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oliversrarebooks · 22 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 48: Fitz's Charms

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June 1905

TW: mind control, blood drinking

Fitz once again had a plan.

It wasn't much of one. But the past few days in the auction house, he'd had little to do but sleep, eat, play solitaire, read the books and magazines Alexander brought him, and think about how he could escape his seemingly inevitable fate.

It certainly didn't help that Alexander would fix him with a look of intense longing every time he returned to the room, catching Fitz in his gaze and invoking the intense, unnatural urge for fangs in his neck. The horror of the night of the auction hadn't washed that compulsion from his mind at all, and his dreams as he drifted off to sleep were full of Alexander pulling him close, whispering his mesmeric song in Fitz's ear, humming softly as he bit into Fitz's tender flesh...

And yet, despite Alexander's very obvious desire, and the fact that he now owned Fitz (give or take his terrifying sire, who Fitz wished to put far from his mind), he never so much as laid a hand on him, explaining that he'd rather feed at home.

Fitz didn't accept this. They had complete privacy in the auction house room and Alexander had originally intended to buy Fitz for exactly this purpose. He'd barely been able to hold himself back in the showroom, and he was obviously struggling to hold himself back now. No, there was something else at play. After giving it a great deal of thought, Fitz concluded that the most likely explanation was that Alexander did not want to grow too attached to him. Despite his grand promises, it was clearly difficult for Alexander to defy his sire in any way. If Alexander's plans to kill the Maestro failed, it would be much easier for Alexander if he didn't care, if he could simply hand over Fitz without a second thought.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Endearing himself to Alexander would be the key to his safety and eventually his escape, Fitz reckoned, particularly if Fitz could avoid getting entangled in inconvenient affection himself. It would possibly afford him more freedom and privilege, and the more Alexander valued him, the more he'd be spurred on to save Fitz from his cruel sire.

And there was one obvious way to start that process: enticing Alexander to feed.

The fact that this plan happened to dovetail with his own enthralled desires was just a happy accident, nothing more.

Fitz had been scheming the entire carriage ride to Alexander's manor, trying to look as enticing as possible in the shapeless frock the auction house had provided for him. Alexander spent most of the ride very interested in the bland scenery of the country road, looking anywhere but at Fitz, his aura betraying where his interests truly lay and sending Fitz's head spinning.

"Well, here we are. Please make yourself at home." said Alexander, removing his coat and shoes at the doorway as Fitz looked around. The manor looked considerably smaller than his childhood home, certainly older, and infused with the musty smell of old books.

A dusty intellectual, then, just as Fitz had suspected. He could work with that. Lord knows he'd charmed his way into the homes of many such an intellectual just by feigning interest in rare plants or mystery stories or whatever bee they had in their bonnet.

"I should show you around," saidAlexander. "This will be your home, now, and I want you to be comfortable. You're free to go where you please in the manor, and use what you will, as long as you don't harm the books or the instruments, or enter my private chambers uninvited. Is that clear?"

"Clear as crystal, sir," said Fitz, deliberately stepping much too close to Alexander, enjoying how he squirmed. It gave Fitz the welcome illusion that he had the upper hand, despite being locked into the manor of the vampire who owned him.

Alexander first took Fitz into an old-fashioned kitchen that was spotlessly clean. "I'll provide you with whatever food you request, but I'll expect you to cook it yourself. Can you cook?"

No, no he could not. Fitz's family had had a chef, and since running away, Fitz had only rented out rooms without access to a kitchen. He'd subsisted mainly on sandwiches, the cheapest diner food he could find, and, when he'd worked as a waiter, as much food from back of house as he could snatch. But Alexander didn't need to know that. How hard could basic cooking be? "I'll try not to burn the place down, sir."

"Burn the place down? You wouldn't --"

"That was a joke, sir."

"...Oh, yes." Alexander took a deep breath, apparently having taken that entirely seriously.

"Are there any other thralls living here, sir?" Fitz already suspected the answer, given Alexander's air of desperation and how clean the kitchen was.

"No, it's only you."

"Very good, sir." That would certainly work to his advantage.

As Alexander left the kitchen and Fitz followed at his heels, he couldn't help but think of the food that awaited him. He believed that Alexander would keep him fed -- after all, he was apparently depending on Fitz alone for blood, and even the auction house had kept its prisoners fed well. His mouth was watering thinking of the steak and chicken he could be eating.

He'd just need to learn how to use a stove first. A minor detail.

"I hope you'll enjoy this. It's my music room," said Alexander, leading Fitz into an ornate room with a grand piano at its center. It was covered in a mess of sheet music and the bench was worn, indicating that it wasn't just a piano for show as many rich families had, but very well-used. An impressive collection of other instruments sat on the floor or hung from racks on the walls - a beautiful guitar that Fitz immediately coveted, several fine-looking violins, a brightly-painted harpsichord, a polished oboe.

"Yes, I do enjoy it, sir," said Fitz, lighting up. This was ideal -- music would be a way to pass the time and endear himself to his new master all at the same time. He gestured toward that gorgeous piano. "Do you mind, sir?"

"Not at all. You did mention you play, didn't you?"

"I do, sir," said Fitz with a cheeky grin. "Just listen." He sat down at the bench, making a dramatic show of stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles, pleased to see Alexander giving him full attention. With a deft hand, he launched into a familiar ragtime tune, keeping time by tapping his foot on the floor. He was out of practice, having not played a music gig in several months, but despite a wrong note here and there he could still produce a pleasant enough tune. He looked up to see Alexander absolutely enraptured, a better response than expected considering his rusty piano skills.

"That was wonderful," he said. "What song was that? I've never heard it."

"You've never heard the Maple Leaf Rag, sir?"

"I tend to be rather sheltered when it comes to newer music."

"Is that so, sir?" With a smile and a flourish, Fitz stood up and gestured to the piano bench. "In that case, I would like to hear some of your older music, if you don't mind playing, sir."

Alexander looked surprised and pleased at Fitz's request. "If you don't mind listening, I don't mind playing. It's far from perfect, though, I should warn you."

As Fitz leaned gently against the piano, Alexander took a small breath before starting in on the most complicated and arresting piano music Fitz had heard in his life. Nimble hands flew across the keys in patterns that were nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye, and despite Alexander claiming his performance was far from perfect, Fitz couldn't have identified one wrong note or missed beat if he tried. It was the sort of song and performance that demanded full attention, driving all other considerations out of the listener's head.

Despite the intense skill required to play the piece, Alexander's expression was not one of concentration. Instead, he seemed far away, as though his mind had departed his body.

"I'm a bit rusty. Apologies," said Alexander in all seriousness as he finished, as though he hadn't just given a virtuoso performance as casually as Fitz could plunk out a children's tune.

"That was... astounding, sir," said Fitz, caught off guard enough by the music that he didn't have a calculated answer. "I've never heard anything like it. What was the song?"

"It's a piano concerto written by a vampire composer, so not one you would have likely heard of. His works take advantage of the greater nimbleness afforded our kind." Alexander seemed oddly melancholy about having had the chance to show off a truly impressive skill. "Anyway, why don't we move on?"

He stood up abruptly from the piano bench, leaving Fitz to follow again, wondering what his next move should be. He'd thought the piano would be a winner, but it had only seemed to increase the distance between him and Alexander.

"Allow me to show you my pride and joy, the library," said Alexander.

Fitz inwardly scoffed. How could a library possibly be more interesting than the music room? He'd seen plenty of personal libraries in his time, and had never been all that impressed by a rich person's ability to gather a bunch of dusty books they never actually read. Still, he'd have to pretend to be impressed.

It turned out that there was no need to pretend. This wasn't some small parlor with a few bookshelves. No, this so-called library actually took up what looked to be an entire wing of the manor. It was two stories high with bookshelves stretching straight to the ceiling, punctuated by rickety wooden ladders. And like the piano, it was very clearly in use, with books scattered all around the chairs and tables and lying in big stacks on a large wooden desk.

"Well, what do you think?" said Alexander, clearly looking for approval in a way he hadn't with his piano playing.

"It's an astonishing amount of books, sir," said Fitz. "Have you actually read every one of these?"

"Most of them, yes, but there are some I haven't read cover to cover. Some of them are astoundingly dull histories that mostly have a place in cross-referencing other works."

Fitz leaned in close once more. "Astoundingly dull histories, sir? You certainly do know how to charm a man."

Alexander didn't move away. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've attempting to charm me."

"And is it working, sir?" Fitz stepped closer, pleased when Alexander found himself nearly pressed against one of his bookshelves.

"Perhaps." Alexander seemed to be trying to compose himself. "Although I confess I don't see what the purpose is. At the auction house, you were trying to convince me to buy you. You did succeed, even if the ultimate outcome wasn't what either of us hoped. What are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Isn't it enough to want to please you, sir? Must you assume I have an ulterior motive?"

Alexander seemed amused. "Oh, I know you have an ulterior motive. I'm only asking what it is."

"I was just thinking that you bought me for a reason, sir." Fitz had him practically backed up against the bookshelf by now. "And that reason so happens to coincide with the spell that our mutual acquaintance placed on me. So it's less of an ulterior motive, and more that our interests conveniently align."

Alexander's eyes darted to Fitz's neck, his composure rapidly waning, and Fitz felt a thrill of power. For the first time since that fateful night when Miss Lily had volunteered to be his assistant, he felt like he had control over the situation, that he could skillfully manipulate things to go his way.

"Lily did condition you very well," said Alexander, his voice wavering. "But I did intend for you to get settled in first before I sated my appetite."

"I'm pretty well settled, sir. I think I'm going to be able to make myself very comfortable here. But I don't want you holding back on what you really want to do. That never works out for anyone."

"Is that so?"

"You wanted me to offer my blood to you, didn't you, sir? That's what you told me when we first met. Well, here I am. Offering." Fitz shamelessly pulled aside the collar of his frock, exposing his neck, enjoying the way Alexander's desire was settling around his mind, the way he had the vampire eating out of the palm of his hand.

It happened so fast.

Fitz was being pushed onto the couch, cold hands gripping his shoulders, a mesmerizing song ringing in his ears. Unlike Alexander's measured song at the auction house, this was desperate, needy, wrapping around Fitz's mind and pulling it beneath the waves before he could even comprehend what was happening. His plans and manipulation no longer mattered, dashed to pieces in the whirlpool of Alexander's irresistible voice.

The only thing that mattered now was listening.

"You will obey, won't you?" whispered Alexander in his ear.

"Yes, Master." The instinctive reply tumbled from his lips, and he wasn't remotely prepared for how right it felt. How good he felt falling back into the magic.

No, the vampire was never eating out of the palm of his hand. That was an illusion, smoke and mirrors he set up to trick himself. Alexander was absolutely in control, and there was nothing he could do about it. But unlike the absolute control Alexander's sire had used on his body, this was like rest and calm and bliss all at once, quieting his busy mind, soothing it in a way he was rarely soothed, forcing a sweet surrender.

"You'll feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you."

"Only pleasure, Master." That's it, that's all there was. Only pleasure from being buried in a tidal wave of his master's desire.

And then the fangs were in his neck, finally fulfilling the promise that was made to him the moment he'd been enthralled, and the remainder of his mind crumbled in an instant. His master drank hungrily from the twin wounds, lapping at the precious drops of blood, as Fitz slumped onto his shoulder, sinking into a euphoric daze. Fitz could somehow feel every drop of his master's intense desire for him, and it felt like Narcissus looking into his pool, like a starving man served a lavish banquet, like he would never be satiated.

He was wanted, oh, he was wanted and wanted and wanted --

The feeding was over too soon, too soon for Fitz to fully savor the dizziness in his head and the heaviness in his limbs from his master's feast, the proof of his quality. The proof that Fitz was worth something to someone.

"Such a good thrall," Alexander murmured as he cradled Fitz's head against his chest. "You're perfect, Fitz. You're absolutely perfect. And I'm not going to let anyone else touch you, not my sire, not anyone. You're mine."

"Yours, sir," said Fitz, and he had promised that very thing to so many people, but he'd never actually meant it until now.

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Next time, Alexander gets drunk.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #vampire whumper #mind control #blood drinking #rare bookseller #alexander #fitz

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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“ᴍʀꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ.” | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

Stephen Strange x Avenger!Wife!Reader

summary: It’s YN’s and Stephen’s wedding day. That’s it.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: nothing, just tooth rotting fluff, but some suggestive bits if you squint, some bickering between Tony and Stephen

author’s note: That’s just a “little” drabble because I need to get back into writing Stephen <3 Totally self-indulging here because I want that Stephen to be my husband bye

;

The buzzing sound of almost 150 guests echoed through the lavishly decorated venue while waiters and waitresses glided through the crowd to fulfill every guest’s wish and desire for the booze and appetizers Tony had personally handpicked. The memory alone of the Stark, sitting at the kitchen counter with an assortment of every possible canapé one could imagine, made her eyes roll, but a smile tucked at her lips.

He may not be her biological brother, but he damn sure behaved like one ever since she sat foot into the former Stark Tower, following a busy Fury and Hill, and didn’t know what to expect.

Now, at this very moment, it felt like another life. Now, she was one of the most powerful beings – and married.

Looking down on the hand that held the glass full of the (probably immensely expensive) white wine she had secured at the bar, the two silver bands twinkled up to her – one with more shiny stones she had ever imagined to have, and the other more simple but just as beautiful as her engagement ring. Older guests had suggested to take off the first promise to fully (and proudly) display the second promise given today, but one needed to kill her in order to get that ring off her finger.

Softly shaking her head, YN leaned against a pillar, took a sip of the cooled wine, and closed her eyes for just a second. She only needed a minute to destress and savor some sanity before heading back into the loud environment of which she was the centerpiece. Somehow the invitation list had gotten longer and longer and up to a number she never imagined hosting a wedding for. It was strange how life could change, but YN never wanted it a different way.

Long strides crept closer and closer, but she almost didn’t catch them, too deep in thought and enamored by the view in front of her. They had been lucky with the weather all day long, and now, the most beautiful of sunsets graced her eyes. A sigh escaped her softly colored lips, full of contentment and happiness.

“Mrs. Strange,” a voice in her back startled YN a bit. Still, she turned her body slightly and looked over her shoulder to spot the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. A smile full of contentment, but mild wonder, etched itself on her lips. “That’s me,” YN grinned, still not over the fact that she indeed married this dream of a man.

Stephen smiled down at her after he took the last two steps to stand directly in front of her – his wife – and cupped one of her cheeks to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“Yes, that’s you,” the sorcerer whispered and kissed her another time while he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close. YN had her eyes closed, savoring the feeling and the calm moment between them. It was the first since the photo session had ended, and the guests had demanded their full attention and availability. She had obliged because, after all, most of them were considered family in her eyes. But now, after almost four hours of mingling, small talks, and barely any time for the newlyweds to themselves, she had enough.

Another sigh escaped her lips as YN gently rested her forehead against his chest, and she promised herself to only stay there for a few seconds. But as always, she couldn’t move after Stephen had bent down his head to press a soft kiss on top of her hair. His big hand stretched itself over her almost bare back (the dress may seem a bit over the top with the low cut back, covering the exposed skin only by a thin layer of lace, but it had spoken to her in that damn dress showroom) and started a pattern of soothing brushes and strokes. She could feel the slight shakiness in it, but she knew him better than herself, and that’s why she was certain that it was worse than usual. She raised her head again and furrowed her eyebrows, wrinkled her forehead, and studied his handsome face.

Stephen knew that look in her eyes all too well, and she didn’t need to ask the question laying on her tongue – but she did nonetheless. “Is everything alright?” Forgotten was the glass of wine that had found its new home on the small table just around the pillar (which was actually a plant stand, but it didn’t matter), and YN grasped his arm to pull the moving hand from her back. She enveloped it with both her hands – one was too small and not enough – and with her thumb, gently rubbed over the scars on his knuckles and long, elegant fingers. The sorcerer nodded, almost invisible to unknowing eyes. “Long day,” he said, and YN cooed lowly before pressing a kiss on the back of his hand and removing the lipstick stain with a soft laugh.

“We could just… run and flee. Start the honeymoon earlier. It’s our party, after all,” the bride suggested with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and Stephen shook his head, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. Instead of taking her hand and doing just that, the man put his arm back around his wife’s waist and looked her up and down. “And being robbed of the opportunity to show my gorgeous wife off? Please.” He bent down and whispered, “I need to imprint the fact that you’re off the market and mine into every single brain of all those foolish boys.”

He straightened himself again and smirked his signature smug grin at the sight of her lovely blushed cheeks. YN hit him against his chest with an open hand and scoffed. “As if they didn’t know that already.” She rolled her eyes at his antics, but Stephen only grinned. But then, she grasped his black tie to pull him closer to her. Their bodies were pressed firmly against each other, which was another promise for the upcoming night, but one of the more suggestive kind. Stephen caught himself with a hand propped upon the cool stone of the pillar in her back, right next to her face, and her other hand was placed at the nape of his neck, fingers softly carding through the short hair there.

Now it was her lips that softly touched his ear. “Everyone in there knows that I was always yours, without a pause or doubt. Ever since meeting you, it had always been you, and only you. I wouldn’t have needed a big wedding or a ring at all to prove to the world that I belong to Stephen Strange and him alone, but I did it because I loved the prospect of wearing your rings and showing you off.”

YN’s lips brushed from his ear over his jaw until they reached the corner of his mouth. The breath had caught itself in his throat, and with a low growl, Stephen pulled her even closer – if that was even possible. “You’re making an unholy man out of me, wife,” he rasped, but YN laughed at that with a twinkle in her eyes. “You were never a holy man, Stephen, don’t try to fool lil ol’ me.” She kissed the corner of his mouth another time before rubbing the lipstick off it. “But keep your dirty thoughts to yourself for just an hour longer because I see the rest of the not-so-secret secret boy band coming right up to us.”

At the sound of Stark’s voice, the sorcerer had to roll his eyes in annoyance. Was it too much to ask to get his wife to himself? But he straightened his posture nonetheless.

“The wedding was a complete success. No running on his part, but I’m not sure which outcome I would have liked better.” Stephen rolled his eyes – Tony never was a fan of their relationship, not to mention the engagement – and Steve cleared his throat and smiled at the pair. “Again, congratulations. Don’t mind him or his words.” Thor wasn’t far behind with his reply. “I caught him crying during the ceremony, Lady YN.” Scott nodded in approval. “Even heard him saying something nice about Harry Potter.” Now it was YN to roll her eyes and shake her head. “You lot are insufferable,” she grinned before trying to push Stephen to say something, but that man was stubborn as a brick wall.

Instead of saying something, he surprised everyone around him – plus herself – by scooping his wife into his arms and carrying her from the balcony. “Party is over, Stark,” he spoke over his shoulder while YN started to giggle and chuckle. “We’re having a private party.” At his mumbled words into her ear, the woman grinned brightly, and a laugh escaped her at the sight of an opening portal that showed her most favorite spot in all of New York City.

“I finally can dance with my deadly handsome husband in peace and without any of those pestering stares of all those drooling women.”

Now it was Stephen who grinned and put her down on the soft grassy ground of The Battery, the portal closing behind him with a soft swoosh. The couple ignored the surprised stares of the few people that mingled in the park to get a good look at Miss Liberty.

“I never looked at them. Didn’t even know that they were there.” YN smiled up to him while he pulled her close, both hands around her waist, her hands back in his neck. “I know,” she whispered with a confidence unknown to her before Stephen came into the picture.

With him, she knew that this was a forever kind of thing.

;

Thank you for reading, lovely human! As always, comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated ♥️

Taglist:

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @seasonofthenerd @onecrazydirectioner @meeksmusic83

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tmbg-tournie · 1 month

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✨⭐️FINAL RESULTS⭐️✨

The best song from John Henry is…

THE END OF THE TOUR!!!

I was praying and begging upon my knees like a little peasant boy for Sleeping In The Flowers to win I was DESPERATE…. I really didn’t expect End Of The Tour to make it into the finals (I honestly thought it would be Sleeping In The Flowers vs. Subliminal) but I’m still happy with this result. To be honest, I like every song on John Henry so it would be a win in any case

The next album we’re polling is Factory Showroom!!! I’ve been listening to it for the last week straight I cannot get this album out of my head if I listen to it one more time I’ll start hearing James K. Polk in my dreams

#tmbg #they might be giants #tmbgareok #FINAL RESULTS #john henry tmbg

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feferipeixes · 7 months

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One of Us

Happy nine years of TAU.

(AO3 link)

===

"Do you ever think about what it would be like to be forgotten?"

There's a demon in the middle of the room, just like always. He's sitting cross legged a few feet off the floor, and there's something grotesque and nightmarish curled up in his lap. He called it a sheep when he first showed up, and he's been petting ever since, but at that question his hand stays.

"What?"

The man gulps. It took a lot of courage for him to go through with summoning a demon once he'd decided to do it, and it had clearly taken a toll on him. Sweat pours down his face as he paces in the abandoned used car showroom.

"I don't know why I'm asking you this," he says, half laughing at himself. He runs a hand through his hair -- what little of it is left.

Alcor stares. It begins to feel like the demon is looking through him.

"My wife is dead." The man closes his eyes, frowning. "It happened two years ago. She was everything to me. At her funeral I told a crowd of people that my memories of her life were my greatest treasure. I… I was wrong."

Later, Alcor walks through the empty halls of the Mystery Shack. Many of the wall photos have fallen down in past years, and for a while he was too tired or too upset to pick them up.

His summoner's words echo in his ears, and he snaps his fingers to make a photo frame shoot up into his hands.

"I can't remember her face anymore. I saw it every day for thirty years. When I woke up in the morning I was so happy to see her, no matter how bad my dreams were, no matter what awful things I knew I had to do that day. Just seeing her helped me. But now she's gone. And there's nothing left. Not even a memory."

It's a photo of a brown haired woman, her arms wrapped around the neck of a young man he recognizes as himself. Mabel's face was twisted in delight, no doubt ribbing him about something dumb he'd done. If he focuses, he can still hear that laughter in the Shack.

"I have a disorder that makes me forget things. I… don't know what it's called. Forgot that too." The man's fist clenches, so tightly that the veins bulge out on his arm. "Can you believe that? My soulmate, gone from my mind after just two years? She might as well have never existed at all."

Alcor makes his way to the roof of the Shack and sits facing the totem pole -- or at least, where it used to be. It had fallen down a couple of decades back when a car hit it. That sort of thing happened every few years, but eventually he got tired of moving it upright again.

He thinks of the time he sat right where he was and threw pinecones at a target taped to the pole. He'd thought he was in love with that red haired girl Wendy, back before he knew that romance wasn't for him. It still killed him when he found her blue and floating in that subway station.

His stomach growls at the thought.

"I think…" The man swallows -- hard. He sits down on the hood of a car and it groans beneath his weight. "If that's the fate of the most important person in my life, then that's what I deserve too."

Alcor remembers pulling his name out of newspapers, out of books detailing the Transcendence, out of the minds of people who got too snoopy when it came to the strange lights and noises that came out of the Mystery Shack at night. Gradually, Dipper Pines began to die, and more and more people chanted his new name in buildings and forests worldwide.

It wasn't a fate he wished on anyone.

The man's forehead creases. "I don't know why I expected you to understand. For Pete's sake you’re a demon. You want to be worshiped and stuff. Well, not me. I want the world to forget my name."

“You don't.”

The summoner jolts, as if he'd forgotten he was actually talking to someone and not just monologuing. A swell of derision crosses his face. “Y-Yes I do. I've thought about it a lot. I can accept the consequences.”

“No,” Alcor can remember saying, and he feels like an idiot for doing so; he wants to go back and just let the deal happen as planned, so that he could put the whole thing out of his mind just a tiny bit sooner. “You've accepted the consequences, but you don't want this. I know what you really want. You're just too afraid of the price to ask.”

“I…” The man gulps, and stumbles back. “That's not true. It hurts to think about being remembered when she isn't. I would feel so much better to live out the rest of my life alone except for her.”

The apple tree in the backyard is beginning to droop. It stopped producing fresh fruit regularly hundreds of years ago. He doesn't expect to see one today, either, but to his surprise there's a glistening red orb right at the tip of a spindly branch. When Alcor picks it up, he notices that the other side is charred. It breaks apart in his hand, scattering in the wind like dust. He'd accepted the consequences long ago.

It’s time to go.

“This request doesn't accomplish that at all.” The demon stands up, and the sheep-like thing just floats there as if nothing had happened. “You want the memory back. You want her back in your mind. I'm not in the mood to be lied to.”

“I’m not lying…”

“What, then, do you want to give up? Really?” Alcor spits. Something is bubbling up in his stomach. It feels as though someone else is speaking in his voice. “Something bad happened to you and you’re just going to stay in it forever? Because it’s too late? Because doing something to feel better would be too hard and too likely to fail? Bullshit! You wouldn’t be summoning a demon, then!”

“I’m not lying!” It’s the first time the man’s raised his voice -- a frequent eventuality when it comes to summoners, and yet it manages to take Alcor by surprise. “Of course I’ve entertained that thought! You- I thought you were supposed to be all knowing! Did you just come here to insult me?”

Alcor stares, dumbfounded, as the man paces, waving his arms with a newfound vigor. He wants to yell back that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that the pain he’s seen eclipses anything a human mind could ever even conceptualize. But there’s a hand covering his mouth. It’s not the year 2012, and this isn’t Gravity Falls. He’s standing in a dark room, and around him, words echo like pinpricks of light.

“Her memories for mine. I thought that would be a fair bargain, at first. But then I thought it would be worse, to sit and age with the picture of what I could still have just out of reach. You wouldn’t get it. You would never understand what it’s like to grieve.”

There’s a hole in the floor -- a new one with every step the man takes. The tile cracks and shudders, then plunges into the deep. The room quakes with anger, with drawn out years of wasted potential. Soon both man and demon are tumbling through open air, in wait of the ground that meets them.

“To know the love in my heart, to feel its shadow… I can’t stand it. I don’t want to subject anyone else to that either. That’s why I want to be forgotten. So we can all once again live in the present.”

Alcor breathes out, and takes his hand.

---

There’s a woman in the kitchen when they arrive. She looks up at the sound of shoes on carpet, and momentary surprise is replaced by a warm smile.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she says. The man does not answer.

There’s a protracted silence, in which stares battle for prominence over ignorance. Alcor looks around. He sees eggs in a frying pan and bread in the toaster. He sees shoes by the entry, one pair two pair three. He sees photos hung on the wall with care, later tilted by the settling of time.

“You’re not dead,” he says, although it is already obvious.

The man, his summoner, leaves the room without a word.

“I’m not,” the woman says. “I’m sorry, Alcor. I’ve been expecting you. He told me you’d be coming.”

“He did?” Alcor scans the home between blinks. It’s well lived in. A living room room with bowling trophies on the mantle and pillows on the sofa with cross stitched designs on them. A library full of books, some of which he’d never seen before, almost all of which have traces of human skin on the pages, and words digested by thought. A bedroom with a queen sized bed, two fully stocked closets, a drawer full of love letters, a bathroom full of stains.

One more bedroom, one with a twin sized bed never slept in, an empty closet, and brightly coloured paint peeling from the walls. Alcor begins to piece together what happened here.

“He isn’t really aware of me,” the woman explains, when they’re both seated, cups of tea in hand. “We talk all the time, but he doesn’t hear me. We live side by side but to him he’s alone. I hear how he misses me. I miss him too.”

“He told me he’d rather be forgotten,” Alcor says. “That’s what he said. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s ironic.”

She leans back in her chair, and closes her eyes for a moment. “I’d heard him… talking about it. I can’t pretend it didn’t sting. But then I realized that he wasn’t trying to cut me out of his life. He was telling me he loves me, in the only way he can, now.”

“How… so?” He knows the answer, but he needs to hear her say it.

“After it happened, I struggled to stay in one piece. It was so overwhelming. Every day, the littlest things made me feel like someone was prying me open. I wanted to forget. If he’d never been in my life, then there’d be nothing to have lost. And when I thought about it, I realized that it hurt just as much to think about the loss he was experiencing, of me.”

Alcor understands, and he puts his teacup down. “I felt that way too. When you grieve, everyone grieves with you. It feels kinder to snuff it out.”

His hand is trembling. The woman takes it, and holds it steady against the table. Long blackened claws spill over wrinkled and liver-spotted flesh. They fumble, then ease into the melody.

“Tis better to have loved,” she says, softly. “That’s what they say.”

They sit there like that, and the Sun begins to set. It's not fair, how right she is. It's not fair because that this had to happen or that she had to say that stuff, because he'd been trying for a long time not to think about it. A part of him wonders if he could've gone two, three, maybe even four hundred more years without having to accept it. Even as he thinks that, he's frustratingly aware that it's something that gets harder the longer you pretend it isn't real.

Alcor drinks the rest of his tea -- it’s cold, but it’s better than nothing.

“Thank you for not taking his soul,” she says, when they get up from the table. “I did my research on you. I figured I at least had a chance. It’s selfish, but I want to keep it, here with me.”

He knows. It’s been a long time, but he knows. He could’ve taken that man’s truth straight from his chest -- chomped down and let it shatter. The rush he could’ve had, that blinding, temporary rush when reducing person to object and pulling it apart stitch-by-stich. It’s harder, what he’s done. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I don’t want you to have to leave empty handed,” she continues, perhaps noticing the rolling twister about to erupt from the monster’s maw. “Please, take this.”

He looks at her, trying to hold back tears that can’t be explained, fighting with himself to keep that box closed because once that grief is acknowledged, there’s no way back. There’s no escaping it. It becomes real, it becomes heavy, and only then can you heal.

He looks at her, and in her hand there is an apple.

---

Alcor appears, unbidden, in someone’s home. This one is much smaller, much quieter. Very little love has graced its walls. It’s the kind of house you walk past and feel a slight chill from. It’s the kind of place you avoid on instinct.

There’s a young man, sitting at his desk. He’s fiddling with something -- a glue stick. Open in front of him is a large scrapbook, covered in construction paper and glitter and drawings. To his side is a stack of newspapers, a clipping from which the young man is trying to wrangle.

Alcor’s name appears three times in the print, not that anyone would know it. It’s so worn out -- the name, that is, not the paper to which it’s bound -- that you’d really have to be looking for it to be able to find it. And maybe that’s no way to live. Maybe it hurts to miss what you could’ve had, but maybe it hurts more to forget.

“Hi Mizar,” Alcor says, and the young man jumps, not having realized he had company.

“Wh- what’s going on?” he stammers, backing against the wall, and even though he’s scared, his voice and his gait are so familiar, so comforting. Alcor takes that comfort. It’s better than nothing. “Who are you?”

Alcor smiles, and every lightbulb in the house explodes together. “I’m your brother.”

(AO3 link)

#gravity falls #transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #fic #my stuff #tauathon

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rehfan · 1 year

Text

Chapter 10 of...

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury X Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: meet-cute, eventual smut, slow build, angst with a happy ending, class differences, fantasizing, implied/referenced drug use, non-consensual touching, sexual inexperience, first kiss, kissing, first French kiss, neck kissing, sexual education, angst, emotional hurt, handjob, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal sex, PIV sex, first time, blow job, cream pie, fluff and smut, anal play, rimming, cunnilingus

Warnings: 18+ and over only please. Eventual smutty smut - NOT for children! Non-consensual touching, implied/referenced drug use.

PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK TO ANY OTHER SITE. MY WORK IS MINE. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

If you want to read this and my other stuff, find this work on AO3

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - EPILOGUE

A/N: There is a dress mentioned in this chapter that is based on THIS actual design. Take a gander if you want.

************************************

CHAPTER 10: One Last Party

Your staff couldn’t help but notice the profound change in you, try though you might to hide it. You were listless for the next month, just treading water. The best you could do was a smile that didn’t reach your eyes and a tired response anytime anyone asked you a question. Still, the place managed to turn a profit, which gave you hope to hang on to. You knew that for as long as the shop could remain open at least part of your life remained alive. Your heart could be half full.

The other half of your heart, however…

You did write to him at both the country estate and the house they kept in the city. Both letters were returned unopened. You attempted to ring him up, but Lord Penbury was always out. You even became so incensed and bold that you went to their home in the city only to be turned away at both the main door and the servant’s entrance. You knew it was Victoria who gave the order for all of this to happen. The urge to speak with him, if only for a moment, became an obsession. You had to hear his voice, if only on paper. Yet no matter what you tried, Victoria blocked your way to him. It was no use. You were cut off completely.

Used to be your days began with the florist’s delivery, but those had stopped as well. Your heart had held faint hope that Mrs. Randolph might serve as a go-between for the two of you, but when the deliveries stopped, that dream died. You thought it might happen. Victoria was far too thorough. You loved the flowers. It was as if Ralph had been sending them to you and not the shop. Perhaps he had been

Before the last of the flowers that had been delivered could die completely, you stole one display and placed it in your flat. Once the petals were beginning to fall from the peach roses, so you pressed one in some wax paper between the pages of a large dictionary. Right next to the entry for “moron”. You thought it appropriate. You felt a perfect fool for daring to be happy.

One early morning, you had just unlocked the door and were expecting the first of your staff to arrive when you heard the bell on the door ring. Without turning to face your assistant manager, you said, “Anne, I’m going to need you to ring up Mr. Watson and ask them where the green felt is. They can’t be late again with their deliveries. We’re going to have to find another, if they keep this up.”

“Well, well, well,” said a man’s voice, “how cold and businesslike you’ve become, bearcat.”

Randall Miller, late of Selfridges, stood looking smug in the middle of your showroom. It had been months since you were in his odious presence but your skin still crawled. You prepared yourself to scream and scratch but held tight to yourself, managing a calm question: “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, darling,” he said, his grin wide. You thought his good humor was misplaced; you couldn’t understand why he was so happy to be in the presence of a woman who clearly despised him.

“What are you grinning at? Answer me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here on behalf of the new owners of the building. They’re pals of mine. Gave me a job collecting for them,” he said, fingering the feather on a lady’s tea hat. “Time to pay the rent, bearcat.”

You breathed a sigh. “Well why didn’t you say? Here,” you led him to the till and with a motion of your hand, signaled for him to wait. You dipped into the back room where a large table took up the majority of the space. Scattered upon it was the detritus of all your latest efforts on creativity. Only two projects were currently underway - a drought for you - but then, your heart hadn’t really been in it lately and your mind was always elsewhere. Always wondering where he was and what he was doing and whether he was happy.

The safe was at the back of the room, underneath one of the other work counters. It didn’t contain much, just some papers relating to the shop, the company payroll, and some money for the overhead - including the rent. Ever since the grand announcement of the changing of hands, you had become a meticulous bookkeeper - not that you were negligent before! But oh, the hours you’d spent figuring out ways of trimming your budget while still managing to keep things afloat! You had worked a minor miracle week after week, to be honest.

The extra effort and extra hours you put in really helped to make the place seem more and more like yours. It was the one thing you could definitely still control in your life. It gave you stability and a sense of pride. You really loved this old place. It was worth the fight.

“So this is where you keep the dosh, eh?”

Instantly you straightened up. “I told you to stay out there. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s just that the people I work for own the building. The whole building. Including this part of it too. I’m just looking out for their best interests.”

“I’m sure you are,” you said, your tone implying that you thought no such thing. You handed him the cash in an envelope. “Count it. Here. Make sure it’s all there.”

“Aww, I trust you!” he said, tucking the package into his inside pocket.

“No! Count. Here. Now,” you said. “I insist. And you’ll sign a receipt taking a copy with you. I’m not taking any chances.” You produced a chit book with a carbon paper that you neatly printed with the rent amount and the date, marking it paid, and leaving space enough for both of your signatures.

“Alright, alright,” he said, drawing out the envelope and counting the bills inside. It was all there. Satisfied, he signed the chit and then you followed suit. You gave him the copy to place in the envelope.

“I see now why Ralph is so besotted with you,” he said.

At the sound of his name, your heart skipped a beat. Swallowing down your thrill of excitement, you managed to sound casual when you said, “Oh? How is that?”

His eyes roved over you, up your front and down your back as he replied: “You’ve got a sharp little mind as well as a well-turned-“

“Stop!” you cried, narrowing your eyes at him. “That will be quite enough of that. You have what you came for. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave so that our business day can begin.”

The front door bell rang just then, emphasizing your statement. Anne came through to the back room within moments. “Oh! Miss! Sorry I’m late. The train was- Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, Anne. This is Mr. Miller. He’s going to be collecting our rent on behalf of the new owners.” Miller and Anne exchanged greetings and you ushered him out as soon as possible. But not before he could give Anne a quick once over, his eyes roving all over her figure. Once gone, Anne turned to you with concern.

“Everything alright, miss?” she asked. “He seemed a bit-“

“Like a wrong ‘un?” you asked. She nodded.

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “I just hope things go a lot smoother next month.”

It didn’t.

Miller showed up just as you opened, pushed his way into the back room again and it took death threats on your part to get him to turn his back as you opened the safe. You were fairly certain he didn’t see the combination, but you didn’t feel comfortable hunched down as you were with him standing behind you.

He chatted with you as he counted the money. “Season opener’s next weekend,” he remarked.

“Season opener?”

“Penbury’s season opener!” And here he put a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “Sure to be a big blowout too. Victoria doesn’t do anything by halves.”

“You mean you still get invitations?”

“Lord, yes! After Ralphie-boy unceremoniously tossed me out after you tried to wrangle a job from me, Victoria came to me all apologies and begged me to come back next season. I’m practically the guest of honor, old girl!”

“Well, congratulations?” you said, at a loss for anything else to say.

As far as you were concerned, attending a Penbury party wasn’t on your to-do list ever again. If Miller was trying to make you jealous, it wasn’t going to work. You never wanted to attend another party of Victoria’s again. Especially if she actually wanted men like Miller there. “I suppose there’ll be plenty of snow there to keep you happy.”

“There should! Ralph scored a coup, believe it or not. Plenty to go around for parties for the rest of his life, I should warrant. Come to think of it, considering Ralph almost died, he and I might share top honors at the do.”

“What?! He almost what?!” Your heart was in your throat. “Is he alright? What happened?”

“Oh he’s fine! Tops!” said Miller. “He’s the hero of the day, it seems. At least, according to the crims that provided him with the powder. Our Ralphie boy took a bullet for their top gent in charge of the syndicate. Italian fellow. American, I think.” Your eyes flew wide and you gasped. Here Miller laughed. “Oh don’t lose your mind, bearcat. You loverboy’s fine. Just a scratch! But it was enough to get that fat cat in the criminal underworld to bestow his gratitude on our little Ralphie - and by extension - the rest of us!”

He stuffed the money back in the envelope and signed the chit. Almost as an afterthought, he added: “Of course, now all his talk about joining the French Foreign Legion has a spine to it, what with that near-death experience.”

“Joining the-” you couldn’t finish the question out loud. Your head was spinning. So much had happened in such a short time, it left you breathless.

“Yes, well. He’s been going on about it for almost two solid months now. It’s getting a little old. Almost ready to drive him to the docks myself and see him off. Still, rumor has it he’s been making his final arrangements with his lawyers. Last will and testament and all that. It really changed him.”

“And how would you know that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “You know how Victoria and her mates can talk. They say she was panicked that he was actually serious this time. Looks like he is.”

Your heart sank and you couldn’t speak. For his part, Miller was unfazed. He bid you goodbye as he tucked the money and the chit in his coat pocket and strolled out of your shop whistling a Gershwin tune.

~080~

Three days came and went and all you did was wonder about Ralph’s physical condition. He was strong and fit, it was true, but he was also Ralph! Where was he shot? Was there a bad scar? Did he have a limp?

That day you first learned the news, your gut had twisted and you were sick. So much so that you had taken to your bed upstairs with a headache and a stomachache and a heartache all at the same time. Anne had taken charge, but you had still been ashamed. To let a man you could never have waylay you in this manner… the independent side of you had been angry. The woman in love within you was shattered. Between the two emotions, you had lost your equilibrium entirely that first day.

You had cried for an hour before sleep took you.

Two days had come and gone since and you were unsteady, but still fighting. The customers were still coming. Hats still needed to be created. Vendors still needed to be negotiated with. Bills still needed to be paid. And there was Marvin the mailman handing you another stack. You sighed and took them to your little bench in the back room. You flipped through them, noting the sender’s names as they flitted by.

But there was one that stood out. Heavy card stock, embossed, sealed with a wax stamp.

Lord Ralph Penbury.

Your breath stopped and it took you a minute to recover, white spots dancing in front of your eyes. Taking slow gulps of air, grateful that you were alone, you unsealed the envelope and with shaking hands removed the paper from within.

It was an invitation. To the party. That weekend. In two days. At the country estate. As a personal guest of Lord Ralph Penbury.

You were thrilled for an instant, but soon took pause. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. Victoria. It had to be. You propped the invitation up against a book or two on the shelf and looked at it like a picture. What did this mean? What could it lead to? What was Victoria up to?

“Miss?” called Anne from the door behind you. You flipped the invite over on its face and quickly turned to regard her. “You have a package, miss,” she said, her arms full of three massive boxes, one only slightly smaller yet taller than the other two. “Three, in fact,” she laughed. She set them on the table and hurried back to the showroom.

Wordlessly, you came to them. Setting each to the side of the other, you opened the biggest box first. Inside, wrapped in thin paper was the most gorgeous gown, diaphanous pleated silk, every shade of blue captured in a graduated hue, heavenly blue at the high collar, sleeveless, a cinched waist, and running down through midnight blue at the sweeping hem. As you held it to you, it swam against your body with a beautiful sheen and shimmer. The maker’s card on top had read “Mariano Fortuny ~ Delphos”. Holy shit. The Italian dressmaker was famous. And famously expensive.

You placed the dress back in the box carefully and stared at it. It was too much. This wasn’t Victoria. It couldn’t be. Oh she’d have invited you alright. She’d invite you then leave you to sort out your own clothes as a final humiliation. She’d invite you and then cackle about you with her friends, all of whom never expected you to come because they knew you had nothing to wear.

No. This was Ralph. It had to be.

The other two boxes held undergarments, accessories, and shoes, respectively. Each from different fashion houses that you recognized easily. Each of the highest quality, because of course they were. There was even a handbag to match the shoes.

You wandered back over to the invitation still flipped over on your desk. There was handwriting on the back. Curious.

Darling – Don’t forget money for the train home. - R.

You had never seen Ralph’s handwriting before, but you could tell it was him. But that was such an odd message. Nothing romantic about it whatsoever. If anything, it was perfunctory. Practical. Two words you would never use to describe Ralph. And the words sort of hurt. Of all the things to say to you, how could he be so…dismissive? Whatever his reasons, he seemed to be inviting you and then sending you home all in one note.

You tapped the invite against your chin as you surveyed your gifts. If you go, at the very least you’ll get to see Ralph again. Which, in the end, is the very thing you heart wanted most. There was also the added enticement that you’ll also get to see Victoria’s and Miller’s jaws drop when they see you arrive in such a stunning ensemble. You can even wear the new hair band you had designed based on the pattern in the walls of the spare room you had occupied all those months ago. And then you and Ralph could hopefully talk and try to figure things out before Victoria had you unceremoniously thrown out.

Was it worth the risk?

A wicked smile spread across your face. “Why not?” you said to the empty room. “Why the hell not?”

~080~

The jazz music hit your ears as you stepped from the cab. The house was lit from within and without, people dancing past the windows. You followed a few other latecomers through the main doors and into the now-familiar foyer. The reception hall was filled with more revelers in their finery, but you noticed that you pulled the attention of more than a few of them as you passed. The Delphos gown was weaving its magic.

Suppressing a grin, you walked with confidence past the grand staircase and into the anteroom, head back, spine straight, knowing you looked like a million bucks. You wanted to keep an air of cool indifference so that your snobby attitude could blend with everyone else’s. As a waiter passed with flutes of champagne, you snatched one up smoothly and proceeded through the crowd to the main ballroom. You felt like you were a spy on a secret mission.

The ballroom was alive. People were everywhere. Booze was everywhere. Jazz was everywhere. You caught sight of Victoria dancing with Miller in the middle of the dance floor. You attempted to elude his focus. You were attempting to seek out Ralph and you didn’t want him to spot you and call the alarm before you could find him.

Moving through the crowd, you kept them both in your peripheral vision. She was talking and talking and talking, her mouth going a mile a minute. He seemed addled as well, but his eyes were everywhere. It seemed they had started on the snow the moment they had arrived.

As you rounded the other side of the dance floor and gained the center of the room, he glanced up from her nattering face and he saw you. The massive jaw drop you expected was just as delicious as you had hoped. You faced him full on having nowhere to hide any longer and wiggled your fingers at him in a small wave that said “yes, it’s me. I’m really here. Eat your heart out”. You saw him whisper urgently to Victoria before turning your attention to the rest of the room still seeking Ralph.

You didn’t have to search for long.

A man mounted one of the centrally located tables just beside you and called for a stop to the music. His clothes were impeccable - especially that dazzling waistcoat he wore. Despite his now-familiar garb, you hardly recognized Ralph. There was nothing of the meek about him. He stood there boldly, his eyes searching the room, stopping when they locked on yours.

“My Lords, Ladies and gents, if I could have your attention, please!” he called out, arms raised, calling a stop to the music.

“Ralph! What are you doing?! “ Victoria shouted. She was right behind you. You didn’t bother to turn to look at her. Your focus was completely on Ralph. He looked so good your fingers ached to touch him. But he wasn’t done addressing the crowd.

He held a glass up to the crowd and said, “A toast! To my new friend, Signore Frantonelli. He was kind enough to join us this evening along with his nephews and cousins and their lovely wives. Let us all give them a warm welcome!”

A cheer went up from the crowd, the alcohol controlling the volume based on individual states of inebriation. For his part, Mr. Frantonelli, who looked to you like a gangster from Chicago (and likely was), raised his glass in salute to Lord Penbury. You heard someone just to your right ask to his friend, sotto voce: “Isn’t that the bloke Ralphie took the bullet for? Gruesome fellow.” The friend nodded. “That’s the very one. I heard…”

But the voice was drowned out by Ralph moving on with his toast: “And next-“

“Ralphie, do stop being tiresome and let’s get on with the dancing!” shouted Victoria.

Ralph ignored her request and went on: “-my adorable twin sister, Victoria!” A general cheer went up at her name and she giggled and waved to one and all.

“My sister, who for years never once allowed me to finish a sentence! Who treated me as the butt of many jokes - most of which all of you were in on. Who can forget all the money that’s been bet over the years when Ralphie was hiding and none of you were seeking? Yes, my sister! That’s thanks to you! Spoiled now, though, I’m afraid. I know better now, my sweet. So let’s hear it for my affectionate, loving, cunning, manipulative, shameful and hateful sister who has spent the better part of our lives deciding my happiness for me.”

The room was quiet now. And a tad bit more sober. Ralph pressed on.

“In her honor, I thought I would recognize her lifetime of effort. And to announce that as of tonight, my dear, you are officially free of your burden.”

The crowd murmured in confusion. “Finally joining up, Ralphie?” shouted a voice from the crowd. “French Foreign Legion at long last?” A murmur of amusement passed through the crowd.

“I did have those plans, Dickie,” Ralph replied. “But after speaking to our family solicitors in order to prepare for my untimely death in said Foreign Legion, a few details about my family and its fortunes have been brought to my attention.”

Another murmur passed through the crowd, voices concerned. Ralph gave them a mean smile and raised his hands for their attention again.

“Oh never fear! Never fear! We will always have enough booze and coke to share with our friends. You just won’t have me to kick around anymore. Isn’t that right, dear sister?” He glared at Victoria. She stared at him, eyes blinking in confusion, mouth opening and shutting like a freshly caught mackerel in the bottom of a boat.

“Now, I must beg your indulgence! I want all of you to play nice while I speak privately with my dear sister. We shan’t be long.” To the band leader he gave a nod and the music resumed with full fervor. He leapt down from the table and scooped up his sister by the elbow, whispering for you to follow. As he passed Signore Frantonelli and his entourage, he gave him a nod. The Italian gentleman nodded back and watched him leave with a wriggling Victoria, you bringing up the rear.

In the anteroom, Victoria became annoyed. “Ralphie, what are you doing? Let me go back to the party!” But Ralph moved her along with quick steps to the remote and much quieter library.

He roughly jerked her elbow toward him, arresting her movement. “Not until after I’ve said what I need to say.” He made full eye contact with her and his tone brooked no argument. You thought it also sounded a bit sad. For her part, Victoria was stunned into silence. Probably for the first time in her life.

As the three of you passed down a back corridor through the manse, you marveled at him. Never before had you seen him so angry. Yet, he seemed perfectly controlled. It was an agonizingly sexy combination and you were a little breathless and flushed. Now there was Lord Ralph Penbury.

He quietly closed the library doors behind the three of you and stood ramrod straight, his hands flexed and unflexed and you both waited for him to say or do something. Anything. The mood in the room had shifted. Not a word was spoken between you three at first, which gave you time to recognize that you weren’t entirely alone. Two men sat at the fireside, brandy snifters in their hands. You thought Ralph was going to ask them to leave, but he didn’t.

He walked to the two men and held out his hand. One of them gave him a pack of paper, triple folded. Ralph opened up the documents and gazed at them briefly before nodding to them both. “Have you got your fare for the train home, darling?” he asked, turning to you, his eyes held a soft light. His boldness was fresh and yet, he was still the same soft boy.

“I- I do,” you replied. “Why? Did you want me to leave?”

“I do,” muttered Victoria.

“Shut up, Victoria,” said Ralph.

Victoria’s jaw dropped. “Ralphie-“

“Shut up,” he said again.

He came to you. “Now you know that I had plans to join the French Foreign Legion. Darling, I’m not doing it. I don’t wish to disappear like I did before. Life without you in it seemed meaningless - is meaningless. But with my new-found knowledge, my sister no longer has a hold on my happiness.” He held out the papers. “I have here a contract,” he said. “It sells my share of the shop to you.”

“Wait. What? You’ll give her the controlling share?” Victoria said. “You fool, Ralph! She’s a nobody! A know-nothing. We are the business-people! We’re the goddamned captains of industry here!”

“I’m doing this and you cannot stop me,” he said to her. Her mouth shut with a snap of her teeth.

To you, gently, he said, “All you have to do is sign. Then the control goes to you.”

Victoria huffed and crossed her arms. “Well, if you must, Ralph. Sell your share. Still, twenty five and a half percent of a profitable business is better than nothing. But I still think you’re doing the wrong thing! You’re giving up too much control! It was your brainchild after all, getting that shop. Our family should see more than a paltry little twenty-five and a half percent!”

“I’m seeing nothing,” he said, “that is to say: we’re seeing nothing. This contract sells all fifty-one percent to her.”

“That’s not right,” she cried. “I have half of that fifty-one!”

“What?” you asked at the same moment, your confusion mixing with Victoria’s outrage.

He took your hand and stepped even closer to you. Softly, he said, “You never deserved to be treated like this. The shop is yours, body and soul. All that’s left is for you to sign and try to forgive me for being so weak for so long. It’s just- I never knew. I never knew about my real place in any of this.”

“Ralphie, the party is going on without us! We’re being bad hosts! We have to get-”

“Do shut UP, Victoria!” he said, his voice firm, his tone cross. His eyes were storm clouds. “If I have to tell you again, I shall bodily carry you to the south fountain and deposit you in it. Do NOT interrupt me again!”

Victoria gasped and stared.

In the awkward silence that followed, your voice was barely heard: “Ralph? What are you talking about?”

His attention snapped back to you and instantly he looked a tad contrite. “My apologies for my behavior just now, my love. None of my ire is directed at you, I assure you. But, as you are about to find out,” here he cut a stare at his sister, “I have been deceived and I am rather incensed.

“Apparently,” he began, “even though I was made to think otherwise after our father’s death, all of this,” and here he held his arms open to encompass the room, “is not meant to be an equal split between us both. It has nothing whatsoever to do with being a twin. It has nothing whatsoever to do with me being born second instead of first as I had been repeatedly reminded.

“You see, my angel, It’s all actually mine. All of it. Every door knob of every room on every estate. Every fireplace. Every brass farthing in our bank accounts.” He stared at his sister. “Even the clothes on your back.”

You snuck a sly look at her. She was as pale as milk. “I was blissfully unaware of this,” continued Ralph, “until our solicitors were so kind as to inform me,” and he gestured at the two men at the fire, “that the money follows the title. Something great-great-great-grandfather declared legally and in perpetuity ages ago. And since you, my sister, are only Lady Penbury by virtue of the fact that I am Lord Penbury - it’s all mine.”

He placed the documents in your hand. “And I’m buying back the entire building as well. I’m willing to knock down a few walls and expand the space of the shop so you can have more room, if you wish. I only-”

“They won’t sell,” said Victoria in smug triumph. “I made a deal with the new owners that they couldn’t afford to refuse.” You gave her a curious look at this. She shrugged. “Helps to know a few gossips in town. And it helps to know the mistress the gent has been keeping secret from his wife. A man is far more simple to deal with when you have all your ducks in a row.”

“I thought you’d try something underhanded,” said Ralph. “Well glad to know we’ve been up to the same thing. You see, thanks to my new friend, Signore Frantonelli and his eternal gratitude, your new owner-friend was very keen to sell. It seems he was more afraid of the signore’s goons than he was of his wife finding out about his mistress.”

“Ralph! You didn’t!” you said.

His ears turned pink. “It was all Mr. Fratonelli’s idea, actually. I didn’t say for him to do anything. He just… did me the favor. For saving his life. He asked me if there was anything in the world that I wanted in order for him to start to repay me and… well…”

“You told him about me,” you whispered. Ralph nodded.

“Turns out, the old signore’s a bit of a romantic at heart,” he smiled. “And I am paying for the building. A genuine price. Not like this contract with you - although, you will find the cost to you quite reasonable, I hope.”

You looked at the document. All sorts of legalese flew past your eyes until you settled on the intended words:

“sale in total of Moxie Creations: £1.00”

“One pound?” you said. “Only one pound?”

“I wanted to choose a nice round figure,” he said, sheepishly grinning at you.

“You’re selling all those shares of that shop for one lousy quid??!” Victoria fairly screamed in her anger. “Have you completely lost your mind?!”

“No, Victoria. Just my heart,” he said, never once glancing at his sister, but pressing his forehead to yours and gliding his hands up and down your upper arms. “Besides, almost getting shot to death helps to clear the cobwebs. Provides perspective on the important things. On everything.”

“Ralph,” you managed around the lump in your throat.

“Can you forgive me for being so weak and stupid for so long?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t harm me,” you said. And you meant it.

“But you would harm me!” cried Victoria. “And all I did was try to protect the Penbury name!”

An anger rose in you. One you didn’t know you possessed. You turned on her. “You! YOU! You protect the Penbury name? HA! You protect the Penbury name about as well as a dog would guard a piece of meat! Only you’re the bigger bitch!

“You snort coke and get drunk and take and take and take - never once thanking anyone who assists you and you consider yourself elite and better bred! You’ve got a hell of a nerve, my girl. You haven’t one genuine feeling for anyone but yourself - not even for your own brother. You claim to guide him into making better choices for the Penbury family name when you can’t seem to keep your nose clean yourself! Literally! And then you act as if your choices are somehow more respectable than mine?

“You should be ashamed of yourself, but you’re not. You wouldn’t know what shame was if it ran up and bit you!”

You saw Ralph out of the corner of your eye, his face the picture of shock mixed with pride. It gave you the spirit to go on. “This man has more respectability and embodies what a true Penbury is. Better than you could ever know! Now I say that after having seen him do right by me - and others! - time and time and time again. He’s moved mountains to help me achieve my dreams and he did it not expecting a single thing in return. The paper in my hand proves that!

“He’s selfless, respectful, innocent, kind, generous, and wonderful and has done everything to earn the title of lord in my eyes. He’s got real class.”

“Real class? Ralph? And not me? We were both to the manner born, shop girl. Unlike you! And you think yourself better than me? Don’t make me laugh,” she replied, her face hard and deadpan. Her statement was all show, however. You could tell by her eyes that you had rattled her. You pressed your advantage.

“Oh! What’s the matter, rich girl? Don’t you know?” you asked, stepping toward her, the fire of your anger giving over to a quiet, cold hatred, “I’ve been raised in the shadow of people like you - people of your social class - and if I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned this: having class isn’t a matter of birth at all. It’s a matter of breeding. Somehow you missed the lessons your brother learned. He’s definitely a lord. You? You’re no lady. And you never will be.”

Victoria reached back to slap you. Ralph caught her wrist before it could land. She stared at him. “Get out,” he said. She opened her mouth to argue, wrenched at his grasp, but he held her and repeated, the words slower and more carefully pronounced. “Get. Out.”

She extricated her arm from her brother’s grip. “I can’t believe you’d throw our good name-”

“I’m not the one who started the snowball party traditions, dear sister. Our good name? We don’t have one because of you. Please don’t act as if you care about the family. Lord knows you’ve never actually cared about me. Our good name? Don’t make me laugh,” he repeated her words back to her and she visibly crumbled.

One of the two solicitors cleared their throat.

“Oh! Apologies gentlemen!” said Ralph, his glare never breaking from his sister’s. “Just a bit of a family squabble. Please forgive my sister. She’s obviously drunk. Again. And she was just leaving.”

Victoria backed out of the room in shocked and defeated silence with her proverbial tail between her legs. The door of the library clicked closed behind her. Faintly, the music came to you through them, but the loudest sound was the crackle in the fireplace and another murmur from the gentlemen behind you.

Ralph took your hand and squeezed it, giving you a shy smile. “Brava, darling.”

“Bravo, yourself,” you smiled back.

Ralph gestured behind you to a grand desk at the other side of the room. “Darling? Will you sign?”

“And how!” You signed three copies of the bill of sale with a pen proffered by one of the solicitors and handed over your payment. Ralph signed where he needed to, the lawyers making their respective marks as well. When all was finished, you expected handshakes all around and the men to leave, but they didn’t.

Ralph asked the men to stand around the other side of the desk and to wait.

Curious as to what is going on, but too afraid to ask directly, you decided to break the awkwardness again: “Will you put me up for the night? I’m afraid I just spent all my train money on a hat shop.”

“Oh I surely do hope you want to stay the night. And then some.”

Ralph went to another door just beside the desk that led out of the library and into a servant’s passage. He motioned to Martha who stood at attention there and she curseyed and came to him escorting another gentleman.

“Now for the second surprise,” said Ralph.

“Not too sure I can take much more, Ralph,” you admitted.

He said to you: “Just come with me for a moment.” To the three men, he said: “Gentlemen, just a minute please.”

He took you by the arm and led you back toward the main library door. “Do you remember when you first came here all those months ago?”

“I do. It seems like a dream now.”

“To me too. A dream that you would be here, always. With me. A dream that I would see a reality.”

“That dream? Made real? How?”

“You could… marry me?” he asked.

“Ralph, I-“

“Before you talk both of us down from this joy, I just want to say this,” he said, holding you away from him at arm’s length. He knelt on one knee and fished a box out of his pocket. “Darling. My darling,” he began, saying your name with a softness that melted your heart, “if I told you that you were the only one for me, I’m not sure you would believe me. If I said that you were the most amazing woman I’d ever met, I know that sounds slightly trite, and maybe even disingenuous.

“What I can say is that you are the one person who has shown me the deepest, most sincere kindness I have ever known. A kindness I’m not sure I deserve because of my cowardice. And so, I am forever in your debt. And since a Penbury always pays his debts, the only way I can repay you would be to keep you in my life for always so that every day I can find bigger and better ways of telling you how much I love you and how much you mean to me.

“So? I shall ask you again, shall I?”

Stunned, you nodded slowly.

“Will you marry me? Will you let me make a feeble start to repaying my debt you?”

He opened the box. Inside was a breathtaking emerald and diamond ring. This had to be the ring he had mentioned before, the one that had once been his grandmother’s. It was staggering. The man who held it out to you was equally staggering. Your vision swam with tears. They burned hot down your cheeks.

On the whole, his experience with you had been brief and sweet. Too brief for most people to know exactly what they wanted. Yet here he was, down on one knee, promising the rest of his life to you. He felt so strongly and so deeply about everything, it wasn’t really a surprise to you that his faith in you was just as all-encompassing; he was so sure about your relationship, about the success of committing to it. It was apparent from the way he had spoken to you just now. Ralph was betting high on the two of you. All his chips were on the table. Now it was up to you.

But were you up for the gamble? Staring into his big brown eyes, he was hard to resist. Still, that stubborn part of you would have its voice. You thought of your independence. You thought of your career. You thought of your own little place all to yourself. And you knew what you had to do. There was no doubt about it. There was no gamble to this. There wasn’t even a risk.

“Yes, Ralph. I would love to marry you.”

The three men applauded. Martha cried and sniffled into a handkerchief. Ralph slipped the ring on your finger and kissed your hand, his eyes welling up with tears.

“May I keep my shop?” The stubborn side of you had to know.

“Of course! I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from what you love!” he said, rising to his feet. “And I think once your first shop gets really going, you’ll want to open others? Just say the word, my dear.”

Delighted, your mind raced with more questions. “When are we to be married?” you asked. “I haven’t even told my parents about you! When am I to introduce you?”

“I agree that our courtship has been most unusual,” he said. “But I have taken the liberty and already spoken to your parents, asking them for your hand. I hope you don’t mind.”

“When? They didn’t tell me!”

“Last weekend,” he said, “and please forgive them, but I asked them not to tell you. I did want you to be surprised. Your mother insisted on beginning to organize a proper wedding for us. She’s already begun to put your trousseau together.”

“Leave it to mother,” you said and laughed. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed. Perhaps it was the last time you saw Ralph. Yes. You knew it was. You sighed, grateful that you wouldn’t have to part from him again. That you would always have laughter in your life from now on. At least, after you were finally married. Until then, however….

“Won’t Victoria make a fuss whenever I’m about? What do we do about her until we can actually wed?”

“I’ve thought of that,” said Ralph with a wink. “And before you say anything, please know that I have always wanted a big splashy wedding. This is just to satisfy the legal aspect of things until we can do things properly. So please trust me.” He led you back to the other side of the room and the stranger among them was introduced to you.

The mysterious third man that had been brought into the room by Martha was the Right Reverend Josiah Wilkes from the local parish. Ralph had planned everything down to the last, it seemed.

Reverend Wilkes presented a marriage certificate which you and Ralph signed and which was witnessed by the two solicitors and Martha. One of the solicitors produced a box with two gold bands inside, one for Ralph, the other for you. Martha handed you a small bouquet of spring flowers which she had retrieved from the servant’s pantry just beyond the side door. There was a card set among the flowers.

Good for you. Choosing the love that’s here today is the smartest thing you could have done. Hang on to that one forever, dearie. Best Wishes — Mrs. Randolph

You couldn’t help but cry now. Martha handed you a fresh handkerchief and you dabbed at your eyes.

“All set?” asked the reverend.

You nodded and stood at Ralph’s left side and the ceremony began. You married Lord Ralph Penbury in the quiet of the library, while the music played and the revelers danced with abandon outside the doors, blissfully unaware that the two of you were making a start on a new life together, now and forever.

******************

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whositmcwhatsit · 11 months

Text

Chapter One

AN: Sigh, I don't know, guys. This is as close to fluffy and light as I can get I think!

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain

Chapter Two

“I can’t believe you didn’t mention this all day,” Laura marvelled, shaking her head as the server appeared, asking if they would like their champagne topped up. “Just a quiet night, you said.”

“Well, I couldn’t get my head around it,” Sally shrugged awkwardly. “And I wasn’t sure if you’d even believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Laura replied, looking around the showroom at the commotion and the activity. “I definitely believe you. I’m just so jealous, you got to meet Elvis Presley, he talked to you. You know Barb is going to kill you.”

“She is?”

“Oh my gosh, yes. Have you never heard the story of how she went to one of his shows back in the day? To hear her say it he practically climbed off the stage and proposed to her. But he never kissed her and she never got to go to his dressing room.”

“Maybe we could get an autograph or something for her?” Sally tried to decide whether that was actually a kind gesture or if it would feel like rubbing it in her face.

“Yes, that’ll cheer her up, until you tell her that you got it after making out with Elvis.” They both giggled at that silly idea.

Laura flashed her a wide grin as the lights started to go down and the drums rappelled around the large room and Sally felt her heart matching the pace and the beat. She had worried that telling Laura what had happened would spoil it somehow, break open that little case of joy that she had wrapped around the memory as if this is what made it special, made it hers. Yet once Laura got over her shock, her excitement is what actually made it feel real. For some reason, Sally had held back the phone call though, wanting to keep that just for herself. She had half-believed she had dreamed it until she went down to the ticket office and there were indeed two tickets left under her name for the midnight show.

Elvis bounded out from the wings and Laura and Sally, like everyone else in the room, rose to their feet, clapping and whooping. Sally wondered how much he could see, whether he knew she was there. Tonight he introduced himself as Fats Domino, threatening to go play ‘Blueberry Hill’ on the piano to prove it, but as the crowd cheered their support, he changed his mind, claiming he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

It felt a little like watching sports, their heads swivelling and craning to catch the action as he moved around the large stage, crouching down, kicking and punching and whirling and thrusting. Laura turned to Sally at one point, her eyes glittering in the half-light and just shook her head in amazement at what they were seeing.

As soon as Elvis started talking about his first movie, Sally’s stomach clenched and she looked to Laura like she had spoken her panic allowed. Laura responded a little slower, her eyes widening after the first line and whirling to Sally.

“We have to go down!”

Already the waves of people were crashing against the foot of the stage, Elvis leaning down to dispatch kisses and handshakes like he didn’t realise that there would never be enough and that the need would never be quenched.

“I don’t know,” Sally murmured. “Won’t that make me look needy?”

“Honey, who cares?!” Laura implored. “Look at him!”

Boy, was she looking at him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to do things differently, that she didn’t want Elvis to associate her with the woman currently sobbing as she gripped his shoulder, too overcome to be kissed. Of course, she understood the girl completely, now knowing what it feel like to be so close, but she wanted him to take her seriously. She didn’t investigate why she was suddenly so sure that he would be thinking of her at all.

“Fine, do what you want, but I’m going down there!”

Sally sipped her champagne as she watched her friend’s honey blonde chignon bob up and down through the audience. She should have gone with her, what if he saw another woman in the audience and forgot all about her? What if the moment he saw Laura’s blue eyes, he switched his affections and Sally ended up playing third wheel?

Was he waiting for her? She tried to track Laura, but she had faded in with the mass amidst the shadows and the lights at the stage. Someone handed Elvis a teddy bear and he offered it the mic like he was giving it the chance to sing. When it didn’t, he shrugged and handed it off to his friend at the back with the guitar. He didn’t wait long for her if he even was waiting, because the song finished much sooner than it had the night before, and he immediately launched into another called ‘Just Pretend’.

Sally was sitting with her chin propped in her hand, gazing at him standing with his legs apart and his shoulders tense as he belted out the notes, when Laura reappeared and plopped down into her seat. It was immediately apparent from her face that she had not received a kiss. Sally tried to mask her relief behind a look of sympathy, but didn’t think she was very convincing.

As everyone bubbled over with awe at the ending of ‘Suspicious Minds’, Elvis took a gulp of water and pretended to stagger with exhaustion. Sally glanced up as a figure appeared at their table. Joe gave her a wide toothy smile and leant in even as she was trying to keep her expression pleasant and neutral. He explained that Elvis wanted to invite her and her friend backstage. He even stepped back and stood with his hands clasped in front of him while she passed the message along to Laura, as if they would need to discuss or negotiate whether they were going. Sally let her eyes drift back to the stage as Elvis was singing ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, unable to grasp that that… phenomenon would soon be standing in the same room as her.

It was difficult to remember as she followed Joe and Laura, who was trotting determinedly by his side and pumping him for information in her usual way, why she had never really been a fan before. Maybe she had been a little too young when he first got famous. She couldn’t remember if she ever watched him on Milton Berle or Ed Sullivan, and by the time he had got out of the army, she had been into Ricky Nelson and Bobby Vinton before the Beatles showed up and blew everyone’s minds.

Sally blinked as she became aware that Joe was glancing back at her as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Laura looked over her shoulder too, frowning.

“Sorry, I was miles away, what was that?”

“I asked if you enjoyed the show?” Joe asked again, grinning like he knew the cause of her distraction.

“Oh yes, it was amazing! I don’t know how he manages to do all that twice a night though! He must get exhausted!”

“Oh, he enjoys it,” Joe returned. “Plus, he has a lot of energy naturally, you know.” She was glad he didn’t give her a nudge and a wink even though she could still feel them there at the periphery.

“You might want to think about your favourite part,” he continued, nodding to a few men in suits who were walking past them in the opposite direction. “Your favourite song maybe, for when he asks. He loves hearing stuff like that.” Sally nodded, a little bemused at the instruction.

Back in the wood panelled dressing room, Sally spotted Cary Grant, as well as Burt Bacharach and Angie Dickinson. It felt a little like being in a museum, only the attractions were not protected behind glass. It seemed crazy that just anyone could walk up and touch Cary Grant. Then she realised that she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him directly and figured he was probably okay.

“Can I get you ladies a drink?” Joe asked, snapping his fingers at a man with sleepy-looking eyes. “Richard! A drink for the ladies?”

The way the man rushed over made Sally panic and she just asked for the same as Laura, not hearing what it was until she was sipping what she thought was orange juice and the vodka burnt her mouth.

“Don’t look now, but I think that’s Mary Tyler Moore. I said don’t look!” Laura hissed, swiping her arm with the back of her hand. Sally winced, rubbing her bicep as she looked for a place to discreetly stow her drink. “People are going to think we’re rubes with you rubbernecking everyone!”

“You’re the one hitting me!” Sally returned in a low voice, but Laura never got the chance to reply because the door to the inner dressing room opened and Elvis emerged to good natured cheering and applause. Looking unbearably handsome in a dark blue suit, he grinned and rolled his eyes before reaching out to shake someone’s hand.

“He’s there!” Laura muttered, sounding like her teeth were gritted.

“I know, be cool,” Sally replied softly. She spotted a table next to the couch as the person standing in front of it moved forward to greet Elvis, and she sidled over and slid her glass onto it, using her napkin to wipe the vodka taste from her tongue.

Just like before, he made the rounds, almost as if he had a little map in his mind. She watched his eyes scanning the room and smiled as they fell upon her finally. He pointed a long finger at her and strode over with his jaw clenched. The sound that came out of her mouth was half-laugh half-panicked whimper.

“There you are! You stood me up, woman, we had a date!” She felt her face flicker in confusion and that obviously tickled him as he burst out laughing and grabbed her hands, yanking her closer to him. “I can’t keep dragging out that song, honey, I’ve already been singing the damn thing for too long as it is. What happened, why didn’t you come get your kiss?”

“I didn’t realise there was one waiting for me,” she replied. “I thought I used up my ration yesterday.”

“Ration? Baby, there ain’t no rationing goin’ on round here.” He adjusted his grip on her hands, tugging them down and in so that she almost chest bumped him, making it look to everyone around them like she couldn’t help swooning into his arms. He smirked down at her. “Hi.”

“Good evening,” she replied demurely, fighting the fierce pull at the corners of her mouth. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that. So, about this here kiss...” His face was incredibly close to hers, Sally could see the pores, the shadow of stubble, and the creases in his lips. It felt a little like she was sinking into the floor, something was moving beneath, around, inside her. The sound of someone clearing their throat made her start to turn, but his hand shot up and grasped her chin, drawing her back to him. “Wait, this is important.”

Before she could start thinking up a clever response to that, his warm lips were pressed against hers and she inhaled in surprise, taking in his salty, spicy warmth even as he was wrapping his arms around her shoulders and squeezing her against him. He kissed her so long that she actually started to panic that she might suffocate, her hand gripping his jacket in a fist, unsure of whether she was trying to break free or pull him closer.

“And there’s more where that came from, don’t you worry about that,” he murmured, his large hand sliding around her waist and pulling her into his side.

Sally struggled to focus on Laura’s face as she saw her friend staring at the two of them. She was pretty sure they both looked as stunned as each other.

“Um, this is my friend, Laura,” she managed finally, waving her hand in her direction. Elvis smiled his dazzling smile and shook Laura’s hand. Sally could feel his thumb rubbing just beneath her breast as his hand hooked onto her waist. It almost burnt, she was so aware of every part of him touching her.

“You know, I went up to the stage tonight,” Laura said, her eyes looking especially wide and blue tonight, “but I didn’t manage to get a kiss.”

“Sorry, honey,” Elvis replied with a bland, polite closed-mouth smile. “You know, RCA Victor were recording the show for an album, they’d probably sue me for breach of contract if all they got was an hour of lip smacking.” Sally prickled with sympathy watching Laura deflate in real time, but Elvis didn’t seem to notice, turning his dark blue eyes back on her.

“So, where’d you girls come from? Where’ve you been hiding?”

Even being asked such mundane and basic questions was intoxicating when blanketed with all that charisma and backed up with that face focusing intently on her. Sally found herself drivelling on about her small town, and the bank she worked for, but he did seem interested or at least really good at faking it.

“What about you?” she heard her mouth asking before she could stop it. It was a bit like asking Jesus or Mickey Mouse where they came from. There wasn’t a soul on earth that didn’t already know the answers. She could feel Laura’s incredulous look without seeing it, but Elvis didn’t seem fazed by the question and answered it straight.

“Well, I’m from Memphis, but I’m only living back there about fifty percent of the time right now, other fifty percent in LA. We go back and forth quite a bit. And obviously I work here, at the hotel.” His eyes twinkled slightly.

“Wait a minute, don’t tell me, you’re a waiter right?” she joked lamely, trying to make up for her stupid question.

“Oh Sally honey, you gotta work your way up to those kinds of cushy jobs. Nah, Kirk keeps us chained up in the basement and feeds us to the wolves for a month or so every now and again.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, sensing something in his tone that she couldn’t put her finger on. “Playing here in Las Vegas?”

“Well, that all depends,” he replied, his eyebrow twitching playfully. “What d’you think of the show?”

“I loved it,” she replied. “When you sang 'Bridge Over Troubled Water’ I got chills, no kidding.”

It seemed like Joe’s advice was right on the money, as a grin spread across Elvis’ face and it made her stomach fizz with pleasure that she had the power to give him such joy.

“Chills huh,” he murmured, his hand moving from her waist to the small of her back and slowly sliding up. She shuddered, which looked like it absolutely delighted him. “Looks like I don’t even need to sing. Although…” He angled his head, leaning in so that his nose grazed her temple, and he started softly singing the first lines of the song.

Sally’s cheeks throbbed with heat, and she could feel the blush tingle in her scalp before it spread through her body, making her palms sweat and her knees knock. He drew back slightly to check her reaction and exhaled a laugh, reaching up to cup her face.

“Aw, honey, you look so cute all pink like that.” He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose, letting them brush down over the edges of her lips until he was kissing her again. She knew what to expect this time and surged forward too, inching out her tongue to brush against his lower lip, then the tip of his tongue. It was slow and sensual and she completely forgot they were in a room full of celebrities and her own friend watching them.

“I want you to come to the party upstairs,” he said in a conversational tone, though his lips were close enough to tickle hers as he spoke. She didn’t even attempt to focus on him, his face was a blur of skin and lips.

“Then you’d probably have to ask me,” she returned. She cringed inwardly. She might have spoken that way to one of the boys in the bars back home, but this was Elvis Presley. If she wasn’t careful he was going to drop her like a used Kleenex and move on to a nicer, less try-hard funny girl with a better understanding of what was appropriate.

“Come to my party,” she watched his lips say. “Bring your friend. You’ll both be completely safe, I promise. You can trust me.”

There was something very endearing about him thinking they might be reticent about going upstairs to a man’s hotel room. She couldn’t imagine any girl hesitating at the invitation or worrying that he might have ulterior motives. They might have worried that he didn’t have ulterior motives…

The men in his group did an efficient job of getting rid of the rest of the guests, with Elvis reminding everyone of the party up in his suite. Sally wished she hadn’t bounced awake at six thirty that morning, remembering the smooth heat of his lips. She had no idea how she would stay awake.

Compared to the guest areas of the hotel, the staff corridors were decidedly bland and clinical. Sally and Laura’s floor was decorated in a Scottish style with tartan and stone finishes and heather printed on the wallpaper. Walking from the dressing rooms to the elevators felt more like traversing a hospital than a glamorous hotel resort in Las Vegas. The decoration was provided by the entertainers themselves, she supposed, as she sneaked a look at the man at her side. Laura was on her other side, but she didn’t turn because she didn’t want to see those judging raised eyebrows again.

Elvis stopped humming suddenly and turned slightly as they approached the end of the corridor.

“You do something different to your hair, honey?” Sally reached up as if she needed reminding that she had hair.

“Oh yeah, we went to the hotel salon today.”

Back in their hotel room, the amount of back-combing had looked ridiculous, as if she had a wedding cake for hair, but out and about in the hotel it actually helped her blend in.

“It’s pretty,” he remarked, giving her a wink. She sucked in air and tried to continue walking in the straight line, wondering how she was going to survive the night.

It was not quite the intimate, sophisticated get-together that Sally imagined and fretted over in the elevator ride. First Elvis gave them both a tour of the penthouse suite, which was less of a hotel suite and more of a hotel floor. It quickly became clear that the living situation resembled something like a well-furnished, luxurious frat house.

As they walked out of the bedroom suite with its bed on a pedestal and mirrored ceiling, they passed one of Elvis’ men sitting with his feet up on an expensive looking smoked glass table. Without breaking stride, Elvis kicked out at the guy’s legs, knocking them off the table and shooting him an irritated look over his shoulder.

Someone asked Sally and Laura if they would like something to eat, but Sally didn’t have much of an appetite. She was too nervous and overwhelmed finding herself under the spotlight as she perched on the sofa, Elvis sprawled beside her with his leg pressed against hers and his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa behind her. He was constantly in motion, his legs jiggling, fingers tapping, leaning forward and then dropping back again. Sitting beside him felt almost like being on a fairground ride.

Gradually, more and more people arrived and Elvis was getting up more and more to go greet them and make small talk and charm them in that seemingly effortless way he had.

After a while, Sally realised that she had been sitting alone almost for the past hour just looking at all the action happening around her. Laura had gone off in search of more interesting people to talk to.

There were celebrities here and there, but there were also lots of fans, people wanting to give Elvis things, to pose for a picture with him, to just talk to him for a moment. Sally recognised the glow in their eyes as they looked at him, she was already beginning to feel it tingle in hers as well.

“Sorry, honey, got sidetracked a little there,” he murmured, returning to her side finally. His eyes did a quick inventory of her which made her feel very warm. “You okay? You need anything? Did none of those sons of bitches even get you a drink?”

He was up and storming through the crowd before she could answer. She watched him have a short exchange with one of his guys, the short one that played with him on stage- Charlie, she recalled. Elvis was gesticulating quite a bit and he threw Charlie a dark, stone-faced glare that made Sally’s stomach drop, but then he was off again, further than she could see. Charlie’s head dropped momentarily and then he moved off in the opposite direction, hidden by guests.

A minute or so late, Elvis reappeared with a drink for her and a smile back on his face. He sat down, shuffling closer to her even though there was no one else sitting on the sofa.

“You know,” he informed her in a conspiratorial whisper, “I don’t know who most of these people are.”

“You don’t know the people at your own party?” she asked. He had a strange little half smile on his face as he scanned the room. A smile that was not a smile.

“They seem to know me,” he shrugged. “So I play along.” He glanced at her face and whatever he saw there made him scrunch his nose slightly and change his demeanour. “Let me guess, everyone who comes to your parties is your best friend, right?”

“I’ve only ever had one party,” she admitted, looking down and smoothing her skirt across her lap. That only lasted a second, because the way he kept his jiggling leg pressing up against her immediately mussed it up again. “I spent the whole night in the restroom crying because I was worried someone might not be enjoying themselves. I was thirteen.” He laughed slightly, pulling an adorable face of amused sympathy as he cupped her chin.

“That is just about the cutest damn thing I ever heard! Did they? Have a good time?”

“Apparently, yeah. There was a band and the food was catered. They couldn’t get me to come out so they could sing ‘Happy Birthday’, but my mother cut the cake and it went down really well.”

“And you just hid the whole time?”

“Yeah. After a while, I was just so embarrassed that I couldn’t face going out there and I didn’t want to spoil anyone’s good time by making them feel like they had to cheer me up. It was okay. At the end, after everyone left, my boyfriend came and we had a dance right there in the hall, in the middle of all the mess and in the dark. That’s what I really remember now.”

“Your boyfriend, huh,” he commented, twitching an eyebrow.

“I was thirteen,” she said with a grin. “We just held hands.”

He reached down and pressed his hand against her palm, sliding his fingers between hers. She grinned up at him, thinking he was teasing her, but he was smiling slightly to himself as he looked down at their hands entwined.

“I’ll tell you something,” he said, still addressing her hand. “I-I think you had the right idea at your party. You wanna go hide, honey?” She frowned and then nodded. She would have agreed to anything he suggested while brushing his thumb across her skin.

He hummed the Mission Impossible theme to himself as he pulled her up and through the crowd, smiling and nodding to people as they clapped him on the shoulder or touched his arm. He didn’t stop for anyone.

It was only when he was closing the door of his bedroom that she realised what she had agreed to, and the realisation must have shown on her face as he faltered slightly walking over to her.

“You okay?” he asked. “You don’t have to be scared, honey, I’d never… I’d never do anything to hurt you. You can trust me, all right?” She smiled quickly and nodded, but it didn’t erase the faint line between his brows. “We can go back out there if you want..?” He turned towards the door and she took advantage of his distraction to tiptoe forward so that when he turned back she was right under his nose. He started and stepped back, making her giggle.

“Goddamn, you’re light on your feet! Did you float over here?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him, walking her back towards the bed. At the last minute, he paused and she got about a second of forewarning as she realised what he was about to do before he twisted and dropped backwards onto the bed with her in his arms. She rolled onto her stomach and looked down at him, marvelling over his perfect profile, his lashes, his lips, his golden skin.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked. “If I had done everything you’d done on stage tonight, twice, I don’t think I’d be able to keep my eyes open now, let alone walk around charming everyone.”

“You think I’m charming?” he countered with a smirk.

“Well, those people out there seemed to think so,” she replied, hitching a shoulder.

“But not you.” He looked younger staring up at her, reminding her of the ubiquitous image of him, all curled lip and heavy-lidded eyes.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m a tougher nut to crack.” She had to work hard not to smile, because just having his eyes upon her made her want to grin like a lunatic.

“Oh, a challenge,” he returned, biting his lip as he considering his next move. “You better be careful, honey, I play to win.” And with that, he shot up and went to grab her, but she laughingly shrieked and leapt up off the bed. She didn’t get far before he got hold of her again and threw her back on the bed. Her heart fluttered as he climbed up onto the mattress on his knees, reaching for her feet.

“Don’t know if I should be taking these off, at least they slow you down some,” he remarked, as he slipped off her heels. “Aw, but ain’t these the cutest itty bitty feet!”

Forgetting herself and her tiny mini skirt, Sally snatched her foot away, hiding it with her hands.

“What, no, don’t hide ‘em away, baby, they’re pretty!”

Amidst all the tussling over her feet, they somehow started kissing and Sally quickly forgot about her feet, about running, about the two of them being alone in the bedroom.

As Elvis deepened the kiss, Sally yielded, wrapping her arms around his waist and submitting to the way he was bending her backwards. She tried to keep her eyes open, to wonder at the perfection of his face, his skin, his lips, but it was just all too much and her eyes kept squeezing shut for her own protection. That was why it was only when the cool air made her shiver that she noticed that he drawn back slightly. She opened her eyes and saw that he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

For a panicked moment she thought that maybe someone else had walked into the bedroom, but the door was in front of her. She turned.

“What is it?” she murmured. She felt his warm hand settle at the base of her neck, delicate fingers resting against her shoulder blade.

“Just look at that,” he replied softly. They were looking straight at their reflection in the mirrors set into the headboard. “What d’you think of that?” She studied her wide-eyed expression and her puffy lips, the red burn around her mouth from all the kissing, and kissing, and kissing. And then, angled slightly behind her, the rock star with his rumpled hair (She bit her lip sheepishly) and his used, swollen lips, his dark blue suit all askew.

“it looks like a picture on a poster outside the movie theatre my mother said we were never allowed to go to because it was for bad men,” she remarked. She watched in the mirror as he registered her words and dropped backwards onto the bed, laughing deeply. She met the eyes of her own reflection, flushed with a triumphant smile at surprising him.

“Hey, c’mere you!” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her backwards on top of him, his attraction was undeniable and persistent as it prodded her in the back of her thigh. She lost all hope for her hair, her dress, her reputation and her heart as he rolled her in some sort of wrestling move, grunting and growling until he was lying on top of her, crushing her into the mattress.

You ever go and see one of those movies, you naughty girl?” he asked, the air from his mouth fluttering against her throbbing lips.

“Of course not, I’m a good girl,” she replied, her hand sliding down his side, fingertips grazing the high, round arc of his ass. He shuddered and wriggled his hips against her in a devastatingly pleasurable way. When he propped himself up on one hand, his thickly lashed eyes took her in with what looked like microscopic focus. She could feel the blush intensifying again.

“Hmm, I bet you are,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers before dropping down to her lips again.

Sally had never known a man to enjoy kissing so much, or to be so good at it. Usually, it was treated like the appetiser, the sweetener that the guy tosses to the girl before he pursues what he really wanted all along. Not so with Elvis. He touched her, sure, stroked and patted and rubbed, but it didn’t make her feel the way the way she normally did. Like they were trying to tear open the packaging.

Ironically, she was trembling with need for him, her fingers gripping his jacket and her body pressed tightly against his, wanting to get closer, to get tighter. Despite the air conditioner humming away, she could feel sweat trickling down her spine and her temple, and her core ached.

“I think it’s about time we got comfortable,” he mumbled into her lips, smoothing her hair away from her face tenderly. “You want me to find you something to wear, honey?”

“To wear?” she echoed dumbly, drunk on his touch, his mouth, his taste.

“Well, we can’t go to bed with you in that get-up,” he grinned. “I won’t get no sleep with you looking like that next to me.” Oh. Oh.

“Elvis, I’m not staying over.”

“Yes, you are,” he mumbled against her cheek and down her jaw.

“I can’t stay. I want to, believe me, but I can’t. I have rules… You have to have rules or people don’t respect you.” His mouth was on the crook of her neck, his lips and tongue caressing the sensitive skin there, but as her words sank in, he pulled back sharply.

“Don’t be playing games with me, woman.”

It physically hurt her to stand her ground, her heart clenched so tightly as she registered his cool, annoyed expression. However, whether it was Elvis or Bob from sales, a girl had to give herself value because no one else would. At least, that’s what her mother had taught her.

“I’m not, I would never,” she promised. “I… I really like you, but we hardly know each other.”

“Ain’t that what we’re doing? You can’t get to know me if you ain’t here.” He sat back with an almost blank expression on his face, something she had not seen before.

He was right, how else do you get to know someone other than by spending time with them? But staying with a man overnight, sleeping in the same bed, that required intimacy even if they didn’t have sex, which she doubted, because she couldn’t quite imagine Elvis Presley the sex symbol just wanting to cuddle and go straight to sleep!

“That’s not what- I think I should go.” She just couldn’t think straight around him, and the longer she sat facing him with his displeasure so obvious the faster she knew she was going to cave. And if she gave in she thought she might have one great night with him, but that would be it.

“So go,” he said edgily. “The door ain’t locked. No one’s begging you to stay.”

Stomach aching, Sally rose from the bed, her brain screaming at her to stop the entire time. She wasn’t exactly sure what was powering her limbs or giving her the strength to stick to her convictions. Looking at his face, she couldn’t even verbalise what those convictions were anymore.

“I had a really good time tonight,” she said tentatively, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry that I can’t stay.” He didn’t reply and she hovered, unable to bring herself to actually walk out of the door. Finally, before she lost her nerve, she ducked down and pecked his cheek, before turning and rushing out of the room with her eyes blurring.

Sally stood in the elevator, listening to the muzak and struggling to hold in what felt like a waterfall behind her eyes. She stared at the wood panelling, fiercely studying the rings in the wood. She counted the tiles on the floor and thought through the last ten minutes, wondering what she could have done differently. It had just seemed to go wrong so suddenly and so dramatically.

The first fat tear plopped onto the floor as she jammed her key into her door and rammed it open with her hip. Laura was sitting on her bed, her hair in curlers and a scarf, chatting away on the phone.

“Hey Sal, you’ll never guess-”

Sally rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth to cry into. The last thing she wanted was to hear about that guy from the pool finally calling Laura back, but Laura could not being deterred, knocking on the door incessantly.

Finally, drained of tears and rapidly refilling with fury, Sally threw open the bathroom door. She knew how terrible she looked by the way Laura took a step backwards.

“What?”

“The phone, it was for you.” She held out the receiver wordlessly.

Frowning, Sally pressed it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Okay, what d’you wanna know?”

Stunned, she tried to comprehend what was happening, her body chose the perfect time to let out one of those pathetic post-sob session shudders.

“Elvis? I don’t-”

“Honey, ask me anything you want and I’ll do my best to answer. We’ll get to know each other. And you’ll stay with me tomorrow night. Deal?”

“Deal,” she conceded, hearing her stuffy nose and swollen face in her muffled voice.

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