the sweet taste of her blood. It all tasted good to him and he couldn’t waste a drop. 

After he was done feeding from her, the girls stared at him waiting to hear what he wanted next. He looked down at his hard cock that was begging for release. Another girl came forward, her heart racing uncontrollably when she looked at him. She crawled in between his legs and he stopped her from coming any further. He leaned over and caressed her face when he looked at her.

“Make me cum, please. I want you to use your mouth,” he instructs.

She whimpers at his instructions and takes his hard length in her hand, pumping it a few times before licking the tip of him. God, it felt good. He closed his eyes and enjoyed how her tongue worshipped him.

He wanted more blood, it clouded his whole mind. He didn’t know how to stop. This was all so new to him.  So he pulled the next girl in and attacked her breasts with kisses and nipping them softly. Her sweet moans only egged him to go further. He picked her up easily and had her straddle his face. He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her glistening cunt to his mouth. He eats her out in a fervor and enjoys the taste of her. Moans filled the whole room as he felt his release coming. He bucked his hips into the girl’s mouth and had her take more of him. She happily obliges and he hits the back of her throat, making his hips buck into her again and releasing his hot cum into her mouth. He groans heavily against the girl on top of him and makes her come undone too. 

They were all overcome with ecstasy and pleasure radiating through them. He gently lifted the girl off of him and took a bite into her breast, relishing in the sound of her galloping heartbeat so close to him. One by one, he tasted every single girl’s blood that night, barely able to get enough but he felt so much better. That hunger that he was dealing with the last few weeks subsided tremendously. It was well into the early morning that he discovered he didn’t grow tired. He had been trying to close his eyes while at the army base but never felt like he got an ounce of sleep. Now he knows why… vampires don’t sleep.

He also discovered not too late into the evening, he didn’t need rest from any activity. He was able to keep his cock hard all night even after finishing. He had never felt such pleasure like this and kept his promise of pleasing every girl in that room, some of them multiple times. By the time the sun was up, everyone was asleep well into the afternoon. Elvis had girls on top of him peacefully sleeping and not scared to death that a vampire fed from them all night long. He checked their necks and the spots his fangs pierced into their necks had completely healed. Some of them had slight bruises on their necks from his sucking a bit too hard but nothing too telling it was a vampire that did it. 

He manages to slip out of the bed and take a shower. He looked at his reflection and thankfully his eyes went back to their normal blue shade. His face was a smeared bloody mess and had to wash it off. He didn’t want the reminder that he was now a monster. A monster who craved blood so much he couldn’t function otherwise. The cool water felt good on his skin and he took his time there. There was so much he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything more about vampires other than what folktales have said for generations. All he knew was he craved blood and that made all the rest of his senses calm down. Everything felt so overwhelming if he didn’t have his teeth buried in someone’s neck. 

Elvis put on new clothes and the shrill sound of the phone rang in his ears. He tried to cover his ears with his hands but it was no use, everything was so loud to him. He quickly emerges from the bathroom and angrily picks up the receiver.

“What!?” He growls annoyed.

“Mr. Presley, This is Mr. Leonard, the owner of the Moulin Rouge. You need to get the girls back here for the first show of the evening,” he says sternly and very annoyed.

“Sure,” Elvis snaps and hangs up immediately.

The sound of a knock on the door ticks him off more and he quickly opens the door.

“What?” He snarls before looking to see who it is. It was one of his guys standing there, surprised by his tone of voice. 

“Hey… the owner isn’t very happy you took all of the girls last night…” he says carefully. He looks past Elvis’ shoulder and sees his bed full of naked women and more of them sleeping on the floor.

“What the hell happened last night?” He asks wide-eyed.

Elvis can’t help but chuckle softly, “you wouldn’t believe me even if I tried explaining,” he says slyly.

“But I can tell you this, I’ve never been better.”

*

*

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Tagging:

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@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.

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@elvisalltheway101@austinsmutler@kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

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[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

---

Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

__

[sissylittlefeather]

Viva Las Vegas

A mafia!Elvis AU Story

A/N: This was a request that threw me for a loop. I didn't know anything about the mafia. But after watching Casino and talking to my husband, I think I did this one okay and I had an absolute blast writing it! Hopefully it's exactly what it's supposed to be and you all enjoy it!

Warnings: SO MUCH SMUT AND VIOLENCE 18+ NO MINORS, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, swallowing, ejaculation, creampie, ALSO GUN VIOLENCE

Word count: ~6.2k (it takes a lot of storytelling)

In 1973 after the Aloha Special, Elvis decided he had had enough of the colonel and his life in Vegas. He didn't want to leave Vegas per se, but he wanted to try something different.

Thats when he bought a casino and entered the world you'd been trying to get out of for a decade: the world of corrupt casino bosses and the mafia back east.

You hate your father. He owns one of the casinos in Vegas, which means he's in neck deep with the mafia. All of the casinos are tied up with the mob somewhere. Some are from New York, some in Chicago, and a few in other cities around the Midwest.

The casino Elvis buys is New York mafia and it doesn't take him long to get wrapped in their web. Despite his rock star status, he loves it and is eager to do odd jobs for the bosses here and there and earn their trust. Before too long, he's one of their most trusted lieutenants. And by 75, he's his own kind of boss in Las Vegas. The mafia game is new in Vegas, but Elvis is on the forefront, creating his own family of Memphis guys to help him enforce the dealings of his casino.

Your father owns a Chicago mafia casino. And although there's not really beef between the two in their individual cities, the battle over who reigns supreme in Vegas rages. Elvis dives headfirst into this feud and is quick to figure out who the enemy is: your father.

This is not a problem in the beginning. You've sworn up and down that you'll marry a nice man and get out of this bullshit. You're tired of people you know ending up buried in the desert. You'll never get involved with a mafia boss. It's just not in the cards for you.

And then 1975 rolls around and you attend an event put on by the gaming commission to thank the casino owners for their contribution to the city of Las Vegas. You wonder if they have any idea how dangerous it is to have all these men in one room together. Still, you're not there with any of them. You're there on the arm of a senator. He's sweet and naive, and a little bit dumb, but at least he doesn't kill people in his spare time. Your father is disappointed, but the work you're doing with the senator might pay off, so he doesn't try to stop you.

That's when you meet Elvis. You catch his eye across the room and hold his gaze for a few seconds. You know who he is, but you're not eager to know him any better than you already do, so you look away. Still, you feel eyes on you and you look back in his direction to find that he's still staring at you. You look away again to try to convey your disinterest, but when you look back a third time, he's left his date and is walking towards you.

"Oh fuck." You whisper under your breath and roll your eyes. You walk away from the senator toward the bar in an effort to dodge Elvis. But somehow he catches up to you.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one." When you turn to face him, he's taller than you expect.

"Also they're free."

"True. Can I offer you something in gold and diamonds instead?" He smirks and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes again.

"I only wear white gold."

"Noted. What's your name."

"I'm y/n. Y/f/n y/l/n."

"Y/l/n? Any relation to Marco y/l/n?"

"He's my father."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so I suggest you move along, soldier. I know who you work for."

"Now hold on, I'm not a soldier. I own my own outfit these days."

"Good for you. I'm still not interested." You go to walk away from him and he grabs your arm and pulls you close to him.

"Oh, I think you are, doll. You wouldn't be so keen on runnin' away if you weren't." Your proximity to him allows you to notice the scent of him. He's all cologne, cigarillos, and peppermint. It's an intoxicating blend and there's something about the way his eyes sparkle that draws you in.

You were a fan of him when you were younger and he was still starring in movies. He's 40 now and he's grown into his maturity in a way no one expected. He carries more weight than he has before, but somehow that makes him more attractive. Like he's a whole man now and he knows what a woman wants.

"Say I was interested. It's not like you'd be allowed anywhere near me. If you don't want to end up in a hole in the desert, I suggest you go back to your date."

"Your father doesn't scare me, honey. All I heard was that you're interested." In a move bold enough to shock you, he leans in and kisses your cheek.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"You're a beautiful girl. Might be worth a hole in the desert." No one has ever pursued you with such fervor. You hate to admit it, but it's turning you on quite a bit.

"Okay, I'm interested. What's your plan now?" He smiles and wraps his hand around your waist.

"Come with me, sugar."

He leads you through the party back to the door that goes into the kitchen.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

He takes you into the pantry where they store the dry goods. It's bigger than a closet, so there's space for both of you. As soon as the door closes, he kisses you, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your lower back, pulling your body in close to his. You kiss him back and melt into his embrace. You know you should stop him, but you don't. He pulls back and looks into your eyes.

"Just how interested are you?" His hand moves to your breast, where he squeezes gently and then slides down to your core, easily finding your clit through your dress.

"I'm interested, daddy. But you better make it worthwhile."

"Mmmm sugar, don't you worry about that. Daddy'll take good care of ya." He gets on his knees and pushes your dress up to your hips. Sliding your panties down your legs, he moves back up to your center, pressing his mouth to you. You gasp a little at the sensation. He slides two fingers inside you to pump in and out while he licks your clit. He makes circles over and around it with his tongue and you moan and put your fingers in his hair. He continues to lap at you as he fucks you with his hand. You feel your orgasm coming to slam into you and your walls tighten around his fingers.

"Let go, baby. Cum for daddy." As soon as he says it, your climax hits and the pleasure washes over you like waves crashing on a beach. He licks you through your orgasm and then backs away slowly. He stands back up and turns you to face away from him. Whispering in your ear, he unbuckles his belt and drops his pants just enough for his cock to bounce free.

"You want daddy to fuck you, sugar?

"Mmmhmmm yes please daddy." You whimper and moan as he lines himself up with your entrance from behind. Then, he holds your hips as he slides into you and picks up a steady rhythm of pounding you. He's balls deep inside you when someone opens the door. He slams it shut with his hand and hollers, "Occupied!"

You giggle a little and he laughs too. Through the whole episode, though, he doesn't stop fucking you. He holds your hips and slams into you over and over again until it feels like you just can't stand it anymore. You cum hard on his dick and he pulls out just in time and pumps his cock a few times to shoot his seed all over your ass.

"Fuck yes, sugar, fuck!"

When he's finished, he finds a napkin to clean you up and then pulls your panties back to where they belong. He slaps your ass before he pulls your dress back down. "Mmm. I want you to belong to me."

"I'm not sure that's possible. You know who my father is."

"I don't give a damn who your father is."

"Well, I don't want you dead. This was fun, but that's all it was."

"We'll see, sugar." He leans in and kisses you deeply one last time. Then, you both make your way out of the closet and back to your respective dates at the party.

But for the rest of the night, you catch him looking at you from across the room.

You've never hated your father more.

******

Three days later a box arrives at your suite. Your parents have the penthouse, but your living area is nothing to sneeze at. You've got three full bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a large space for entertaining complete with a bar. You're no stranger to luxury.

So when you open the box and even you are shocked, you know this is an impressive gift. You lift out a large, ornate jewelry box and open it carefully. The whole thing is packed to the brim with white gold and diamonds. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings you suspect to the tune of roughly a million dollars. There's a card inside as well, so you open the envelope and pull it out gently. A necklace falls into your lap when you go to read it. The card is blank except for a single line:

"This one makes you mine. -EP"

You hold it up to examine it. It's smaller than some of the others, but the whole thing is coated in little diamonds. The letters "TLC" surround a lightning bolt and hang on a white gold chain. You look back down at the box of jewelry on the table in front of you. If you accept this gift, you're opening the door to a dangerous situation for both of you. Is he worth it? There's a part of you screaming yes, but you also swore to never get involved with a mob boss. And now you're considering your father's biggest rival? No. You decide to call him and thank him, but graciously tell him no.

"Hello?" Of course he doesn't answer the phone. It's obviously one of his guys.

"I need to speak to Elvis please."

"I'm sure you do. You and every other broad in this town."

"Tell him it's Sugar and I just want to thank him for the gift." You can tell he sets down the receiver and you hear mumbling in the background. After a few more seconds, the phone is picked up again.

"Hi, Sugar. Sounds like you got my present?" His voice is warm and sensual and you're almost hypnotized by it. You shake your head a little to bring yourself back down to earth.

"I did. And it's very sweet, thank you. But-"

"No."

"No?"

"You're not sending it back. It's yours."

"Elvis, I can't keep this."

"You will. And you'll have dinner with me tonight."

"Elvis, no I-"

"I'll pick you up at 8."

"You can't come here."

"So meet me on the corner outside. Wear something pretty and don't forget your necklace. I'll see you at 8." There's a click and the line goes dead. You look at the receiver and slam it down on the dialer. He's impossible.

******

At 7:30, you sit on your bed staring at the dress you picked out. It's tight and short and covered with black rhinestones. Are you actually going to do this? You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to see him again, but there's so much at risk. Your hair and makeup are done and all you need to do is get dressed and put on your jewelry. You look at the clock again and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Fuck it."

You stand up and slide the dress on. It fits you like a glove and won't do much to keep him from liking you. Neither will the black strappy heels you pull on. You go to the jewelry box and put on a pair of large diamond earrings, a bracelet, and several rings. You stand there holding the TLC necklace and stare at yourself in the mirror. Going to dinner with him is one thing. Wearing the necklace that claims you as his own is totally different. But you're not sure what he might do if you show up without it. At 7:53, you throw the necklace around your neck, grab your purse, and head for the door. You stand on the corner for less than thirty seconds before a long black limousine pulls up and the window rolls down.

"You waitin' for someone?" Elvis gives you a mischievous smile.

"Maybe."

"Hi Sugar. Come on." A guy pops out of the car and opens the door for you to slide in next to Elvis. As you settle on the seat, Elvis reaches across and fondles the necklace where it sits on your chest.

"It looks good on ya." You feel your cheeks get warm.

"I wasn't sure I wanted to wear it."

"And yet, here you are. You're in love with me, Sugar."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"Because I'm in love with you."

"You literally met me once."

"That's all it takes when your souls are aligned like ours are." He leans forward and captures your lips in a deep kiss. You begin to make out heavily. As your tongues move against each other, the passion overwhelms you and you crawl on top of him to straddle him. You continue to kiss and his hands run over your body hungrily. Eventually, he grabs your ass with both hands and pulls you in against him, his hardness pressing into you between your legs.

"How far is the restaurant?" You whisper breathily.

"Far enough." He lets you unbuckle his belt and get his pants open enough to pull his cock out. You hike your skirt up to reveal that you aren't wearing panties.

"Sugar, you're gonna kill me." He holds your hips, lining you up with him, and then drops you down on his dick. You roll your hips against him and fuck him deeply. He grunts and grabs your neck to pull you into a kiss. You both know that you don't have much time, so you move on him quickly. He lifts his hips a little and his cock rubs perfectly against your g-spot. Without warning, you cum hard on him and the intense pleasure runs through you like fire.

"Mmm." He grunts and you know he's getting close too, so you back up off of him and drop to your knees on the floor of the limo. You put your hands on his thighs and pull his cock deep into your throat. "Dear god, woman."

You bounce up and down on him for a few more seconds before his hips buck and he fills your throat with his warm release. You swallow it all down and then run your tongue around his uncut tip. When you pull back off of him and sit on his lap, he grabs your chin and kisses your lips gently.

"Sugar, you're mine and you know it."

"I am." He kisses you again.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The car stops and you both make yourselves presentable before the door opens. You head into the restaurant together and never look back.

******

You spend the next few weeks together pretty much 24/7. Periodically, he disappears to take care of business, but for the most part you're either talking, sleeping, or fucking. You really hope that your parents don't notice that you haven't been home except to grab a suitcase since you left for dinner that night. This is the happiest you've ever been in your life and at the beginning of the fourth week Elvis walks into his suite after some business and asks you to come sit with him on the couch. You do as he asks, but you're starting to get a little worried because he seems really serious.

"What is it, baby?" You settle in close to him but he moves away from you to look into your face.

"Sugar, I've never felt like this about a woman. I truly believe our souls were meant to be together. I want you to marry me." He pulls a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal an enormous emerald-cut three-stone diamond ring of no less than 14 carats.

"Wow. Elvis, I- wow."

"What do ya say, Sugar?"

"Elvis, I want nothing more than to marry you. But I don't think I can. The only reason we've made it this long is because my father doesn't know."

He slams the box down on the coffee table and stands up, pacing.

"Damn it, Sugar, I told you I don't give a fuck about your father! Let him find out!" You stand up too and raise your voice to match his.

"Do you think I want him to kill you?!"

"You don't believe I can defend myself?! Is that what you think of me?!" He kicks over an end table, sending the things on it flying. "I'm a man, y/n! This is what I do!" He puts his foot on the coffee table and pulls the gun from his boot, dropping it on the table with a thud. He rips his jacket off and pulls the two guns out of his shoulder holster, tossing them on the table too. He pulls the guns from his waistband holsters and adds them to the pile.

You watch as he does all of this. You've seen your father do almost the same exact thing at the end of a long day. You feel the tears well up in your eyes and you want to scream. How did you end up here, so in love with a man who is in this world? If you marry him, you'll never escape. You'll get married in the mafia, raise your kids in the mafia, and watch your husband die in the mafia. It's all too much and the tears start pouring down your cheeks.

He realizes you're crying and puts his hands on his hips, trying to avoid softening, but he can't.

"Now, Sugar, what's all that about?"

"N-nothing." You sob and he walks over to you and wraps you in his arms. He strokes your hair and you cry on him.

"Come on, out with it." You burrow your face into his chest and yell.

"I don't want you to die!" He looks up at the ceiling and sighs deeply.

"Sugar, I don't have any plans on dyin' any time soon." You look up into his face and he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"You don't know that."

"No. I guess I don't. But I know this. I love you right now and I want to marry you right now. And if I die, then I die, but I'm alive now and I want you to be my wife while I am." He leans down to kiss you softly on the cheek. You push away from him and he sighs again deeply. "Sugar, please."

You turn and look at him. Then, you snatch the ring box off of the table. He's afraid you're going to throw it at him, but you don't. Instead, you open it and take the ring out. You jam it onto your ring finger and purse your lips.

"Okay. Yes."

"Yes?" A smile spreads across his face.

"Yes." You walk over to him and jump on him and he catches you, spinning you around. He kisses you deeply and then carries you into the bedroom. You both laugh as he takes your clothes off and you fall into each other again.

******

What you don't know is that your father has noticed your absence. He sent out some of his favorite soldiers to locate you and they did. They call him to let him know where you are.

"She's with Elvis?"

"Yeah, boss. Looks like she's been there a while."

"I guess we have some business to take care of. Bring her back here."

"Understood."

Your father hangs up the phone after hearing about your location. Then he turns and throws the phone at the wall.

******

You're lying naked in Elvis's arms when there's a loud knock on the front door. He immediately gets up and dresses quickly. One of the things he's learned is how to assess a threat and this feels like something bad.

"Stay here, Sugar." He goes in the living room and puts all his guns back where they belong on his person. There's another loud knock.

"We know she's in there! Open the fucking door!" He looks at you standing in the doorway in one of his shirts. He walks over to you and hands you one of his pistols. Then, he kisses your forehead and cups your cheek in his hand.

"Stay in here. This might get ugly."

"Those men are my cousins. Maybe I should just go with them."

"Is that what you want? They won't let you come back to me." Your eyes flick between his while you think. The decision you make right now will define your future. Do you stay with the man you love? Or do you go with your family and forfeit your chance at happiness with him but make sure he stays alive? You know which one he would want you to choose. The cold metal of your engagement ring becomes heavy on your finger. You can't live without him.

"Donny got in a fight when he was younger and doesn't see very well out of his left eye. Use that if you can. I love you." You kiss him deeply on the lips and then take the pistol in the room and shut the door. You find some pants and put on your shoes in case you have to make a run for it. Then you sit on the bed with the pistol in your hand and listen.

Elvis opens the door carefully. He's got a loaded gun in his hand behind his back. The two men saunter into the room.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"You know who. Marco sent us to get her."

"You can give her to us the easy way or we can take her. It's up to you."

The sound of your cousins' voices is not hard to hear. Donny is the big booming one. The higher-pitched whiny one is Nick. They're both a little older than you, but you try very hard not to remember them as kids.

"You're not taking her." Elvis looks toward the door. They must've already dispensed of the guards he keeps out there day and night.

"Hard way it is, then." You hear the sounds of a scuffle as Donny lunges toward Elvis. You open the door silently and peek into the room. Elvis fires a shot at Donny, but he's a moving target, so he misses. Donny wrestles the gun away from him and gets him on his knees with his hands behind his back. Nicky stands in front of him with a gun pointed in his face.

"Tell us where she is and we'll take her and go. We're not lookin' to start a war over this bitch. Her daddy just wants her back."

"Fuck you and her daddy."

As the conversation happens, you slip off your shoes and walk silently into the room with the pistol in your hand. It takes Donny a minute to register that you're there, so his warning comes too late.

"Look out Nick!"

When he turns to face you, you have the pistol cocked and pointed at his head.

"Oh, come on now, y/n. You're not gonna shoot me."

"You know I know how to." It's true. Your father had a gun in your hand as soon as you were old enough to hold it. Your marksmanship is solid.

"Just come home with us. You don't need this fucker."

"Don't talk about him like that." You shake your head and then Donny chimes in from across the room.

"Just grab her, Nick. We don't have time for this." Nick nods and makes like he's going to grab you. Without thinking, you pull the trigger. Again, your marksmanship is spot on.

Once you shoot Nick, Donny is so caught off guard that Elvis is able to slip away from him. He grabs his loaded gun from the floor where he dropped it earlier, turns, and shoots Donny in the head.

Your gun falls to the floor and you drop to your knees shaking. You've never shot a person before, much less a family member. Elvis rushes to you and catches you just before you pass out.

******

When you come to, you're in a car. You turn and see Elvis in the drivers seat.

"You alright, Sugar?"

"Yeah. Did I really shoot Nick?"

"You did."

"Fuck." You're overcome with nausea and you start to shake again. Elvis notices how pale you are and pulls the car over on the side of the deserted highway you're on. You stumble out of the car and vomit in the dirt. It doesn't take long for him to be by your side, holding your hair back and humming a soothing melody. When he can tell that you're finished, he scoops you up like a baby and carries you to the backseat of the car. He slides in next to you and holds you close to his chest. You're too shocked to even cry. That'll come later.

"Nicky was a real asshole. He shot my first boyfriend- buried him in the desert- because he took my virginity. Pretty sure my father just wanted him beat up, but Nicky was always taking things too far. He would've killed you too."

"I believe you, Sugar. You did what you had to do."

"I did. And I'm not sorry. I probably should be, but I'm not." He lifts your chin and looks into your eyes.

"Welcome to the mafia, Sugar." You nod slowly and lean back into his chest. You sit like this for another half hour, with him still stroking your hair and humming. Eventually, you sit up.

"Okay. I think I'm okay. Where are we going?"

"One of my guys owns a motel out here. It's safe. We'll stay there until I can figure out the next step. I have an idea, but I'll need to do some business to work it out."

"I trust you." He kisses your forehead and then you both get out and get back in the front of the car. Once you're settled, he grabs your hand and holds it in his lap. The future is cloudy for both of you, but at least you're together.

******

You're at the motel for three weeks in the desert. Overall, you're doing okay except for the nightmares. But Elvis is always there to take care of you, whether you're screaming, crying, or throwing punches. It doesn't take long for you to sink back into your routine of talking, sleeping, and fucking.

Elvis makes business calls and even goes to a couple of meetings in town. Every time he leaves, you're a basket case until he returns. You sit in the bed with a loaded pistol in your lap just waiting. But every time he comes back unscathed. It helps that his men are all over the motel and they accompany him any time he goes into Vegas. The only thing you argue about is who needs the most protection when you're apart. He wants you to have the bulk of the security and you argue that he's in much more danger in the city. He always wins, though, and you end up with a better protection detail than the president.

At the end of the three weeks, Elvis comes to you with an assignment.

"I need you to get dressed. We're going into Vegas."

"For what?! How should I dress?"

"Well, I've got a little business deal to solidify and then we're celebrating. So wear something nice. Maybe something white."

"White?"

"Yeah. Just in case." You have no idea what he could possibly be talking about, but you follow instructions and pick out the only white dress in your bag. It's a long-sleeved mini dress with a deep v-neck that shows off your cleavage nicely. You put it on with your white patent leather boots. When he sees you, he looks you up and down and whistles.

"Will this work?"

"Sugar, it's already working." He grabs you and pulls you to him, kissing your neck down to your breasts.

"Mmm you want to take it off of me?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. But we have somewhere to be soon. Later I'll rip it off with my teeth." He nibbles your breast a little and growls. Then he turns and grabs a briefcase, puts his jacket on over his guns, and walks you to the door.

You settle in the back of the limousine with him and giggle a little. He looks at you with an incredulous look.

"Sugar, what's got you tickled?"

"I was thinking about the first time we were in the limo together."

"And you didn't have any panties on?" He turns to look at you, his eyes darkened with lust.

"I'm not wearing any tonight either."

"Mmmm." He shakes his head and grunts. Then he runs his hand up your thigh to your center to verify what you've said. It's true. "Sugar, you sure know what daddy likes."

He gets on his knees in front of you on the floor of the limo and yanks you to the edge of the seat. He spreads your legs and pushes your dress up over your hips. Dragging his tongue up your thigh, he presses one finger into you.

"Mmmm yes daddy." You moan as he works his hand on you.

"You want daddy to eat this pussy?"

"Yes please." You answer breathlessly and put your fingers in his hair. He smiles at how eager you are and moves his mouth to your center. His tongue begins its familiar pattern over and around your clit. He's learned your body and knows exactly what you like. He knows how you squirm when he runs his tongue directly over you hard and how you moan when he pushes his tongue into your slit. He knows when to flatten his tongue and move his head side to side and when to tighten his tongue to a point and lick up either side. He does all of those things and more and it's only a little while before you cum hard in his mouth and he licks you through it, the electricity of your orgasm running through you to your fingertips and back again. He kisses your clit one last time, pulls your skirt down, and then sits up next to you on the seat, wiping his mouth with his hand. You're just about to crawl on top of him when the car pulls to a stop. He leans over and kisses you.

"I can wait, Sugar." He pats your knee and the door opens for you to get out. Your breath catches.

You're at your father's casino.

"Elvis! What are we doing here?! He will kill you!"

"No, he won't. I've arranged a business meeting through both of our lawyers. And his board of directors."

"How did you work that out?"

"It's a long story. Come on." In a gesture bold enough to make your heart jump, he pats your bottom to encourage you to walk. When you get inside, you head to a meeting room. Your father is seated at the head of the table with several men around him. They're in boring, relatively cheap suits, though, so you suspect they're truly businessmen and not mobsters. You notice your father's mouth pop open a little when he sees you and Elvis walk into the room, but he quickly rearranges his face. His jaw flexes, but that's the only indicator of his feelings. Elvis shakes his hand and smiles warmly and then takes the seat at the other end of the table. The meeting begins with the discussion of business. As it turns out, Elvis has opened a shell corporation and then used it to negotiate a purchase of your father's casino. Now you see why he's so angry. Without knowing it, your father has allowed his biggest rival to buy his prized casino. He made a pretty good chunk of change in the meantime, but now Elvis and his connections to the New York mob will run Vegas.

After the business is settled, Elvis dismisses the business men so that it's just you, him, and your father in the room.

Your father glares at him.

"I should kill you for this disrespect."

"I wouldn't try it. I have more men in this town now than anyone else. You wouldn't make it to the sidewalk." Your father swallows deeply. He knows he's beaten, so he turns to you.

"I'm going home to Chicago. You're coming with me. Your mother misses you." There's a small pang in your heart at the thought of your mother. Elvis puts his arm around your waist and pulls you to him protectively. His grip steadies you and you feel more confident than you have since you walked into the casino.

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry about mother, but I'm not going back to Chicago." Your father's anger flares up again and he reaches for one of his guns. But Elvis beats him to the punch.

"Here's the deal, Mr. Y/l/n. I bought your casino. And I'm gonna marry your daughter. You can accept that and leave, or I can shoot you right here, right now. It's up to you." Your father looks between the two of you and then down at the gun Elvis has pointed at him. He spits at you and throws his gun on the table. Then, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room. Elvis turns to you and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

"I can't believe that just happened." You shake your head incredulously.

"It did, Sugar. Now. I already asked the question and you already said yes. All that's left to decide is when and I say tonight is as good a night as any."

"That's why I'm wearing white!"

"What do you say, Sugar?" You nod your head excitedly and throw your arms around his neck.

You manage to make it in and out of a chapel without anyone noticing who you are. And you've got a slew of bodyguards with you anyway.

You barely make it the short ride to the casino before you've got your hands in his pants. Instead, you make it to the elevator and he hits the stop button while you yank his pants down and drop to your knees in front of him. You hold the base of his cock with one hand and lick a slow circle around the tip. Then you run your tongue along the bottom of the shaft and tease him a little.

"Goddamn, Sugar." He weaves his fingers into your hair as you pull him deep into your throat. He holds your head still and begins to thrust into your mouth, making your eyes water. Suddenly, he stops and tries to pull away from you. "Mmmm. Daddy wants to fuck you, Sugar, and if you don't stop I won't be able to."

You back off of him and stand up. He pushes your back against the wall and lines his cock up with your entrance. Then, he bends his knees a little and pushes into you like he's done so many times before. But this time, he's your husband.

"Hey." You grab his face and look into his eyes. "Don't pull out this time."

"You sure, Sugar?"

"We're married, aren't we?" He kisses your mouth, your cheek, your neck, and then your mouth again. You didn't know he would be so excited, but he is. The prospect of another child is something that's excited him since he met you. He begins to pump in and out of you deeply.

"God, I love you, Sugar."

He pounds into you rhythmically for a few more minutes before you feel him shudder into you.

"Oh fuckkk yes." He yells as he fills you with his warmth for the first time, but certainly not the last. He stays inside you for a while, kissing your neck. Then, he slowly pulls out and starts the elevator again as you adjust your skirt and he puts himself away. When the doors slide open, the men posted there nod to him. One of them says, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Presley." And you giggle. You're Mrs. Presley.

He scoops you into his arms and carries you across the threshold. You've finally accepted that the mafia will be your life forever. But as long as it's a life with him, you couldn't care less.

******

Share your thoughts! I love to hear from you! 🩷🩷🩷

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Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @elvisbooty76

[marvelobsessed134]

Love Me Tender Series Masterlist

Pairings: 60s!Rockstar!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight innocent!reader, smut, age gap (not specified), gender roles for the time period, mentions of drug use (coke), alcohol usage

A/n: This is pretty inspired by the Priscilla/Elvis movies so yeah Bucky and Reader are loosely based off of Elvis and Priscilla.

Summary/Synopsis: You are the daughter of a big time Hollywood executive and get dragged along to an event full of starlets, musicians, and Hollywood insiders. There you meet Bucky Barnes one of the most famous rockstars of the year.

Part one: the meeting

Part two: the first date

Part three: moving in

Part four: the wedding

[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.

[therealslimshakespeare]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find | masterlist

Warnings: This story takes place on a floating casino during the reconstruction period of the post Civil War South… so, there’s a boatload of potentially offensive content here. Such as, mentions of buying human beings, murder, tragic backstories, casual mentions of prostitution, references to abuse during prostitution male and female, the existence of Colonel Parker, racism, period typical use of laudanum, attempts to entrap a man through sex and using virginity as a commodity. And chief among them: past sexual abuse and mental manipulation of the male main character. All or most of this is peripheral or off camera to the story itself which focuses on love and camaraderie -however, consider yourself warned. I’ve tried to remain as respectful as possible while retaining the feel of the era and the fascinating shift in the culture. It is however quite mature. 18+ only, read at your own risk. And hush. Don’t worry, there are heroes in this story who will rise to the challenge of all of this. There will also be smut, this is one big excuse to write period piece Elvis smut, after all. And there will be fluff, true fluff, eventually -I swear it. Enjoy.

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[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. “That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow–perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Love In Trouble [Part One]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician, RPF

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character, Austin Butler x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Original Female Character, Austin Butler,

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2576

Summary: Lori Presley lives the high life. She has a lovely home, a elegant wardrobe and her parties are the most sought after ticket in town. Not to mention her husband is the King of Memphis. But what if she no longer wants to be the Queen?

Tags/Warnings: This is a mafia au with detective austin butler entering the chat, Memphis Mafia, Detective Austin Butler, Adultery, Infidelity, Love, Angst, Unhappy Marriage, Murder, Court Room Drama in the loosest possible way, AU, Set in the 70s

Notes: The first couple chapters are a bit slow going but we'll meet Lori and Elvis soon I promise. Looking to post every other week with this one :) Enjoy

LINK TO ALL PARTS // LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST

Ever since he was a little boy Austin Butler had loved the sun. There was just something about it; the way it shined basking everything it covered in a golden hue or how everyone seemed a little happier whenever it was out. He supposed it was because it made him feel like he was at home in California, a place he had been missing quite a bit recently, the clunky fit of her new job and his run down flat making him yearn for palm trees and ocean breeze. He’d even take his old partner at this rate, a curmudgeonly old man knocking on the door of retirement and not one to care about a young detective trying to find his feet in a new precinct. Though if there was one thing he desperately missed about home it was the fact that the Californian heat couldn’t wreak half as much havoc on a dead body like the balmy air of Memphis did.

After working in homicide for so long he’d figured he’d gotten used to all the smells that a ripe cadaver could hold but in this tiny apartment with no air conditioner and the contending June temperatures he was proved wrong. He held his breath as he ducked under the police tape cursing himself for having eaten not so long ago as his turkey sandwich did cartwheels inside him. Then again he supposed it could be worse he could be the guy splayed out on the floor in front of him lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes still staring out glassy and cold.  Austin sighed.

Even though his entire job was murder it somehow never got any easier. The number of dead bodies he’d seen didn’t take that sickly feeling away whenever he was confronted by his latest victim. Though admittedly he wondered if that was less to do with a life being snuffed out too soon or the fact he knew that at some point he’d have to take this news to their friends and family and rip their world apart. It was a grief he’d known himself, one that never got easier no matter how much time or distance you shoved between yourself and it.

Given that the coroner had yet to arrive it meant that the crime scene was technically still closed and so he was careful to keep his distance when he bent down beside the body, wrinkling his nose at the fresh waft of decomposition. The guy was young, no more than early twenties if he’d had to guess, and attractive too in a boyish sort of way. Though they were lifeless now he could tell his pale blue eyes were striking and had no doubt once complimented the guy’s skin tone even if it was now waxy and pallid. In fact the only detracting feature was the bullet wound to his temple which he had no doubt looked better on this side than the one that had landed face down, spewing blood onto the beige carpet and turning it a deep shade of brown. 

‘There’s gunpowder on his face,’ his partner, Detective John Melling, said as he appeared from nowhere, his errand to find the manager of the place apparently done with.

‘Yeah I know, a close shot,’ Austin said, pulling up from where he was crouched and trying to ignore the way his slacks stuck to the back of his knees as if glued there by sweat, ‘which means that bullet is probably somewhere in that bookshelf.’

‘Good luck with that one,’ John snorted. Austin rolled his eyes. He liked John. He was a good detective, smart and good with families, but he, like most of the other detectives in Shelby County, had yet to make his mind up about the newcomer from California. And so he treated him as the rest did, with caution, until he proved his worth which in this instance meant finding a bullet amongst a backdrop of wood and wall. 

As John moved away to rifle through the man’s mail Austin moved around the room, stopping first at the bookshelves. He could see the path it had taken, ripping a novel in half as it hurried to its final destination only that looked to be out of reach and so he made a note to circle back to it. After that he moseyed on looking for his first impression, one that was building bit by bit until he spotted an older bald man standing by the uniformed officer at the police tape.

‘Can I help you?’ Austin asked the man who had been staring at the body as if in a trance. Austin moved to block his view, feeling a sudden urge to protect his victim as if he was now exposed as if he hadn’t already been ogling the guy himself. 

‘Uh, no, I er,’ the man mumbled. John barely looked up from the stack of envelopes as he said, ‘he’s the one who called it in. Landlord.’

‘Oh,’ Austin said, moving towards the man so that they were just separated by the doorframe and police tape. Again the landlord’s eyes flitted back to the body, his colour paling as he suppressed a dry heave. Austin cleared his throat, diverting his attention as he asked, ‘you see anything uh?’

‘Geoff, Geoff Halton,’ the landlord said, ‘and uh no. Like I told your friend I was just coming to collect the rent.’

‘When’s that due?’ Austin asked.

‘First of the month,’ Geoff replied. Austin raised an eyebrow.

‘And you waited,’ he paused, checking his watch for the date, ‘what five days to come and ask for it? That doesn’t sound like any landlord I’ve ever had.’

‘Well he’s never normally late so I gave him a few extra days,’ Geoff said as he pulled a crinkled-up handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks so that he could dab his sweaty brow, the perspiration nothing to do with the outside temperature. Austin knew he was being unfair that the likelihood of this weathered middle aged man having anything to do with this was low but he had always found putting the first responder under pressure to be a good technique. In their desperation to prove their innocence they offered up more evidence which looking around the bare bones of this guy’s apartment couldn’t be a bad thing.

‘Five’s a lot of days,’ Austin countered.

‘Like I said he’s never been any trouble and I’d rather have one good tenant a day or two behind once in a while than a nightmare one on time. But when he still didn’t swing by my office I thought something might be up,’ Geoff replied.

‘So when he didn’t pay up you came around?’ Austin asked, receiving a nod in return.

‘I knocked but there was no answer,’ Geoff replied.

‘Did you let yourself in?’ Austin asked, his eyes surveying the wood of the door for any scuffs or marks. If he had done it was likely that any prints on the door handle would be useless. 

‘I have the master key,’ Geoff said, adding in protest when he saw Austin deflate, ‘but I only ever use it for emergencies! And when I came in I could smell, well, that. I saw him lying there and I knew there ain’t no use checkin’ he was still alive so I called you guys.’

‘Do you know his name?’ Austin asked, suddenly realising he’d been poking around in this man’s life without even knowing his most basic detail.

‘Tony,’ Geoff replied.

‘Tony what?’ Austin pressed.

‘Bowen,’ John replied, holding up an envelope as Austin looked his way before turning his attention back to the landlord.

‘Did he live here alone?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Geoff replied.

‘Any relatives?’ Austin pressed, the mugginess of the room making this feel harder than he’d anticipated it to be.

‘I’d have to check his file to see who he listed,’ Geoff said, ‘we’re not exactly close.’

‘Obviously the man’s been laying in your building dead as a doornail for five days,’ Austin countered, his sniping coming out before he had a chance to stop it. Geoff seemed bolstered by his tartness, straightening up from the nervous pathetic puddle he’d been and growing irritated as he said hotly, ‘what I meant was I don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself; he keeps his nose clean and that’s as much as I need to know.’

‘Not too clean evidently,’ John countered, finally moving away from the stack of unopened post. Austin could feel him looking around, surveying the scene, and feeling as though they’d probably pressed about as much out of Geoff that was useful he decided to cut him loose in favour of asking his partner his opinions.

‘Go with officer Bryant here and find those papers. We’re gonna need a next of kin to notify,’ Austin said, not waiting for a response before he turned his back on the man. John raised an eyebrow but waited until the pair of them were left alone with just Tony for company who admittedly didn’t make much of an effort to join in.

‘You were a little sharp with him don’t you think?’ John asked, perching on the edge of a sofa arm.

‘It gets them to the point,’ Austin said dismissively, ‘and considering he wasn’t much help that’s a good thing.’

‘Yeah? Let me guess the room’s telling you more than the eye witness is,’ John said, his scepticism poking through. That was another thing he was still getting used to, the reliance people of the south had on human nature. Over the dozen or so cases they’d worked together he’d been astounded to realise just how much word and character spoke when clear cut facts were staring people in the face. In fact ‘they’re good folks’ was a narrative he was sure he’d never get on board with. Still he didn’t bother to argue the point but rather present the facts themselves showing how even without speaking the room had said more than the landlord had.

‘Maybe. He’s a single guy right?’ Austin asked.

‘Looks like,’ John said, glancing around, ‘he could have a girl though.’ 

‘One that doesn’t get in contact or check up on him for more than five days?’ Austin asked, raising an eyebrow. As John shrugged and nodded in agreement he continued, ‘from the looks of this apartment I’d say he’s a single guy living alone and his landlord doesn’t know his next of kin which means he either doesn’t have one or they’re infrequently in touch or at the very least they don’t come here to see him.’

‘Right,’ John replied.

‘So why are there two glasses of half-drunken scotch on the coffee table?’ Austin asked, watching as John noted the two whiskey glasses in front of him.

‘So there was someone here,’ John replied.

‘But his mail is unopened and the pizza box on the counter is full, an uneaten pizza just sitting there,’ Austin continued making John’s eyes drift past him to the De Roma’s pizza box sitting on the kitchen worktop, the bottom of the cardboard darkened by the grease that had been soaking into it as the pizza lay uneaten.

‘So what?’ John asked.

‘I think he came home with the pizza and mail in hand but he was distracted by someone coming over. It mustn’t have been planned otherwise they’d just eat the pizza together. If it happened after he’d been home for a while the pizza would be gone and his mail opened,’ Austin said.

‘He opens the door for the guy who’s gonna put a bullet in his skull and asks him if he wants a night cap?’ John said sceptically.

‘Maybe the person came to talk and Tony felt like he had to,’ Austin replied.

‘But if it was about something worth killing the guy for I can’t imagine it was a polite chat. And apart from the dead guy the apartment looks in pretty good condition to me,’ John said, glancing around the room. He was right apart from the unsightly corpse in the centre of the room; the rest of it was relatively tidy. Granted it wasn’t very large with the room split into a living and kitchen area but there was no clutter, apart from the bookshelf there wasn’t much personality to any of it. It actually resembled Austin’s current apartment, devoid of personality though his was due to lack of time to make it his own given the fact he was new in town and always working. Though at this point that felt slightly better. He may have not had a chance to put a fresh lick of paint on his walls but he also hadn’t had a chance to make enemies like Tony apparently had. Austin was thinking about that, wondering what had made the guy sit down with the person who would end his life. 

Had he known what was coming or why they were there? Or had he been blindsided by it all? 

‘Is that his file?’ John asked, snapping his partner out of his trance as the landlord reappeared at the door along with their officer. Apparently Austin’s attitude had left no love lost as he nodded but didn’t say anything, offering the small manilla folder over the tape as if signalling both his compliance and reluctance at the same time. Austin rolled his eyes but watched as John took the folder from him before he quickly scurried out of view.

‘What have we got?’ Austin asked as John threw the folder down on the tiled counter with a splat before he started to sift through it. If he was being honest with himself he wanted to read through it himself but knew it was probably better to give him the lead here. John’s eyes flitted across the pages. From what Austin could see there were a few info pages, copies of receipts and rent stubs but nothing much else.

‘Says here Grandma’s next of kin but it looks like she lives in Florida,’ John murmured as he read through the sheet, ‘lease agreement was signed over a year ago and he works at, oh.’

‘What is it?’ Austin asked craning his neck to try and spy what he had spotted. Though as his partner looked up, a beaten expression falling across his face he started to worry.

‘He works at Kings,’ John said with a sigh.

‘So?’ Austin said. He’d heard of the place. A little club on Beale Street, a home of good music and the hotshots of Memphis though he had yet to scope out the joint for himself. What he had heard though did not warrant the reaction John was giving, one that signalled their job had just gotten a little harder. Then again as a native Memphian maybe there was something Austin didn’t know yet. After all there wasn’t a club or bar on his patch when he worked the beat he didn’t know inside out. He knew which places were known for trouble and those he could rely on for a tip here or there. And from the look John was giving him he was sure Kings wasn’t one of those he could hit up for some friendly police cooperation.

‘So if he works there then chances are this is something to do with them,’ John said.

‘Who?’ Austin asked.

‘The Memphis Mafia.’ 

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @louisejoy86 @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @lettersfromvenus @artlesson8892 @presleyenterprise

AUSTIN TAGS

@purejasmine @caitlin1996

[dreamingofep]

Returning to Your Angel Masterlist🥀

🌹 Part 1

🌹 Part 2

🌹Part 3

🌹Part 4

🌹 Part 5

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Girl

Notes: None of this would be possible without my dearest darlings @ab4eva and @precious-little-scoundrel! All the hugs and kisses to you both xo

Part 2

-

Here's the thing nobody ever admits about being the other half of a celebrity: it's actually as hard or as easy as you make it. Enter hunky, gifted actor who just happens to be hung like a horse? Well, being his lady isn't hard at all. You just have to know the rules. Number one, you can't hear the noise. Not literally, you can hear it. You must strive to live in such a bubble that none of it matters though. You shop, power walk your gated community, and take cock like it's the only job you have. Truly, it is. Pleasing him is of utmost importance. Be ready to hop a plane at a moment’s notice, or even get fucked on said plane. You're so busy spending your man’s cash snapping up authentic mid-century modern homes before certain celebrities turn them into minimalist gray prisons, raising money for dogs who need prosthetics, and trying your hand at that sourdough bread craze, you really don't even have time to see the Instagram hate being spewed your way 24/7.

Number two, remaining an enigma. Selling energy drinks on social media? Having your man pay off some fast fashion brand to “partner” with you for a collection? Appearing on some campy sitcom as a guest star? Not for you, the thought of it actually makes you recoil. You're too busy doing all the little things and making his once barely furnished house a home. Homemade chocolate chip cookies with the chocolate specially flown in from Belgium on his private plane? Check! Gold vintage jewelry via that cute little flea market in Paris is clanking as you insist on being the ones to change the bedroom sheets. A housekeeper comes once a month, and even she comments coyly about your chemistry. Still, she need not see the soaked sheets from the multiple round of lovemaking the two of you do at all hours of the day and night.

Being seen on the red carpet is not your cup of tea, but it's the equivalent of attending your man's office Christmas party. So you pick out a dress, aka one of the couture houses offers to dress you, and he flies you to Paris for multiple fittings and macarons. Then there's some vintage Van Cleef jewelry that appears on the dining room table one morning, and a fresh new pair of Louboutins is the final piece to the puzzle. Then, looking very demur and shy, you appear on his arm, clinging to it actually. You'll smile at the various television hosts and press. Speak softly, and practically defer to him for all questions. He's the star, you're just a great supporting act. Then, when the night is finally done, you both breathe a sigh of relief and he thanks you for being such a good sport. How about a McDonald's drive thru run, huh? That face, oh that handsome fucking face of his that you've been dying to kiss all night. He just always knows what to say. So that's how you're papped still in your couture gown, he in a wrinkled white button down, his jacket slid around your shoulders, feeding each other French fries and chicken nuggets, splitting a milkshake. How wholesome and Americana honestly.

That night he promises to thank you again. Austin's perfect lips wrap themselves around your puffy clit as two, then three fingers curl, shove, and squelch inside you. “You were such a good girl the whole night, baby.” There's something about being called a good girl that makes you absolutely feral. He brings you to orgasm over and over, you lose count after about 7. He's just getting started though. He hasn't even slipped inside. When he does though, it's rough. The glorious slapping sounds of flesh fill the room as he brings himself to the edge over and over, denying himself a release and giving you an additional, what three or four orgasms? You've left feral behind and have crossed over into absolute animalistic filth as you bury yourself in the goose down pillows and practically shove it in your mouth howling. Letting him have his way as you throb and clench, hot and pink with almost blurred vision as he talks you through it. Peppering the conversation with lots of “that's my girl, my pretty baby cums so damn pretty”. When you think you're in need of a paramedic, he blows inside you something reminiscent of Niagara falls. He knows how much you love a vocal man. You end the night not being able to feel your limbs or do anything beyond closing your eyes with a lazy, bashful grin. He gives you one last slap to the ass then mentions as you drift off, “Could you make some of those brownies of yours for the cast and crew tomorrow?”

The third rule of being the other half to everyone's favorite blue eyed baby boy actor? Less is more. This sort of goes hand in hand with the enigma rule. Those celebrities who traipse around in loud designer clothing and accessories covered in flashy logos? That's not you or your man for that matter. Sure you have handbags that cost more than some people's cars, but they are solid authentic leather bags your guy finds you in far flung corners when he's on location. No one really notices when you're papped and printed in People Magazine. You keep your head down in aviators he takes to wearing, a nice little subtle nod. The bands you each wear on that finger are a solid Welsh gold. Whenever his slightly deranged fans see you, the one thing they can't call you is a golddigger. You drive a jeep or even that old Ford truck he restored himself, no Lamborghinis in your garage.

Part of the less is more shtick though is being able to give a cute little nod to him here and there when appropriate. When he's cast in a certain biopic that alters his career and your lives? You sit tight and let him have his moment, after all, you know all the behind the scenes work that goes into it. The blood, sweat, and tears. There are times when he takes method acting to such a level that it's almost like going to bed with another man. You can't exactly complain though. The slight drawl that appears when he says your name is something he is never able to truly shake and you're glad. When the moment is right though, you post a tongue in cheek Instagram post. Your feed is normally bogged down with pictures of the pets, your baking, and various charities you support. This time though, you post a rare photo of yourself looking like you're a certain sort of American royalty stepped from a time machine. It's a candid shot with you at his feet. Worshiping. Except now it's sort of like you worship two men. It's fairly well received, friends tell you, though there will always be hate. Remember, you can't hear the noise. You certainly can't hear the noise women old enough to be your grandmother are making as they lust over the man who's cock you gag on every night.

Those utterly delectable fingers of his snake inside you, make you hiss and come undone as that tongue in cheek sort of throw back makeup you're sporting runs down your cheeks. “Who's my pretty girl?” He teases you. A good hour later when he finally allows himself his own release he's panting your name into your ear. He settles himself in between your breasts. Didn't his agent once mention the girls on Tumblr call him baby boy? If only they could catch a glimpse of him now. Murmuring against your skin and tracing what feels like hearts on your arms. You scroll Zillow and read out the six-figure price tags on castles in Ireland. How does fucking in a dungeon sound, honey?

Rule number four? Be ready to go to bat for him at any moment, others opinions be damned. Being Austin's other half brings out a protective streak in you. A maternal bodyguard quasi agent of sorts. Always keep your eyes peeled for the photogs, especially when he's indulging in that pesky little smoking habit he doesn't exactly like to advertise. That actual management team of his isn't bad, especially once the Elvis flick is underway and you learn just exactly how bad certain managers can be. Still, nobody has his best interests at heart the way you do. Keep his favorite snacks on hand in your purse, water ready at a moment's notice. Your boy has a tendency to work himself to the bone and you certainly cannot allow him to run himself ragged. Tea with hot honey every night was a must while he immersed himself in Elvis. Be his soft place, let him cry and vent while you run your fingers through those golden locks. Take whatever you can off his plate so he can dedicate himself to his craft.

Some wonder if you've lost yourself in him and his life, but it's the exact opposite. You've found yourself. When that angel boy praises you during press tours and jokes on talk shows about you flying out in the middle of the night to see to it his shirts are starched the way he likes and he eats breakfast, well you just sit there and smile. “I couldn't be me without her.” Those words make you melt and you immediately crave the feeling of his hot cream inside you. Playing Elvis brought out a side of him that never truly leaves once filming wraps. Stressed? Tired? Enamored? Him bending you over while you're brushing your teeth becomes a common occurrence. “That's my baby – take it, take it,” you've gotta talk it all out of him sometimes and that's fine with you. You stand in the wings of the Kelly Ripa show and try in vain to hide your red face when a PA offers you a napkin. “I think you spilled something down your leg,” the young girl offers. Something spilled all right, him inside you with his hands gripping your hair just minutes before he was due on stage.

Everything is just so right, it's only natural that cool girl very quickly becomes cool wife.

-

[aliypop]

Fame and Fortune

Word Count: 1,257

Writers Note: In honor of the month Elvis left for The Military.

Warning: None

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: In March 1958, Elvis is in Texas for BootCamp, and Cecelia's as lonely as can be in Memphis.

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

March 1958 Memphis, Tennesse

"I'll get it!" Carlotta shouted, hearing the phone ring. Carlotta Moreno was many things to Cecelia, her drummer. Her friend, right now, was helping comfort Cecelia while Elvis was away in Bootcamp, 

"Presley..." 

"Moreno..." Elvis sighed, "Is Cece near?" Elvis asked as Carlotta rolled her eyes, "She's helping your mama with something," Her accent sounded like venom to him, 

"I see could you tell my fiance I-" 

"I miss you too, El..." Cecelia said, taking the phone from Carlotta as Rosa watched alongside Gladys and Vernon. Cecelia had been wrapping the chord around her finger as she giggled, 

"Say, how's my favorite girl?"

"Well, mama's doing fine, but as for me, not good..." 

"What's wrong honey?" Elvis was worried as he heard her tone of voice shift. 

"You're not here, and it's getting lonely." 

"I'm here..." Carlotta mouthed as Cecelia pushed her away playfully, 

"I feel the same. I mean, the guys treat me regular sometimes, but I uhm miss your kisses and your honey biscuits."

"Which biscuits are we talkin about?" Cecelia smirked as Gladys cleared her throat playfully, 

"Was that my mama..." He blushed as she responded to him. Elvis missed home. He missed his family, his friends, his fiance, but. Elvis knew that in two years. He'd be back, and everything would be back to normal. He'd be asleep with Cecelia on his chest and a nice breakfast. 

"Private Presley!"

"I gotta go, Cece."

"Call me this weekend when you get to Fadal's?"

"Always." Hanging up the phone, Rosa and Gladys swooned as Carlotta groaned, 

March 1958 Fort Hood, Texas

"Who was that?" A few of the soldiers whistled as Elvis laughed, his face flushed with a rosy tint of red, "Oh, his lady friend?" Another soldier said as Elvis shrugged, "You could say that." He winked as he followed them into the mess hall. Boot camp was taxing and tiring, and as much as he could try to pretend to like it, he didn't. His body ached sometimes, and he'd remember how Cecelia would have told him not to be so rough on himself. Or how she'd be kissing the sore spots on his body with her "Magic" kisses on his skin. But when it came to him going to sleep, he'd imagine he was at home with his cousins and his mama and daddy and his grandmother and his Cecelia, who'd be tucked in his arms singing him songs. But it wasn't the same. He'd stare at the ceiling and count sheep or softly play his guitar. He'd re-read her letters or look at the picture clippings of her that he had on his wall, like a man with a pinup girl, except his pinup was Cecelia. 

"I mean... She's amazing," Elvis blushed, sitting on his bed, "I'm gonna marry her when I come back." He looked at her picture as the men began to laugh, 

"No offense, Presley, but you're definitely tired." One of the soldiers laughed, 

"I mean it, I'm gonna make her Mrs. Presley."

"Don't think that's possible," another voice said, that belonged to a black soldier. "But you got good taste." He smirked as Elvis laughed if only they knew he was serious about it, 

March 1958 Memphis, Tennesse

"So I was thinking Pink as a wedding color because Elvis and I like pink!" Cecelia squealed, flopping on the white couch as Daphane, Rosa, and Carlotta sat by her feet, "So blush and bashful?" Daphne asked as Cecelia nodded, 

"Yeah... and a Christmas wedding, we'll get married in a chapel and-" 

"And you'll kiss him in front of me..." Carlotta mumbled as Cecelia sighed, 

"Lottie..." 

"Cece..." She looked up at her as Cecelia sighed. In her eyes were their forbidden youth together,

 "We're going to bed, Cece..." Rosa mentioned as Daphne followed, "Night girls." She waved as Carlotta stood looking at her, 

"Now, back to us..."

"There is no us..." Cecelia looked at her, "I love Elvis, and you know that." Carlotta got close to her. Cecelia could smell her perfume on her skin, 

"Mi vida..."

"Elvis is my fiance. You were a fling in the past..."

"Why must you say these things..." 

"Because I don't like girls." Saying that broke Carlotta's heart, but it broke hers too. She was lying to herself, and they both knew it, 

"So you told Rosa the same thing, huh?"

"Rosa's got a thing for Scotty, and I'm getting married to Elvis," She blushed hard as Carlotta pulled her closer to herself, their eyes meeting as her hand was on her cheek, 

"Surrender to me, let's run away..." 

"To Texas..." Cecelia gasped, "Carlotta Mi amour, you are a genius !" she kissed her as Carlotta grinned, "I'm going to Texas to see my Elvis!"

"I got a kiss..."

July 1958 Fort Hood, Texas

It had been a few months now, and Elvis was adjusting. He'd go to Fadal's to hide out on the weekends and home to his family on the weekdays to make sure everyone was okay. But he was still missing someone, though he didn't want to sound like he was complaining. Cecelia's Pink Ford was in the wind as Daphne was sleeping in the back, and Rosa and Carlotta were humming to songs, 

"I don't see why you're so happy-go-lucky about Elvis..." 

"Two things, Coca-Cola and a Quarter," Rosa mentioned as Cecelia blushed. Rosa chuckled as Carlotta was confused, "What does a soda have to do with Elvis?" Carlotta asked as Rosa smirked, turning to face her, 

"Well, my little Latin Lover... It's more like his Cock- a Cola and-" 

"Okay, no more talkin about my fiance's soda pop plus a quarter and then some." Cecelia blushed as they got to Fadal's place. Cecelia and Fadal had been great friends. Thanks to her mother and promotional skills, no one would know that Cece and her Vagabonds The Garnets were in town, not even Elvis. Now, like herself, Elvis hated surprises, but she figured he'd like this one. 

"So... wait, were we talking about his Polla..." Carlotta questioned,

 "You'd rather take a Coke bottle than my fingers..." She questioned as they walked up the driveway,

"Sometimes.... Cecelia wasn't listening as she kept walking towards the door, 

"You know I could go for a nice tall glass of Coke-" the door had opened as Elvis was still in uniform. His hair was cut lower than what she was used to, but something in her wanted to hold him, 

"That's the coke you want?"

"It's not abou the bottle, Carlotta. It's about the flavor... Good night, girls!" Cecelia said as she was in Elvis's arms,

"Someone's thirsty..." Rosa smirked as they walked away,  

"What was that about?" Elvis asked as he held Cecelia in his arms, "Oh, nothing, baby... nothing..."She blushed as she kissed him, his hands in her hair as he kissed her sweet lips, 

"You look beautiful..."

"And you look tired." She rubbed circles on his cheeks as he leaned into her touch, "Couldn't sleep without'cha." His crooked smile warmed her heart, 

"Then let's get you out of this uniform and in bed."

"Yes, captain..."

*Bonus *

"Then I was playin' guitar and I-I..." Cecelia looked down as she heard him snore, "Elvis...Elvis!" She shouted. Softly, he woke up,

 "Huh?" 

"Did you fall asleep with a sandwich in your mouth?"

"What! No!..." He looked down as she laughed, "Maybe I did..." He kissed her arm and snuggled into her, taking in her scent. There was nothing like being in the arms of the woman he loved.

[marvelobsessed134]

Love me tender part three: moving in

Series masterlist

Pairings: 60s!rockstar!bucky x innocent!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, guided masturbation, innocent!reader, Bucky refuses to look at readers pussy until their wedding night, Bucky refers to reader as a little girl once, expectations from the time period, age gap (Bucky is 24 and reader is 18), Bucky denies reader of sex till marriage

With a lot of convincing from Bucky, your father allowed you to move into his house in the countryside of California. It is absolutely beautiful and huge. You’re so overwhelmed by all of the rooms and things inside of it. Even though your father’s house is a very decent size, you’ve never seen one like this before.

You packed all of your things you needed before heading out front. Bucky waited leaning against his black Cadillac in a perfect buttoned up shirt tucked into pants. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he watched you make your way towards him.

The singer threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it before quickly helping you get your suitcases in the trunk. Once that was done, he stepped close to you and looks down at you before pressing a kiss to your lips.

He loved the way you looked in your pastel pink dress and soft white cardigan with your big hair.

“So beautiful.” He murmured before kissing you again making you giggle, “Bucky let’s hurry up before my father changes his mind.”

“Your wish is my command darlin’.”

He opened the passenger door to you and let you inside before shutting it and running to the drivers side.

When you got to his house you were in utter awe. As you drove through the iron gates and saw the fountain in the middle of the curved driveway and the beautiful huge grassy lawn you felt like you were in a whole other dimension.

As soon as Bucky pulled up to the from numerous assistants emerged from the front doors and got your suitcases out for you. Bucky helped you out of the car and gently held your hand as he led you through the grand front doors.

“Why don’t I show you the living room first sweetheart?” He asked and you nodded with a smile. You followed him into the beautiful living room with a gorgeous fire place and comfy couches. A tv set sat on an angle towards the couches. There were potted palm plants in the corners of the room.

“It’s so beautiful in here.” You gushed.

“Well you oughta get used to it honey it’s yours now too.” His words made your heart flip flop. He lead you throughout other parts of the house-more like mansion-before he had one id his assistants tell him he had someone waiting on the phone for him.

“I have to take care of some business but you keep explorin’.” The rockstar gave you a quick kiss before leaving you in the hallway upstairs. You slowly continued to walk till you reached two double doors at the end which was clearly Bucky’s bedroom. You knew you shouldn’t intrude on his private space and how wrong it was for unmarried people to share a bedroom but you just wanted to know what it looked like so bad.

So without any maid or assistant seeing you, you quickly slipped into the room. You closed the door and leaned against it after taking a deep breath. You looked around the room and slowly stepped further. A huge king sized bed was up against the wall in the middle of the room with two nightstands on either side. A another television set was across from the bed. Two doors were inside the room assumably to the bathroom and a walk in closet. The view from the large windows overlooked the backyard with its green lawn and large pool and beautiful landscaping.

Bucky has very good taste, you thought to yourself. There was also a loveseat at the foot of the bed. You walked towards the bed and slowly and carefully sat down on the plush mattress. It was softer than anything you’ve felt before.

Suddenly you felt this wave of tiredness wash over you. You couldn’t sleep last night since you were both so nervous and excited about the big move. And you woke up extra early today. So you found yourself kicking off your heels and lying back on the bed to drift off to sleep.

~Time Skip~

“Y/n, wake up baby.” A familiar baritone voice spoke softly as you slowly opened your eyes. You looked up to see your fiancé-he immediately proposed after the third date which isn’t as insane for this time period-sitting next to your small frame staring down at your fondly. You slowly sat up and yawned, “I’m sorry Bucky. I know I shouldn’t even be in here in the first place but I was just so curious and then I got tired and fell asleep.” You tried to explain yourself the best you could in hopes not to get into too much trouble.

“That’s alright, darlin’. You’ve had a big day today little girls like you can get easily tired.”

“M’not a little girl Bucky.” You laughed softly. The singer leaned down and kissed you.

“You’re precious just like one.” You blushed at that.

Later on as the days went by you got quite used to living with Bucky. The two of you spent time together all the time but when he wasn’t around you occupied yourself by going out to the pool, reading in the home library, watching movies and going shopping.

There were times where you’d get that sensation between your legs and god, you’d do anything for Bucky to take care of it. Too nervous and scared to touch yourself, you needed him badly.

One night you began to kiss him with more passion and started to grind against him. You felt his growing bulge under his satin pajamas but before you two could go any further he put a stop to it, “This is something that’s very special to me and I want to experience it after we’re married.” You pouted at his words, “but this feeling I have-“

“Let me teach you how to touch yourself okay honey? And you won’t have to do it much longer we’re gettin’ married real soon.” He soothed you and you nodded.

So, Bucky sat behind you in front of the floor length mirror and asked you to spread your legs. You were in a short babydoll nightgown. “Now take your panties off. Don’t worry I won’t look.” You took off your panties and he had his eyes closed. “I don’t want to see that pretty pussy of yours till our weddin’ night but I’m gonna do the best I can to show you how to play with it okay?” He opened his eyes but only paid attention to your face in the mirror and not your naked lower body.

“Okay Bucky.” Your soft, sweet voice responded.

“Run a finger up between those folds.” You did as he said, and hissed at the friction. “Good girl now continue to rub those wet lips and try and stick a finger inside.”

You rubbed your wet folds, getting your fingers wet as well before slowly entering yourself using one slender finger. You moaned softly at the feeling. “God if only I could see that pussy right now. Okay now, you know that little button at the top, go ahead and rub that with your thumb, princess.”

You rubbed your clit with your thumb and squealed at the feeling of slight overstimulation before going back in and rubbing your thumb. “Thrust that finger in and out, maybe add a second one too.” Your fiancé suggested and you obeyed him, adding a second finger and fucking yourself while rubbing your clit.

Bucky admired your beautiful face as you relished in the newly found pleasure. “Mmm Bucky I feel so…good. I feel like I’m going to pee!” You cried.

“Don’t stop baby, you’re about to cum and it’s gonna feel so good I promise baby keep goin’.”

You did as he said and finally you experienced your first ever orgasm, you saw stars as you came all over your fingers. You caught your breath and leaned helplessly against Bucky’s chest.

“You did so good Y/n. Such a good girl.” He smiled at you through the mirror and kissed you on the cheek making you blush and giggle.

[floralcyanide]

𝑺𝒂𝒚 𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 ⚡️ 𝑬𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒔 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓!𝑨𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒓

Part One

Austin Butler x Reader

You have the opportunity to see the dazzling Austin Butler, a world-renown Elvis impersonator, live and in action. You become enthralled with him, becoming an avid fan and attending every convention and tribute concert he attends. Very quickly, you become a favorite in the crowd of Austin's. But will it go any farther than being just a fan? Or will you stay the person in the crowd who always gets a kiss and a scarf? (Will eventually have smut. Takes place in the mid-2000s) (Y/BF/N = Your best friend’s name.)

warnings: mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, kissing. nothing else, really.

word count: 2049

author's note: so I got an idea the other day and decided I needed to write it immediately. special thanks to Ally, @elvisabutler for confirming that this idea needed to be posted for the world to see. thanks everyone for responding to my poll btw! it was to see how many people would likely read this. this is the first part, so nothing too exciting happens quite yet, but I hope you all enjoy (: (I wrote this in like, 2 hours but wanted to post it asap so if it's dull I'm so sorry lol)

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

“I got the tickets!” 

You lay the book you were reading down in your lap, raising an eyebrow at your roommate and best friend, Y/BF/N, “Tickets for what?”

You’re curled up in a chair in the sunroom, reading one of your favorite books. You’re off work this weekend and didn’t have much else to do. Y/BF/N had gone out to run errands for the day. You wonder when they had time to get tickets for whatever or wherever.

“The Elvis Impersonator Convention, silly!” Y/BF/N says, plopping down in the chair beside you and shoving one ticket in your face.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you ask boredly, eyes nearly crossing at the proximity of the slip of paper to your face.

Y/BF/N rolls their eyes, “You’re going too.”

“I probably have to work, plus, I don’t really dig impersonators that much,” you make a face as you pick up your book to resume reading.

“Trust me, I made sure you don’t have to work that day. And you never know, you might like it! There are some hot ones,” Y/BF/N giggles.

You peer over the top of your book at them, narrowing your eyes as you ponder it. It’d get you out of the house for once. If it was a Saturday, none of your shows came on TV that day, so nothing else would occupy you. With a sigh, you close your book and look over at Y/BF/N.

“Fine. When is it?” 

“Tomorrow!”

“You’re kidding. Tomorrow? How on earth did you manage to get tickets so last minute? Especially at a big convention?” you ask, appalled.

“I’m a big Elvis fan, remember? I have my ways,” Y/BF/N grins.

You’re a big Elvis fan, too. It’s just the impersonators aren’t really your thing. And big events aren’t really your thing, either. So tomorrow is going to be interesting for you.

“Yeah, you and your ‘connections,’” you roll your eyes, motioning quotation marks as you speak.

“Exactly. Now, let’s pick out an outfit. It’s gonna be comfortable temperature-wise tomorrow, so keep that in mind,” Y/BF/N says, getting up from the chair. 

“Alright,” you shrug, getting up and sitting your book down in your chair. 

You follow your roommate down the hall to your bedrooms. If you’re honest, you don’t know what to wear. You want to look nice but also be comfortable. You wander over to your closet and flick through your clothes, spotting a dress you’ve yet to wear. It was a secondhand dress you got from a vintage thrift store, and it looks like it’s from the 60s or 70s, perhaps. It’s a soft pastel color with white details. The above knee-length dress is the only decent thing to wear, plus it’s kind of on theme. You find some white Keds to wear with the dress, quickly deciding that heels or uncomfortable shoes are a no-go. 

Y/BF/N knocks briefly before barging into your room, “Did you find anything yet?”

“Yes, and thank you for knocking,” you say sarcastically.

“I wanna see!”

You show them the dress and shoes, and they nod in approval, “I’m wearing some bell bottoms and a white button-up. Simple yet effective.”

“Sounds good. Not sure what I’m gonna do with my hair, though. Maybe curlers?” you think out loud.

“You would look so cute with some body in your hair, for sure,” your roommate smiles.

“Thanks. Now that we’ve got our clothes settled, what time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“It starts at seven, and I want to walk around to look at merchandise and maybe get food or a drink beforehand, so I want to get there at five. And it’s an hour away, so we’ll leave at maybe near four o’clock?”

You take a moment to process your best friend’s train of thought, then nod in agreement, “That works.”

“Awesome,” Y/BF/N claps, “Let’s get started on dinner?”

That night, you sort of struggle to fall asleep. You won’t admit it to your best friend, but you’re a tad excited. You’ve never been to a convention of any sort, let alone an Elvis one. And you love Elvis, so it will hopefully be a pretty cool experience. 

You’re standing off the side of the line at a food truck, waiting for Y/BF/N to finish ordering. You can’t help but hum to A Little Less Conversation, the last song on the Elvis CD you and your best friend played in the car before getting out. Admittedly, you’re distracted and not really paying attention as you study an interesting painting of Elvis at a merch booth nearby. Before you know it, someone runs into you accidentally.

“Sorry! I wasn’t paying attention like I should’ve been,” the man who bumped into you says.

He has jet-black hair and blue eyes, just like Elvis. From how he’s dressed, you’d say he’s an impersonator. He’s not in costume but rather in a lace shirt and colorful pants. It’s something Elvis would’ve worn, for sure. 

“You’re fine! I also wasn’t paying much attention,” you chuckle, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” the man smiles, subtly taking you in from head to toe.

“Sure,” you smile politely with a nod, and the man turns around and walks away.

“Who was that?” Y/BF/N asks as they approach you, food in hand.

“I’m not sure. Maybe an impersonator?”

“I didn’t see his face, so I’m unsure. I guess we’ll find out,” your best friend shrugs, grabbing a fry and offering it to you.

“I’m good, thanks,” you say.

“Where to next?”

The afternoon turns into evening, and you’re now sitting in your seat next to Y/BF/N with an alcoholic beverage in your hand. You’re front row, much to your shock. There’s a plastic bag with some new t-shirts and various merchandise items you bought stuffed under the seat. You’re anxious for the show to start and excited to see the different performers come on stage. Yeah, impersonators aren’t your forte like your best friend, but their costumes and song choices are always interesting to you.

The lights dim, and everyone begins to cheer as the first performer enters the stage dressed as 50s Elvis Presley. He’s pretty young, probably a teenager. He starts with Hound Dog, plays a few other older Elvis songs with his guitar, and waves goodbye to the crowd with a gracious smile. A few people toss roses and teddy bears onto the stage. You’re impressed with his performance and give Y/BF/N a look of approval as you sip your drink.

“That was Alex. He’s like, fifteen I think? He’s been impersonating since he was a kid,” your best friend says, “He’s getting so good that everyone wants him to perform at their parties and weddings.”

“Impressive,” you nod, “Fifteen, you say? That’s wild.”

An older man takes the stage, dressed in a Blue Hawaii outfit. He strums his ukelele as the band starts up behind him. He energetically sings some of the songs from Blue Hawaii, and you’re dancing along with the crowd. You’re having so much fun and are excited to see your favorite era soon. 70s Elvis. There’s something about the hair and the tight jumpsuit that gets to you. You swirl ice around in your drink, getting slightly distracted at the thought of Vegas Era Elvis.

“That was Steve,” Y/BF/N yells over the commotion of clapping, “Mom dated him for a little while, actually.”

You chuckle, “Of course she did. He was pretty good!”

A very tall man in the ‘68 Comeback leather suit makes his way to center stage as he sings the songs from the Special. His performance of Memories was spot-on, and you couldn’t help but sing along. After he finishes his last song and leaves, someone comes on stage and announces a “special guest” named Austin Butler, and the crowd erupts. You look around, confused.

“Who’s that?” you furrow your eyebrows, elbowing your best friend in their side to get their attention.

“Oh my god, no way! They didn’t have him on the roster! Austin Butler is, like, the best impersonator in the world, no exaggeration.”

“Really?” you shout over the crowd, “Is he cute?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Y/BF/N says, “He’s around thirty like us.”

Before you can respond, the lights dim, and the intro music begins. You can vaguely see Austin enter the stage in the dark, shaking himself out before the lights come on. He’s in the iconic white jumpsuit, and it hugs him everywhere it needs to. You squint at his face, realizing he’s the guy that bumped into you earlier.

“That’s the guy who I was talking to earlier,” you shout in Y/BF/N’s ear.

“No way, are you serious?” they gasp.

You nod.

“Did you get his number?” they yell.

You shake your head, and your best friend frowns momentarily before going back to cheering.

The notes of C. C. Rider begin to blend into the music as Austin bounces his leg, his eyes scanning through the crowd. He begins to sing, and god, he sounds just like Elvis. He looks fairly similar to him, too, with the sideburns added to his look since earlier. Girls begin flooding the barrier to the stage, reaching their hands out to the impersonator. Y/BF/N grabs your wrist, dragging you toward them.

“Are you crazy?” you ask, trying not to panic at the thought of being right up front.

Yeah, you’re already at the very front, but not so close that the stage is right there at you. 

“Of course! Come on!”

You reluctantly let them drag you up front and center as you down the rest of your drink. The two of you fight to the makeshift barricade, your best friend gleaming at Austin. You can't help but laugh at them and their excitement, but you quickly turn your head back to the stage as Austin stands right before you. He starts to sing Polk Salad Annie, and the women around you go nuts. You do, too, admittedly. You begin dancing to the music and screaming the lyrics like a crazed fan. Chills cover your body at the energy Austin is putting off in his voice. You decide you absolutely must see him do a complete set.

Austin pauses his singing for a moment, talking to the crowd. 

“How are y'all doin’ tonight?” 

Everyone cheers and whistles, clapping as well. 

“Good, good. I see a lot of pretty women out there tonight,” Austin winks, and the girls around you squeal.

“This next one is called Wonder of You.”

Austin walks along the stage, singing his heart out as he wipes his sweat with the various scarves around his neck. It’s kind of gross, but you also find it somewhat attractive. A part of you hopes he hands some of the scarves out. And then he does. Austin leans down and kisses an older woman on the cheek, wrapping a baby pink scarf around her neck. She’s so delighted even after he pulls away. 

Y/BF/N nudges you, “You should try and get one!”

You shake your head, “I am not doing that.” You definitely want to, though. But knowing many people would be staring at you makes you nervous.

Austin makes his way to the center stage where you and your best friend are, and he gets down on one knee, singing right to you. You’re looking directly up at him, eyes full of wonder as you stare into his bright baby blues. Austin leans forward, placing a pastel scarf that matches your dress around your shoulders, pulling you toward him for a quick kiss right on the lips. You blush as the alcohol starts kicking in full force, wiping your nose that got a bit of his sweat on it. You fight the giant smile that fights its way to your face as Austin gets up to finish the song. 

“Oh my god,” Y/BF/N screeches, “He kissed you!”

“I know,” you say, brushing your fingertips along your lips.

Was it so wrong that you wouldn’t have minded if the kiss was a little longer? 

taglist:

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[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

[freudianslumber]

TIGER MAN Master List

It took longer, but here is the master list and completed work for my second Elvis fanfiction.  Comparing with “Today, Tomorrow and Forever”, this story is more plot heavy and involves more original characters, some of them are foreign and with their own back stories.  Since the storyline is set in a historical background, writing also took more care and research, e.g., multiple times I had to look up if something actually existed back in the early 1940’s.  In addition, all the Elvis songs mentioned needed to be from way back then.  Considering these challenges, I’m overall pleased with the final product. Specifically, I think I’ve made some headway in terms of depicting the psychological evolution and emotional conflicts of my characters.

If anyone is reading this, enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Note: Once again, both original version in English and Chinese translation of this work are available on AO3.

Summary: The year was 1941, bandmates and secret lovers Scotty Moore and Elvis Presley got caught red handed by Scotty’s fiancée, and this led to the young men being thrusted headlong into the China-Burma-India theater of World War II as members of the first American Volunteer Group (The Flying Tigers).

Chapter 1:  Caught in the Heat

Chapter 2:   Flying Tigers

Chapter 3:   Lost and Found

Chapter 4:   Battle of Salween Gorge

Chapter 5:   Guest and Hosts

Chapter 6:   Fleeing from Danger

Chapter 7:   The Stand-off

Chapter 8:   Chamber of Darkness

Chapter 9:   Peace in the Valley

Chapter 10:   Garden of Roses

Chapter 11:   Life and Death

Chapter 12:   The Long Way Home  

[therealslimshakespeare]

From Sarge’s kids I think I’m (as of now) excited to learn more about Daisy. She’s got a lot of Elvis in her and she witnesses Elaine go to hell and back to help him beat his addiction and although she’s independent I hope there’s gonna be someone who will be able to do the same for her or stand by her. Not to mention she’s got a twin who they come off as polar opposites (what with Rosalee being a huge Daddy’s girl) and her comments towards her older sister Ella’s marriage - I get the feeling there’s a lot to unpack there.

I think sometimes Elvis felt like he was too much to love and I see a lot of his personal insecurities in Daisy, she even is a popstar like him and that’s a lot of people loving you with maybe them feeling like they aren’t really known for who they are deep down.

I am so happy to hear this, I’ve got a little started on each kid’s own fic (I want one for each like I had for Jesse, just to establish them and then let loose with the intermingling) and I really think hers is compelling. It’s been truly a blast to get to know her and I’ve gotta be honest she may be the most Lisa-like of any Sarge kid in many ways, partly because she’s so Elvis incarnate. It took awhile but me and my scheming buddies have cooked up a good partner for her and she will always have her family as backup and even her godfather Marlon. I think she will, as you said, be publicly adored but can be rather offputting one on one, even though she desperately needs connection. I think eventually, and not after too long, all these relationships get far better, and Daisy finds her little nook in the family easily. She is the one to go to for the zero bullshit takes or help hiding a body. Loyal and fierce that one.

And here, since you made my day asking about her, have a little random snippet I’ve written about her first big debut recording which came from her rehab scribbles and, unfortunately for the family members her lyrics feature -becomes a sensation.

Era: 1978-9ish??

Warnings: moderate…mentions of past divorce, infidelity, a daughter sorta writing a hit tell all? remincence of a one off threesome and Elvis having straight man panic for it (I’m afraid this couple is polyamorous central I’m the 60’s but nothing explicit) big ole family chat with the grown kids, chaos as can be expected…

What about Wendy?

“Daisy Mae!” Elvis bellows her full name because the crime warrants it, and from behind him, her voice answers, not in person from her place sprawled on the couch but behind him, coming through the stereo in a clear cadence that his creative side must acknowledge is skilled and evocative. What Elvis doesn't find so praiseworthy is his Dear Daughter hanging the family laundry out for all to see with lyrics like:

—“So I'll lock the window and turn on the AC, You'll throw your rocks, and you'll scream that you hate me, But it gets old being forever 20, And what about my wings? What about Wendy?”—

out on a clothesline for all the world to commentate on his failings and his marriage.

The music video coming out tomorrow on MTV, teased as featuring a fresh faced Daisy in a montage of her mother’s most iconic looks -including that secretive wedding gown so few of the nation ever saw, rather hammers home the not so subtle point. As far as Elvis is concerned this is about as disloyal as it gets.

And he is having none of it.

“It’s art, Daddy.” Daisy murmurs, utterly unphased by the hurricane of wrath she can match once she gets that cup of coffee Rosalee is making her.

“Is this how you see us?” Elvis demands and Jesse winces to the side, things had been going so smoothly after Danny was born but lord, the Presley’s just can’t manage to be calm for long, Daisy had to record that stupid black book she scribbled in during rehab and, my does it have some choice takes on the events of the last decade. “This how you see your childhood?” Elvus goes on, “Where we loved ya like no one’s ever loved any kids and gave ya everythin’ and-“

“-and slammed a buncha doors in between.“ Daisy shrugs, not meaning to be cruel, but it’s the truth and she’s never had her sibling’s affinity for the affection that the rest of the kids take as blood money for the insanity they got put through. Daisy doesn't hold a grudge against anyone for her childhood, in fact, she’s thankful for the writing material. But she’s not gonna be sorry for writing shit as it was.

Which was mama playing a haggard Wendy while Daddy flitted in and out of the window at whim like Peter Pan.

“Girl,” her daddy begs her to understand as he takes his seat next to her on the sofa, big ringed hand familiar and pleading on her bony knee, as if somehow this appeal of his will lock the song back into her diary and out of the radio -or maybe he doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, he’s gotten lax about that after the divorce, maybe he really is seeking after his child’s good opinion this time when he continues, “I’m all for art’n’shit but have I not taught ya nothin’ bout-“

“Daddy, ya didn’t even write your own songs.” Daisy gently tries to get him to see the difference in their art but Jesse gasps out in horror:

“Daisy!!” like she just shot their father instead of stating the truth. Which is kinda her problem with her family, they can’t take straight facts.

“Alright, alright then,” Elvis simmers a bit but his tone is restrained as he presses his point, “so ya write from the heart and ya wrote about life, I get ya. So then why’d you call mama Wendy when, w-w-when she’s -she’s my Tinkerbell?”

“You’d rather I used your pet little name in public?” Daisy scoffs at his muddled logic and feels bad for the first time after -soon as his brow furrows in genuine hurt. Daddy loves mama, he loves her again like a new man and Daisy doesn’t get how that works but it’s the truth and she’s got no fight to pick with the truth. It makes her admit with a shrug, “I used it ‘cause Marlon always says she’s Wendy.”

You could hear a pin drop the way everyone’s chatter in the living room stops, even the coffee maker stops spluttering in the distance and it’s highly likely Jesse isn’t even breathing as everyone’s head’s swivel, Daddy’s slower but more intent than any, to look at Elaine where’s she sits in the white arm chair, blanket cast over her where Danny fell asleep while nursing. She’s as white as the rocker she sits in.

“Oh does he now?” Elvis rumbles and Daisy feels the unintentional bite of his nails on her knee.

“Well yeah, he does and -always has.” Daisy insists as if the past and present existence of Brando’s opinions on Elvis’ wife makes shit any better, Daisy knows it the second she lets it out that it’s not exactly balm on the scab.

Her voice doesn't make anyone look away from mama and her perfect, frozen face, carefully neutral and soothingly disinterested in the topic.

“That man has only ever called me, Elaine.” mama laughs an airy, dismissive little thing and the bite of Daddy’s rings on Daisy’s knee loosens their grip. “And if he thinks i'm a Wendy -he should say it to my face.” she jokes and Jesse predictably lets out a pained laugh of solidarity.

“-A-a-and w-who the hell did ya get to sew all those recreated outfits, girl?” Daddy is suddenly back on the original topic with a burst of renewed incredulity at her gall and Daisy knows she can use this to her advantage, get him arguing about fashion, tailors and supporting local folks instead of berating her for her lyrics and-

-Ella watches as Elaine’s stiff face smoothes into relief and she lays her head back against the rocker’s cushion and closes her eyes against the hubbub that’s no longer pertinent to her. Not for the first time Ella wonders if mama is as burdened as she is with thoughts and feelings married women shouldn’t have, they really shouldn’t. Marriage should cure a woman of them but Ella had them all alone on the ranch with her husband gone and Mama had Marlon and his lingering looks and her frozen face whenever his name gets mentioned and mama who is staring up at the ceiling like she’s no longer in the room with them at all.

“Peter Pan, Peter Pan, little lost boy actin’ like a big man,” only Marlon could have made that rhyme sound like anything but a goad, only Marlon really saw what Elaine saw when Elvis was sated, pliable, sweet as a newborn and pretty a sin. “Those producers who’ve got him playin’ tough n’ shit don’t know his appeal, they just don’t get it. Goddamn Peter Pan.”

And he had run his fingers over Elvis’ face, catching his drooping eyelids and pulling them down and over his nose to those cherub lips. And Elvis’ eyes hadn’t opened again till next morning when he woke in angry panic.

Elaine stares at the ceiling and feels Danny shift against her breast, snuggling closer, and she wonders if Elvis ever recalls that night like she does. Ever replays it a million times.

Wendy, Wendy Wendy.

Marlon thinks she’s Wendy, Marlon’s told her own daughter that. But never her. No. He’d just raked his hand through the wrecked coiff of Elvis’ gelled hair and admiringly called him Peter Pan. And Elvis, being Elvis in the state of freshly loved and freshly praised, never balked at it before drifting to sleep in their muggy tent.

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, he never called Elaine that to her face.

Elaine catches Daisy’s eye next time she looks away from the ceiling, an odd moment of recognition. Funny how each child knows a part of her, but it’s the inner workings of Daisy’s curious, generous, honest self -a heart so very like Elvis’ own- that can look back at Elaine and smile at her, while knowing her fully, faults and all. It’s not so bad having grown daughters as a friend, Elaine decides as she watches Elvis flail backwards against the couch to laugh at his daughter's good natured dig at his unmodified wardrobe.

It’s good not to be his only Wendy keeping him young anymore.

Song based on: Wendy by Maisie Peters

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