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thatbanditqueen · 4 days

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The Seatbelt Sign is On

A Big Bunny Vignette.

Bunny wants to get tied up, so uh, here we are. Playboy!Reader x 76/77 Elvis - this little plot-less smutty fic is set between The Lisa-Marie & Crash Landing. Although I think it could be read as a standalone. This is pretty much totally unedited, so apologies for any typos.

warnings: 18+ 18+ 18+. Light bondage. No safewords or anything but it is clearly pretty ssc**. Oral, and penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation.

75-77 elvis x playboybunny!reader (established relationship - here's the link for the rest of the series)

wc: 4.2k (miss concise smut is back baby!!)

** ((Spoiler: Elvis does say he has scissors in case she needs to be cut out - but he’s pretty much just holding her down with some ribbon and a seatbelt.))

Elvis often climbed up the stairs with his last burst of energy post-show - happy to collapse and settle in or onto the nearest chair, sometimes not even making it to his bed, taking in the precious hours of rest before the next stop. It meant that even though you were spending a serious number of hours with Elvis, it didn’t leave a whole lot of time that he was lucid or awake enough to actually spend it with you.

You’d worried it was you, to start with, but you’d heard the guys whispering about him lately. About his lack of interest in the girls he flew out to meet him, or the ones waiting back home for him. You’d watched Sam looking you up and down a little smugly in the middle of the conversation as if saying without a word that there was a lack of interest in you too. The rumours that he couldn’t get it up at the moment followed raucous retellings of salacious events from years before that you were sure were heavily embellished if they’d even happened at all. But, despite what they would gossip about, you never would describe Elvis as lacking in some way, and certainly not out loud. Sure, he didn’t always (or even often) have the energy to be intimate with you but when he did he was as considerate and, usually, as fun as ever.

Sometimes though you couldn’t help but feel like it was just…a bit bland. You still blush when you think about those first few flights on Big Bunny, meeting him in next to nothing for that rehearsal. Nothing has really come close in a long time. He certainly wasn’t behaving in the same way, and you felt a little like maybe you had become too comfortable together, or like a married couple or something. A distinct lack of excitement together.

The issue, you thought while brainstorming ways of keeping it interesting, was that despite how brash and forward Elvis could be, he ultimately became quite shy and almost too respectful towards you while you were alone. You knew enough about how his brain worked to know that part of the appeal of the opposite sex was, for him, the perceived softness and ability to at least perform an act of gentle innocence. He could be brazen and arrogant while ordering you to dance for him, to roll his latest dirty film acquisition, yet when he had you alone he’d be almost apologetic, gentle. You didn’t want him to be mean to you, but maybe a little less of the…desperation. If he could just take a little more control again.

It was at the end of a run of shows, Elvis tired but with it, when the answer came to you. He’d been carefully kissing the inside of your thighs, where you lay, still fully dressed on the bed of the Lisa-Marie when you’d moved your hands onto his head in an attempt to impatiently guide him. He’d tutted at you, immediately pulling away from your fingertips trying to bury themselves into his longer hair.

“No, no, no, keep your hands outta the way, baby, gotta let me work.” He returned, but a kiss to a sensitive crease sent your leg knocking into his shoulder. It’s been a while. You can feel his grin even as he pulls away again to look up his lashes at you.

“I told you you gotta stay still, I need my hands for this, can’t be holdin’ you down.” You’re not sure the noise that came out of your mouth could be heard by anything but dogs but he laughs, shaking his head, “What m’I gonna do with you?” You wiggle a little, and there’s a clunk of metal hitting the floor. You both turn to look, and your wide eyes meet his calculating ones.

“You can. You know, if you want.” He stares at the seatbelt now trailing on the floor for a moment longer before responding, turning bashful;

“Uh, well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna pin you - I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable… I was really only jokin-“ He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“El- it’s ok, really, I think I’d like it.”

“I didn’t, uh, I didn’t - do girls, do ya, do ya, uh, really like that kinda thing?”

“Uh-huh, I think so, or well, maybe not every girl, but I like the sound of it, all tied up and ready for you, just having to take whatever you wanted to give me? Doesn’t that sound good to you too?” While you were talking you could see him looking at the belt, gently stroking your wrist as he considered the proposition, he swallows. You can tell he likes the idea.

“You’d… you just, you’d just let me know if you want out right?” You laugh at his nervous questioning;

“Lord Elvis, what’s running through that mind of yours to do to me that I’d want out?” He shrugs, glancing at the clock.

“Well, not today, baby, gotta be ready for the show in an hour, ‘m gonna, gonna freshen’ up.” And with a pat to your side, he headed to the bathroom, leaving you there.

You realised you might have made an error in judgement bringing it up just then, just when he’d started to get going now you were left with your panties twisted to one side, skirt hitched, alone on the bed with the plane seemingly whizzing past any prospect of an orgasm today.

——————————————————————

“We’re uh, going to Denver, you know, for the uh, burgers.” You pull the headset from your ear, as if blinking at it was staring at him and he would offer you more explanations.

“Oh, yeah… sure, ok.”

“Well, don’t ya wanna come too?” He sounds offended at your noncommittal response, but you don’t really. Truthfully, you still didn’t quite feel like you were rested from the tour yet and you knew it was only a matter of days before you’d be up all hours of the night and day and running ragged after him again. But, he made that dejected sort of hopeful hum that made you cringe at the mere thought of not agreeing to his plans.

“Of course I do - I’ll uh, I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” It’s silent on the other end, and then,

“We’re leavin’ now, so hurry.” Of course he was.

It didn’t occur to you until much later that he didn’t want to go to Denver at all, and definitely not for the burgers - you’d heard Joe ringing from the comfort of Elvis’ fancy car-phone to make sure someone, presumably a pretty Miss Colorado of some sort, was home. Assuring them down the line that Elvis couldn’t come to the phone right now, but if they made sure they were at the airport he’d be there in a few hours for a flying visit. Somehow, you were able to listen to this - your legs nudging his, and his nudging Joe’s, without the slightest jealousy - just a mild sympathy for this girl desperate for the crumbs he was willing to lay. It would be much later that you would realise Denver had nothing to do with this girl either, that it was all an excuse for you. You’d realised there was some kind of ulterior motive to a lesser extent though as soon as you were, quite frankly, shoved into the bedroom as soon as you had boarded.

“Elvis! I’ve got a job to do!” He shakes his head, grinning at you and standing in the way of the door,

“Nu-uh baby, I been thinking about what you said last time.” You didn’t expect that.

“Oh?”

“Yes ma’am, and you’re right.” You really didn’t expect that,

“Oh! Well I can’t say I’m surpr-” You yelp as he pinches your side,

“‘Nough of that, on the bed! I got ‘quipment.” You pause your stride towards the bed, looking at him grinning with his hands on his hips, it was all a bit sudden.

“Um, I didn’t, I mean, I’m not su-” He grins at you,

“I thought you were Miss Confident?” He gets that sly look on his face, his eyes narrowing and crinkling in their corners, “You know… I’ve been readin’ up and I don’t know if I oughta be worried, liking this kind of thing is listed in the DSM you know…” You gulp, your stomach twisting a little, feeling a flush rise up from your chest to your cheeks.

“Jesus El - I’m not the one with equipment! I just like a little…I’m an adult, and I know what I like and I think it’s unfair of you to say that kind of thing, especially when I know what you’ve been up to, and you know Hugh - Elvis stop laughing at me!”

“You’d have thought I was secretly sending you off to the nuthouse baby, the way you were carrying on then,” He manages to get the words out past his giggles, “ ‘s just a bit of ribbon, honey-bunny.” You both feel the rumble of the engine starting up, “C’mon we’re on a time limit.”

“Well, if you’re - if you’re sure…” You bite your lip in nerves.

“Where’d my conf’dent l’il bunny go huh? C’mon baby, ‘s no worries - you’ll like it .”

“Are you - you know what you’re doing?” His mouth gapes a little, wide-eyed.

“Of course!” He looks genuinely offended, for a second before grinning, “I got good at knots in the army don’t you worry.” He winks at you as he salutes, his feet knocking together and you giggle, your tension relieving itself.

“I’d be more reassured if you’d been in the navy.” He swats at you,

“ ‘M better than any of them boys playin’ out on their little boats I tell ya, now hush and let me work here.” Your breath catches again, “don’t worry darlin’ I saw this in a uh, blue movie, don’t ya worry, I know how you like it.”

That did little to calm your nerves - his reassurance that he knew what he was doing too often led to some kind of mild disaster. “Well, ok, but - you’ve got, you’re prepared, right? You got some scissors or, something, haven’t you? In case you hafta get me out quick?”

Elvis puts the bag back onto the bed, holding three fingers up - but his solemn face belies the comedy of the action; “I swear, swear to you, I’ll get you out if you want to be. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to my best bunny.” You look into his eyes pausing for a moment and nod, lying back on the bed. He situates himself between your legs, bending to place a feather-light kiss on the corner of your mouth,

“Aren’t you gonna…?” You shake your wrists at him and he huffs a laugh, his breath fanning over you,

“Gotta get you worked up first baby, ain’t no fun if you’re not ready to wriggle and jiggle around, is it? Now, hush,” He whispers against your skin, “let me work my magic.”

He might not have been focussing his energy through his ‘healing hands’ this time, but you couldn’t deny he did have the magic touch, he barely had to brush his fingers over you, press a thigh against your side, and you were gone from the world, levitating above the bed, above the plane, into the sky above. You’re embarrassingly quick to turn on, making out with Elvis enough to make you squirm. After a minute or so he presses kisses against your clavicle, open-mouthed while his fingers fumble with opening the buttons that stretch from your neck to your thighs, almost immediately shoving his hands around the waistband of your tights and he tugs hard enough that there’s the tell-tale ripping sound of the nylon falling apart - if you’d been more conscious of it you would have rolled your eyes, somehow you never seem to be able to keep a pair for long around Elvis. As it was you were far too distracted to care, relieved simply to be divested of the fabric and you lift your hips to let him roll them off - throwing the destroyed fabric to the corner of the room. His hand supports your back as you lean forward, pulling your arms out of your dress, immediately wrapping them around his neck once you were free.

He’s all-encompassing, someone else might find him smothering, the way his arms seem to be everywhere all at once, caging you against him. But you can’t get enough. Your underwear ends up somewhere, god knows where. You’re reminded again of that revelatory first time when he’s biting nibbling kisses across your chest, tiny pink bruises sucked onto your soft skin, Elvis’ hands pawing at you in that somehow hot clumsy way. He tweaks a nipple and your back arches to meet him, you don’t know when your eyes closed but you open them at the sudden loss of any sensation,

Elvis is sat back on his heels, assessing you, rubbing your thighs firmly. He nods with satisfaction at whatever he sees, reaching up the bed for the ribbon and tugging your wrists towards him. He kisses your pulse, and you wonder if he can feel how it jumps. He tuts when the ribbon twists, wrapping it around several times and looping it over and under before finishing it off with his best attempt at a bow. You make eye contact with each other, and you open your mouth to tease him about it, but he stops you with a pointed finger, his eyes alight.

“Don’t say a word.” You swallow your words, playfully snapping at his finger instead, and he laughs, holding your newly tied wrists above your head as he leans down to kiss you again. It’s somehow dirtier this time, whether because you just feel that way, or because he doesn’t take his time, biting your lip and pushing his tongue into you; forcefully mapping out your mouth. He works his way down, sucking a small, darker bruise on the underside of your left breast, you wonder if it was intentionally close to your heart. You tremble, wriggling against him and after a moment he evidently grows tired of pinning your wrists, his long arms not able to keep them pressed flat while he works down your body and he looks for a way to secure them better.

“Well, I guess we didn’t think this through, honey, it’s not the right kind of headboard, so I s’pose you’ll just hafta keep ‘em there.” He presses your newly tied wrists against the pillows, fingertips brushing the velvet of the headboard and your back arches with the effort of keeping them there. His breath tickles when he returns to his place, and the air over the sticky wetness of your inner thighs makes your arms involuntarily attempt to come back down to hold him in place. Elvis tuts at you, leaning back.

“’S no good. You’re wriggling around too much.” He stands up, his hands on his hips to assess your predicament. He sits back down and peers down the side of the bed. “C’mere.” He hauls your body up and you wriggle up with him until you were high enough up the bed that your back was now supported by one of the cream-golden reading cushions and he was able to pull the seatbelt across your stomach.“Keep your hands there.” He pats them at the top, and you grip the top of the headboard as best you can. “Where was I?”

You’ve lost all ability to speak, simply too turned on to comprehend what’s going on. There’s the barest hint of sweat beading above his eyebrow and glistening on his dark, longer, sideburns. Your hands twitch to cup his face and you whine in frustration, unable to reach where he kneels between your legs, your fingers clutching the dusty top of the headboard, desperate not to ruin the game. He grins, tongue running over his teeth, and you thump your head back against the hard cushion,

“Elvis, c’mon.”

“I’m havin’ fun now, baby,” He sing-songs it delicately and you shiver, “Gonna get you so worked up.” His thick hands grasp your thighs, fingertips digging in, “C’mon, bunny, open up for me.” You have no idea if the growl that comes from his mouth was intentional, or if it just had the unintended side effect of your legs immediately spreading, your breath hitching. He leans in and you feel yourself tense, hairs pricking with the tension of the moment, desperately anticipating his next move.

Elvis is clearly not unaffected by the sight of you - his breathing much harder than before and it tickles as he gently kisses your inner thigh, his pouty lips open. The very tip of his tongue ghosts across your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, aching for him.

“Elvis you’ve gotta - you’ve gotta touch me.”

“I am touching you.” His fingertips continue to dance, and you try to squirm a little, the seatbelt trapping you in place.

“Nooo. Properly.” He chuckles,

“Properly” He teases with a shake of his head and you whine again,

“Ssh, shhh, I’mma take real good care of you, bunny, just relax baby,” He firmly rubs at your thighs, as if he wasn’t the reason you were squirming. You let your head roll back again, suddenly distracted as he teases you by the sight of yourself in the mirror at the end of the room, the dark mahogany of the wood-covered room and the dim light reflecting off of the creamy ceiling putting you into a soft-glow focus. You can barely see yourself beyond him, he takes up the majority of your view, and though the concept is hot to you, fully clothed as he was, it left little to look at - just your twitching tied wrists, above both of your bodies, really visible.

Finally he’s kissing across your bare skin and you’d forgotten somehow, impossibly, in the time since you’d last been together like this, just how good he was at this. You’re already so sensitive, you can feel the cooling dampness in the air, and yet it still comes as a surprise at his first kitten licks how responsive you were to him. He presses one hand against your thigh, fingers leaving bruises from his tight grip, holding you totally open to him. Elvis leans back a little, grinning at your attempts to grind on nothing, and you might be ashamed at such a wanton display in the morning but right now you just need the pressure back. He spreads your slick folds with his flattened tongue, moving his fingers in to keep you spread open so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on the little nub and sending you shuddering.

Your legs are the only part of you able to move, and you wrap them around his, now thicker, waist holding him against you until the movement of his talented tongue and fingers make them kick out. For some reason, even though he wasn’t doing anything new, being secured down like this was making everything feel ten times more - like someone had turned your sensitivity up on a dial. He tongue-fucks into you, and it’s so hard to keep your hands where they are, writhing around as you were, desperate to hold him in place - gain better purchase to grind against his clever, talented tongue.

The singular focus he dedicates to this task always reminds you of that first time and having him so committed only adds to your enjoyment. Elvis renews his efforts, suckling like he needs you for oxygen, and the warm wet pressure builds until finally, you’re shuddering over the edge of orgasm, legs spasming and your back arching as much as it was able to do so - and the tension of the seatbelt across your body - pinning you down far more than you would usually be held, has you electrified, adding to your startling passion. You pant, trembling as he leans back, it’s scandalous how he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick and you try to form words to tell him how earth-shattering that vision is, but you struggle from the sheer anticipation of watching him stand up.

“El- Honestl-El, how’d you, it’s so good. You need, I need you -“

You cut yourself off, panting, as Elvis finally, finally, slips out of his lounge pants and jacket. His tanned hairy chest unveiled itself, a perfect trail leading down to his hard cock, its pink head poking out, glossy with his precum. You shudder, and he grins at you wildly for a moment, before seemingly focussing on the task at hand, clambering back atop you. He mutters the same thing he always mutters as he presses himself into you,

“Y’re good, y’re a good girl, bunny, swear it - y’re so, fuck, so tight.” It probably shouldn’t make your chest glow so much. He presses a hand on your stomach, just below where the seatbelt pins you to the bed - holding you in place for him to get himself situated. The firm pressure is almost enough to tip you over the cliff again. You realise you’re babbling, muttering pleas when Elvis kisses your sweaty cheek, hushing you. He jerks his hips once, twice, in time with your gasps before he growls, evidently incapable of getting the angle right and you suddenly feel yourself being tugged down the bed, hands leaving the headboard and seatbelt scraping your skin until you were lying mainly flat, mostly immobile.

“That’s it, that’s - that’s better - that good for you Bunny?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, laughing to himself, “ ‘course it is. You’re like one of them kids toys, what’re they called, those, those, slip n’, slip n’ slides. So fucking wet down here.” You nod frantically in agreement, stuttering out that you were fine, it was all good - but please, Elvis, please, just move.

It’s a strange sensation, being unable to use yourself to get leverage, and it feels almost objectifying. Lying there just to be used, but you liked it, and Elvis took advantage, pulling and tugging to exactly the pace and angle he needed to chase his own pleasure. You plant your feet, when you manage to get purchase, able to use your thighs to your advantage a little. You can feel the edge rising, but before you get there Elvis stills, his mouth agape, sweat beading at his forehead and eyebrow, upper lip aglow with it, and you feel him pulsing. His hand comes down to stroke between your folds, as he slowly pulls out, and you shake your head - it was almost too much, but he hushes you,

“Shh. Wanna see you go again, it’s only fair - ’n’t that the reason I got you all tied up like this.” You tremble, and he presses his thumb against you, it’s filthy, the viscous mix of your fluids. Elvis deftly rubs your clit, and your body shakes through the waves of orgasm until you squirm away from his fingers, completely overstimulated,

“El- El, that’s that’s enough, I can’t - fuck, that’s too much - too much,” He laughs at you, stroking you a final time as your legs twitch. You lie there panting for a long while, and Elvis gets up before you do, cutting the ribbon off of you, not bothering to deal with the knots that had tightened as you struggled, and heading to grab a drink from the little dressing table alcove at the end of the room while you caught your breath.

The ribbon had done pretty well at keeping your hands together, he’d done them up tight enough that they’d laid fairly flat and untwisted, but still, when you rubbed your wrists there was a light mark and the hint of soreness, especially around the outside edge of your forearm. You unbuckle yourself, sitting upright slowly.

Clearly, there’s a reason people don’t usually use seatbelts like this. The rough edge of the nylon had rubbed you where you’d wriggled around, the lines criss-crossing, while the heavy weight of the gold buckle had left indents - several of which you were sure were going to bruise. You didn’t mind that so much, pressing a finger into the darkest of the marks.

“Good Lord Elvis, I look like I’ve been whipped or something!” He glances back at you in the mirror where you’re now fully upright, brushing your fingers over the pink marks. He points a finger at your reflection,

“No chance in goddamn hell. Nope. There’s not enough space - don’t you go gettin’ any ideas now, li’l girl. Absolutely fuckin’ no.”

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thatbanditqueen · 19 days

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Glimmers of Dawn

AN: This is a belated birthday present for one of my favourite people @ellie-24. I have been promising her a BDE fic for months and this is the beginning of one at least? As our guy once said: "I hope you like it. It doesn't make much difference."

“This is crazy! Are you sure we’re allowed?”

Steve rolled his eyes at her like he did this every day, like it was nothing. But if it was nothing, he would not have suggested it.

_______________________________________________________

Aurora had been sliding on her denim jacket at the bar, ready to go home to Johnny Carson and the dried out meatloaf that her mother had been cooking when she had ducked home after work to change. She had already given in to Joanne’s plea to stay for another round and that had left her with nothing but a numb butt from sitting perched on the bar stool while she watched her friend flirt with the tall, shaggy-haired guy at the pool table. Now the guy was draped over Jo’s back as she giggled and lined up a shot, pretending to miscue so that he could ‘correct’ her.

Aurora gave Jo a little wave to get her attention over the heavy rock playing over the tinny speakers and then thumbed towards the door, making the phone and time gestures to let her know she would call her later.

“You’re not leaving so soon?” asked one of the other guys playing pool. He was tall too, and broad shouldered but athletic looking with it and had a mustache to go with this long brown hair.

“Yeah, it’s getting late and I got things to do in the morning,” Aurora said apologetically. “It was nice meeting you though… Steve, wasn’t it?”

“I can’t talk you into one last, teeny tiny drink?” She paused, considering. The thought of the meatloaf wasn’t exactly appetizing and it wouldn’t be the first time she showed up on a Sunday morning to take her grandmother to church on a whisper of sleep. She relented, but then the bartender reminded Steve that he had called last orders ten minutes ago and no amount of wheedling or good natured threats could change his mind.

“Forget it, man!” called the guy who was currently taking a break from inspecting Jo’s tonsils. “Let’s just go up to the house.”

“Naw, you sure? The Boss-”

“Won’t even know anything about it. He ain’t come down in three days, man, in more ways ‘n’ one.”

Aurora frowned questioningly at Joanne, who shrugged back as the two men worked it out, and suddenly they were leaving the bar.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Aurora asked, as she and Steve followed Jo and Dave, his name turned out to be, into the parking lot. She could feel Steve nervously eyeing her as they watched Dave sling his arm casually around Jo’s shoulders and stick his tongue in her ear. She had already prepared a sharp elbow in the ribs in case Steve got the same idea.

“Uh, the place where I work has a pool room and a bar.”

“You work in a bar?” She was trying to figure out why he was being so cagey. Wondering if maybe he was embarrassed, but that didn’t make sense if he was going to take her there.

“No, it ain’t… It ain’t a bar.”

Even as she was climbing past the folded seat into the back of Dave’s Datsun, Aurora was having second thoughts. The cool night air had cleared her buzzing head and chased off the last of the energy powering her limbs after a full day of work. She started preparing her speech for when they got to where they were going, so she could call a cab and head home, with or without Joanne.

‘Look, it’s nothing personal’, she would say. ‘I just had a really long day.’

And then the Datsun turned right on the highway at the gates of Graceland.

“What are you-?!” Aurora gripped the headrest of the driver’s seat in front. “Are you kidding? God, I don't have time for this.”

Fooling around and trying to break into Elvis Presley’s house was for kids and tourists. If these guys thought it was going to impress her, she would be glad to correct them.

The gates opened.

“Are you sure we’re allowed?” she asked again, staring at the lights ahead and trying not to catch the eyes of the smattering of people standing outside the gates even at this hour.

Someone was sure to realise that they were not supposed to be there and they would be stopped. She wondered if the security guards really did have guns like the stories said. All sorts of crazies probably wanted to try and hurt a huge star like Elvis; there could be FBI snipers in the trees.

“It’s okay,” Steve said finally, though his tight jaw didn’t exactly make him seem convincing.

The way that Dave shushed Joanne when she was laughing and squealing with excitement about seeing inside Elvis’ house also didn’t fill Aurora with a huge amount of confidence.

It seemed deathly quiet and still as they went in the back. Aurora thought there should have been music, maybe ‘Hound Dog’ playing on a jukebox like they were stepping into one of his movies. Her aunt Phyllis would be green with envy that she was there.

The guys crowded them in so it was hard to see exactly where ‘there’ was. Muted lighting, stairs, a lot of wood, and then a… a tent?

“So, where's Elvis?!” Joanne asked, as they took in the busy pleated material sweeping out from the ceiling and draping down the walls surrounding the pool table.

It made Aurora feel like she was trapped in her bed covers. She took in a strangled breath to reassure herself that she still could. Meanwhile, Joanne bent at the waist to check under the pool table- God, how much had she had to drink?!- as if Elvis could be lying in wait under there.

“You think he'd sing ‘Don't be Cruel’ for me? That was my favorite when I was little.”

“He's probably sick of singing it,” Aurora told her, grabbing Jo's arm and shoving her sideways onto a sofa before she broke something and the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll had them in court for millions of dollars.

Their secret out in the open, the guys seemed eager to tell them about their jobs and all the dangers and intrigue it entailed. It wasn’t all fetching and carrying, they assured the girls, there were some real bad guys out there who wanted to get a shot at Elvis and they were the reason that these bad motherfuckers had never got their shot.

“You know a head honcho of the FBI said Elvis has better protection than the President,” Dave remarked, just before he potted the cue ball and swore under his breath.

“Yeah? You ever meet the President?” Joanne asked, rolling her eyes at Aurora behind her hands.

“No… No, the Boss did, though, more than one.”

“Must’ve been when you weren’t on duty,” Joanne murmured. “Seriously, where is he, your boss? Isn’t he home? He’s gotta be home if you’re here, right?”

“He likes to relax upstairs after he gets back from a tour,” Dave mumbled, racking up the pool table. “Things can get pretty intense.”

“I bet,” Joanne giggled. “All those mamas and grannies throwing their girdles at him.”

“Jo!” Aurora elbowed her and flashed an apologetic smile at the two guys.. “Sorry, a little beer on an empty stomach goes straight to her head. Can we maybe get some water?”

The guys exchanged looks again, and Steve sighed and shrugged, glancing up at a camera with a little red light on it that Aurora hadn’t noticed before.

“Sure, no problem. Follow me.” Aurora nodded and smiled, glancing back over her shoulder to watch Dave drop down into her space beside Joanne on the sofa.

“I’m sorry about Jo. She just gets over excited, she doesn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replied as they climbed the stairs. “You hungry? They can make pretty much anything you want in the kitchen.”

Aurora followed him into a sleek, modern kitchen, all patterns and walnut. It was like walking around a maze. She had no idea where she had come from, nor where she was going, but she was vibrating with amazement that she had finally made it inside the house on the hill.

The next time she drove past on the way to the mall she would be able to imagine what was going on inside. She could think of about fifteen customers at the salon whose toes would curl with jealousy when she told them.

There were two ladies in the kitchen, their pale matching uniforms, the only plain, unpatterned material Aurora had seen in the house so far, were stark against their skin. Aurora could feel her cheeks burning, waiting for them to point out that she shouldn’t be there and call security, but they barely paid her any mind.

Imagine having people whose job it was to just sit in your kitchen waiting for you to want a snack at one am! Aurora did catch one of the ladies glancing at her, her face unreadable, but her thoughts not impossible to imagine. She knew she was out of place, there but for the grace of Steve in her cut off jean shorts and her thrift store spaghetti strap blouse, staring starry-eyed at the glimmering glass or maybe crystal in the glass-fronted cupboards as sizzling sounds started coming from the stove. She could feel herself getting smaller, tucking in her edges and minding her manners, making less of herself so that she would be less of a blight.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The voice was soft and unmistakable, whether it was on the radio, in movie theaters, or in a strange kitchen in the middle of the night.

Everyone immediately whipped around to look, but Aurora’s brain instead made her freeze on the kitchen stool. It told her that she couldn’t turn and face Elvis Presley with her mouth full. For some reason that seemed the ultimate violation.

So, she chewed and chewed the suddenly vulcanized bread as the seconds stretched into decades. Finally, when it had become too weird, she tried to force the ball of dough down her throat and ended up almost choking, swilling it down with a frantic gulp of water.

“Steve, son, if you’re gonna sneak pretty girls into my house at least don’t try and kill ‘em in my kitchen. It’s, uh, bad for business.”

A warm weight rested on her shoulder and squeezed as she looked up through watery eyes at Elvis Presley, up close in person. Her brain couldn’t take it all in at once, just fragments like the black hair, the sideburns, the gold aviator sunglasses, the smile… Even with her airway clear, Aurora was not exactly breathing.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She watched the familiar pillowy lips move as the words filled her ears, not completely in sync. His hand on her shoulder, his cologne in her nose, it was a fully immersive experience and she had already been finding it hard enough to comprehend standing in his kitchen.

“Yeah, it went down the wrong way,” she heard someone say, and it kind of sounded like her.

“Well, honey, looking at that ugly mug over there was always gonna give you indigestion. Nothing personal, Steve, you just got that look-” He laughed a little to himself. “Liable to give this young lady heartburn or something, you know.”

Steve stood awkwardly on his other side like he was trying to gauge the mood, trying to figure out whether it was time for an explanation or an apology, and Aurora was trying to feel bad for him, but all she could feel was Elvis’ hand still on her shoulder, and the sleeve of his jacket brushing against her skin. There was pressure there, like he was leaning on her a little, and she tried to stay still when her pounding heart was telling her to try and run.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” He pulled off his sunglasses and stumbled back a little, pretending that the low lighting of the kitchen was blinding, rubbing his slightly puffy eyes, before they narrowed as they fixed on her. Then it was Aurora who felt like squinting, trying to take it all in.

“I’m Aurora,” she said. Then, for some reason she thought it might make things better somehow if she added, “You have a lovely home.” As if she was an invited guest coming over for iced tea on the porch. She was such an idiot.

“Well, thank you, Aurora. Aurora, is that right?”

Her name was a little unwieldy in his mouth, like he couldn’t quite get his tongue around it. Her face burst into flames as soon as she thought about his tongue.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice, seeing as he was turning to berate Steve a little more, pointing out that at least she had some manners, unlike some people.

Elvis had gray in his sideburns, Aurora noticed, as her muscles stiffened in the tense atmosphere and she was unable to look away. It made sense, he had been about her age when he first got famous, and that had been… a while. But it was still weird to think about Elvis going gray. She couldn’t picture him as an old man. In fact, the idea made her a little sad. But then the alternative would be worse.

“Child,” he intoned suddenly, interrupting whatever he had been saying to put Steve in his place, and turning back to her with a twinkle in his eye, “you have gotta lower the beams on those pretty eyes of yours, they are practically melting my face off!”

And that, more than the gray roots and the stumbling over her name, helped Aurora’s perspective click back into focus. The fancy furniture and the maids and the cooks and the Elvis-ness of him had turned her head for a while, made her feel off kilter, but she knew this dance very well..

“Well, it’s not like I can help it when you’re standing so close to me!” she retorted playfully. “You’re not made of glass you know!”

The crooked smile crept across his face like the tide coming in and she felt herself slipping beneath the waves, drowning.

“You got some nerve, honey, I’ll give you that,” he said, shaking his head. “How ‘bout you finish eating my food and I’ll give you a real tour of this old place?”

“Look, if it means so much to you, you can have the rest of the sandwich,” she said, her careful, watchful eyes belying her teasing, irreverent tone. She knew she was in dangerous territory, her mama would have hissed a warning and cuffed her across the back of the head for being so rude, but the light that glittered in his heavy lidded eyes when she gave him some sass was too enticing to ignore. She didn’t think that too many people dared to tease Elvis Presley and that made her feel a little bad for him.

In response, he gently ‘snatched’ the glass of water she was clutching and turned it until his luscious lips were in the same place hers had been, taking a sip. She somehow froze while also melting at the same time at the glittering challenge in his gaze and the faint twitch of his eyebrow. In that moment, she realized that she had vastly miscalculated how evenly matched they were in this battle.

Luckily, she was rescued by Joanne, who had found her way upstairs and came reeling slightly into the kitchen, clutching Aurora’s jacket, and mumbling that she wanted to go home. She got as far as knocking into Aurora’s back before- and Aurora was never going to let her forget it- she shrieked:

“Oh Elvis! Oh shit!”

Without context, it would have been impossible to tell whether she had caught sight of Elvis or a mouse running across the floor. What made it funnier was the complete non-reaction of Elvis himself, and the way that he locked eyes with Aurora for a long second, as if to say, ‘See what I have to deal with?’

Then he was introducing himself to Joanne, shaking her limp hand and saying he was pleased to meet her like it was all prearranged and they hadn’t effectively broken into his house in the middle of the night.

Oh Elvis, oh shit, Aurora’s brain said helpfully, Elvis Presley is a nice guy.

Sitting in his kitchen, trying to hold a loud, flailing Joanne with one arm and not failing to notice how uncomfortable Dave and Steve looked, Aurora began to feel grimy. It was one thing to take a peek at how the other half live, to get a glimpse of a rarefied existence, but it was another thing to barge in, do questionable things on the couch and make yourself a sandwich. The goldilocks giddiness had soured into shame.

“So, um,” she began as she stepped backwards over her stool like the world’s clumsiest cowgirl, “we’re really sorry for trespassing…” She still couldn’t bring herself to say his name out loud. “And we should probably get going.”

“Well now, wait a damn minute, honey, I promised you a tour, and by God, that’s what you’re gonna get!” This time, she didn’t giggle on cue.

Aurora wasn’t clever, but she was smart. She might not have read fancy long books, but she knew people and she knew men, best of all. Her mama made sure of that, because she didn’t want her to end up the same way, fooled by some good looking lying man who looked good in a fancy borrowed suit.

It occurred to her, as she watched Dave and Steve share yet another long look, that this could all be some elaborate trick. It wasn’t like she and Joanne had asked the guys to bring them to Graceland, hadn’t twisted their arms, hadn’t even known they worked there before they brought it up. And the two guys had barely debated it before they were all suddenly getting into the cars.

What if it was a set-up? What if Dave and Steve did this regularly, went out trolling for girls to bring back for their boss? What if she had walked into some weird situation straight out of the Hollywood gossip magazines?

“I have to get home,” she said, fumbling for excuses, “I gotta get up early to take my grandma to church and I have a couple of clients after that.”

“Clients?” She didn’t understand his strange tone, but she simmered under his appraising eye, and instinctively held her jacket in front of her like it could transform into a pair of baggy pants.

“She’s a hairdresser, she cuts hair,” Steve said sulkily, defensively.

It felt like there were twelve different conversations going on in fifty different languages and it was too late and Aurora was too tired to deal with it all. It had been a fun adventure, but now it was time to go home.

“Well, you know, I've been needing a haircut myself,” Elvis remarked with a strange, sly grin on his face, looking at Steve, who was irritably shuffling his feet against the carpet. “What do you say, honey?”

“Your hair looks fine,” she replied, before turning to Steve and raising her eyebrows in a silent plea.

“No, really, if it gets any longer I’ll start looking like one of those weirdo freaks this one listens to,” Elvis joked, nodding towards Dave with his Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched tight across his chest. “Nice guys, but complete weirdos, man.”

Aurora was pretty sure that nobody was about to get Elvis Presley and the guys from Led Zeppelin mixed up, but saying so would have taken her over that line from light teasing to downright unkindness that she would never cross.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t got my kit with me and I’m so tired, I don’t think I should be trusted with scissors.”

“I’ll go start the car,” Steve said, turning towards the kitchen door.

“No! Now, hold up, man, nobody’s going nowhere ‘til I say so. S’cuse me for a minute, ladies, I think I need to have a word here with these so-called employees of mine.” Elvis’ tone was aggravated, like he was working hard to keep it even, behaving for company.

Joanne and Aurora looked at one another, shrugged, and stepped past the door that led down to the basement and found themselves in the red carpeted foyer, looking towards the front door. They listened carefully, but could only hear murmuring from back in the kitchen.

Joanne squeezed her arm and pulled a triumphant face, hissing, “Fucking Elvis, man!”

“Shh, they might hear you.” Aurora occupied herself with staring up at the chandelier, watching the way the light was reflected back on the glass walls. She couldn’t imagine living in a house that had a chandelier. She wondered if Elvis ever marveled on it since he had grown up just as poor as her, maybe even more so.

“You think he thought we were call girls?” Joanne asked, moving to lean against the staircase and resting her head on the banisters. She yawned wide enough to show the fillings

in her back teeth. “When you said ‘clients’ they all got this weird look. Maybe he wants you to cut his hair to test your story.”

“I ain’t cutting anyone’s hair, I’m dead on my feet,” Aurora grumbled.

“Not even if he offers you a thousand dollars?”

“Well, maybe for a thousand dollars.” She sleepily contemplated what she would spend a thousand dollars on. She wondered how much a chandelier cost.

“Hell, for a thousand dollars I’d pretend to be the call girl!” They both snorted and giggled, before sighing into the still peace of the foyer.

“He looks a little different from the movies though,” Joanne observed. “He’s got… heavier.”

“Yeah,” Aurora conceded with a shrug. “Still Elvis though.” She giggled. “‘Oh Elvis! Oh Shit!’”

“Shut up!” Joanne groaned, donking her head against one of the banisters. “I bet you didn’t come out with anything deep or profound when you saw him.”

Aurora’s throat was still a little sore from where she had forced a fistful of bread through it while choking, but she kept that to herself.

Finally, Dave shuffled out to let them know they could return from exile and led them back into an empty kitchen. When he spoke, he sounded annoyed and Aurora wondered if he had got a ticking off from Elvis too. Maybe it hadn’t been a set up after all.

“C’mon.” He nodded towards a set of the stairs that curled up round a wall in the corner of the room.

“Where?” she countered.

“Look, just cut his fucking hair a little, all right? Pretend if you have to, we’ll be heading out on tour soon and he’ll have his hairdresser do it properly then anyway.”

Aurora looked at the staircase and thought about getting back into the Datsun and going home. She thought about telling the ladies at the salon about her weekend, the way they would say, ‘And what happened then?!’ And she would have to finish her surreal recount with, ‘Then I chickened out and went home.’

That would be a lame ending to the story.

And so she found herself leaning in front of Elvis Presley, examining his wet bangs as she ran them through the comb, scissors clutched in hand, standing in the most outrageously opulent bathroom she had ever seen.

“You shouldn’t wrinkle your forehead like that, you know, honey,” he observed, his breath tickling the column of her throat. “You’ll look old before your time.”

Her frown shifted from one of concentration to intense control, trying to stop herself from shivering because it felt like he was murmuring into her ear.

“My face does what it wants,” she replied finally, snipping the tiniest fragment of an inch. “I don’t have too much of a say in it. Keeps me honest, otherwise who knows what I’d be doing instead of cutting hair day and, apparently night now too.”

They had negotiated down to just trimming the bangs, and now that she was confronted with his mass of fine hair, she was grateful. Everyone knew that half the teen population back in the day had flipped their lids when they cut off Elvis’ hair in the army. Aurora didn’t want to become the target of those same women today, stronger, smarter, and old enough to own handguns.

“What would you be instead, if you could choose?” She made the mistake of looking at his face when he asked. It was a trap. Framed by dark, weary shadows, the murky blue of his eyes had all but swallowed up the pupil and it felt like they were looking at something within her, somewhere she didn’t even want to let people know existed.

“I don’t know. If you ask my memaw, there are only a few careers a girl can have with a name like mine. I picked the most respectable. There we go, all done.”

“What kind of name is Aurora anyway?” Searching, his damn eyes were searching and she couldn’t seem to distract him.

“I don’t exactly think we should be making fun of people’s names, Elvis. Especially not when some of us are holding scissors.” He snorted and laughed to himself. It sounded so young and silly that she knew it was real.

“Aurora means dawn or light. You know the Northern Lights? Those squiggly colorful lights up in the North Pole? Their real name is Aurora Borealis. And you know, Sleeping Beauty’s name was Aurora.”

It was the well worn explanation she had been trotting out since she was knee high to a cricket, not that it ever made any difference to the bemused, baffled or disdainful faces of the gangs of kids or customers at her father’s store that demanded she explain herself.

She caught sight of Elvis’ reflection studying her, but not in the way that he had been before, the way that men often studied her, appraising and pricing her up like her daddy did with cans of soup. No, this was a different kind of look.

“Dawn,” he murmured, his gaze seeming to look past her. “Sleeping…Beauty… Might be something to this…” His eyes seemed to click back into focus and he smiled at her, that crooked smirk that everyone in the world imagined in their head when someone said the name Elvis Presley. “It’s pretty, sweetheart, I was just kiddin’.”

When she followed him out of the bathroom, he mumbled, “Think fast!” And before she could even decipher his words, she was catching the tiger statue he had tossed at her. It was heavy enough it could have probably cracked her skull if she hadn’t caught it.

“Whoa, was the haircut that bad that you had to try and kill me?!”

“No, honey, it was fine, but it’s like you, you see.” She could tell something corny was coming from the silly little grin and the way he paused to laugh at himself. “It’s a roarer.” She groaned, but giggled as he laughed, his brows knitted together in a pained acknowledgement of how corny he had been.

“Woo, well, it’s lucky you’re pretty,” Aurora replied, doing what she thought was a damn fine impression of her grandma, who always said it like it was.

When Elvis snorted a little, but didn’t say anything else, she wondered if she had caught him off guard and made him a little bashful. She made a show of giving the ceramic tiger a scritch under the chin like it was a pussy cat and then went to hand it back.

“No, no,” he replied, waving his hand. “It’s yours, honey, you caught it. Them’s the rules.”

“Well, thank you… You know, it puts a whole new perspective on those folks you gave cars to. They probably belong in a circus.” He didn’t reply, just sat down on his bed and shuffled back against the pillows, picking up one of the books that lay strewn across the comforter.

Not knowing quite what she was supposed to do, she petted the tiger under her arm and started edging towards the door. If she couldn’t make a glamorous exit, she could at least minimize the awkwardness of it.

“Hey, you know…” Her eyes fixed on him as she did her little side shuffle, she saw him glance up from his book and his expression go from open to frowning. “Where you goin’?”

I thought we were… I thought you were waiting for me to leave.” He shook his head, looking slightly irritated, and then patted the bed heavily by his legs.

Aurora thought of Steve waiting downstairs and then shrugged, walking over to the bed. You didn’t ignore an Elvis for a Steve. She perched on the edge of his bed and watched as he rooted around on his nightstand, sliding on a pair of gold framed glasses and shooting her a sheepish look.

“The lightning of the Word will illumine the abysses.

New, new, new ones, beautiful ones, sensitive ones,

Exalted ones, will be assembled.

The Teacher has entrusted thee to manifest Him.” He read it like poetry or scripture and it sounded dramatic and lovely to Aurora’s ears, but then he stopped and he looked at her like she was supposed to do or say something. It was like standing at the front of the class on book report day with nothing in her hands. Her face burned all the way back to her ears.

“You ever heard anything like that before, honey?” he asked finally, his eyes back to scanning the text, leaving her to writhe in her ignorance and humiliation.

“No, I don’t think so.” She looked longingly at the black padded door standing open and then down at her tanned toes, half submerged in the thick red shag pile carpet as if her sandals weren’t even there. “I was never too good in school.”

“School,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You don’t learn nothing worth knowing in school. I mean no disrespect to the teachers, but-” He sighed loudly. “You know most people use but one percent of their brains, one percent! Just focussing on the Mickey Mouse shit, uh, workin’ and paying the bills and having a good time, coveting their fuckin’ neighbor’s whatever… Never knowing what’s really important.”

Aurora stared at him as he continued his diatribe, a little impressed at how he weaved in foulmouthed quotes from the Bible. Nobody was going to believe this was how she spent her Saturday night.

“I’ve been studying all this a long time, it takes discipline and dedication. Honey, why don’t you come on up here and get comfortable?” He gestured to the space beside him on the pillows, the space usually occupied by glamorous models and beauty queens, one of whom was beaming with fierce intensity at her from a framed picture on the dark wood unit against the wall.

“Um, can I bring Muffin?” He lifted an eyebrow and she tilted the tiger she still had tucked into her hip. “I named him Muffin.”

“Well, I was talking to Muffin anyhow, but I guess he can bring you.” He shook his head, his cheekbones brimming as he smirked and watched her shuck her sandals and clamber up gracelessly from the bottom of the bed. “You’re kinda silly.” He leant forward and gave her a lightning fast kiss on the lips, just warm and wet and gone. “I like that.”

And then he read to her, for over an hour. Sleepily leaning against the pillow, Aurora slid her finger underneath the stretchy strap of her watch as it was pressing into her skin. Her eyes caught sight of the time and she pushed herself up, feeling a little dazed and dizzy.

Having sunk back into his pillows too, Elvis was still reading, his voice barely above a whisper and he didn’t seem to notice her sitting up. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his arm and then said his name. It took him a beat or two to register the interruption.

“It’s getting really late,” she said apologetically. “I think I should go find Steve, he’s my ride home.”

“Aw, honey, he went, he’s gone.”

Aurora smiled anxiously, not sure if he was joking. “He better not be. It’s a long walk back to my house.”

“I’ll have someone take you home, don’t worry about that,” he murmured, his words slipping and sliding together.

“Well, It’s getting pretty late,” she said again.

He lowered his book and went to say something, but seemingly changed his mind. Instead, he reached over with a grunt and picked up the phone, gruffly asking who was on duty. Aurora busied herself with slipping back into her shoes and hefting Muffin back onto her hip.

Elvis put down the receiver of the red phone and climbed off the bed.

“I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay with you?” The way he said it was oddly formal and solemn, a complete contrast to the way he had teasingly beckoned her onto his bed earlier. It threw her enough that she forgot to be overwhelmed.

“Sure!” She cringed inwardly at how high pitched her voice sounded and tried to clear her throat discreetly.

“Let me take down your number and I'll call you.”

Elvis rifled through the contents of his nightstand and snatched up a pen and then, with a shrug, opened the front cover of his book.

It was about then that Aurora's brain caught up with the situation and her hand shook as she reached for the pen and scrawled ‘Aurora + Muffin’ alongside her number on the inside cover of his book. When she handed it back, he teased her by turning the book upside as he squinted at it.

“What is this, hieroglyphics?!”

And Aurora laughed goodnaturedly, even though she had been teased her whole time at school for her poor penmanship and inability to improve it. She laughed even though, as a rule, she never let anyone get away with making fun of the things she couldn’t change. Something about him defused all those defenses designed to detonate on a hair trigger.

Aurora felt Elvis follow her to the bedroom door without seeing him. It was a weird feeling, like wearing a heavy cape made of ice. She was almost afraid to check in case it all evaporated like a dream and she woke up in her pilling pink blankets and worn rosebud sheets.

The heavy, warm hand that came to rest on her shoulder was a surprise and a reassurance then, as she felt him turn her. She took a step back, since he was that much taller and they were standing so close together that she was face to face with the dip at the base of his throat, able with microscopic clarity to see the way his golden chest hair curled behind the thick gold chain he was wearing with the strange symbol that looked to her eyes like a musical note with extra parts.

“Um, sorry,” she murmured, looking away, even though he had been the one to crowd her. He smiled softly, angling his head and pressing his soft full lips against hers. She jolted, almost choking again, and saved herself by grabbing hold of him, clutching at his waist, thick but firm, with her free hand and pressing in against him. His lips were soft and lush, like no other man’s she had kissed before. They tickled and teased, and sent shivers that spread down her spine and radiated through her body.

When his tongue first brushed and then slid against hers, she let out a little whine that had him huffing a laugh and drawing back, his hand cradling her jaw.

“You sure you gotta go, baby?” he asked softly in that low, intimate voice that made her legs quiver. “We could just sleep, you know. I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t try anything.”

“I trust you,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure she did. “It’s me I don’t trust.” Which was one hundred percent true.

He pulled her in again by her chin, but she still wasn’t ready as they both exhaled in playful frustration. She nibbled on his ripe bottom lip even as she was pulling away.

Aurora made it to the outer door that led to the stairs before he called her back.

“Hey Tiger!” She let her shoulders and face slump with indignation as she realized she had answered to the silly name. “We’re going to see each other again, sweetheart.” She smiled at the previously unimaginable picture she was walking away from- Elvis Presley framed by the light in a doorway, his hair rumpled and tousled (her fault) and his mouth wet and swollen (even more her fault). “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find.”

“Sure.” Frowning a little through her smile, she nodded and turned back to the stairs. Was he talking about himself or was he talking about her? Maybe he was talking about Muffin. She hefted the tiger a little higher under her arm and clumped down the stairs, blearily opening the front door to greet the dawn.

@thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows, @from-memphis-with-love, @peskybedtime

#well weellll wellllll #what do we have here?#this was so good #helping himself to her water #telling hey not to frown #the back and forth #that kiss was smutty a hell #i can't wait to reaad this again #btw there totally was exposition and drama and climax and all the writerly things #elvis presley #big daddy elvis #elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #70s elvis #whositmcwhatsit #elvis presley fanfiction

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thatbanditqueen · 22 days

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Waiting for Love - Part Eight

Healing Hands

Content: February-March 1971 (this picks up right where it left off 😉), smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst, references to some possible health issues, 18+

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Mid-Februay 1971

“Oh, Elvis, oh, Elvis, oh God…”

Elvis looked down at Vivien’s face, her lips softly moaning his name over and over as he inched his way inside of her. He could feel her involuntarily clenching around him as her hands gripped the bedsheets. “Ya okay, baby?” he asked tenderly, pausing his movements. Vivien nodded, searching his face for some reassurance. “Honey, I want ya to wrap your arms around me, okay?” Elvis felt Vivien release her grip on the sheets and move her clammy palms to his back. “That’s right, baby, jus’ hold on ta me. Try ta relax and I’ma go in a little deeper, okay?”

“Okay, I’m relaxed, I’m relaxed,” Vivien whispered, trying to sooth herself, her fingernails running softly down Elvis’ back toward the curve of his butt. “Elvis, I want you so bad, I want you all the way inside of me.”

Elvis stifled a groan at her words, it was all he could do not to explode right then and there. He resumed his slow advance, feeling the friction of his foreskin against her tight opening as he pushed deeper inside until he was completely consumed, her wetness coating every inch of him. “Goddamn, Vivien, it feels so good in there,” he moaned out, rolling his hips, thrusting as gently as he could.

Vivien felt almost delirious with pleasure as she allowed herself to rock back and forth in rhythm with Elvis. The words flew past her lips almost faster than her brain could form them. “Oh God, Elvis, oh my, I can’t, oh God, it feels so good, I’ve never felt so good, oh God you’re so amazing…”

Elvis smiled down at the look of pure ecstasy on Vivien’s face, taking some pride in his ability to make her feel so good. “Honey, did ya, I-I mean, are ya havin’ an orgasm already?” He continued his thrusting, the intense passion of his movements growing, little beads of sweat now trickling down from his hairline.

“I, I don’t know, I’m not sure, it just feels so good,” Vivien panted, trying to get a handle on all the sensations happening in her body. Elvis reached down to where their bodies were connected and rubbed her clit with his thumb, applying a little pressure to it. Vivien’s back immediately arched, her legs shaking on either side of him. “Oh, Elvis,” she cried out, her head tilted back into the pillows. Elvis tried to stay in control as her pleasure gushed over him, but the feeling of her fluttering around him as she moaned his name was just too much to bear. With one final thrust, he could feel himself pulsing inside her, filling her up with everything he had to give.

Ah shit, I should’ve pulled out, he thought to himself as he rested his body on top of Vivien’s, Little Elvis starting to soften inside of her. The thought of any consequences for his actions was clouded by the depth of love he felt in this moment. As he slowly eased himself out of the warm hold Vivien had on him, he noticed the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I-I-I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” Elvis asked nervously.

“No, no, it’s not that, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. I mean, wow, that was incredible, it’s just everything feels so intense.”

Elvis smiled as he leaned down and pressed his soft lips against hers. “I thought it was incredible too, honey. That was such a sacred gift ya gave me. I-I-I’m honored that ya gave yourself ta me like that. It’s okay if ya need ta cry, baby. I understand how special that was. It was special for me, too. I love ya so much, Vivien.” Suddenly overcome, Elvis blinked and glanced away before his own tears could spill over.

“I love you too, Elvis.” Vivien pulled him close, holding his body tightly against hers until her tears subsided.

“Lemme get ya cleaned up, baby,” Elvis said as he finally lifted himself off the bed. “Although I hate ta leave those nice pillows ya got,” he said with a wink. Vivien giggled through her tear-stained face as she shyly tried to cover her breasts. Elvis disappeared into the bathroom and came back wearing a pair of briefs and carrying a warm wet washcloth and a silky pink nightgown. He gently wiped between Vivien’s legs with the cloth and then helped her slip into the nightie. “Now c’mere and hold me, sweetheart,” he said, patting the bed next to him.

“Actually, first I have to, um, I mean I think I need to…pee,” Vivien whispered, her face turning red.

Elvis let out a loud guffaw. “Honey, we jus’ made love to each other, I think you can say the word ‘pee’ in front of me.” Vivien laughed at herself too as she headed for the bathroom.

She came out to see Elvis reaching for a bottle of pills on the nightstand. “Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, baby, I’m healthy as a horse,” Elvis said reassuringly. “I jus’ get so keyed up from performing that I need a lil’ help fallin’ asleep.”

“Well, I could help you fall asleep,” Vivien grinned.

Elvis paused, the pill bottle in his hand, before setting it back down with a slight nod. “Okay, we can give it a try. What magic tricks ya got up your sleeve?”

Vivien cleared her throat nervously, hoping she wouldn’t sound like an idiot. “I’ve, uh, been reading about the power of touch. Physical touch, especially from someone you love, can have calming, healing properties on your body. So I could give you a massage and see if it helps you fall asleep.”

Elvis looked excited and intrigued. “I’ve read a lot about that too! I actually tried a technique on Jerry when he hurt his back. Okay, let’s see if it works on me.”

“You should really take those back off, though,” Vivien said, nodding toward his underwear.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, baby. I-I-I mean, he gets a little shy after a performance,” Elvis laughed self-consciously.

“I think the touching would be more effective with no barriers between your skin and my hands, but I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. And I’ll be trying to relax you, not turn you on,” she added, her cheeks turning pink.

“Honey, you ain’t gotta try too hard, that’s the problem,” Elvis teased. “Okay, I must really like you, cuz I don’t let jus’ anyone look at me like this.” Elvis pulled his underwear off and lay back on the bed completely nude.

Vivien climbed up next to him. “Well I must really like you too, because I don’t give just anyone a full body massage.” Elvis chuckled at that and squeezed her hand. “Now close your eyes,” she instructed. “And try to just clear your mind and breathe evenly.” She started rubbing his arms, his hands, and then worked her way down toward his legs, massaging the muscles in his sturdy thighs. He lay there peacefully, trying to breathe steadily as she’d instructed. Vivien felt almost guilty looking at him in this vulnerable state, but she couldn’t help but admire his thick soft cocoon nestled in his patch of pubic hair and the wiry little hairs that decorated his inner thighs.

“Honey?” Elvis mumbled, sounding half-asleep already. “I can feel ya starin’.”

Vivien blushed profusely and wondered how he could see her with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep. I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss, but I didn’t want to ruin your relaxation.”

Elvis snorted a little bit and opened one eye to look at her. “Ya wanted ta give him a goodnight kiss?”

VIvien’s face flushed hotter with each passing second. “I’m so sorry, that sounds stupid,” she whispered, hoping he would think this had all been a dream.

“Naw, honey,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. “I think it’s sweet that ya love him so much. Not ever’one’s like that. It’s a little weird, but sweet.” A teasing grin spread across his sleepy face. “You can give him a little kiss, but don’t wake him up or this will all be for nothin’ cuz he’ll wanna get back in where it’s nice and soft and warm.”

Vivien blushed and leaned down, pressing her lips very gently to his velvety soft skin. The smile still spread across Elvis’ face told her that he enjoyed the attention, no matter how much he might tease her about it. She continued to massage his legs until a very light snoring sound let her know he was asleep this time. She pulled the blanket over the two of them and rested her head on his chest, letting the steady beat lull her to sleep.

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

“Honey, I did really appreciate the massage last night, it was really nice, but I need ta take these.” Elvis could see the way Vivien eyed the pill bottle suspiciously as they got ready to lay down for the night. Elvis had needed to mingle with some special guests after the show, so they hadn’t had much time alone together, but she could see he looked exhausted.

“But we could just try it again-”

“Dammit, Vivien, is this gonna be a problem? Me takin’ the medication I need?” Elvis snapped.

Vivien flinched at the anger in his voice. “No, I’m sorry, I was just trying to help. I care about you.”

A look of guilt flashed across Elvis’ face. “Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta snap at ya. It’s jus’ that I know what my body needs ta get through these performances, okay? I don’t want ya ta stop carin’ about me, though.”

“I could never stop, Elvis,” Vivien whispered, trying to stop the tears that were welling up.

“Aww, baby, don’ cry now, you’re gonna make me feel bad. It’s okay, honey.” Elvis pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, there’s just a lot of things I’m worried about,” Vivien sniffled. “I’m not sure what to do about my job.”

“Why? What happened?” Elvis asked with concern.

“Um, I didn’t want to tell you and upset you, but I overheard my boss calling me Elvis Presley’s whore,” Vivien whispered, hanging her head in shame. When Elvis didn’t respond, she looked up nervously to see his reaction. The intensity of anger in his eyes was something she’d never really seen before. “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear. But my nosy neighbor might have seen you leaving my apartment…” she trailed off.

“I ain’t mad at ya, honey, I’m mad at that boss of yours. He might jus’ need a good talkin’ to.” Elvis’ voice had a cold, steely edge to it.

“Oh, no, Elvis, I would get fired if you say anything to him,” Vivien pleaded.

“Honey, you ain’t goin’ back there anyhow. No one’s gonna talk about my baby like that.”

“But I need a job, I won’t be able to afford my apartment.” Vivien was starting to regret having said anything at all.

“Baby, I can pay for your apartment, it ain’t a big deal,” Elvis said nonchalantly. “Besides, you’ll be livin’ with me at Graceland soon enough.” Despite all her stress and confusion, Vivien’s heart fluttered at those words. “Now you jus’ leave things ta me baby, I’ll take care of ya. Let’s jus’ get some sleep.” Elvis took his pills and pulled her in close to him, his warm hands holding her tight and secure. As he drifted off, he mumbled something almost incoherent.

“What’s that?” Vivien asked, turning her head toward him.

“Not since mama,” he mumbled. “I think not since mama has anyone loved me for who I am the way you do. I don’t take it for granted, baby. I really love you…” his voice trailed off into a soft snore.

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

March 16, 1971 - Baptist Hospital in Nashville

Vivien’s stomach was in knots as a nurse led her to Elvis’ room in a private wing of the hospital. Joe trailed behind her, silent and unfriendly as usual. She normally wished that Elvis would have someone else, almost anyone else, make arrangements and pick her up from the airport. But right now she just wanted to make sure he was okay. He said it was nothing to worry about, just an eye problem, but still, a hospital is a hospital.

As soon as she saw him lying in the hospital bed, Vivien rushed to his side and grabbed his hand in hers. “Elvis! Are you okay?” her voice quivered with emotion.

“I’m okay, honey. ‘Specially now that my baby’s here ta take care of me. None of these guys know what I need,” he said, squeezing her hand and nodding toward his crew. Vivien looked around and blushed, as if it had just dawned on her that they were not alone.

“And Priscilla’s taking care of something in Los Angeles,” Joe announced with a smirk.

Elvis’ eyes shot daggers in Joe’s direction. “And I didn’t ask her ta come back early, did I? Why don’t ya make yourself useful for once and go get us some hamburgers?” Joe nodded and turned, looking relieved to leave the line of fire that he’d put himself in. “Ignore that asshole, baby,” Elvis said, turning back to Vivien. “First thing I did when I got in here was call ya ta come be with me. Now get over here.” He patted the spot next to him on the somewhat narrow hospital bed. Vivien looked around shyly at the other people in the room and then back at Elvis. “Don’t worry, honey, they were jus’ leavin’,” he said, waving everyone off.

Vivien climbed into the bed and curled up next to him, snuggled into his body, enjoying the feel of his silky pajamas against her. Before she could protest that someone might walk back in, his lips were smashed against hers, his strong hand gently squeezing her hip. “God, I missed ya,” he said, pulling back with that grin that still made her heart skip a beat. “I’ma need ta bring ya along to the next recording session. Now tell me what ya been up to while I’ve been wastin’ away here without ya.”

Vivien bit down on her lip as she considered her next statement. “Well, um, I’m having a little trouble finding a new job. So Roxanne said I could move in with her if I need to…” VIvien’s voice trailed off as she saw the look of fury on Elvis’ face.

“Why are ya lookin’ for a job and tryin’ ta move? I said I’d pay for your apartment until I can move ya into Graceland with me. Didn’t I tell ya I’d take care of ya?” His tone grew more biting with each word.

Vivien cleared her throat nervously. “Well, yes, you did say that, but Elvis, I don’t know if I could take that money from you-”

“When is ever’one gonna stop tellin’ me how ta spend my own goddamn money?” he snapped. “First Daddy, then Cilla, now this? It’s my money, dammit.”

Vivien had never heard Elvis sound so angry, not even about the sleeping pills in Las Vegas. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness,” she whispered, trying in vain to fight back the waterworks that she knew were coming. She shifted on the bed as the tears started to fall. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I should just go.”

Elvis could see by the pained look on Vivien’s face that he had crossed the line with his temper. He grabbed her wrist, careful not to be too rough. “Wait, honey, wait. Don’t go. I-I-It’s jus’ that ever’one’s been on my case lately. I-I-I shouldn’ta taken it out on ya. I guess I ain’t used ta havin’ someone be worried ‘bout takin’ advantage of me. Usually jus’ got people tellin’ me what ta do.” He laughed hollowly at that as he pulled her back in close to him.

“Well I guess I’m not used to having someone want to take care of me,” Vivien whispered as she laid her head on his chest. “So maybe this is something new for both of us.” She felt suddenly very warm inside, as the hairs that were escaping his pajama top tickled her cheek.

Elvis looked down at her affectionately and kissed the top of her head. “Honey, ya jus’ better get used to it, cuz all I wanna do is take care of ya. I’ve done a pretty good job so far, huh?” he teased as he let his hand slide down her hip to her thigh and then back up under the hem of her short skirt. His fingertips danced along her bare flesh. “Is that why I can feel your heart poundin’ right outta your chest, hmm? Ya thinkin’ ‘bout me takin’ care of ya?” Vivien nodded and blushed, wondering how he always seemed to know what she was thinking. “Y’know what I’m thinkin’, honey? It sure would be nice ta feel those healin’ hands of yours again. And this time ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout wakin’ no one, cuz he’s all ready ta come out and play.”

“I can tell,” Vivien laughed as she looked down at the protruding part of his pajama pants. Elvis leaned down and caught her open mouth with his, letting his tongue taste hers before biting softly on her lower lip, eliciting a sweet moan. “No one could take better care of me than you,” she whispered, diving back in for more of his sweet kisses. As his fingers found the elastic leg band of her panties and continued to tease her, she let her hands wander under his pajama shirt. His soft warm skin felt so comforting. Right as she reached one hand into the waistband of his pants, Joe came barging in with the hamburgers.

“Jesus Christ, son, ya forget how ta knock?” Elvis exploded, looking to make sure Vivien was all covered up. She was frozen in place, her hand still tucked inside his pants. “Leave that on the table and get the hell out, man.”

“Sorry boss,” Joe muttered, actually looking a little embarrassed instead of like his usual smug self.

“Now where were we?” Elvis murmured, turning back to Vivien. “Oh, that’s right, about ta work up a good appetite.” Vivien giggled and wrapped her hand around his hard length as Elvis slipped his tongue in her mouth again, each kiss growing more passionate. She was so deep in love, she couldn’t possibly concern herself with what anyone else might think about it.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo

#oh vivien #i like the symmetry of this chapter #starting and ending with a bang #your smut is so sweet and hot and sweaty #i love it #and you know I'm here for the angst #and side eyeing joe #oh to be vivien #i wish I'd had a gentle eager to please elvis teach me sex #ok I'm going to go back to picturing the beads of sweat dripping down his face #dead #elvis #Elvis smut #elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #Elvis x oc #waiting for love #i love this shan #fic rec

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thatbanditqueen · 25 days

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Oh it's a bear 🐻

#everytime i watch this think of the person who brought their film camera to the concert #and stood their filming this #holding it up #a dedicated planner #who sacrificed their opportunity to run down and get a miss and scarf #they knew #a kiss was momentary #but they could rewatch the concert over and over #i mean i would have tried to get a kiss #but god bless her

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thatbanditqueen · 27 days

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John Astin and Carolyn Jones - The Addams Family (1964)

#the first cool sitcom family #The Addams Family #Carolyn Jones #60's tv

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thatbanditqueen · 27 days

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AN: Yeah, here's part 3 of my "halloween one shot".... This is primarily for @thatbanditqueen who has been nudging me for months, patiently cheerleading, and reminding me that I used to write. Thank you to everyone who regularly pokes me to check if I'm still alive and patiently asks for updates on stuff. I appreciate you, so much. Chapter 2 Chapter Three Tiptoeing precariously and dripping across the carpet as she clutched a rough, thin towel to her front, Cheryl scrabbled for the lock and only just managed to stumble back in time to avoid having a door and a six foot man crash into her face.

Elvis barrelled in and slammed the door closed behind him, leaning against it like someone was trying to barge their way in. Someone other than him, that is.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to gather the corners of the towel around her.

“I…” He frowned at her and then looked back at the door, his eyes wide and wild. She waited for more, but he seemed to be finding it hard to get the words out. She finally went back into the bathroom to change into some clothes, leaving him standing by the adjoining door, eyeing it warily.

“I-I- I thought it was you,” he said eventually, after she had returned and perched on the end of her bed, sitting there for about ten silent minutes. She waited for him to elaborate, but this seemed to be as much as he was prepared to say. “I thought it was you.”

After a while, his shock seemed to transform into anger and she watched him start to pace in front of the door, his jaw clenched tight.

“This is crazy,” he muttered quietly. “You about lost your damn mind, boy.” He shot her a glance that seemed to be measuring her up, like he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been her in his room even though she had clearly been in the shower at the time. He glared back at the door and then nodded to himself, making up his mind about something.

Letting his cheeks puff up with air, he exhaled in a meditative pause, before reaching out and twisting the door handle. Cheryl craned her neck, trying to see around him as he stood, legs astride, in the open doorway, ready to confront whatever was there. She watched his shoulders drop, then he walked through the door into the empty room, touching the tangled blankets at the end of the bed.

Cheryl followed and he turned his head slightly to acknowledge her, reaching back and snagging her hand with his fingers.

“I weren’t imagining it,” he murmured to himself. “I’m touched in the head, but I ain’t that crazy, not yet. I know what I saw.”

“What did you see?” she asked gently, feeling his hand sweating a little in hers.

“I- You won’t tell no one about this, will ya, honey? Last thing I need is some gossip rag printing a bullshit story about ole Elvis seein’… Well, y’know.”

“It’ll stay between us,” she murmured, but in her mind she was imagining the free publicity it could bring her. No more struggling to get bookings, no more playing to superstitious grannies and their drunk, heckling husbands. She focused back on the room and her heart lurched at the way his eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his upper lip curled as he studied her, like he could see exactly what she was imagining and he was hurt by it. She felt like she had kicked a kitten.

“Was it a girl?” she asked instead, shifting uncomfortably. He looked down, nodded with a jerk. “Was she crying?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really.. It weren’t no more than a shadow really, s’why I thought it was you. Only you didn’t answer and-” His expression changed, froze, and whatever he was about to tell her receded like the tide.

“I saw her earlier,” she revealed, offering it up as an apology, an act of contrition to try and mend the trust between them. “In my room. And I think I heard her screaming before that.”

“Goddamn,” he breathed, sinking down onto the end of the bed and staring balefully at the carpet. “This is-”

Cheryl didn’t quite know what to do. She felt almost guilty since this was her regular life and, though she didn’t know how, it had somehow spilled over into his. She patted his shoulder tentatively. When he glanced up though he was grinning, teeth biting into his plush bottom lip.

“I knew it!” he cried. “I goddamn knew that there had to be more to this than-” He swiveled his hand around absently, frenetically. “-There had to be! Shit, the guys ain’t gonna believe this!” He jumped to his feet and moved towards his door, but then almost immediately stopped again.

“They ain’t gonna believe this,” he repeated, his tone completely different this time. He reached up and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “They’re good boys, most of ‘em, but they don’t have a thought that ain’t about their wallet, their belly or their pecker, and not in that order. This’d just… it’d be too much for their tiny minds to comprehend.”

Cheryl stared back at him as he finally looked at her, not sure that her input was required in this solo conversation he was having.

“I- Why’s she crying?” He raised his eyebrows at her when she didn’t respond.

“Sorry?”

“You said she- the gho- the girl- she was crying? Why’s she crying?” He smoothed his hair again and adjusted his robe, trying to look like he was comfortable with the conversation, but his restless hands were giving him away.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. Her eyes slid to the clock on the wall; it would be dawn soon and she was feeling the weight of the day before pressing down on her body and her eyelids.

“Can’t you ask her? I mean that’s your racket- your job, right?”

“Maybe?” She wanted to be honest with him and temper his expectations. This girl seemed to want to make contact, but the operator, who or whatever that was, might not feel like putting the call through. That was the way that she thought about it anyway. “I guess we could try.” She eyed the sparse mid century decor and furniture dubiously. “We might need to change the ambiance a little bit.” Cheryl wondered what Elvis’ guys thought about being woken at four am and told that they needed to procure candles and lilies. From listening to Elvis’ end of the call, she guessed they were unimpressed to say the least.

She was in the bathroom changing into her stage wear, eavesdropping on Elvis as he made his demands sounding like a cross between a drill sergeant, a high school football coach and a spoilt prince.

“I don’t know where you’re gonna get it from, son,” he was saying as she straightened the black crinoline sleeve around her wrist. “That’s what I pay you for. Now you wanna run with us, you wanna be part of the organization, you gotta pull your weight. Use some fuckin’ ingenuity for once in your goddamn life!” He slammed down the phone, dropped his shoulders and turned as she emerged from the bathroom, his calm face and grin belying the angry tone he had just used on the phone. “We’ll have what you need in less than an hour.”

Eyebrows raising, he whistled, and she felt a flash of warmth- mainly embarrassment- as he took in her outfit.

“Those are some threads you got on there. You go all out with the get-up and everything, huh.”

Cheryl shrugged awkwardly, feeling silly, but he ran his hands down his silk robe contemplatively.

“I gotta change.”

With far too much energy and excitement for the early hours of the morning, he strode towards the adjoining door to his room and started to go through it, but he paused in the threshold, grabbing the edge of the door.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna leave this open,” he said haltingly. “Just in case you- you need me or anything, okay, honey?” The twinkle in his eye and his slight smirk was sly, acknowledging that they both knew why he wanted to leave the door open and that it had nothing to do with him looking out for her.

Fifty minutes after the phone call, there was a brisk knock on Cheryl’s door and she opened it to find two sopping wet, angry-looking men. One was clutching a huge arrangement of white lilies and the other a brown paper bag that was almost just as wet as he was. Behind them, sheets of rain continued to pummel the asphalt.

“How in the world…” she began, but they were not in the mood to talk, gesturing for her to step aside so that they could put their wares on the sideboard and storm back out. She gingerly opened the paper bag to find candles and wax polish.

Again, there was a rap on the door and another guy, a lick of hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, was standing holding another bag. Cheryl sniffed the air in confusion.

“Is that..?”

“‘Bout damn time,” Elvis remarked, leaning up against her back and grabbing the sack from his employee's hand. “These got mustard on ‘em?”

“Yeah, E, I-”

“Well, I don’t need a running commentary,” Elvis returned, turning from the door. Cheryl gave the guy an uncomfortable smile and closed the door.

Elvis was practically vibrating with anticipation. He grabbed one of the bacon sandwiches from the sack and opened it up cautiously with his thumb and forefinger like he was afraid of what he might find. Whatever it was, it seemed to meet his exacting standards as he hummed happily and took a ravenous bite. Cheryl shook her head and started her preparations.

Elvis followed her around the room, just over her shoulder like an eager child, watching her position the lillies on the floor and set up the candles, using the plastic cups from their bathrooms as makeshift candle holders.

“What's with the, uh, polish there, honey?” He balled up the grease-stained bag and tossed it into the wastepaper basket near the door. He had eaten the sandwiches without even offering her one.

“There's no- That is, there isn't a reason as such. My grandmother, she was the one who taught me how to “listen”- that's what she called it. We'd practice for hours in her parlor. She was the real deal, had people coming to her from all over for séances and readings. She was also very house proud, every inch of her house gleamed. All my memories of her and my lessons are thick with the scent of wax polish.” She flushed. “I wish I had a better explanation for you.”

His face mirrored hers, a slightly bashful smile tilting his lips.

“No, I get it,” he said softly. “I got some smells that remind me of home too. Not the way it is now, but before…” He shook his head, leaping slickly over vulnerability and tender memories like he was stepping over a puddle. “And all I have to do is get a hint of wood smoke and I'm back to freezing my ass off in maneuvers over in Germany. You think it's cold now? Damn near left all my toes over there!”

“Well, I think I'm about ready,” she sighed, eyeing the little array she had created on the carpet. She did it just the way her grandmother had done it, the cards to her left, the slate and chalk, just the way Gran’s own mother had taught her.

Elvis stood beside her and fluttered his fingers out at his sides.

“Where do you want me, honey?” She glanced up and smiled, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “For this, I mean.” He winked.

Cheryl gestured to the other side of the candles and he tugged up the legs of his trousers before sinking down onto the floor with his legs crossed.

Elvis’ excitement was palpable. She could feel it tingling against her even as she twisted open the tin of polish and took in a deep breath, inhaling wax and sweet cloying lilies mixed with the lingering scent of burnt bacon and Elvis’ cologne.

“Don't you have to… say something?” he whispered after a minute. “Like invite them in or something? I saw a movie once where-”

“Shh!” She immediately regretted it, her eyes fluttering open and an apology on her tongue, but he looked chastised, his lips pressed together and his eyes watching her intently. She felt powerful, for just a second.

That all fizzled out pretty quickly when she tried to tune in and heard… nothing. She frowned and focussed on her breathing. It just didn’t make any sense, because she could feel something, someone, and they clearly wanted to make contact.

“Come on,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes closed and leaning down like she was trying to eavesdrop on a conversation in a crowded room. They were there, she knew it, she just had to try a little harder, reach a little further.

A couple of awkward minutes passed and she could feel her stomach dropping with each tick of her watch. It turned out that failing on a questionably clean motel floor sitting opposite Elvis Presley was just as humiliating as dying on a dusty stage in Eugene, Oregon, with people clearing their throats and scuffing their shoes, murmuring and whispering behind their hands.

Finally, letting out a huff of embarrassment and exasperation, she said, “It’s not working.”

She opened her eyes, prepared to see his suspicion and disappointment, but not the dark haired girl leaning over him, her drenched hair dripping ghostly drops that evaporated before they fell on his bent legs.

“What?” Elvis said, his eyes widening as he took in her face. He started to turn, but Cheryl grabbed his hand. “What’s going on?”

“Stay still.” Her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt being almost nose to nose with one of the clearest spirits she had ever seen. If not for the disappearing water and the fact that Elvis seemed oblivious, Cheryl could have assumed that one of the girls from the parking lot outside had sneaked into the room. The girl was clinging to his shoulders, fingers ending in vague dark smudges that seemed to grip, to claw into him.

“Tell me what you can see, goddamnit!” he snapped through clenched teeth, nonetheless frozen in place.

“It’s a girl. I think the same one I saw before, but I’ve never, uh, I…” Cheryl could not take her eyes away, convinced that something would happen as soon as she did. “Do you feel anything? Like a cold spot, or tingling?”

“I-I… I don’t know, maybe, but then we’ve been sitting here for a while, so-”

“Don’t move!”

“I can’t help it!” As he jerked his shoulder, the girl turned toward him and Cheryl could almost feel the hunger in her charcoal smudged gaze, the slow, unfurling smile radiating with possessiveness and desperation. “Aren’t you gonna ask her? Ask what happened to her?” He kept glancing to his side as if he’d be able to see something if he looked at the right time.

“Right, okay.” Cheryl looked at the girl, the spirit, and focused as hard as she could, trying to find the right wavelength, the right channel. When she asked for her name, the girl did not respond. She asked what she was doing here, nothing. There was only one person in the room with a connection to her and it wasn’t Cheryl.

“Ask her if that sonovabitch downstairs put his greasy hands on her,” Elvis growled between clenched teeth, tapping the top of Cheryl’s hand with his fingertips like he was communicating through Morse code.

The candles guttered violently as if the door had blown open just as the radio blared out, static almost like pins piercing their ear drums. The flames spilt onto the carpet, the cheap nylon melting faster than ice cream on a summer’s day.

Cursing, Elvis scrambled to his feet, yanking her up behind him and stamped on the burgeoning fire. Cheryl scanned the room for the girl.

A few minutes later, she was shivering on the upper walkway of the motel while Elvis pummeled a door, yelling for the occupant to open up. The rain was slicing down, penetrating their clothes and matting their hair, while the smell of melted carpet clung around them like a haze.

Joe went through a litany of expressions as he opened the door and Elvis barged his way inside, groggy bewilderment, confusion, annoyance, and then resignation.

“There’s been a fire,” Elvis announced in a very airy, casual way as if he hadn’t just hightailed it out the motel room, dragging Cheryl along like a toy on a string. “I took care of it, but someone’s gotta deal with the room.

“A fire?!” Joe’s eyes scanned them both to ascertain that they were okay. “How- I mean-” He ran a hand through his receding hairline and sighed. “I’ll get on it. Whose room?”

“My room,” Cheryl told him, since Elvis had marched into Joe’s bathroom and was currently wiping himself off with one of Joe’s towels. “It was the candles. It must have been the candles.”

Joe went to the phone and started mobilizing the forces as Elvis came out of the bathroom, grimacing as he wiped at his neck with the towel.

“This goddamn rain,” he muttered, before his eyes settled on Cheryl and a strange, little smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t all bad though.”

She glanced down and saw how the sopping crinoline had molded itself to her body, particularly her breasts. She promptly folded her arms over her chest.

“Aw, I’m only playing, honey.” He stepped closer, his hips bumping into her. He wrapped his towel around her face like it was a head scarf and laughed softly. “And anyway, you should be sweet to me. I just saved you.”

“Oh, you did?” Cheryl half-laughed.

“Yeah, I sure did.” He twisted his arm and showed her the shiny red patch on his forearm with a huff of a laugh. “Paid the price for it too, boy.”

“You got burned?!” she cried.

Reclined on one of the single beds, Joe’s head turned like a whip, the receiver falling from the crook of his neck.

“Naw, just a little,” Elvis laughed, peering at it. “It don’t hurt that much.”

“Want me to call the doctor?” asked Joe.

“No, man, it’s nothing, just get my things brought in here and pay that little snake for the damage to his room.”

If Joe was confused about why he was being asked to bring Elvis’ things into his room when it was Cheryl’s room that had been burnt, he didn’t show it.

By the time that she had persuaded Elvis to let her run some cold water over his arm, the cases were already inside the door, though Joe was nowhere to be seen.

“And to think I thought this whole damn movie was gonna be a bust,” he remarked as they huddled over the small basin in the bathroom where she was holding his arm under the faucet. “I mean, it probably will, but it ain’t every day that… Whatever that was… happens to a fella. No sir, that is God's honest proof right there. And even you were scared, I saw your face, you were like a- a scared little lamb. Oh, you were, honey, you don’t have no poker face. And I was just thinking to myself, ‘Well, if she’s scared, we’re about done for, for sure.’”

Finally, he dropped onto the other, untouched single bed in the bedroom and sprawled out on his elbows, giving her a little beckon with his fingers.

“C’mon, honey, we gotta get you out of the wet clothes,” he smirked. “Don’t want you getting pneumonia.”

“You’re a true American hero,” Cheryl remarked, still moving towards him.

“Don’t I know it,” he breathed, pushing himself up to sit by the side of the bed and tugging her forward by the skirt so that he could start unfastening the buttons.

“We still don’t know who she is.”

“That can’t be no big thing to find out. It had to have been in the newspapers or something. I’ll get one of the boys on it tomorrow.”

The way that he was undressing her was almost tender, as if his primary concern genuinely was about her catching cold in damp clothes. After he had drawn her dress down over her shoulders, he rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms as she stood trembling in her slip.

“I tell ya what’s bugging me though… That lowlife, no-count sonovabitch downstairs that did it. Someone should go down there and put a bullet between his fucking eyes.”

“Well, we don’t really know if he had anything to do with it,” Cheryl said quickly, worrying that this was another thing he could arrange with just a quick phone call. “We don’t really know anything more than we did before.” He shook his head resolutely, his cheekbones brimming as his eyes twinkled.

“Honey, we know everything!” he insisted. “Everything that’s worth knowing anyway. We got proof! Proof that there’s something else, after this, and there ain’t nobody that’s really gone!” His leg was bouncing as he beamed at her, as though she had reconstituted space, time and dimensions just to please him.

In one smooth motion, he swung her onto the bed and she dropped onto the squeaky mattress with a muffled squawk. Her legs tangled across his lap as he leant over her, greedily clasping her jaw with his fingers as he kissed her. His kiss felt like a gift, a reward, an offering of thanks as though she had done something to earn it. If she had been a better person, more moral perhaps or stronger willed, she would have pushed him away, or at least felt bad for accepting his gratitude for something she had no control over, but she wasn’t. Cheryl had never been a good person.

As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his shirt still damp under her skin, she could feel his weight sinking onto her, his upper body flexing and twisting as his hand started at her knee and slid up her thigh, pausing at the hem of her slip. His kisses stopped.

Opening her eyes, she stared up into his face wreathed in shadow, but his eyebrows clearly raised in a question. It was endearing that he sought her permission. She put her hand over his and pulled it up teasingly, the lace hem sliding with their tangled fingers.

“It does belong to you after all,” she whispered breathlessly. He surged forward and his weight crushed her into the mattress for a few seconds before he rolled over and pulled her with him.

“You know, I was thinking, uh, Cheryl, honey.” He softly pressed his lips to the space between her brows and then the lip of her nose. “We’re both gonna be up Seattle way, uh, working. I’d like to see you again after we get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Sure, I’ll give you the number of my hotel..” She giggled. “Later.” She moved closer to kiss him and he met her halfway with enough enthusiasm that it felt a little like she was the movie star and he was the nobody. His thumbs massaged her hips as he exerted pressure, smoothing and cupping her ass, and pulling her into and against him.

Cheryl’s body hummed with a low thrum of energy that usually only coursed through her as she was preparing to step out on stage. Her heart pitter pattered in her chest when she rubbed it against his.

Suddenly, he pulled back, almost laughing.She found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why.

“I guess we should be wondering if we’re being watched, right?” he whispered. “We might have ourselves some dirty little ghosts.” His eyes glittered with mirth and she wondered if he was making fun of her. “I don’t care, let ‘em enjoy the show.” She was still processing that as his luscious lips stole the breath from her.

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