#big daddy elvis fic

[mahg-stuff]

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍

Prompt: "Only God knows why"

Summary: Big Daddy just wants to try exploring new erotic themes with his sweet dolly but it involves a firearm, though she is wary she puts her faith in Elvis and God.

Pairing: bd!elvis x afab!reader

Word count: 13k

Warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, excessive smut, 18+!, gun play, sorta naive reader, manipulative tactics!?, mentions of religion, age gap (isn’t directly stated), certain themes can be disturbing/dark, lots of manhandling, quick mention of Elvis’ health, implied butt stuff f!receiving (only briefly brought to the attention), first time giving oral m!receiving, use of the word daddy, pet names, Elvis at one point calls himself papa bear, might’ve missed a few...

AN: ITS HERE MY LOVELY'S! I know i made y’all wait so so long for this & I just wanna say sorry. Life just decided to get in the way again and took a toll on me but I'm finally back & ready to give you guys this story you so deserve!

Like I mentioned in my previous post this is my literal first attempt of writing something like this and about Elvis, as well as writing about religion. Hope you all enjoy it! I’m no expert so please go easy on me. hehehe (Though I will admit I had this story idea marinating for a quite awhile, let's just say Big Daddy is a handful.)

 

 After wrapping up your usual prayer of gratitude to God for another day of life, something you had started doing since getting with Elvis. You noticed the time on the clock and realized that night was drawing near. Feeling a sense of peace and delight, you closed your eyes, ready to embrace the night and all the possibilities it may bring. You felt grateful for the moment and decided to cherish it. As you opened your eyes, you promised yourself to make the most of the night and enjoy every minute of it. 

 Getting up from your vanity's desk, striding to the bathroom with some pep in each step, and starting to wind down for the night by getting ready for a relaxing bath. You entered the bath and soaked in the warm water, letting your mind drift as you reflected on the events of the day. You remembered what Elvis mentioned earlier today, that he'd be getting his hands on a new toy for the two of you. You weren't sure what this toy could be at all, but you were excited to find out. You trusted him to surprise you with something delightful, even if it meant not fully understanding it at first. However, as you soaked in the warm water, trying to relax, you just couldn't help but wonder if this new toy would be something intimate and sensual, considering Elvis' comment about it being an "adult" toy. Regardless of your slight inexperience in this area, you felt safe knowing that Elvis would be there with you. 

 Finally feeling freshened up, you hop out of the bath, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel before heading to the closet. Looking through it, you spotted your new pink babydoll nightie. You couldn't help but beam at yourself, your thoughts going straight to him. Taking it off the hook, you slipped it right on after putting on some simple underwear. You skipped  towards the mirror, admiring how the pink satin fabric draped over your curves and how the lace details accentuated your feminine features. You couldn't wait for him to see you in it, knowing he'd be pleased. He always told you how pretty you were in pink and how it brought out the rosy glow in your cheeks. You turned your back to the mirror, looking back at yourself over your shoulder with a playful grin, then blowing a kiss to yourself, feeling like a ditz just at the mere thought of his approval. Catching the time on the clock through the mirror, you gasped, realizing Elvis would probably be on his way right now. You rushed back to the bathroom and applied some light makeup and a little bit of eyeliner, just the way Elvis liked it. Before letting your hair down and brushing it out, your natural loose curls flowing against the midsection of your back. Finishing up and giving yourself one last glance in the bathroom mirror, your hand naturally reaches to touch the cross on your necklace, a comforting habit you've developed over the past months of being with him.

You take a deep breath, and as you are about to walk out of the bathroom, you can hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing. You feel a flutter of excitement in your chest as you know it's him. You were probably so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear his arrival. Composing yourself, you slowly walk out into the bedroom, and there he is, standing with his side to you. 

 He turns to you, revealing a better view of his tall and broad frame, slightly pudgy but taut at the same time. As you approach him, you observe just how tall he is, towering over you. His big shoulders stretch out the fabric of his shirt, and his pudgy belly that protrudes just barely over his belt. You can't help but feel small in his presence. Shyly meeting his gaze, you notice a twinkle in his eyes through his glasses, and you can't help but wonder why he held both of his hands behind him. His deep, honey-colored voice echoed off the walls.

 You felt a sense of security wash over you as you listened to him speak. "There's ma sweet baby 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍." 

 You practically pounced on him, embracing him in your arms, they hardly reached to hold him all. You nuzzled your face against his hairy chest that was revealed by his open button up, breathing in his distinctive aroma of musk with hints of cigar and his cologne, feeling safe in his embrace. As he held you tightly, you felt like a kitten being cradled in his large and heavy arms. As you pulled away, you gazed into his eyes but everted them due to his intense stare.

 "I missed you." you mumbled as you coyly ran your little digits through his chest hair. 

He then held your lower back tightly with one of his broad hands and kissed your forehead. 

"I missed ya too, ma sweet angel," he replied in his thick, southern drawl. 

As he spoke, you could feel the vibrations of his bass voice reverberating through your body, making you shiver. You knew that no matter what happened, his embrace would always be your safe haven. He looked at you with such intensity that it was practically begging you to look away. You could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he were trying to communicate something without saying a word. It was both exhilarating and unnerving, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Eventually, you broke the silence. 

"What ya thinking about, bub?" you voiced as you poked at him in a girlish manner.

He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, breaking his intense gaze. You felt relieved but also a little disappointed that you didn't get to uncover the mystery behind those blue eyes. You spotted him looking at you up and down behind his spectacles, and you were overcome with a rush of shyness. You were conscious of how little clothing you were wearing in comparison to him—you were just wearing a pair of underwear underneath your babydoll and were barefoot—as opposed to how fully dressed he was. He kept staring at you, and you could feel your heart pounding and your cheeks flushing. While you were already his, it took some getting used to the impact he had on you. Sometimes he left you almost woozy with the way he handled you. You made an effort to keep his stare in your direction, but soon you had to turn away since the intensity of his gaze became too much to bear. He made a muttering noise and stretched out to firmly grasp your chin to make you look up at him. The coolness of his rings and roughness of his large hand on your warm skin was a dangerous sensation you enjoyed but knew you'd never admit it to him. As he held your gaze, you couldn't help but feel excitement. You wondered what he was thinking as his thumb lightly brushed against your lips, making you shiver with anticipation.

 "Yur jus tha prettiest lil’ thing, ya know that sweetness?" in a low tone. 

You nodded to him with your doe-eyes, trying your hardest not to break eye contact. While holding his gaze on yours, gauging for your reaction, he let go of your face and slowly lifted your nightie to reveal your undies he stroked his fingers over the waistline, letting his icy rings brush across your belly, giving you goosebumps. His face lit up when he saw your choice of underwear, a simple pair of white cotton undies. You couldn't help but be embarrassed by his attention, but you also wondered what else he was thinking as he looked at you. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but you couldn't deny the little thrill you felt of being so intimately inspected. You felt exposed but also desired, and knowing that he was the only one who could make you feel that way made him even more irresistible.

 Letting your nightie drape over you once again, he held out one of his hands. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his big palm against yours. He leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck and trailing kisses down to your collarbone that left tingling sensations behind. You closed your eyes, trying your best to hold back any noise that urged to escape. 

"C’mon, tiny, give yer ol' man ah lil’ spin," he encouraged whispering into your ear as he leaned back. 

 You agreed compliantly and did a twirl for him, your nightie flowing up a  bit and revealing your clad butt to him, which he whistled at with praise. As you spun around, you couldn't help but feel a rush of giddiness. 

He liked seeing you this way, it was like you were his own little doll. 

 You liked the sense of being entirely in his hands and enjoyed playing, exploring, and being pleased with him. As he continued to admire you, you felt your body responding to his touch, with that fuzzy feeling in your belly and your panties growing slightly damp. You were immediately distracted when you noticed that he still held something behind his back. You wanted him so desperately. The same ache could be seen in his eyes, but you quickly fought the tension that was beginning to grow between your gazes, leaving only want in its wake.  

 "So, w-what exactly is this new toy you were getting t-today..?" You stuttered out as you wriggled towards the arm behind his back in a kittenish manner, but he was faster than you and withdrew away before you could get a good look. 

"Now, darlin’, you go ahead and sit yer lovely self on that bed there and keep those pretty eyes closed f’me, hmm.." was the command he gave in that thick drawl you adored. 

With a sneer look on his face, he gestured to the side of the bed, and you realized there was no use in disagreeing with him. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, wondering what he had in store for you.

 "Alright, babydoll, now hold out them gorgeous things," he said once you were comfortable on the bed with your eyes shut. 

His voice made you shudder, and you extended out your small hands, palms up, as he asked. You could feel something heavy, metallic, and cold being put inside of them, and you couldn't help but want to have a look. You opened your eyes and gasped when you saw a black pistol gleaming in your hands. You were aware that Elvis owned a variety of guns, but since they were lethal weapons, he never brought them near you. You gave him a confused look as you glanced up at him with wide eyes. 

 "Goddamnit, honey, did I tell ya ta open your eyes?'' He voiced it sternly. 

 You quickly shut your eyes again, unable to utter a word. 

 As you sat there in your and Elvis' shared bed with a gun in your hand, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You had never held a firearm before, let alone a lethal one. Your heart was racing, and you could feel the weight of the gun pulling down on your dainty arms. You knew you had to trust Elvis, even though you were unsure of his intentions. You tried to calm your thoughts, but the fear of the unknown was getting overwhelming.

 Suddenly, Elvis broke the silence, seeing the way your hands were starting to slightly shake, and said, "Darlin', now go ahead an open 'em pretty doll eyes f'me." 

You slowly opened your eyes, still feeling the rush of adrenaline, and looked up at Elvis. He saw the rushing thoughts in your eyes, making him feel a twinge of guilt but also amusement. He took a few steps back, and it looked like he was admiring the view. 

"Would'ya look ah that, mah two stunnin' girls look great together." He gasped as he stared in awe. 

The way he referred to you and the gun as his girls sent a shiver down your spine, a strange mix of fear and excitement. You never expected to find yourself in this situation, holding a gun in your trembling hands. But deep down, your assurance in God gave you a glimmer of hope that everything would turn out okay. As Elvis looked at you and the gun, you couldn't help but feel a rush of confused emotions. Elvis was looking at your expression, and he couldn't help but be entertained by your confused state, but then he saw as your expression went from confusion to overwhelm. Your rookie self was sitting there with that cold weapon in your trembling hands, looking at Elvis with knitted eyebrows and a pout. He sensed your emotions were becoming too much for you and quickly moved to ease your distress. With a gentle smile, he reached out and gently took the gun from your trembling hands, placing it safely out of reach on the bed.

 "I ain't mean ta startle ya, tiny. I ain't gon hurt cha." He said it softly, soothing your nerves slightly. 

You nodded hesitantly, still unsure of what was happening.

 "Good," he ushered as he stroked down on your hair, putting a strand behind your ear. 

You took a deep breath and tried to process what was happening. So this was the 'new toy' he went to get today—a gun. Elvis was known for his extravagant gifts and gestures, but this was different. He had presented you with a gun, and although he said it was out of reach now, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You continued to observe him, searching for answers, but he simply leaned in closer. 

"I trust ya, baby," he said, his voice low and smooth. 

"And I need ya to trust me too." You couldn't deny the allure of his charm, but the fear in your gut was still present. You had no idea what he was implying here. 

"El-" you tried to speak before Elvis interrupted you. 

"Now before you say anythin' darlin', lemme explain. Last night, ..." he paused, "it's just I had a thought, and, w-well, maybe I was wonderin' if you'd like ta bring that beaut into the bedroom, hmm? What d'ya say?" 

 You were taken aback by Elvis’ request and unsure of how to respond. Your gut was telling you to be wary, but you also didn't want to offend or disappoint him. Elvis was now taking off his slightly tinted glasses and placing them on the bedside table. Your eyes connected once again with his sense of urgency.

 "I understand if ya ain’t comfortable with it," he said softly, his words rolling off his tongue like sweet velvet, "but I jus thought it'd be fun ta try s-somethin' different, somethin' new, together." 

You weren't sure why, perhaps it was the brief tingling sensation that still lingered after your body responded to his touch from the events that occurred not so long ago, but there was something about his request that gave you a rouse deep down. Pushing that feeling away almost quickly and coming back to your senses and reality, you wondered how a gun would do any good in a setting of intimacy, which led your thoughts to race once again. Handguns are made for killing, they are no better for anything else, as you thought. 

 Building up the courage to speak, you expressed, "E-Elvis, I don't really understand, why, why you'd want to involve an item like that i-in our intimate space." 

Elvis looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out sternly, "Only God knows why, hon', everythin' appears for ah reason, an that is why this idea was sent to me." 

You paused for a moment before timidly looking up at the cross that hung on the wall of the bedroom.

 "Sweetheart, look, you may not comprehend it right now. That may not appear ta be fair. But God knows what he's doin'." Elvis interrupted your thoughts. 

He took your smaller hands in his big ones and gently squeezed them, speaking, "Trust in the Lord with all yur heart, and do not lean on your own understandin', in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight ya paths."

He had just uttered the following words from Proverbs 3:5-6 as he stared into your eyes. It was clear that Elvis was trying to soothe you and help you find peace in your current situation. Giving the cross another glance brought you back to what you had promised yourself at the beginning of the night after prayer, 'to make the most of the night and enjoy every minute of it'. You pondered for a while and thought that certainly this was truly God's notion, and he was leading you to embrace this unexpected and confusing situation as an opportunity for growth and a test of your faith. He was telling you to fulfill that promise right now. 

 As you looked back at Elvis, you felt a sense of calmness and knew that with him by your side and your faith in God, you could handle whatever came your way. Elvis gave you an encouraging look after observing your train of thought. You took a deep breath and decided to let go of any doubts or worries and instead fulfill Elvis' request by taking a leap of faith. While you knew Elvis wouldn't harm you, you were still a little wary about what role that particular object might play in the night's events. Eyeing the firearm where it now lay on the bed. You felt Elvis' large hand come into contact and rest on your bare shoulder, and your head shot back to his face as he gave you a reassuring smile.

 "Don worry, doll," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and affection.

 "I promise it'll all jus’ be like ah playful lil' game." 

With a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness, you sluggishly nodded to him, “Okay-y then.”

He then went to remove his heavy blazer, slipping it off and tossing it somewhere on the bed. You flitched a little at the sudden movement but couldn't tear your eyes away from his piercing gaze. The uncertainty in your eyes was replaced by a flicker of fever as he approached, his confident steps inching closer to you.  As he stood in front of you, he bent down to meet your gaze as you sat still on the bed. His broad shoulders and tall stature seemed to loom over you, emphasizing how bitty you were in comparison. With a coy smile appearing on your lips, you began to play with a lock of your hair, feeling oh so fragile in his presence. He clutched the back of your head and pulled you in close for a passionate kiss. In your overwhelmed state, your hands fumbled clumsily, unsure of where to go. He pulled back, staring into your eyes, and with a rough motion, reached for your arm, pulling you to stand up from the bed. 

You couldn't help but yelp a tiny, "ouch." 

His grip still firmly on your arm, he went and sat himself down on the bed. He pulled you into him right away and made you lay on your tummy beside him, he handled you like a ragdoll and pulled you over so your lower body was draped across his lap. Your uncertainty and exhilaration were both palpable as you lay there, consumed by a mix of confusion and excitement. His actions left your mind spinning, unsure of how to react or what he expected from you.  You felt his big belt buckle rubbing against your bare thigh, as well as feeling his slightly protruding belly pressing against your upper thigh. In a way, it brought you sensations you didn't understand but liked. You felt his large hand rubbing up and down against your back thigh, going higher and reaching under your nightie to your clad bum as he firmly squeezed it. Feeling your face flush at this, though it wasn't new to you, you still felt shy at his actions. He scrunched the bottom of your nightie, pulling it up and revealing your undies to him. 

"My, my, you are jus ah sight for sore eyes, honey." You blushed even deeper as his words sent a shiver down your spine. 

His touch, combined with his compliment, made you feel excitement. You couldn't help but squirm slightly under his firm grip. As his fingers traced the edges of your underwear, teasingly exploring the delicate fabric. Suddenly, you felt the coldness of something gliding up your calf. You glanced over your shoulder to see him holding the gun. Your heart raced as a million thoughts ran through your mind. Was he really about to use the gun in such a way? You gulped nervously, unsure of what to expect next. His eyes locked with yours, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he brought the gun more upward across your leg, grazing the tip softly over your delicate skin. You slightly moved to lift your upper body, feeling overwhelmed by this new situation.

 Softly you stammered, "Wait... E-Elvis...". His eyes softened as he looked at your frazzled state. 

“I want no harm done ta ma baby doll, hmm, it's only ah little fun," he rasped out. 

"Y'know I'll always take care of ya.” he caresses you with one hand while the pistol rests in the other along your thigh. 

 You start to feel more at ease as he reassures you, and gives you an encouraging look. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts. As you glance down at the pistol resting on your thigh, you look back at him and give him a timid but sweet grin. While keeping an eye on the pistol, your gaze shifts to the cross on the wall in front of you, providing a comforting sense that everything will be alright. He steadily starts to bring the gun more upward, grazing it on your back thighs and in-between them, slowly inching higher until it reaches over your clothed backside. 

 Despite the unsettling nature of the situation, your mind becomes foggy and your senses dulled. That fuzzy sensation rises as he traces the contours of your back thighs and rear end with the cool touch of the gun, heightening a mixture of nerves and anticipation. He brought his other hand to your hair, grabbing it, making you turn to look at him, and the way he ran the gun across your body left a trail of goosebumps along your precious skin.  

 In that moment, time seems to stand still as you stare into his eyes, a mix of fear and curiosity swirling within you. You watch as he inches the gun towards your undies, dragging it slowly along the fabric, teasingly close to the sensitive skin underneath. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest, as you wonder what he has planned next. Every nerve ending in your body is on edge, ready to experience the unknown.

 As the gun hovers just above the edge of your undies, you can't help but let out a shaky breath, a silent plea for reassurances. He eyes you as he starts sliding the pistol in between you and the fabric, his gaze filled with both mischief and desire. The cool metal of the gun grazes against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His other hand lets go of your hair and brings it to caress the cheek of your face, lightly squeezing it. With one hand gripping the gun and the other now firmly holding your face, he leans back slightly, to admire you. The contrast between his strong, supple thighs and your petite frame as you lay across his lap sends a jolt of anticipation through his body. As you rest against him, you can't help but feel both breathless and eager for what lies ahead. He chuckles softly, enjoying your muzzy state and the way your lips are slightly parted. 

"Mah sweet yittle baby is doin' so good f'me." You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. 

His deep, even-keeled voice sends shivers down your spine as you obediently keep still, not daring to make a sound. The weight of his hand on your face is both comforting and controlling—a reminder of how much you love pleasing him and giving your all to him. As he continues to stroke your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm, you can't help but surrender further to his control. The intensity of his gaze holds you captive, his eyes piercing into your soul, leaving you feeling displayed and vulnerable. Every word he speaks feels like a command, and you are eager to comply, to show him just how much faith you have in him. He lets go of your face and directs his attention back to your clad bottom, the gun still grazing under the fabric on your buttocks as he inched closer to your dulcet parts. 

 But then he stops and reaches with his other hand, coming into contact with the waistband, and swiftly pulls them down to your mid thighs, revealing your bare ass, and slowly but firmly starts grazing the gun over it. Every nerve ending in your body is on high alert, acutely aware of your every movement. 

 Each stroke is calculated, leaving a trail of electrifying sensations in its wake. As the gun traces its path along your rear, you can't help but feel a strange mix of pleasure and danger—an intoxicating concoction that leaves you craving for more. You feel a tad bit jittery but stiffen as you feel him bring the pistol along your tailbone and drag lower along the middle of your buttocks, going lower until he reaches that sensitive area between your thighs. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of your quickened breaths. 

 He notices your state and coos again, questioning softly this time, "Tiny's doin' such ah good job fer me, ain't she?" 

Your cheeks flush deeper with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement as you nervously nod to him over your shoulder, yearning for his approval. 

As he continues to explore the sensitive area between your thighs, you can't help but feel a ripple of pleasure and shock shoot through your body when he presses the cold metal against your heat.

 "Oh—mmph," you gasp lowly, your words muffled by the intensity of the moment. 

The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced before—a tantalizing mix of pleasure and the forbidden. As he continues to tease you with the cold metal, your mind becomes consumed with a dizzying array of thoughts. You find yourself surrendering to the intoxicating pull, losing yourself in the overwhelming sensations that ripple through your body. 

Elvis sees this and smirks, his grip on the gun tightens, rubbing it against your sensitive core, as he slowly speaks, "You enjoyin' that doll? See, I knows what's best for ya." 

You're too overwhelmed to respond, the mixture of fear and arousal fueling a confusing rollercoaster of emotions within you. He takes a peek and sees how your flesh is pressed against the pistol, he lets out a low chuckle, seeing the slickness of your arousal starting to glisten along the gun. 

"Oh, y’dirty lil' girl." he murmurs out in his smooth voice. 

The physical sensations and his words, combined with the undeniable evidence of his growing desire against your thigh, heighten your anticipation, leaving you flushed. Your face probably looks like a tomato by now, but all you can do is bite down on your lip from the new sensations you're feeling. Elvis decides to push the boundaries as he brings the pistol back up along the middle of your ass, leaving your throbbing core, but this time he goes in-between your cheeks, catching a view of your small hole. You shift in his lap as you feel the cool air hit it, and your breath hitches in response. The charged atmosphere is heavy as Elvis slowly traces the outline of your anus with the muzzle of the pistol, teasingly applying gentle pressure. Your mind races with panic at the unfamiliar commotion, and you try to slowly crawl further toward the bed and away from his lap. He had never been so close to that area, and the intrusion by gun both jarred and frightened you, you felt it was getting too much for your little self. 

 "Wha-, no-o, not there!" you shrieked out in a high pitched voice, hoping he would attend to your plea. Elvis smirked, his hold on you loosening. 

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered huskily, his voice appearing playful.

 "Is this too much fer mah yittle baby," he said, as he withdrew the gun from your prohibited area. 

You relaxed, still feeling the tingling in your belly but also having scattered emotions. He went and placed his heavy hand on the small of your back and leaned down to kiss your bottom before giving it a light slap.

 "Y’were so darn good, f'me doll." He cooed out as he gripped your arm roughly, lifting you up from your lying position along his lap. 

You stumbled slightly as he pulled you up, your body still feeling weak from the intensity of the moment. As he guided you to your feet, his grip on your arm tightening, you couldn't help but feel a mix of conflicting emotions, excitement, and danger. You balanced yourself, feeling your nightie drape back down, but then heard the slight noise of your undies hitting the carpet under you near your feet, causing a sudden rush of embarrassment to flood over you. You glanced down, and so did he, both of you eyeing the wet stain you had left on them from the actions that had just taken place. Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you quickly looked away, playing with your fingers. 

 He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of your damp undies. Elvis stood up from the bed and towered in front of you, his presence commanding the room. You could feel the intensity of his gaze as he leaned closer, bringing his larger hand to gently pet your head. He then gripped your head towards him, his voice low and filled with a mix of desire and control. 

 "Did ya enjoy that, Tiny?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. Your heart raced as you met his intense gaze, unable to speak. 

You nodded silently, feeling a wave of anticipation and curiosity wash over you. 

His smirk broadened as he noticed your reaction—a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Slowly, he released his grip on your head and leaned in, kissing your forehead softly. Then he took your lips in a slow, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. As his enormous hands wandered down your body, the intensity of the moment grew, causing your body to respond eagerly. Your brain goes fuzzy once more, as your nipples harden under your silk pink nightie. As his hands trailed down your smaller frame, his touch felt intense and electrifying. His lips left yours and began to trail a path of kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and to the hollow of your throat. 

Your breath quickened, mingling with his as he pressed his body closer to yours, the feeling of his pudgy belly and big buckle adding a comforting weight against you. His desire was evident in the way his large hands gripped your teeny waist. His bulge grazed against your upper abdomen, and a surge of anticipation coursed through your veins, heightening the electricity between you. You felt yourself growing hotter, the slick between your thighs was starting to ooze out even more, causing your legs to clamp together involuntarily.  Elvis caught this, and his lips curled into a mischievous smile. He leaned in closer, and brought his hand to squeeze your breast over the silk fabric. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you gasp softly. His fingertips danced over the hardened bud, teasing and caressing, as his other hand trailed down your back, giving your ass a light but firm squeeze. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, as the heat between you became almost unbearable. You could feel his desire pulsating against you, almost matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat. He then dragged his hand down your body until it met the hem of your nightie, his touch tracing the delicate fabric.  

The impatience built within you, as you yearned for him to explore further. His massive hand continued its journey, inching lower and lower, until it reached under and to the center of your innermost desires. With a tender yet possessive grip, he cupped your exposed, sopping core, sending a buzz of electricity through your entire being. He starts softly caressing your sensitivity, carefully switching between light strokes and firmer pressure. 

 "God, darlin', yur drippin' like honey down there," he whispered huskily in your ear. 

The weight of his hand, combined with the coolness of his rings, made it impossible to control the rising tide of pleasure that threatened to consume you. As he continued his intimate touch, you could feel the heat building within you, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through your whole body, making your toes curl and your back arch. Elvis eyed your expression, your scrunched eyebrows, shut eyes, the slight agape of your small mouth, revealing just how lost in the moment you were. He smiled mischievously and pulled his hand away from your heat, leaving you feeling a sudden void that sent a shiver down your spine. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze filled with amusement. The air around you crackled with anticipation as he leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing your earlobe. 

"How ‘bout we take this lil' nightie off ya, doll?" Your cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nervousness as his words sent a rush of tingles down your body. 

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to take control, trusting him entirely. 

He gestured for you to lift your arms up, and he carefully slipped the delicate fabric over your head, revealing the curves and daintiness of your body beneath. His gaze seemed to appreciate every detail, from the suppleness of your breasts to the gentle curve of your hips. As the nightie hit the ground, you stood facing him, captivating him with your shy yet alluring presence. He brought his hands to your boobs, kneading them, causing a surge of pleasure to ripple through your body. 

He admired them in his large hands, "You jus got tha prettiest, perkiest pair ah titties I've ever laid eyes on," he whispered in his drawl. 

You blushed deeply, even though he'd always say the same thing every time he saw them. 

 He leaned down into your breasts and placed gentle kisses along the curve of each one, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled further down, exploring the softness of your stomach and the curves of your waist. You arched your back, allowing him to trail his kisses down your abdomen, leaving a trail of heat on your soft skin. He started lowering himself until he almost got to your heat. 

He looked back up at you as he spoke out, "M'gon take ah look at cha doll parts, ok? darlin'." His voice was filled with a mix of lust and tenderness.

 With a mumbled "A-Alright", you watched as he positioned himself lower between your thighs, his eyes locked with yours, before you interrupted.

 "W-Wait, I don't want you t'get h-hurt on your knees." Elvis having health issues, you couldn't help but worry and didn't want him putting strain on his knees due to his age. 

"Don't cha worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. Daddy's takin' good care ah himself." He reassured you with a gentle smile, his hands caressing one of your thighs. 

The concern in your eyes lingered, but his words provided some comfort. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to your throbbing heat, and a mischievous smirk played on his lips. 

"But right now, I think there's sumn else that needs mah attention," he whispered huskily, "M'doll is lookin' so pretty an pink down here." 

You felt a rush of heat spread throughout your body as his words sank in. 

His touch on your thigh sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn't help but feel torn between his desire and your worry for his well-being. However, as his hand moved closer to your throbbing heat, you found yourself giving into his touch, unable to resist the temptation that lay before you. He grazed his fingers against your hot flesh, feeling you shudder under his touch. 

As he leaned his face closer to your heat, he mumbled, "So perfect, jus f'me." 

He stuck his tongue out, giving your cunt a slow, tantalizing lick that made your body arch in pleasure. The intensity of the moment washed away any remaining doubts as you surrendered yourself completely to the passion and desire coursing through your veins. A symphony of soft moans filled the air as he continued to explore every inch of your moistness with his skilled tongue. He reached over and forcibly pulled one of your legs over his shoulder while the other remained balancing your posture and allowing him better access to your throbbing core. His hands firmly gripped your hips, holding you in place as his tongue delved deeper, swirling and flicking with expert precision. He pressed his face closer into your heat, feeling his nose graze your bud, sending electrifying tingles of pleasure throughout your body. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, causing your toes to curl up and your breath to hitch in your throat. Every sensation seemed to be intensified, with every touch and movement driving you closer to the edge of bliss. Your itty-bitty fingers found their way into his hair, pulling gently as you gave in to the overwhelming pleasure he was providing. 

 As he continued to devour you with his mouth, his hands roamed your trembling thighs, gripping them firmly as he held you in place. With each flick of his tongue and every gentle nip, the tension within you built, threatening to push you over the edge. You could feel your body arching towards him, desperate for release. The world around you faded into a hazy blur, leaving only its raw intensity.

 "Elvis-s...feels s-so good," you managed to gasp, your weak voice barely a whisper. 

The words hung in the air, heavy with desire and need. His movements became more fervent, his lips and tongue working in perfect sync to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. You could feel the slight familiar heat pooling between your thighs, your senses heightened as you yielded completely to the pleasure he was giving you. The sounds of your tiny gasps and the lapping of his tongue filled the room, creating a trance of pleasure that echoed in your ears, only pushing you more over the edge. Your body trembled with need, yearning for release, as the intensity of his mouth consumed you. Every nerve-ending tingled with pleasure, the sensation was electric and intoxicating. 

 With each passing second, the climax grew within you, the waves of pleasure crashing against your core. Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperately clinging to him as you rode the wave of ecstasy. His hands, strong and sure, held you steady, supporting your weight as you surrendered to the dizzying pleasure coursing through your body. Lost in the moment, you gasped for air, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. His mouth continued its assault on your dripping cunt, his tongue expertly flicking and teasing your swollen clit. Every touch sent electric shocks of pleasure through your overstimulated body, making it hard to think or speak. You tried to push his head away, tell him you needed a break, that you were reaching your limits, but he was stubborn as he continued licking up your release and savoring every drop. The intensity of his actions had you teetering between ecstasy and displeasure, your mind going numb. 

 As you struggled to regain control of your senses, you found yourself yanking his hair and grasping at his shoulder, trying to bring him back up to your embrace, but he wouldn't budge. The conflicting sensations of pleasure and sensitivity overwhelmed you, causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. 

 Finding your voice, "Too much-h..t'much, daddy-y." 

You gasped, your voice trembling with a mixture of pleasure and a hint of discomfort. His actions had pushed you to the edge, and you needed him to ease off, even if just for a moment. As you tugged at his thick hair, you could feel his lips curl into a devilish smile against your skin. His grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he continued to ravish you with his mouth. The intensity of his action nearly blurred your vision, and he pulled away to give you a look. You felt relieved but were still in a gasping and quivering mess as he held your hips to calm you and keep you steady. 

"M'sorry doll, seems like papa bear jus can't get ‘nough uh yer sweet honey," he murmured, his voice filled with appetite. You give a timid smile as you try to regain thoughts.

 With a strength you had never seen before, he rose from his knees, towering over you. His eyes glimmered with a mixture of hunger and adoration as he stared down at you, you couldn't help but rest your body against his from slight exhaustion. In that moment, he saw you as his cherished doll, a testament to his faith in him and the divine guidance bestowed upon both of you.  As he stood before you, you noticed a subtle shift in his posture, he adjusted himself, making his bulge more prominent. You couldn't help but feel a surge of desire as his confidence and craving for you became increasingly evident. And as your fingers grazed across his hairy chest, finally breathing steadily again, he couldn't contain his passion any longer. 

He took hold of your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him and gently guiding you towards the bed. Lying your naked, slender body down, grabbing the small cross that hung around your neck, he paused for a moment, his eyes fixated on the symbol. The contrast of the saintly necklace against the sinful scenario heightened the vague nature of it all. With a passion fed by the shared devotion, he kissed the cross, then left kisses against your collarbone and chest, moving lower, leaving a trail of holy desire across your skin. The sight in front of you made you purr with anticipation, every nerve in your body aflame with a mix of excitement and a tinge of fright. And in that intimate moment, the boundaries between sacred and profane melted into an ecstasy that intoxicated both body and soul. As he trailed more kisses towards your belly, he looked at you, eyeing him, he got up from the bed, and you sat up slightly to see as he tugged at his tucked shirt from his waistline and started unbuttoning it. 

  Your heart races with suspense, desire igniting within you as you watch him undress. The sight of his pudgy yet strong physique only intensifies your desire for him, appreciating every special detail. In this moment, he is perfect to you, captivating you with his raw masculinity and genuine desire. As he finally removes his shirt, your eyes drink in every detail, savoring the sight of his wiry chest and abdomen hair. The beads of sweat already glistening on his skin only add to his allure, making him appear even more irresistible. He watches as you're in awe of his beauty, a smug smile appearing on his face. He knows the effect he has on you, and revels in the power it gives him. Slowly, he walks towards you, his steps deliberate and confident. You can feel your heart race, and your breath quickens. 

"Y'wanna try helpin’ me wit these, lil' girl?" His words flowed smoothly from his lips with that mesmerizing southern accent, the drawl adding a touch of charm to his request to help him with his pants. 

You sit up more and inch closer, your legs dangling from the bed as you try to gather the courage to respond. 

"P-Please, I'd like... to," you stammer at him sweetly in that soft voice he adores , your cheeks flushing with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. 

 As you reach out to assist him, your fingertips graze over the firm bulge in his pants, making you momentarily lose focus. You quickly retract your hand, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood through your body. He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your reaction. Your cheeks grow even hotter as you meet his gaze. He stares into your doe-eyes, his smile never faltering. 

"No need ta be afraid, hon’. Y'seen him before," he says, his voice filled with a hint of mischief.

 You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, knowing it would be the first time seeing it so up close. 

With a nervous laugh, you reply, "Yes, b-but... not like this." 

He can't help but chuckle louder, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. 

"Well, darlin', consider it an introduction then," he teases, his touch sending shivers down your spine. 

 Despite your flustered state, you manage to regain composure and slowly begin undoing his big belt buckle, the trembling in your hands being noticeable. As you struggle with the clasp, you can't help but notice the stark difference in the size between his buckle and your hands. His deep chuckle vibrates through you, a sound of amusement. With determined focus, you finally manage to loosen the belt, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. And reach over to his zipper, your voice small and shaky. 

"C-Can I...can I undo this too?" you ask, biting your lip nervously.

His eyes lock with yours, a mixture of adoration and desire shining through. 

"Uh course, my yittle baby can do anythin' she wants," he whispers huskily, his hands caressing your flushed cheeks. 

 You start bringing his zipper down, and as you do this, Elvis' heavy hand goes and gives your supple breast a light squeeze, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The touch is both gentle and possessive, sending a surge of electricity through your body. You can feel the heat between your legs rise as you continue to undo his zipper, revealing his hard on as it springs out, you can't help but let out a tiny gasp as it captures you with his size and girth up close. Despite not wearing any underwear, his arousal is evident on his glossy red tip as a bead of precum glistens at the slit. Your curiosity grows as you bring your shaky hand to give him a teasing stroke from base to tip, feeling the throbbing pulse of his large member in your hand. The combination of his commanding presence and your newfound control ignites a fiery desire within you. 

 Your heart racing, never having done this before, you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

 "Is this-s okay?" you asked in a shy, uncertain voice. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. 

In his deep, southern accent, he reassured you, "Doll, ain't nothin' to be shy bout’. Yer doin' just fine. Keep goin' like that, nice an slow."

 As you held his cock in your hand, you marveled at its size and how it felt, barely fitting against your palm. With every stroke, you tried to mimic the rhythm you'd seen him do before when he'd spew himself on your tummy. The softness of his touch on your cheek reassured you, making you feel more at ease with each passing moment. As deep, low groans started flowing out of his mouth, you felt yourself grow more wet. His grip tightened on your cheek. The sound of his pleasure, mixed with the rush of the moment, sent shivers down your spine. You kept stroking him as you eyed it in front of you, glistening with anticipation. The sight of his throbbing member made your heart race, fueling your desire even further. His breathing became heavy, and the way his hips involuntarily bucked against your touch made it clear how much he was enjoying this moment as well. As you continued to stroke him, you felt his grip tug at your face to move closer to his manhood.

 Panic shot through you as you gazed up at him with wide eyes and knitted eyebrows, unsure of what he wanted next. 

"Awh, darlin’, don be scared," he whispered lovingly, his voice filled with tenderness. 

"Jus wants ya to give him some gentle kisses, show me how much ya adore me," he said, his words both soothing and tempting. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you processed his request. This was so new to you, you'd never felt his with your lips or hands before. Slowly, you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his shaft. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and with a mix of nervousness and desire, you pressed your lips against him, planting soft, delicate kisses along the length of his throbbing member. As you pressed your lips against him, his scent filled your senses, it was a distinct aroma that aroused you even further, making your heart race with want. The way his flesh felt on your lips was like velvet—soft and smooth, yet with a subtle roughness that made it all the more exhilarating. You could feel his pulse throbbing beneath the surface, echoing the desire coursing through your own body. 

 He reached out to hold your face, making you look up at him as he ran a swipe across your lips with his thumb, "How bout' cha give him ah lil’ taste, baby," he whispered in a low, commanding voice. 

 The words sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned with a mixture of nervousness, knowing it'd be your first time taking him in your mouth. With a shaky breath, you obediently parted your lips, allowing him to guide his throbbing shaft towards your waiting mouth. As the tip grazed your tongue, a surge of electricity shot through your body, causing your senses to heighten and your arousal to intensify. You could taste the saltiness of his arousal mingled with a hint of his musky scent, a heady combination that intoxicated you further. 

 As you slowly began to take him in, your mouth stretching and adjusting to accommodate his size, a mixture of pleasure and slight discomfort washed over you. You were a bit clumsy and couldn't help but gag a little at first, trying to relax and focus on your breathing. Your rookie inexperience was evident, but you were willing to please him. Slowly, you went just past his tip trying to find your own pace and rhythm. You felt him buck into you, making you tense up a little and unconsciously attempt to back away a little, he then firmly brought his broad hand to the back of your head. 

"Relax, f'me doll, jus wanna feel more of tha pretty little mouth," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. 

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to panic as you looked up at him with your big eyes. 

 His grip on your head tightened slightly, guiding himself deeper into your mouth. Starting to gag, you struggled to maintain control and suppress the instinct to pull away. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, and the musky scent of his skin filled your nostrils. As his hand continued to grip your head, his pace quickened, and you could feel his desire building. Your mind raced with a mixture of fear and arousal, unsure of how to navigate this new territory. 

 His other hand went to caress your face, giving it a soft slap, "Doin' so good, tiny," he groaned out. 

The sensation of his hand connecting with your cheek sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through your body. You felt the corners of your mouth starting to burn due to the stretch from his size, and you couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to handle, but you liked this, you liked the thrill of exploring uncharted territory with him. It was a delicate dance between pleasure and pain, and you found yourself surrendering to the unknown. As his hand continued to explore your face, you felt him trying to horse himself in deeper, but you weren't letting him as you brought your hands up to rest against his upper thighs.

 He brought his large palm to stroke your throat, breathing out, "C'mon, baby, r-relax tha itty-bitty throat ah yours."  

His voice was low and velvet-like, sending shivers down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, but you did as he said. As you did this, he bucked straight to the back of your throat, almost fitting his whole shaft inside. The sudden intensity took you by surprise, causing a gag reflex to kick in. You fought against it, as you let out a tiny cry that sent vibrations to his cock and only seemed to heighten his pleasure. The tip of your nose is just barely grazing against his pubic hair. The sensation of his soft curls against your skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, fueling the fire that was already burning within you. 

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the scent of his arousal filled the air around you. 

 As he thrust deeper into your mouth, your eyes began to water. The taste of him, slightly salty and intoxicating, lingered on your tongue, further abusing your senses. Your mind became a blur of sensations, the taste of him, the pressure against your throat, and the sound of his ragged breaths. He groaned above you, the sounds of your sweet muffled yelps and his cock hitting the back of your throat seemed to just rile him up more. But just as he was reaching the edge, he suddenly stopped himself. Harshly, he pulled out of your mouth, his length glistening with arousal and your saliva. 

 "Goddamn, honey!" he panted, his voice filled with lust. 

You gasped for air, your lips still tingling from his intense assault. Your eyeliner smudged from the force of his movements, matching the chaotic state of your mind. The taste of his saltiness lingered on your tongue, intertwining with the bitter sensation of adrenaline that coursed through your veins. You went to wipe your lips, feeling the mess of him and your drool covering your soft lips and chin, but he grabbed your hand before you could clean yourself up. His eyes locked with yours, and he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, sealing the taste of him on your lips in a deliciously filthy embrace. He pulled back, seeing your puzzled state, and reached up to clean some of your smudged eyeliner with the pad of his thumb. 

"Lordy, girl, ya sure make this old man feel young again," he chuckled, his voice laced with passion. 

You felt a rush of warmth surge through your body at his words. Not having a chance to answer, he gripped your face closer, giving you a harsher kiss. 

As he pulled back from the kiss, his grip on your face tightened, and he forcefully guided you back down onto the bed. You let out a low gasp at his sudden roughness as you lay there, arousal coursing through your veins. The sound of his pants and buckle hitting the carpet was heard in the room, only making you more aware of the intensity of the moment. You couldn't help but bring your hand and rub your small digits over your cunt, the ache almost paining you. Elvis saw the way you were growing needier and needier, and he let out a low chuckle. As he climbed onto the bed, the mattress shifted underneath you, sending shivers down your spine. You glanced up at him with your doe eyes, feeling both needy and shy at the same time. His gaze intensified, and his lips still formed a smirk, he brought his hand down over yours and pulled it away to catch a look at your throbbing core, glistening with desire. 

"M’god, yur all rosy an swollen," he teased, and he went to cup it in his hefty palm, relishing in the wetness that coated his fingers. 

You felt your body jolt at his touch, showing just how sensitive you were. Your breath hitched as he continued to stroke you, his fingers dancing lightly over your pulsing center. Giving your pussy two light slaps to heighten your arousal, he chuckled lowly, reveling in the way you flinched. He pulled his hand away and positioned himself in front of you as he pulled your legs apart and made them bend so that your knees were raised, exposing your most intimate area more to him. You watched as he reached for something, a dark glimmer in his eyes. As he retrieved the pistol another time tonight, a rush of anticipation and fear coursed through your veins once again. 

"It's alright, doll. Only wanna have more fun wit cha." The mix of arousal and trepidation overwhelming you. 

"O-Oki," you mumbled softly after some time, your voice barely audible as you tried to steady your racing heart. 

 You watched as he moved closer between your legs and raised his arm over to your face, grazing the barrel along your cheek and slowly moving it towards your mouth. You look at him, and he gestures to open your mouth. You're hesitating, but comply. He swiftly inches the cold metal into your hot mouth as it grazes over your tongue, it tastes metallic and foreign. You can feel the weight of it against your tongue, the coolness spreading throughout your mouth. He slowly moves it in and out of your mouth, staring at him, his expression filled with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. As the cold metal continues to dance against your tongue, you feel him withdraw it as a string of your saliva comes along the tip of the metal. You can't help but shudder at the sensation, a mixture of discomfort and a strange, illicit pleasure. He brings the gun down along your neck, brushing against your necklace, then to your chest, tracing a chilling path along your skin. The metal's touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Bringing the gun to your breast, he traces it over your hardened nipple. You let out a shaky breath.

"Daddy-y," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. 

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he replies, "Does it excite cha, doll?" 

Your heart races as you nod, unable to form words. 

Your body hums with anticipation as he continues his tantalizing exploration. The cold metal trails down your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to escape your lips. He stops the gun just above your lower abdomen, his fingers gently tracing circles across your sensitive skin. 

His voice drips with seduction as he murmurs huskily, "You want more, don't ya, tiny?" 

Your breathing quickens, as you notice how close he is to your aching cunt. Gulping, you watch as he hovers it just above the bundle of nerves with a quick motion. You reach to stop him, your mind filled with hesitation. But he was quick to raise his hand with the gun in his grip. 

“Aye now, none of that babydoll, hmm.” he asserts firmly.

You brought your balled up fists to rest on your chest and gave him an understanding pout, letting him graze the gun on your bud. As he does, a mixture of fear and excitement surges through your body. The dangerous thrill intensifies as you feel the cool metal brush against your hot, sensitive flesh. Your soft whimpers escape in short gasps as he rubs the barrel along your outer lips. As the tension builds, his touch becomes more deliberate, tracing the outline of your entrance with the cold barrel. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you feel yourself tense up as you feel him trying to push the gun inside you. 

 "Wait, wait!" you stammered, your voice trembling with nervousness. 

"Is-isn't.. this, too dangerous Elvis?" you stumbled over your words, feeling hazy and disoriented. 

The rush of adrenaline mixed with fear creates a dizzying sensation, clouding your thoughts and making it difficult to articulate your concerns. He looked at you with a stubborn expression, his gaze unwavering. 

"Come on, darlin," he said, his eyes gleaming with desire.

 "'Member why wer doin' this hmm, the Lord struck me with this vision, and I ain't one ta ignore His call." His words echoed in your mind, intertwining with the doubts that swirled within you.

 The weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders, he leaned in towards you. Placing his forehead against yours as his grip on the gun continues toying with your entrance for access. 

"No, no," you stammer, your voice shivering. 

"I don't— f-feels wrong." 

Fear grips your heart as his eyes bore into yours, a flicker of anger crossing his face. His grip tightens around the gun, pushing against your opening.

 "Don't cha understand?" he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and fervor.

 "This is tha path we must walk together, doll, guided by His will." 

Your mind races, the conflicting emotions tearing at your soul. You look into his eyes and see a glimmer of hope—of someone who believes in something greater than themselves. In the midst of the intense moment, mingling with your feelings of desperation, you seek divine guidance. You hold onto the belief that, through this unsettling path, you and Elvis are bound by a higher purpose, walking together under the will of a greater power. As the intensity builds, Elvis places a hand on your cheek, seeing how your racing thoughts are slowly starting to disappear. 

"Attagirl, trust in Him, in Me." he uttered in his soothing drawl. 

As you look into Elvis' eyes, you find solace in his words and the comfort of his touch. In that moment, you give him a nod and surrender to the newfound growing faith, allowing yourself to trust in a higher plan. The pressure against your center intensifies as he continues rubbing it with the gun. Despite the unease, you remain connected through the shared purpose and the touch of his hand on your cheek. You feel as he retracts the gun from your entrance and backs up along your clit trying to give you pleasure in the midst of your discomfort, his movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. The combination of unease and pleasure leaves you bewildered, yet strangely more aroused. Your mind struggles to comprehend the conflicting sensations, but your body responds instinctively, arching towards his touch. He watches as you enter a state of bliss once more, the pistol getting easier to glide along your folds from all your slick. Inching the gun back towards your entrance, he presses it against you with a firm yet gentle pressure. 

"Quit clenchin', honey," he grumbled, his breath tickling your ear. 

You try to relax, and let go of the fear that still lingers in the back of your mind. As he eases the pistol's tip inside you, the cold metal sends shivers down your spine, contrasting with the warmth radiating from your core.

 "Look at cha tiny, yur doin' purfect." he purrs out as he lifts himself from hovering over you to take a look at how your cunt clenches at the muzzle. 

 As he begins to move it in a slow, rhythmic motion, you can't help but be amazed at the conflicting sensations overwhelming your body. The fear that once gripped you tightly begins to fade away, replaced by curiosity. The coldness of it all sends shivers down your spine. Elvis feels a mix of satisfaction, desire, and a hint of surprise as he sees how your body responds to his actions. He puts more of the pistol's barrel in, so you're taking about two inches of the gun. You hear him chuckle as he sees how wet and heated you are, and your face flushes deep with embarrassment. He moves slowly in and out at a delicious pace that has you letting out low gasps and moans of pleasure. As the pleasure intensifies, every movement of the pistol sends waves of ecstasy through your body. The combination of fear and arousal fills the room, creating an electric and forbidden ambience. With each thrust, you tighten around the barrel, your soft gasps and moans blend into a symphony of pleasure, driving him to push slightly deeper into you. The sensation of the cold metal against your walls only heightens the intensity of the moment, as you surrender completely to the dangerous passion enveloping you.

 "Daddy-y..I-." You start to feel that heat pooling in the low part of your belly, spreading through your entire body, reaching your fingertips, and curling your toes.

 Elvis sees that you're on the brink of pure bliss and pulls the pistol out of your throbbing heat, leaving you feeling empty, his eyes filled with hunger. With a mischievous smile, he grazes the pistol against your folds and up to your bud, and you can't help but shudder with anticipation. The cool touch of the metal against your sensitive clit sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. As Elvis continued to tease and taunt, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, barely able to wrap around it and pressed the side of the barrel more firmly against your bud while slowly moving your hips upward. 

Elvis saw this and was amused, smirking, “Look at cha honey, goin' crazy over ah piece of metal.’’

 Lost in bliss, you didn't pay attention to his words, you were so drowsy from the feeling and trying to chase that sensation you craved again. This ticked something in Elvis though, he had gotten jealous over the thought of something else but him giving you such grand pleasure. He yanked the gun from you with a growl, and threw it across the room, you let out a whine while looking at him dumbfounded. 

"N-no, Elvis-s!" You stammer, your voice laced with nerves and frustration. 

"W-Why did you, you do that-t? I was almost-." 

His eyes narrowed, and his voice was filled with annoyance. 

"You was almost wha, huh? Y’were gettin' lost in some dang stupid piece ah metal!" 

You bite your lip, the familiar sensation of nervousness coursing through your veins.

 "but.. but you.." you stutter, confused. 

He shakes his head, his bitterness evident as he moves over so he's resting against the headboard, "I jus... I don like seein' yur little pussy gettin' all soppin' wet if it ain't cause ah me. I ain't gotta be competin’ with no damn gun."  

Your heart races as his words sink in, a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. You bite your lower lip, feeling a sudden rush of excitement coursing through your veins as you sit up and crawl in front of him. 

"But," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. 

"I-I was only feeling so, so good b-because you were there w-with me." you said quietly.

 His eyes darken with a dangerous intensity, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips. His mood instantly switching again.

 "Is that so, doll?" he growls out. 

"I reckon, ya c’mere nd make me feel better then," he gestures you over to his lap with a swift motion. 

Your heart races as you obediently move closer, your body trembling with desire, but nervous hoping he wasn't still angry. As you straddle his lap, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, igniting a fire within you. His strong hands grip your hips firmly, and you can't help but let out a small whimper as you hover above his hard throbbing cock. 

"Why doncha give me ah sweet ride, darlin' '', his blue eyes dark with want. 

You gulp, feeling the weight of his words and the intensity of the moment. With a raised confidence, you slowly lower yourself onto him while holding on to his broad shoulders for support, gasping at the slight stretch. Still not quite used to his size, you feel your legs quiver. His deep groan echoes in your ears as he tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you lower. 

"Lord, honey, this lil' pussy needs sum stretchin'," he blurts out in a low tone. 

You let out a pitiful cry as you took him in fully, your bodies becoming entirely intertwined in a passionate embrace. 

"Oh...oh god," you whine, your voice trembling with pleasure.

 You feel Elvis slowly beginning to thrust upward into your dripping heat, filling you completely with every movement. Each thrust sends waves of intense pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you powerless to resist his advances. As the intensity builds, the rhythm of your bodies matches the beat of your racing hearts. With each deep thrust, you can't help but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure, your senses consumed by the touch of his skin against yours. 

Elvis whispered in your ear, his voice filled with lust and desire, "Y'feel so good, tiny. F-Fuck, can't get enuff of yuh." 

His words sent shivers down your spine, adding to the already intense pleasure you were experiencing. As he continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate, Elvis let out a low moan that echoed through the room. The sound of his moan only fueled your own desire, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your body arched against his, seeking more of his touch, more of his passion. 

 The room was filled with the intoxicating scent of his musky scent mixed with a hint of sweat, a potent aphrodisiac that heightened the atmosphere. Each breath you took seemed to draw you deeper into the moment, as if surrounding yourself with his essence would somehow bring you closer to him. The sounds of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin echoed through the air, creating a trance of pleasure that drowned out all other thoughts.  

 As your bodies moved in perfect rhythm, you couldn't help but run your hands through his chest hair, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips. His groans filled the room, fueling the fire that burned between your legs. The feeling of his large arms wrapped tightly around your small waist provided a sense of security. You felt him ram into you deeper and couldn't help but let out a wail of pleasure as the intensity of the moment overwhelmed you. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, building towards an inevitable climax. His lips found yours, their touch igniting a fire within you that matched the one consuming your every sense. 

You pulled away, “Oh, I, I can-n feel it in m’tummy.” you softly cried out.

 "Is ma yittle d-dolly feelin’ all good in... er t-tummy?" He panted, sending shivers down your spine.  

 "Mhmm," you moaned, barely able to form words as the pleasure intensified. 

As his thrusts continued, the sensation in your stomach intensified—a delicious ache that made you yearn for it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling of desire ready to explode into an overwhelming release. He held you even tighter, his thrusts becoming more passionate. Your vision blurring, you felt his other hand glide over to your bundle of nerves, pushing you to reach your peak of ecstasy. Each movement drew you closer and closer to the edge, until finally, you couldn't hold back any longer. With a breathless cry, you shattered into a million pieces, waves of pleasure washing over you and leaving you completely spent. Collapsing onto his hard yet soft chest, your legs trembled above him as you both basked in the impact of your intense orgasm. You could tell he was still yearning for release, his need was evident as his cock still throbbed and thrust inside you. 

 Catching your breath, you felt him shift underneath you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He flipped you over onto your stomach, positioning you exactly as he desired. You gasped in shock, but your jumbled mind prevented you from fully comprehending the situation. The aftershocks of your orgasm only made you struggle to process what was happening. As he entered you again, every thrust sent waves of pleasure and confusion coursing through your body. His hands firmly gripping your waist, he guided the rhythm, leaving you vulnerable and powerless to resist. Although your mind was clouded, your body arched in response to his commanding touch, willing to surrender once again to his insatiable desires. The weight of him pressed down on you, enveloping you in a delicious mix of pleasure and submission. Every movement seemed to blur the lines between pain and bliss, blurring the boundaries of your own identity. His chest brushed against your bare back, adding an extra layer of sensation to the already electrifying experience. The intensity of his touch sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch and mingle with his own ragged exhales. The occasional sound of a low, guttural growl escaped from deep within him, further fueling the fire that consumed both of you. And then, unexpectedly, another climax crept up on you, taking you by surprise and leaving you gasping for air.

"E-Elvis" you wailed out.

Your voice cracked with desperation, and your body quivered with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

“Mmf, h-hang in there, baby.” He comforted trying to soothe your overstimulated mind and body.

He continued to move against you, his own release imminent, but he didn't falter in his rhythm, driving you to the edge once again. As your mellow moans filled the room, the air crackled with a raw and primal energy, and you could feel the intensity of his desire he was clawing at. The world seemed to blur around you, your senses consumed by the blend of pleasure and drowsiness. Your mind was clouded, lost in a sea of sensations that left you highly sensitive.

 Every touch, every stroke sent electric currents coursing through your body, heightening your pleasure to an almost unbearable level. The intensity became too much to handle, pushing you to the edge of sanity. You felt your body exhausted and your mind going empty, the only thing you could do was clench the sheets beneath you, desperately trying to ground yourself in some semblance of reality. The room around you felt like it was spinning, a dizzying carousel of colors and shadows. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, the air feeling heavy and suffocating against your skin. He lets out a gnawing grunt, pulls himself out, and sits up on his knees. Swiftly stroking himself until he spews his release onto your ass. You feel a sense of relief and soreness as you try to come down from your powerful orgasms and still your breathing. 

 He chuckles weakly, spreading his cum over both of your cheeks with his smooth tip, "T-Tiny, yer lil’ booty sure looks even p-perttier covered with mah babies." he pants out.

If even possible, your face heats up even more at his witty comment, and you gather the strength to look over back at him through half-lidded eyes, the feeling of drowsiness and contentment consuming you.

 "D-did I do good, b-bub?" you murmur, your voice carrying a soft, low tone. He smiles wearily, his hand gently stroking your hair. 

"Y'did more th-than good," he slurs, his voice filled with exhaustion yet affection. 

You are can feel his weariness as he lies back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling heavily as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. The room is filled with a comfortable silence and your breaths as you both bask in the aftermath of the erotic, hazardous experience. Slowly, he reaches out to caress your cheek, his touch tender and loving. 

"You were perfect…perfect f'me, sweet, yittle, doll," he murmurs, sleep already taking him. 

As his hand caressed your hair, you couldn't help but feel a sense of divine connection. The words wrap around you like a warm blanket, and you know that you have pleased him, fulfilled his message. The intertwining of the pleasure and fear you faced made you question the boundaries of your faith. Still drowsy, you inch closer to Elvis and rest your head against his fluffy, warm chest, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. You looked up at his face, his eyes were closed in peaceful contentment. The room is dimly lit, with the soft glow from a lamp in the corner as you both lay in each others mess. On the wall, the cross hangs, casting a shadow that dances alongside the gentle sway of his snores. You close your heavy eyelids, cuddling closer to his warmth, succumbing to exhaustion from the nights events as sleep overtakes you both.

- This is the only account I have and the only platform I’ll be uploading my stories on, just informing in case my stories get stolen and re-uploaded somewhere else.

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[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

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Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #70’s elvis #Elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis photos #elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis fans #Elvis smut #austin elvis imagine #big daddy Elvis #big daddy elvis fic #but then…Gigi

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Gigi Masterlist

-Part 1

-Part 2

-Part 3

-Part 4

-Part 5

-Bath

-Snuggle Me Tender (future one shot)

-Headcanons for the Conclusion

—Random Thots—

Biopic

Requests closed but feel free to scream what you’d like to see, no guarantees at present 💋

#archive #masterlist #Gigi #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #big daddy fanfiction #elvis fan fic #Elvis smut #elvis film #70’s elvis #70’s vibes #elvis imagine #elvis 70s #70s elvis #big daddy elvis fic

[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out Chapter 2

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 2: Sweet Baby

Summary: Elvis convinces Becky to come out with him and she gets to know him better. Angst and smut and fluff and smut and angst ... historical inaccuracies.... for instance, I know Larry only did hair but he does make-up in this fic for narrative agility.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, gratuitous chest nuzzling, sex, cursing, drug use and alcohol, some mild weird mind games and jealousy, a toe suck if you don't blink.

Sorry about the typos I've been agonizing over this since I finished it Friday,not totally happy with how it is but it was fun to write...

Words: 14K

Catch up on Chapter One here

There will be a chapter three, but for the love of big daddy please like, reblog, comment, share with your maiden aunt if you enjoy this fic.

This is playlist of music from 1970 - 1975 that I've been listening to get into the time period because I'm a huge dork.

Monday, June 9,th 1975, Jackson, Mississippi

Approximately 6:10 pm

About ten minutes since we begin in Chapter 1….

You glared at Elvis over folded arms, resolve hanging on by a thread, tempted to give in and go with him, but also, stuck. The heat of irrational anger and competition burned your chest. You weren’t even sure what this contest of wills was about, but you didn’t want to loose. You looked up at the ceiling, the fluorescent light flickered, and you wicked the sweat off your arms, vaguely aware you hadn’t slept, you hadn’t showered, and you hadn’t eaten much in the last 24 hours. A notion poked you at the edge of your consciousness that these factors had probably impaired your judgement, and maybe you weren’t making good decisions. This was, of course, true. All rational thought had been derailed by a night spent drinking, smoking pot and fucking Elvis Presley. Who, unlike you, hadn’t skipped sleep in order to rush home, get a kid to school and then go to work. No, Elvis had spent his day in rock star land where he could sleep as long as he wanted, eat breakfast at 3 or 4 pm and enjoy a leisurely shower. God he smelled amazing.  

You, well, you had started to smell worse and worse and worst as the day wore on.  There was no way you were going anywhere that involved getting naked with him. No. Last night had been the best night of your life, but you know how this ends, rock stars don’t date single moms who manage hardware stores.  They date beauty queens and movie stars, usually all at once. Where could this possibly go? Just be done with him, rip the band aid off now. Stand your ground. What was he going to do, throw you over his shoulder and carry you off into the night? You looked back over. Elvis was leaning  into the doorjamb, his hands resting on the front of his hips, under the slight rotund swell of his belly, fingers spread wide over the sides of his belt. Eyes closed behind tinted sunglasses, you watching his adam’s apple bob up and down as he breathed steadily and stifled rage transformed into an eerie zen demeanor.

A minute ago he had hurled a torrent of swear words your way, it had been terrifying, yet, strangely arousing. You pushed the giddy tingle at the center of your hips down, thinking what the fuck is wrong with you? The guttural  grain of Elvis’ “goddammit” had gone straight from his tongue to your clit, igniting a fire that simmered in your belly. You had never seen such intense masculine emotion. Almost all the men in your life had been tight lipped and stern, yet very passive aggressive when angry. Not Elvis. He was a walking hurricane, unpredictable, impulsive, volatile. It was exciting and terrifying. However, right now, he was completely calm, seemingly meditating and quietly whispering to himself. Someone walking in would never know he had been screaming at you and punching the door frame moments ago. He turned to look at you, opening his eyes. They were dark, piercing, almost a purplish black through the lavender sunglasses. You could feel the air leave his throat as you watched him exhale again, and moved in your direction. The hair on your back stood straight up and you squeezed your arms tighter against your chest. Elvis’ tall frame hovered above you, his gut pressing into you with each inhale, his breath filling the space between you with warmth. Elvis’ entire body oppressively overwhelmed you. The cold metal of his rings caressed your cheek and his voice was now calm and low, yet commanding.

“You don’t know me very well.” He sighed into your neck. “Tell me I cain’t do somethin’, an’ well, honey … that just 'bout guarantees I’m gonna do it….” His lips moved closer to your left ear, he leaned on one hand against the wall next to your head, the other pulled your arms slowly away from your chest. Heat sizzled at the base of your spine as you looked down, his fingers grasped your hand tenderly.

“I can tell you ain’t never been with a real man before…. A man who treated you good …” then he whispered, “took care a’ his baby…. if you know what I mean?” He waggled his eye brows, while his fingers traced along your jaw, then down over your breast to your tummy and hips. “Took care ‘a you so good, you always came when he called.”  

His lips moved closer to your left ear as he spoke, a feverish heat tingling through your lobe, a crooked smirk raised the left side of his mouth. You say nothing, but your breath hitches in your throat as he pushes even closer, his lips almost on your neck, and you shake your head, looking down. Don’t cry you tell yourself, but you exhale with a loud, stilted tremble.

“Shhh, shhhh s’ok honey,” Elvis' left hand moves from gently rubbing your hip to trail up and down your side. ”Cuz I’m gonna show you what s’like to be with a real man.” He leaned closer, kissing the nape of your neck, his soft lips searing into the spot below your ear.  “I always take care a my girl.” You gasped as the warmth from each word hit your neck as he continued.

“I see you. I’m a seer…and I see ya, Becky, I see you. Underneath all this stubborn bitch crock of shit you putting up, you’re just a scared lil' girl… scared of being hurt, scared of being happy, scared of how good it was with me last night.” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose, and you looked down, shaking you head, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up into his dark purple eyes and the promise you saw in them to over power you, to break you, to own you completely. 

“S’ok… Cuz I’m gonna fuck ya so good, the only words you’re gonna know to say when I’m done with you are ‘yes daddy.’”  Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes remain locked on Elvis, trying to summon contempt and indifference, even as the spark in your core blooms up your chest. Elvis’ fingers work their way under your shirt, gently soothing you across your belly, and up over your bra before resting on top of your chest. A whimper escapes your mouth, and you look up, your voice cracking as you feel your resolve melting away.

“Elvis… I can’t….”

“Shhh… see, that’s the fear I’m talking’ bout right there… “

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of your cheek with his nose, gently rubbing up your jawline, his right hand over your heart, his left moving down to stroke your side.

“Shhhhh little girl…. Shhhh…. I ain’t gonna hurt ya …”

“It’s not that..” You whisper, your eyes averting his. “It’s just… I’m a mess… I haven’t showered, or ate much, or slept… I’m so exhausted… you deserve a proper date … you should be picking up a beauty queen or a play boy bunny…”

You felt the vibrations through his tummy, pressed further into you, as Elvis chuckled.

“Why, do y’all even have any of ‘em bunnies here in Jackson?” He stepped back, motioning to leave. Another chuckle, and he was flourishing a silk paisley handkerchief from his breast pocket, holding your chin up as he wiped your eyes and your forehead. The apples in his cheek formed as he matched your reluctant grin.

“Go on baby, stick out your tongue.”

You furrowed your brow, twitching your mouth, as he reached in to his pocket.

“Stop a twitchin’, for the love of Jesus. Les try one of those ‘yes daddys’ I was talking ‘bout…”

You scoffed. “I will never say that, specially to someone who tells me to…”

He looked down at an assortment of pills in his hand, and pulled out a single, small white capsule, grinning.

“We’ll see ‘bout that… mean time, just stick out yer tongue, woman!”

With a humpf, you acquiesced, and Elvis dropped the pill on your tongue, pushing it back in your mouth.

“Trust me, you’re gonna feel better in a few minutes… s’like caffeine, but a lil' stronger. ”

Swallowing, you look into his eyes. “What was that, speed?”

“Do I look like a drug dealin’ commie? I’m a federal drug enforcement agent.” You cracked a grin, and his eyes grew serious. “That’s the god’s honest truth. This stuff is jus ‘scription medicine, a diet pill. S'not strong, ain’t gonna get you high. Trust me, I’ve studied this stuff... I’m a trained healer - told you last night….”

“Ok… but I’m still a mess…”

“You’re not a complete mess. Goddamn, check out this fine lookin’ belt. Man, that’s really sumpthin'.” He grinned, amusement in his voice as his hands slowly pulled off your orange work vest from the top of your shoulders, then moved to the buckle of your belt. His belt. The belt you took as a souvenir back when this was just a one night stand. Elvis soft mouth was on your neck again, and your arms somehow found their way over his shoulders. Just as he moved his mouth from your neck to lean in and kiss you, you hesitated and pulled back.

“I - I …. I don’t know if —“

His finger moved up from their efforts to unhook your jeans.

“Hush now… no more guff. I’m here because something happened last night. I know you felt it. S’like we’re vibrating on the same frequency….”

“Elvis, you’re crazy…”

“No, now listen… I … my bed felt so cold when I woke up and you were gone… I’ve been missin' ya all damn day…  wasn’t gonna be able to do anything else til I found ya…”

His timbre was high pitched, and you heard it crack with vulnerability. His eyes filled with unabashed desire. Somehow in the last few minutes, Elvis’ temperament had gone from indignant swagger to sweet and needy. His right hand moved lower to fondle your left breast, his soft lips kissed your ear, and you tilted your head into him. It was freeing in away, to give up pretenses, and you let out a sob, releasing all the tension you were holding in. Elvis moved his hand from under your bosom and kissed your tears away. His face was framed by the soft, plush rounds of his double chin, and you leaned your forehead into them seeking out the warm comfort of his flesh. You would be happy to sink farther and farther into him and loose yourself in his snug, inviting body. 

“Shhhh … s’ok…” Elvis’ arms encircled you, and you buried yourself head forward into his neck, collapsing on his shoulder. His hips thrust forward into you, the swell of his belly smushed up into your breasts. Steady and strong, his hands smoothed you over your back, his mantra of murmured shsshhhhs continuing as he cheekily pulled the hem of your shirt over your head. You helped him, shaking the last sleeve off your arm impatiently and throwing it on the ground.

His lips were now on yours, gently kissing you, then bringing your head towards him, his tongue sliding into your mouth, sweeping over yours, daring you to push back, to resist it. Your hands gripped him at his neck, drawing him down further into your mouth, his finger fervently grabbed your hips and lifted you up, cupping your ass and you wrapped your legs around him. 

You felt him grunt and heave slightly as he carried you to the desk at the back corner of the room, his eyes unyielding, locked on yours, anchored by stormy dilated pupils.

“Gawd darlin’…I’m getting to oooooold to sweep lil’ girls like you off your feet.”

“Next time I’ll sweep you off your feet.”

“Honey, they’d be sweeping us both off the floor if you tried ta carry me across a room….” He grinned a breathy grin as he put you down.

Your bra was on the floor, followed by his jacket, and you squinted for a moment at the gun tucked into his waist. He smirked as he took it out and threw it on top of his jacket.

“There are three more, baby, wanna try to find them?”

Your breasts heave up as a guffaw slipped over your lips, but you forgot about his guns as Elvis pulled down your jeans, slowing to gently take your shoes off. He brought your left foot up to his cheek, nuzzling against your warm, soft skin, kissing the top of your arch, then following suit to take off the other one, reverently, slowly, removing the sock and then stroking the top of both feet as he looked forward into the center of your black cotton panties. You squirmed, suddenly self conscious and he bit his lower lip, hungry eyes meeting yours as his hands moved up your ankles towards your thighs. You shivered when the top of his index fingers delicately traced a line over your knees, clenching as he grasped the sides of your panties. Your hand went to Elvis’ shoulder.

“Hey… wait… why are you doing this? ”

“Figure I wanna do as much of this ‘fore I get too old,” he murmured, grinning up at you.

You smiled back, tousling his hair, exhaling.

“That’s not what I meant …. I meant …. like….… you can just, ya know, I mean we can just…you don’t really have to worry ‘bout, you know, doing this for me.” 

You pulled on his collar, but Elvis resisted, swiping your hands away and slapping your hip, an expression of delight on his face as he watched your side ripple in response. He pulled off your panties, leaning closer to your muff while looking up at you.

“Listen good, this is the last time I’m gonna ‘splain this. I’m a grown man, I don’t do anything I don’t want to. Now, lean back… and jus remember to breathe.“ He winked, a silly grin growing as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, kissing the hair at your entrance before parting you with his mouth and pushing in, tongue first. 

The vibrations of Elvis deep moan reverberated through your pussy, his shoulders heaved up and his whole body moved in rhythm, slowly licking you from your taint to your clit, savoring your soft, slick silkiness. 

He paused, sitting back to remove his glasses, murmuring to himself as his thumb worked in circles around your nub and you found yourself moaning out, uncontrollably. 

“You need to get me some windshield wipers for those…” he looked at you, clearly amused with himself as you giggled. “We coulda been back in my hotel room doin' this if you weren’t so difficult…. never met a more stubborn woman… “

You moan, looking off to the side, as he rounded the bend of your clit, then lowered his fingers, flicking his wrist to slowly push his right index finger inside of you.

“This ok, baby?”

You nodded, you neck arched back as you cried out. Elvis was touching you in a way no other man had ever touched you, had ever wanted to or cared to try.   

“Want me ta keep going?

You nodded your head, breathy whimpers stuttering out.

“Know what I wanna hear…”

“Yes…… Elvis….” You smirked.

“So goddamn stubborn…” he shook his head, leaning backing into your hips, his mouth consuming your pussy, his tongue now stroked you softly and each flick made you shiver with a tingle. A burning fire coiled behind your belly as he moved his index finger in and out in time with the bob of his head, groaning into you. The sensation became almost too intense and your head thrust back, eyes looking up at the ceiling. Shifting your weight onto your wrists, you begin to move your hips forward to meet his mouth, surging to chase the tension building in your core as Elvis’ lapped and then sucked your clit, index finger rotating slowly within you. You found his finger somewhat distracting, and were just about to ask him to stop, when he hit a spongey nerve point inside you and your hips jerked back. You feel Elvis chuckle as he pulled up for air, his left hand holding up your hips to bring you back closer while he crooked his finger inside you. Each time the pad of his finger hit that spot you twitched.

“What is that? Ahhhh! Ughhh…” you cry out, your breath heavy because the sensation is so intense, it terrifies you. Elvis wipes his mouth on your thigh, his thumb is back at it, and he seems to delight in every twitch of your belly as you clench around his finger. 

“That… that’s the magic spot, lil' girl… Can’t believe I’m the first one to find it…” his eyes found yours, and he swallowed, deeply. “Goddamn. You’re blushing like a nun…”

You cannot take your eyes off him, even as his finger flexes and crooks into you and your mouth flinches open with a loud, insuppressible, high-pitched moan. 

“Hff, baby….you look like a scared kitten staring down the mouth of a gator…. ‘fraid he’ll snap ya right up…” he gnashed his teeth together loudly, for effect, exhaling deeply with another chuckle, before returning to lap at your clit, dragging his tongue slowly over it, up it and down it, and then all the way around it.

Your thighs quiver on his cheeks and you let out another squeak, embarrassed. The feeling of impending eruption terrifies you, and another powerful moan emerges unsummoned through your lips, half from pleasure, half from fear. You’re torn between your drive to climax and the almost unbearable sensation his tongue is beckoning from you. The dexedrine begins to take effect, and a wave of energy pulses through you. Every sensation is suddenly ten times more intense. A volcano erupting, your orgasm bursts forth and shocks you as you thrash into Elvis’ nose, crying out while the euphoria sweeps over your body.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, oh my god…” He leans back, watching with a coy smirk as he thumbs you through it, wiping his mouth again on his right sleeve this time, his left hand holds you steady at your hips.

“Elvis stop, stop! I can’t take it any more.”

“Ok honey, s’ok, now,” he beamed, slowing the flick of his wrist, gently drawing out his index finger. “Man, twitching and clenchin’ so hard thought I might lose my damn finger in there… think I’ll call you Twitch for short. ”

You let out a loud snort, slapping the side of Elvis’ head playfully as he smirks up at you, leaning back on his haunches, now wiping himself on his pants.

“You make my ….  my … my nether regions sound dangerous …” 

Elvis’ right hand smoothes your pubic hair down. 

“Nah, nothing I can’t handle, baby…. just needs to be tamed is all…” he winked.

“So, come tame me…” you offer, laying further back on the desk top, caressing the side of his face with your left toes. He brings them to his mouth, slowly sucking on the big toe and you moan out, not expecting how delicious the soft, wet suction would feel. You can see the bulge of his cock shadowing his thigh as he pulls his mouth off your toe with a pop. 

 “Oh Jesus, take me to heaven now cuz I really am getting too old for this.” Elvis grunts, pulling on the desk to stand up.

He brushes off his knees, then shifts between your legs, and your hands pull him down by his collar to kiss your lips, not sure how you feel tasting the salty tang of yourself there. You think maybe you like it. Feeling your way to his belt, you begin to pull it apart as you kiss him back, but his right hand moves to firmly stop you.

“Dontcha want to fuck me, daddy?” Fuck, what made you say that? You chided yourself, you hated how happy it made him as you watched his grin grow wide. He shook his head, taking your hand and kissing the top.

“Honey, I didn’t come here to fuck you in some dirty, dingy store room… I came here to invite ya to supper ‘after my show, which I might miss on account of you being a spoiled, no count brat…. so we better pop to it.” He looked you in the eyes as your smile faded and self-conscious guilt swept over you. He pulled you in tight and pressed his forehead against yours. Your noses touched, and his breath was warm and comforting.

“C’mon sugar, course I wanna fuck you, fuck you so silly all ‘a Jackson can hear you call out my name.” He chuckled. “But… this is not exactly the romantic setting I like to make love in…. know what I mean? Let’s get back to my place, get you all fed and cleaned up.” He bent down and handed you your underwear and pants. “Want you down in front at the show. Imma have Joe run out and grab you a proper dress….” Now he was handing you your bra, then your shirt. “But we better scoot, I go on at 8:30.”

He looked over at the clock, and you followed his gaze, it was 6:35.

You turned, buttoning your jeans.

“Not Joe…..”

Eyebrows tensed, Elvis’s eyes were sharp as he looked up from tucking his gun back into his waist.

“What you got against ol' Diamond Joe?”

“I… ugh… let’s say we didn’t hit it off exactly, last night…. “

 Elvis pulled you in front of him, and then took a step back, grabbing a comb from inside his coat, then brushing your hair, clucking his tongue when your hair flipped back the wrong way. Content after fixing your part, he tucked the sides behind your ears.

“That’s better… looks good down, jus like that….” He bit his tongue in apt concentration. Comb in pocket, he put his arm around you, and led you out of the room, down the hall and towards the front of the store.

“Wanna wash your hands?”

Elvis stops, and takes his right hand off you, then brings his index and middle finger up to his lips.

“What, this hand baby?” He sucks on his fingers, his eyes dancing. “Not ever gonna wash this hand again.” He chuckles as you swat him and his hand returns to your side, continuing to walk you to the front of the store.

“So why didn’t you and Joe, uh,… ‘hit it off’?”

You pause, then look up as Elvis walks you into the store front.

“Yeah, well…. he couldn’t take a hint and was kinda being … pushy…  last night …. right before you started lobbing pretzels at me …  He told you my name was Rachel, cuz that’s what I told him…. I don’t know, I guess didn’t want him to know my real name … I…”

“Huh… I see… alright, honey, don’t worry about Joe… I’ll take care a him.”

You paused outside, locking the front door before pulling it shut, and then gasped when you saw the long, black car in front of the store with three guys waiting in it.  How long had they been there, an hour? A large man sat at the wheel, another skinny one next to him, and then there was Joe frowning in the back seat. He looked out the window after making eye contact with you. Elvis opened the back door, and barked at Joe to jump in front, motioning for you to get in. 

“C’mon Becky," Elvis helped you.

“Becky?” Joe asks, turning as the car takes off.

“Yeah, well it’s Rachel to creeps who can’t take a hint, but it’s Becky to every’un else.” Elvis barked at Joe, who started to turn. “I don’t want ta hear it, Joe, just keep your head forward an do as yer told,” Elvis said, palming a few pills out of his pocket and swallowing them dry. Joe huffed and hit his hand on the door.

The younger man in the middle seat turned, and shook your hand.

“Hey Becky, I’m Jerry.” Then he looked at Elvis. “What took you so long?”

You blush and look down. 

Elvis smirked. “Yeah, sorry to keep ya fellows waiting, decided to have a snack.”

Jerry’s eye brows bent in confusion.

“I thought it was a hardware stor—-“ The driver jabbed Jerry in the ribs and he grimaced, turning back around.

“Yeah, s’its a hardware store alright, but they have a bunch of peanuts, pretzels, jerky… what was that honey? Cold beaver ya got out for me in that ice chest in the back? Tasted pretty good once we warmed it up.” Elvis put his right arm around you, chortling as your cheeks turned bright red and you buried your head in his shoulder. “I’m sorry baby, these guys have been working for me for over fifteen years, ain’t nothin' to be embarrassed about…”

Somehow, the idea that Elvis might make his entourage wait around regularly while he was off fucking random women didn’t make you feel any better. Groaning the groan of someone who suddenly feels like a cheap, anonymous, whore, you leaned into Elvis’ armpit, and he responded by patting your back. You react to his tender rub and chortle by slapping his belly. He laughed harder, and pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket, lighting it up and humming as he rolled down the window.

“Hey, Lamar, what’s that department store downtown Jackson? The good ‘un we went to back in May?”

“Kennington’s.”  The driver in front responded, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Jerrah, you’re gonna go run in and get Becky here a few dress options, Lamar’ll come back for you after he takes us to the hotel.”

Joe let out a loud sigh.

“That a problem for you, Joe?”

Joe shook his head. “Have better luck for her at the Dress Barn, they ain’t gonna have her size at that place, nothing over a 10… she’s a 14 if she’s a day…”

You shifted, sinking further into the seat and blushing again.

Elvis hit him in the back of the head.

“Lamar, pull the goddamn car over.” Elvis gritted his teeth as the vehicle came to a stop. “GET OUT! Dammit, Joe, must have lost yer damn mind… if ya can’t be polite to my guests, you can walk yer happy ass back to the hotel.” Joe scoffed and looked over at Jerry in disbelief. “Don’t look at him, ya can file your complaints wit me.  Rude mother fucker, I swear…  forgettin’ your manners. Forgettin’ who the boss is ‘round here.” Elvis slapped Joe on the side of his head again, and Joe swore under his breath as he jumped out of the car and slammed the door. 

“Right.” Elvis murmured as the car drove off again. “Where were we? Oh right, let’s drop Jerrah at that store.  You know what kind of dresses would look good on her, right Milk?” Jerry turned around, looking you up and down. “Now, go ahead sweetheart, tell him your dress size, and shoes too… Jerrah, write this down.”

You look Jerry in the eyes. “Um…. dress size is a 12… 9 in shoes…” 

Jerry smiled at you, writing it in a small notepad, and hopping out as Lamar drove up to the curb at Kennington’s, yelling at Jerry, “The hotel’s just a few blocks away, I’ll be right back.”

———————————

Lamar flashed a broad smile at you as he helped you out of the car, and walked you and Elvis to the service elevator, opening doors and smiling at the staff you passed coming in through the back of the hotel. You ran your hand through your hair on the ride up to the pent house, imagining Joe walking backing in the summer heat cursing your name with each step. Great. Noticing your far off look, Elvis squeezed you into to him, bringing your other fingers up to his mouth to kiss them. 

“Nice fingers… that’s a French manicure, so you can’t be a mess all the time.” Your face softened as you look up at Elvis’ profile, flapping his left cheek with your fingers.

“Well, unlike some people, I usually don’t spend my nights awake at rock concerts followed by one nights stands. Getting my nails done, it's one the few things I do just for me. You’re welcome to admire them all you want, but…. they’re not for you.”

Elvis chuckled, lowering his arm from your shoulder to slap your ass as you get off the elevator, and you turn towards him, mock hurt through a smile as you walk backwards.

“There’s that back talk again, thought I knocked that outta ya…” he smirked, licking his lips.

“Ha! Never! You may have temporarily dazed me, but no man will ever tame me!” you announce, and shriek as Elvis raises an eyebrow and steps toward you.

“Oh, we’ll see ‘bout that…” he calls out, and you giggle, shrieking as you turn to run down the hallway, rounding the corner past the hallway you made out in last night and towards the pent house door. You can feel the thud of Elvis jogging behind you echo through the entire passage way. You sigh out as you get to the door and realize you are stuck, you don’t have the key, and you squeal out as you feel strong, hefty hands grab you at the waist and turn you around. 

“Gotcha!” He smiles, panting. “Man, what’s with you… this ain’t the Kentucky Derby baby… that’s the fastest I’ve run since I was in the army… back in 19… 19… 1916…” 

You  laugh out a “Ha, ha ha!” then feel his chest heave as he lifts you over his shoulder and starts to spank your bottom lightly. “Just you wait til I get you inside!” You slap him on his back, yelling out “Put me down you big brute,” through playful gasps and giggles. His fingers fondle your butt and thighs as he walks into the hotel room, and they glide over your backside as he helps you slid off his shoulder.

“You are a thick girl, aintcha?” He draws you into him, and you respond slapping the top of his belly.

“Ha, I’m ‘bout average… you should talk, you’re thicker than I am …” The laughter in your voice stops as you notice Elvis’s smile tighten and fade, his belly tenses up. You notice the hurt in his eyes, instantly shifting to sooth his chest. “The unfair thing is, though, men just get sexier the thicker they get.” Elvis’ eyes warmed as you played with his collar, talking into his chest. 

“Huh, that right? Well you should know honey, this layer right here,” Elvis patted the paunch protruding at his abdomen. “S’just an extra layer I keep around on purpose, as protection, it’s my bullet proof padding… really, that’s the truth.” His grin returned.

“Mmmhmmm… I feel safer already…” you bent your chin into the opening of his shirt, nuzzling his warm chest hair. “I know I’m thick, the opposite of the pretty women you usually date… Joe warned me last night, I’m not your type…”

Elvis grabbed your hips, kissing the top of your head.

“Well honey,” he laid another kiss on your hair, “ya ain’t particularly nice,” another kiss,  “ya don’t have particularly good manners… or any for that matter…” his finger traced along your neck to your collarbone. “Sneakin’ out of a man’s bed room without sayin' good bye, like a thief in the night…” you felt his fingers turning your chin up to him. “An' I do like it when my dates show up already dressed nice, wid their hair an' make-up already all done up…” he was trying to play it straight, but he couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a faint giggle through his nose. “But trust this, Joe don’t know shit, and he don’t tell me what to do or who to screw.” 

Elvis’ other hand stroked the side of your body with the back of his knuckles, the cool of his rings following as they trailed up from the top of your hip to the flap of flesh at your bra, where his knuckles lingered, tenderly rubbing that spot back and forth. Your heartbeat quickened, there was that lightening bolt rising up your spine. Elvis whistled out and you feel him stiffen against you. “Hell, you might be the most ornery, stubborn lil' girl here in Jackson… but there’s something about you -  God put you in my life for a reason - the lord works in mysterious ways. ”

“Like, through your dong?” you smirked, your hand moved down his chest to brush over his inner thigh, his hard, extended length spasmed under your touch. 

Elvis guffawed, then groaned.

“Sometimes… yes. Course. Lil Elvis is an implement of the lord, baby, just like the rest of me.” He looked pretty amused with himself, a humorous lilt intoned his words, and his voice rose up in jest like a preacher. “Wouldn’t feel so good if we weren’t supposed to use it…” 

You quirk your eyebrow. “That’s a bunch of bullshit… God does NOT care about your hard ons… ”

“Oh ye of little faith. How would you know, anyhow? He sent you to me, didn’t he? And suddenly I’m in hard-on town! Honey t’weren’t no accident. Everything happens for a reason. I really believe that. He brought you to my room last night for a reason, you caught my eye for a reason. There are bigger machinations at play that you and I can’t even begin to understand…”

“So I’m just a pawn in some celestial sort of plan to help you to get your mojo back?” 

Elvis’ hand left your arm pit and moved to slap your butt, then pulled you closer.

“Now woman, see here, my mojo is just fine. It’s just... selective… You always have a smart retort, dontcha.”

You nodded up at him. “I mean, I have a brain and I know how to talk, if that’s whatcha mean.”

He pulled you even closer, clutching you from your back.

“Know what I think?” He asked, and you raised your eyebrows, stroking his sideburns. “You talk too much.”

You huffed and pulled on his collar.

“So you want me to shut up and just be, what, some sort of snake charmer, huh? Doin’ the lord’s work to bring your python out?”

“Huh,” he grinned, his hands now pulling on the cushiony curves at your hips. “By George, I think you finally got it.  Now come-a here and be quiet.” He leaned forward, you felt the softness of his mouth on yours, your upper lip caught between his, and his nose crushed into your cheek. Elvis’ fingers grip your sides as he mumbles low. “You’re not bad looking when you hush up….  Not bad feeling’ neither... s’nice to have somethin’ to hold onto…”

Elvis was just beginning to pull your shirt up when you hear a cough behind you, and look over Elvis’ jacket to see Charlie jump up off the couch, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. Charlie must have been sitting there the whole time. Elvis’ arms dropped to his sides, and he spun around.

“Charlie, goddamn it boy,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you make yourself known, huh?”

“Well, EP… I … I …”

Elvis mocked him, “I ….? I…? I what? ‘I’m a big ol’ pervert?’” He sad the last part in a high falsetto voice. “Go on, git outta here.” 

“Yeah, sure thing, boss.. ummm… it’s just that its 6:45…. probably head out to the Coliseum in an hour… wanted to check in with you ‘bout —"

Elvis held his hand up to Charlie to stop him, and grabbed you by the hand, walking you through the suite, into the master bedroom and over to the bathroom. “There’s the shower, Twitch —“

“Twitch?”

“Yeah, member? That’s my new nickname for ya… cuz you twitch so much, and so prettily too….”

You groan and put your face in your hands. 

“Oh god…that’s why I never feel comfortable letting men do that…”

“Honey, you didn’t let me do nothin'… I do what I want….sides, nothing more natural, nor more beautiful…” 

“Ughh..” 

Elvis took your hands from you face, and kissed you. 

“I wish you didn’t blush so hard, might make me tease you less….” He stroked your cheek. “We better put the breaks on for now. Gotta get me to the show on time. Go take yerself a cold shower an’ get all scrubbed up…” 

You bobbed your head in assent, turning to walk to the shower. Elvis hung on the door frame watching you undress, winking as you look back at him over your shoulder and blowing you a kiss before he closed the door. The top of your head tingled, you felt wide awake, probably the pill Elvis gave you, but your forehead ached and the back of your eyes throbbed as if they were pushing up into your skull. The hot water soothed you and your muscles relaxed as you exhaled into the steam. You started to feel human again, washing the grime and sweat and sex from the last 24 hours off. You heard the bathroom door open, the last of the soap swirling down the drain as you finished rinsing out your hair, and you peeked through the glass door to see Elvis back, an approving smile on his face and a towel in his hands. You step out and his smile widened.

“Just how I like ya, naked and quiet.”

You reach for the towel but he shakes his finger and starts to dry you off, beginning with your breasts.

“Maybe you should go find a foxy mute to date… hmmm?”

“Now there’s an idea, ya know any?” The towel moved to your shoulders, and Elvis spins you around, gently rubbing the terrycloth over your back, bottom and legs. Then he spins you back to face him and wraps the towel around you, using it to draw you into him for a kiss. 

“Charlie and Jerry are grabbing my suit, I’m about to go get ready. I have your dress,” Elvis gestured for you to follow him back to the bed room, where he handed you a gold lame evening gown with a cowl neck. “There’s a hair dryer under the sink, honey, do you have any make up with you?” 

You shake your head.

“Man, you really didn’t do a good job planning for our date tonight…”

“Ooh, you mean my kidnapping? No, sorry…”

“Never met a more willing victim…”

“Ha!”

“S’ good thing you got kidnapped by someone who has a hair dresser, I’ll have Larry do you after me.”

You hear the door at the front of the room, and Elvis pats you on the bottom, again, as you turn back into the bathroom.

“Hey guys, back here!” You hear his voice call from the adjourning bedroom. “Becky’s in the john gettin’ ready…  Black Phoenix, good. Tell Lamar, I want supper laid out up here after the show, fried chicken, meatloaf, potatoes, maybe something healthy, like potato salad? Have ‘em fix it up good. Some snacks, you know, for us to pick at. Drinks. And I don’t want half of Jackson up here again…. just family.”

You tune them out, looking around for the hair dryer, eventually finding it next to a stack of boxed enema kits under the sink, an amenity that struck you as somewhat odd for a hotel to provide. But Elvis was only in town for a few days, why would he need so many? You didn’t want to think about it. Hair dry and somewhat straightened, you exhaled, taking a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, breathing slowly and trying to get your heart rate to slow down. Straining to get the gold dress over your bust, you suspected it is a size too small. The top was like a corset, constraining as it sucks you in, pushing your breasts up and almost out of the loose, cowl neckline. You snapped one of the thin gold straps, wondering if it would hold out for the night or break under the pressure your curves were exerting on it. Luckily, the gown fell looser at the waist, and the sleek, lame felt cool and silky over your bare legs. The shoes, at least were the right size, a set of matching gold platform sandals with a thick heel. A thick three or four inch heel. A thick heel that would mean walking may or may not work out for you, so you would need to go slow.

“Good, cuz you can’t breath anyway…” you tell your reflection.

Sucking in and moving slowly, you opened the bathroom door, finding Elvis sitting at the vanity decked out in a white jumpsuit with a black, zebra belt that has looped chains draped around the bottom. The silhouette of a large black bird in flight was stitched in black sequins on the back, and when he turned to look at you, you see the same silhouette on the front, black shiny wings rising along either side of his open chest. An older white guy stood behind Elvis, combing his hair out with his fingers and a spray bottle.

“There she is! Larry, this is Becky.” You nod at them, smoothing your hands over your belly, pulling up at your neckline.

“I think Jerry got me the wrong size… feel like I’m busting out of this dress…”

Elvis chuckled as he stood, walking over to you, hands on your waist, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as they stared down at your heaving breasts.  “Nah, you look just right.” You cocked an eyebrow as he led you to the vanity and told Larry to get you ready while he sat back in the large, leather chair on the other side of the bedroom and smoked a stogie. Your eyes met through the reflection mirror as Elvis watched in amusement while Larry made small talk with you.

“Nice to meet you, Becky…  is it short for Rebecca?” You nod. “Beautiful name… a Biblical name.”

“Hmmm, I s’pose, if you go in for that sort of thing…”

“Yeah, well, I go in for all sorts of things … you don’t?”

You purse your lips slightly. “No, I stopped believing in fairy tales when I grew up…” Elvis cocked an eye brow, exhaling his cigar and smirking as he shook his head, as if to warn you that you had no idea what you were getting into.

“Oh Becky, oh man, that really hurts me to hear you say that,” Larry dusted over the top of your cheeks with blush. “Gosh, if that’s your definition of growing up, I hope I never do… what’s the meaning of life without the deeper, spiritual mysteries of the world… how do we achieve a higher plane of existence?”

You sighed, “Life has no meaning, Larry, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it’s all just chaos and I guess… I guess we just do our best to enjoy the way things get thrown together and figure out how to survive…”

“Oh man, oh man, in some ways, what you’re saying is very - close your eyes for a second, I’m gonna dust a finishing powder here - is almost existential, from a philosophical perspective, but I… well, I’ve experienced too many coincidences, too many psychic exchanges, almost too many dimensions to be able to even start to come back down to where you are.”

You were trying not to squint as he did a second coat of mascara.

“I didn’t go to college," you mutter, "So I’m not sure I really understand everything you're saying… but, its not like I’m miserable. I like my life, I guess...Sure I wish somethings were different, but… I don’t think I’m part of some bigger, coordinated plan… "

Larry clucked his tongue.

“What’s your birthday?”

You were startled for a moment, then responded. “July… July 26, 1948… why…?”

“8 …. You hear that EP? Just like you, her day of the month adds up to an 8!” He whispered to you. “Birth dates that add up to 8, well, they’re quite powerful… what, you don’t believe in numerology either, huh? Don’t you feel hopeless wandering around this beautiful earth, thinking like that? Were you raised with any religion?”

“Sure, yeah, my folks are Jewish, I still think of myself as a Jew - I.. um…it’s more of a.. um cultural thing, I guess…  if I had kids, I’d raise them the way I was, but I’d be honest with them about how things really are….”

Larry’s face lit up, as he turned to his bag to pull out a bottle of hairspray.

“Oh, I should have known you were mishpacha, look at those dark brown eyes… Oy Rivka, it makes my heart break hearing you talk about life so cynically…. Where did you find this one, anyway, EP? She’s cute, she’s smart and I can sense that you’ll have a real positive effect on her, bring some spiritually into her life... if she’ll just open up her mind …”

Elvis smiled devilishly, standing. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll have any probably getting her to open up for me… found her at the party last night, she’s just some groupie hanging round, wouldn’t let me be… practically begged to spend another day with me…”

Elvis stalked toward you, a smug look plastered on his face, his hand was on your shoulder as he looked into your reflection. Larry stepped back, pleased with his work. Looking at your reflection, it was a lot more makeup than you ever wore, gold eye shadow shimmered almost to your eyebrows. But you smiled, embracing the utter absurdity of it all and giving yourself over to the pleasurable of feeling glamorous. Not recognizing the tired, disheveled workaday Becky who walked into this pent house in jeans and converse an hour or so ago.

“Groupie…mmhmmm.. that’s me…” you smiled a broad, fake smile as you rose, grasping Elvis' shoulder to steady yourself. “This week it’s the great Elvis Presley, next week, Aerosmith is in town. Fingers crossed I can sneak into their party…”

Elvis grunts as he pulls you in front of him, hands on your waist.

“Ha! Not if I have anything to do with it….”

You playfully slap his shoulder, meeting his eyes.

“Told you Presley, no man can tame me…”

He grips your butt, then smacks it.

“I ain’t just any man, Twitch… mmhmmm… you’ll see…”

You turn to  Larry, saying in Yiddish, “How do you stand working with this asshole, huh?” Larry laughed, and Elvis crooked an eyebrow.

“Hey, now… what she say?”

Larry looked over at him, “Oh just how lucky I am to spend all my days with you.

———————————

Heading to the coliseum in a caravan of long black limos, you realize it’s past 8 o’clock, and you are anxious for Elvis when you arrive only 10 minutes before he is supposed to perform.

“Isn’t this cutting it close?” You murmur, taking his hand out of the limo and hanging on to his arm for dear life as you stumble alongside him through the stage door.

“Nah, honey, this is how I like it… otherwise I’m a caged animal, prowling around the dressing room. No, it’s better this way... I walk right from the limo onto the stage. Keeps the momentum going.” He looked over his shoulder. “Jerrah! I want Becky up in front, in the middle, and have someone keep an eye on her. Don’t won’t her gettin’ smashed in the stampede of women running up to get me.”

He looked down at you and winked.

“And Jerrah, I’m gonna need you to do better with the gatorrrr - ade tonight, last night my throat was so dry I thought I was Bob Dylan.”

He grinned down at you to see if you got his joke. You rolled your eyes, and he slapped your left butt cheek playfully. Again. Your butt was getting more attention in the last few hours than it had in the last ten years.

“Now, that was a good one… shudda laughed... most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here. Look at how hard she has to work to frown at my jokes. ”

You lean into his shoulder, relishing the coziness of his body enclosed around you as long as you could before you arrived at the backstage curtain. Elvis hands began to tremble slightly as he stepped away from you. Caught off by how cold and alone you suddenly felt without his arm around you, you noticed that Elvis’ breathing became shallow and panicked as he let go of you and walked toward the curtain, mumbling to himself.

”You can do this boy, you can do this….you love this…. you do this ev’ry night.”

“Is he ok?” You ask Jerry, who is now walking you around to the front of the stage. Jerry looks at you, a soft smile.

“Yeah, this is good, every once an a while we have a hard time getting him out of the dressing room. Crazy, huh? Think he’d have gotten over stage fright by now…”

Jerry pats your back, leaving you at center stage, thirty or so feet closer than where you had been last night. Tonight’s performance was similar, though it was rougher being in the eye of the storm. The music was louder, and the blare of the horns hit you in the face the moment they began. You watched Elvis propel himself on stage, where he was instantly transformed from nervous school boy to a charismatic rock star strutting and dancing and karate kicking himself across the platform. Exuding a cheerful, roguish vitality, he playfully bantered with the women who ran up to kiss him, joked with the audience, or stopped the music to ask a little girl about the drawing she brought up for him to sign. The restrictive, tightness of your dress and your unsteady heels all faded away as you were taken captive by Elvis’ showmanship. He stopped to wink down at you throughout the night. You were paralyzed when he strode over to center stage and bent his left leg back in a karate stance, then proceeded to thrust above you several times, grinning like a teenager and laughing as he sang. It brought a swarm of butterflies to your tummy, and they flew up your stomach to take permanent residence at the top of your rib cage for the rest of the show, fluttering around while you quivered. You felt yourself blush, and you knew Elvis had noticed it when he walked downstage and paused to fan himself with his own hand.

“Wheweee, this June weather is heating us up, ain’t it lil girl,” and he looked over at you. You didn't think your cheeks could get any redder, but you were wrong. Elvis grinned, then looked back out at the thousands of people behind you. “But that’s alright, that’s just the kind of show ya do on a Monday evening. We came here to be with y’all and to sweat and to hand out scarves.” 

He winked again, and you swore he was about to bend down and kiss you when he stopped just short of your position and kissed the blonde next to you, looking over at you with a smirk and an eyebrow waggle after wrapping a white scarf around her.

—— ----------

Thirty minutes after the show, and you were still sitting next to Lamar in the dressing room, waiting for Elvis to finish signing autographs by the stage. Lamar offered you a Pepsi and M & Ms from a bowl, and you crunched them angrily. 

“Five more minutes, and I’m fixin’ to just take myself home,” you whine, leaning your head back. 

Lamar chuckled. “Don’t let him hear that, EP’ll intentionally make us wait another hour just to show you what happens when you’re impatient… “

“I’ll be long gone before I spend two hours twiddling my fingers back here…”

Lamar looked at you, and shrugged, you guessed he’d seen worse. You stood up to go out to the stage. Lamar looked up from his newspaper.

“You’ll  wanna fix your lipstick.” 

You raised your eyebrows in disdain. “I wasn’t wearing any make-up when I met him last night?”

Lamar hit his knee, ”Well, I’m not gonna say it never happens… but its rare… I’ve been with him for almost twenty years, off an on, and I’ve seen Elvis go out with women of all shapes an sizes, older, younger, married, divorced, single moms, business women, sisters - one right after the other … but they’ve been … they’ve pretty much always … attentive to their appearance… let’s just say he’s never been shy to tell a girl, or any of us, I s’pose, what to wear, how to do our hair, how to look. He knows what he likes, and he almost always gets it, sonabitch… I mean, look at you now ….”

You looked at your self in the full length mirror. Lamar was right, you looked like a different person. An almost pretty one, like those old money debs who you were making fun of last night. You pulled at your neckline, vainly attempting to cover your breasts more.

“Do you think he told Jerry to buy my dress a size down?”

Lamar chortled. “Ha, at least! If not two… partly because he knows he likes the way it shows off your figure, no disrespect meant. But also partly to fuck with you. He likes to turn the screw a bit… it's subconscious, like, sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“Yeah, well, he definitely knew what he was doing when he made Joe get out of the car on the other side of town…”

“Oh, “ Lamar popped some candy in his mouth, “that’s nothin’, he once fired Joe and left him in the middle of the Mojave dessert…” 

You gasped and shook your head, wondering if you should just go home. Fixing some stray hairs, you wiped your mouth, realizing you didn’t have lipstick with you, or anything, so if you did decide to leave you wouldn’t be able to get a cab. Maybe Lamar would take pity on you and drive you home? Or you could find a phone and beg someone to come get you. Maybe you should, the allure of the concert was starting to dissipate, the fatigue was coming back, it was 10:30 and seeing Elvis through Lamar’s perspective was making you question your decision to come out tonight…. For the thousandth time. Your pulled at your neckline once again, and gave Lamar a salute as you hobbled out to the stage to take another look at your date before deciding whether to sneak off, determined not to let these heels take you down.

Elvis’ face lit up with boyish glee when he saw you meander out. Just that quick exchange made you giddy and your desire to leave evaporated. You ambled over to lean against the stage from the grassy field, looking up and watching him where he stood ten feet away, surrounded by people waiting for him to sign their photos, stuffed animals, panties, or take a picture. Elvis bathed in their admiration, laughing and joking and pulling faces with them, while Jerry and five tired men moved them through the line. About every fifteen minutes, Elvis would turn to where you now sat on the tip of the stage, swinging your feet, and holler.

“Hang loose darlin’, just be another five minutes.”

It was 11:37 when you observed Elvis kiss the last pair of women goodbye and stomp over to you with an effected, stilted gait. A damp towel around his neck, his eyes still twinkling from the unfiltered love he’d been basking in over the last few hours. From where you sat, head leaning on your arms over the stage floor, he seemed fifteen feet tall. You gasped when Elvis suddenly plopped down on his knees about an inch from your face and poked your nose, his voice sweet and light.

“So how you doin?”

You smiled, to tired the fight his charm. Any lingering impatience or resentment you felt from waiting the last two hours melted like a popsicle in the glow of his radiance. Head still laying to the side, you responded in a breathy, dreamy voice.

“Hmmmm… just fine and dandy…” 

“Good… still wanna come have dinner with me?” 

You nodded, and Elvis took your hand to help you up.

“C’mon Becky Butt, let’s go get something in that sweet mouth ‘o yours …”

“You’re worse than a teenage boy, you know that?” You scowl, but nevertheless, can’t help your visceral need to seek out the warmth of his body and plunge into his side.

——-----------

You did find something to stick in your mouth. Potato chips, cheese and crackers, grapes, fried chicken, roasted potatoes, little bites of key lime pie. Sipping your second beer, you walk over to the couch and settle down. Looking around the room, you consider that, while there are certainly less people here tonight, this is hardly what you would consider a small gathering. The suite is filled with the men of Elvis’ entourage, a handful of band members, a handful of women, maybe wives, girlfriends, lovers? Your dress, thankfully, had given in to the roundness of your body and stretched out a bit, so you can at least breathe, although your breasts were still mounting their rebellion. You pulled up the neck line again, and shifted toward Charlie, who was tuning a guitar on the other side of the couch. 

“Hey, I heard Elvis during the show, he said you’re from Alabama?’

Charlie looked up at you, his fingers playing a few unorganized chords, and he nodded, then looked over towards the kitchen. You followed his eyes to Elvis, who’s back was turned. You noticed Elvis’ hand seemed very cozily wrapped around the waist of one of his backup singers, what was her name, Kathy? You watch his fingers rub her back. You sighed, he was a handsy guy and you were not into jealous drama, so you turn back to Charlie, who seemed to relax.

“Mhmm, where are you from … Becky is it?”

“Birmingham…. but I’ve lived here in Jackson, gosh for 10 years…. So,” you looked back over at the kitchen, and whisper. “Charlie, why are there 1000 enema kits in the bathroom?”

Charlie belted out a surprised guffaw, and shook his head.

“I’m not even gonna start with that….”

“Ok,” you grinned. “So, how many women you reckon big man over there has slept with?”

Charlie chuckled into his guitar again, and just shook his head.

“Too many… but I’ll tell ya what…I’ve been hanging out with that man these last 17 our 18 years or so, and I’ve eaten meatloaf and fried chicken so often I cain’t barely stand ‘em.” Charlie fooled around strumming the guitar a bit more. “Sometimes he just wants meatloaf, every night, like for six months at a time…. Sometimes he wants all his favorite dishes buffet style, all at the same time, see? He might go for somethin’ new, but even then, usually, it’s cuz its similar, like… shepard’s pie, that’s a lot like meatloaf, jus with mashed potatoes on top… then that becomes his favorite dish for a while, and he has to have it ev’ry night til it's not new any more…  see, EP, man ….he takes comfort in the familiar…”

You nodded, smiling, getting what Charlie was trying to say. I guess I’m the shepard’s pie of Jackson…

“So, where y’all headed next on this tour?” You smooth you dress as you bend your knees up behind you on the couch, and giggle as a nipple pops up and you push it back into your dress.

“Oh, well, we’re goin’ back ta Memphis tomarra, for—" all of a sudden one of the other guys was in front of Charlie, bending in his ear. 

“Crazy over there wants to talk to ya,” you heard him whisper.

“Sure, Dick,” Charlie nodded back, and looked over you, handing you his guitar. “Hold this for me, won’t ya?”

You lean across him to put your drink on the side table, and you feel Charlie tense as your breasts graze his lap, you’ve never seen anyone hop up so fast as he alights and hands you his instrument. Taking his guitar, you flip your legs back on the ground, and eyes following the two men as they walk over to Elvis, who is now very much turned toward you, a grimace clouding his face. Kathy has been replaced by another man who’s talking to him. You wonder what upset him? But you are distracted by the guitar in your lap, and start to strum a few notes, smiling up at Elvis as you start to sing an old folk song from one of your Joan Baez records that popped into your head, you don’t know why. You’re not in love with Elvis, you’ve only known him 24 hours, but he does have black hair…

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair

His face so soft and wondrous fair

The purest eyes

And the strongest hands

I love the ground on where he stands

Closing your eyes, you let the buzz from the drinks and the show and the energy of the party creep over you and you give yourself to the song, singing softly. You open your eyes to see Elvis strolling over to you while you sing, and he takes a seat next to you where Charlie had been, leaning back into the armrest. There is wonder and affection in his eyes, and you push your leg into him as he rubs you knee while you warble out the last verse of the song.

“Where’d you learn to sing these sad sack songs, mhmm?” He scoots you closer to him, his hands snaking around your waist. You lean your head onto his chest, appreciating the way your head fits under his chin, strumming the strings casually.

“Summer camp… as a teenager …. it’s actually not far from here... just outside of Jackson.”

The warmth of his fingers trace up the side of your body, and you absentmindedly lift one hand to stroke his right sideburn, pulling on the curly, rough hair. His breath is hot on your ear when Elvis murmurs.

“Not bad, for an amateur I guess…”

“Ha…. most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here.” You call out, your voice is playful and loud, and Elvis pulls you on to his lap.

“Hmmm… you’re funny, ya know that?” He kisses your lips, and you dangle the guitar down by its neck, your other hand on Elvis’ shoulder to return his kiss, and then nuzzle back into him. “Go on now, play me a ‘nother one…” he cooed.

You turn your face up to his, and nod.

“K, here’s another from camp.” And you start to strum the chords to the folk version of an old Hebrew prayer, your head against his while his arm wraps around you. Your feet now dangle over the edge of his lap and his other hand rests over you, thumb rubbing your thigh as you sing.

Hashkiveinu Adonai 

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu 

l’cha--yim 

Spread the shelter of your peace over us 

Guide us in wisdom, compassion, and trust

Hashkiveinu Adonai 

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu 

l’cha--yim 

Save us for the sake of your name 

Shield us from hatred sorrow and pain 

Elvis lips kiss your neck.

“That’s beautiful honey, what’s it mean?”

You look down, still cradling the guitar. “I guess its a call out to God to lay us down with peace when we go to sleep at night, and give us peace when we wake in the morning… a call for protection.”

Elvis stroked your thigh, then moved his hands over yours on the guitar. “Go head, teach me the chords… I wanna learn this.”

You feel a firm rod hardening underneath you as you show him how the song goes, fingers over fingers, his lips on your neck, repeating the words. You laugh at his Hebrew pronunciations and he slaps your hip, laughing with you.

“How can you sing this music honey, and then say you don’t believe in God?”

You thought of your conversation earlier, and looked up to see if anyone heard what you and Elvis were saying. The crowd had gotten smaller, but those remaining seemed to be paying very little attention to the two of you.

“Of course you believe in God, Elvis, cuz your life is a fairy tale… handsome, talented, successful… but it’s really just random chance… why would God make some people beautiful and others ugly? Why would he make some poor and others rich? There’s no rhyme or reason to our lives…”

Elvis’ knuckles trailed across your cheek. 

“Ya don’t really think life is pointless?”

You hesitate. “Not pointless… but any meaning it has is meaning we give it, while we deal with all the bullshit we get dealt…”

“This…” Elvis murmured into your ear. “This is why he brought you to me. We’re meant to help each other… I’m going to help you seek him out…”

“Elvis…” you whisper, “what if I’m meant to help show you that there is no God?”

“Oh baby, I know there’s a God… I’ve seen ‘im….” 

You roll your eyes, and Elvis pulls you tighter, chuckling.

“Hmmm. So you’re bringing me to the light, how am I helping you?”

“Thought we already covered that… you’re using those snake charmin’ skills to remind me how God works in mysterious ways.” You feel him thrust his hips up into you a few times. His erection is undeniable, and you cough out a guffaw as he smirks, then lifts you up, one hand under your knees, the other around your arm. You shriek and drop the guitar.

“Oh no!”

“Don’t worry, baby, jus Charlie’s guitar, don’t matter one bit.” He smiled deviously over in Charlie’s direction and kicked the instrument out of his way, before bellowing out over your lifted frame. “Alright y’all, quitting time, s’been a long day, time to hit the hay.” You giggle, blushing again, its obvious that he is about to carry you to the bed room and you burrow into his chest to hide.

——-----------

Emerging from the master bathroom, face clean, hair brushed back, you’re wearing a slinky, pink silk nightie Jerry must have bought and put out for you on the bed. You shiver, seeing Elvis in his own blue pajamas already in the bed. He pats the space beside him, and you scurry over, launching onto the bed with a jump.

“Slow down, lil' girl, this ain’t the Grand Prix…”

You nod, breath shallow and nervous as you get under the covers and lay down next to Elvis. He turns, fingers slowly stroking your tummy, his face hovering an inch above yours. You shiver, breathing in more deeply, taking in his distinct musk of sweat, tobacco and spice. His lips softly skim over yours.

“Have a good time tonight?”

“Mhmmm,” your hands move up his chest and around his neck. 

His fingers trail down your belly, you feel the flames crackling at your core burst into a fire, and you bite your lip. Elvis grins, his cheeks expanding. His fingers are under your nightie, and he grins wider as he notices you aren’t wearing underwear, growling as he pushes your nightie up. You gasp as those fingers work their way down, running through your pubic hair. He raises his eyebrows, you feel his cock twitch against you, and you nod your chin, a slight moan escaping you as you lean up into his mouth and move your hands from his neck to pull down his pajama bottoms. He chuckles into your kiss.

“OK, woman, ok…. Now let a man take his own drawers off….”

You sit up against the pillows and Elvis rolls over on his back to pull his pajamas off and throw them to the floor first, pants then shirt. Why did we even get changed? You think as you turn to him, hand on his chest, mouth on his neck, his moans joining yours as you move to straddle his thighs. Looking up at you with awe, he pulls your night gown off and you slowly grind against him. Elvis’ hands move to your waist, grasping your soft, cushy handles, and you arch your head back when he lifts his thumb to his mouth and sucks over it, then lowers it to your clit. Each stroke is deliberate, soft, slow, and you buck forward with a tremor, moaning out. His stiff length rubs between your ass cheeks, and you thrust against it. You halt your movements forward and rise up, using your hands to guide him inside you, then grunting out as you bear down on him, the friction and the stretch a welcome thrill as you slowly plunged further. Elvis grunts and sits up, responding to the magnetic electricity that had been building between you all night. Neither of you can get close enough, you pull each other as tight as possible, surging your hips down into him while he grips your handles. Your arms wind around his neck and his forehead is damp against your chin and his voice speaks into your neck high and breathy.

“Oh baby, sweet baby, where ya been all my life? Huh?”

Your chest heaves into him, and you ride him further, crying out with a twitch when his cock hits that new magic spot. Your G spot. Your E spot. Moaning, you kiss down on the top of his head, grasping him closer when his arms tighten around your waist. You feel the sweat dripping down through his chest hair as it chafes against your nipples, the sensation brings a gasp out of your mouth. You meld together with each clap of thunder as your hips meet his over and over, your skin is electrified and the sensation seems more intense than the previous night, your bodies seem more in tune with each other, so much so that they seem to fit together. You follow where he leads, and he responds to each movement you make, lips seeking out the nape of your neck, sending shivers through you until his soft kisses become aggressive and you try to consume each other before the flames rise up out of the bed to devour you both.

“Oh GOD, Elvis! Fuckkkkk….”

You call out, your whole cunt is vibrating with anticipation, you can feel electricity coiling behind your belly button.

“See honey? Its workin’ already… I’m bringing you closer to God.. ugghhhh....” he grunts as you bear down on him. You try to roll your eyes but then have to squeeze them closed when his hands work your hips up and down again and you spasm.

Another minute, and you are screaming out through the waves of pleasure emanating up your core, your rolls into each other slow, and there it is, you can’t help it, you’re sobbing again as a feverish warmth spreads over you. Elvis’ fingers are on your face, clearing away your hair, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  His hips are stilled, and he kisses your chin, your lips part with a deep exhale.

“Ugh, oh, God, I don’t know——“

“Ssshhh,” he pulls you into him. “S’ok...” He murmurs into your neck, you wrap yourself further around him from above, and begin to move again. “You wanna keep goin’?

“Mhmm” you breath out, clenching around him and you feel as if he’s gone even deeper inside you, like Elvis is probing so far into you he might burst right through you. The rhythm resumes, your bottom hits his knees as you lunge up and down and you feel him gasp in a soft, weak high voice.

“Oh darlin’, let me be your baby… just take me in you and let me be your lil’ baby….?” His eyes beg you, and his mouth contorts into a pinched expression of shock and pleasure. Hands on your hips, Elvis pulled you forward onto him and you increase your pace, pushing faster into him, wet skin slapping against his chest while he holds you close, your hands smoothing over his hair and you whisper.

“There’s a good boy, ahhh! ….. course you can be my baby… my good baby... my bubbleleh…” you murmur, smoothing the top of his hair. You have never talked the way during sex, it just comes out in the moment and you go with it as you both inhabit the roles you play in all the different aspects of your life at once: mother, father, lover, child.

Elvis’ eyes look up at you from below, with his chin jutting and the innocent expression lighting up his face, he looks ten years younger.  His eyes plead for release, connection, recognition, and his eyebrows are pushed up by desire while his left hand cups your neck. Jerking back, he pushes you off him and down on the bed, pulling out just before he explodes on to your abdomen with a stuttering growl. He pumps himself with his hand one, two, three more times, then exhales loudly as your bodies still. He coughs and grunts again, shaking his head, hands rubbing your sides up and down.

You look up, a dizzy smile on your face. “I’m on the pill, just so ya know…”

“Oh?” Elvis looked down at you, moving to get off the bed, presumably to get you a towel, but you pull him back, instead wiping your self off on the duvet. You push him down on his back, straddling him once more, this time to cuddle on top of him. You lean forward over him and relish the way his chest hair tickles your breasts. He fluffs a pillow as you rest your head over crossed arms and look up in delight at the goofy grin spreading across his face. His neck swells forward, and now his mouth sits above a tower of meaty jowls. His baritone voice reverberates up into your arms.

“Is that cuz you already have a daddy here in Jackson?”

You shake your head. “Nooooo. Just cautious, like you.”

Elvis bows his chin forward. “Yeah, well, I already knew you didn’t have a man, I could tell… I know things,” he grinned, pointing his index finger at his head. 

You lean up, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Yeah… I know…. You’re a seer…. what we just did was definitely a spiritual experience…” You giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything… anything like that…” you tuck your head into his chest, your fingers tousling the damp, sweaty curls they find. Elvis runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, s’always better the more you do it together, isn’t it… bodies get used to each other… I’ve… I’ve had some good rolls in the hay, but it’s been a while… boyoboy…” He gently pulls your hair back so you are looking up at him, his profile limned by the soft bedside lamp. “Come back to Memphis with me tomorrow.” 

You purse your lip. “Elvis… I…”

He shakes his head. “Uh uh, I don’t like the sound of that… woman, you just told me you had the best sex of your life. I ain’t asking you to marry me, jus come spend a few days an' have some fun… can’t tell me that store won’t get along with out you?”

You sit up, next to him, crossing your legs on the bed. 

“Elvis, you just met me… this is moving tooo fast..”

“Honey, fast is the only speed I know…”

“Elvis, I can’t go to Memphis with you.”

He pauses, brow furrowed. “This cuz you thought you were going out with THE Elvis Presssley, then ended up with me?”

You grab his shoulders, leaning over him to kiss his face as he turns in a huff, pouting.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? You think I’m disappointed because I got to see you up close? The real you?” You turn his face back to look at you and the hurt in his eyes dissipates. “No baby… no…. Look, I’ve had the best time with you. Ever. I mean it. You are…. Well, ‘m not one for making a fool of myself an tellin’ a man how foxy I think he is… you know you are…” you slap his shoulder. “And you’re actually better than I thought you’d be… you’re funny… and brilliant…. and.. ugh… I stole your belt last night because I wanted to remember this forever …. When I’m with you I… I … feel like a teenager again… all my cares and responsibilities, they melt away. And that’s nice, cuz I had to grow up kinda of early … so feeling free again… its been a dream —”

“Then why don’t you wanna come with me, baby?”

“I do. I want to. But I can’t… I have people who depend on me, people who need me… I’ve been taking over the management of my uncle’s store… I live with my aunt and uncle, they’re in their 60s…” and I have a kid I don’t want to tell you about because this is just fun and I don't want to bring the baggage from my life into this one night - two night  - stand …. “I have to go back to reality tomorrow… or today, depending what time it is?… I guess that doesn’t matter… I have to go back to my life and so … so do you…”

Elvis takes your hand, drawing you into the crook of his arm, his other hand caresses your shoulder, you can see the wheels in his head turning.

“Hmmm… let’s get some sleep, we’ll talk about this in the mornin’… jus promise no sneaking’ out this time without sayin’ good bye?”

You assent with a bow, and he kisses the top of your head, then sits up to take a pill bottle out of the side table drawer. You shake your head no when he offers you some, and watch as he gulps a handful down, no water, and turns off the light. Ten minutes later Elvis’ ragged snores lull you too sleep.

——----------

The room is black when you wake up in a naked embrace with Elvis, your hair matted down from the warm sweat of his chest. The windows are still covered with aluminum, but the bedside clock tells you it's 6 am. You gently lift his arm so you can get up, and as you swing your feet off the bed he sits up with a start, grabbing you from behind.

“Don’t leave me Satnin, don’t leave me in the dark… I can’t be alone in the dark…” his soft voice trembles with fear, and you push back into the pillows, taking Elvis’ head in your lap and sooth his brow, hushing him with a promise that you aren’t leaving, just going to the bathroom. 

Once he falls back to sleep, you get up and, finding your nighty, make your way to the en suite toilet. Looking over at him as you come back, you tip toe out of the bed room to call home and talk to Ruth in the living room. You had snuck off to a phone after the show last night, and had a long, apologetic conversation with Aunt Ida, who was, honestly, too enthusiastic about the fact that you wouldn’t be coming home for the second night in a row. You met someone, girlchik, I told you that you would, she had gushed. You had just been grateful that neither Danny nor Harriet had told their parents whom that someone was. Harriet had stayed over to help, as promised, and was going to open the store today, but you hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ruth. You leave the lights in the living room off, relieved that Joe or one of the other guys is not sitting in the living room to greet you this morning when you make your way to the phone near the pent house kitchen. You sit on a bar stool and have the operator call your house, then ask Ida to put your daughter on the phone.

“Hey baby, you’re not mad at me for staying out with friends?”

You can hear Ruth roll her eyes. “Mom… why would I be mad? You should do this more, Harriet lets me have as much ice cream as I want. For breakfast too.”

“What?”

“Just kidding…” Ruth giggles.

“Ok, good… hey, after today, only three more days of school left til summer?”

“Mhmm, mom, yeah. I know….”

“Ok, ok, I just called to tell you to have a good day at school, and I’ll see you tonight, ok, sweet baby?”

“Ok, love ya mom.” 

Just as Ruth hangs up, you jolt at the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut and turn to see Elvis in a robe, rubbing his eyes with a befuddled expression on his face.

“Sweet baby? Thought you didn’t have a man…. “

Hanging up the phone, you throw your head back and look at the ceiling, then return to meet his gaze.

“I don’t… I wasn’t talking to a man…” you mutter.

Elvis’ brow creases, as he rubs his eyes again. 

“Well then, who were you…..ohhh…” he walks over to you, and sits in the bar stool next to you “How old?”

“9.” You look down.

“You must a been a baby yer self when you had ‘em?”

You just nod, as he takes your hand.

“An that’s why you can’t come to Memphis.” He drops your hand, getting up and pacing back towards the bedroom. 

You stand to follow him, but stop, you can tell he’s upset, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s mad at you for not telling him you had a kid, or mad because his psychic powers didn’t show him this information, or mad because he’s not going to get what he wants, or mad because he thinks you��re some sort of tramp horrible mother and can’t believe he was attracted to you. Your worst insecurities assume its the latter one, the energy in the room has turned bitter and you want to run out of the door. You fight this, realizing clothes would be good first.

“I should go,” you offer, and he turns, hand on the bridge of his nose as he stands in thought.

“What? No… I mean.. Yes.. honey, do what you gotta do…”

You walk up and kiss Elvis on the cheek, then move to get dressed in the bedroom, finding your old jeans and shirt and converse in the closet. Elvis follows you, and perches at the edge of the large, leather chair watching you dress. He stands to grab something out of his black dress jacket, and pads over to you as you finish tying your shoe. The belt and ring he gave you are on the bed next to where you finish getting dressed, and you aren’t sure if you should leave them. He seems to read your mind.

“Take ‘em… go ahead, I want ya to have ‘em…” Then he hands you a wad of money. “And this too, for all your troubles.” 

You count it, $500. A sinking feeling starts in the pit of your stomach. Whore. You feel like a cheap whore. You crumple up the cash and throw it on top of his things, slap him in the face, and then walk out through the bedroom and leave without looking back.

Elvis rubs his stinging cheek, and turns to follow. No one has ever rejected his gifts. 

“What the devil in tarnation… crazy woman…” he mumbles to himself, still drugged and half dead from the sleeping pills and lack of sleep, his mind and body are moving slow. He hears the front door slam and he jogs after you, sticking his head out of the door to call you back, only to find the hallway empty. All that remains of your presence is the faint sting from your hand still burning his cheek.

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Read Chapter Three Here

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley smut #elvis x OC #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fic #banditqueenwrites

[butlersxbirdy]

Blue Banisters

You're Very Brave and Very Free

Warnings: Mentions of marriage struggles, infidelity, mentions of death, mentions of drug use, reunions and things left unsaid.

   The house was kept in tip top shape as Maggie planned, but missing its patriarch for far longer than Maggie had ever thought he’d be gone slowly took a toll on the grand house. In the year that Big Daddy was away, they received letters, and some news trickling in from members of the expanded, and ever expanding, family. Maggie however, busied herself with the house, even as her birthday, and Big Daddy’s birthday, passed without the phone ringing for either of them. She knew she had to be careful, as Summer loomed ever closer and Big Daddy’s absence left a gaping hole she felt so acutely she couldn’t believe it wasn’t physically present. She was fond of him, is the excuse given when explaining away her reaction upon his shocking absence that fateful morning, and her trembling frame when sharing the news with Cousin Billy, his wife Mae, and their then 4, (now 5 with a 6th in Mae’s poisonous womb) children. 

“I wish we hadn't had to say a word,” Maggie complained loudly one evening, a frustrating 3 months into Elvis’s absence. The family was gathered on the front porch for cocktails after a delicious dinner, and the children were making an absolute racket on the lawn. “Everyone knows Big Daddy is tired o’that shrew of a woman, an’ her no-neck monsters,” she snapped, fanning herself delicately, slowly smoking one of Jerry’s cigarettes, and enjoying her drink. 

“Big Daddy adores my children, an’ we’ll all be here to greet him with the happy news when he comes back!” Billy yelled from where he sat whispering with Mae, the two of them throwing looks at Maggie and Brick. Brick stood, apparently unable to take anymore from either of them, fuming mad and pointing fingers.

“Don’t you talk to my wife like that!” his voice rose, and for the first time in memory, Maggie almost fainted. Brick hadn’t raised his voice or spoken a kind word about her in almost 6 months. Not that it was a shock, she thought, rubbing her thighs together subtly, but it was no use.

Maggie the cat, they called her. Cat in heat was how she privately thought of herself. It was an unfortunate secret that Maggie had lived untouched, since the first year of marriage to Brick Presley. Maggie often wondered if Big Daddy knew. She knew he wouldn’t do anything about it if he did, but the knowing… she had to wonder if he knew or had guessed. 

The topic never came up with Brick, especially since Big Daddy got taken away. She wanted to ask him, wanted a child to fill her belly, and her heart, but she saw the look in his eyes when she so much as opened her mouth when they were alone together. Big Daddy’s departure and Maggie’s subsequent despondency weren’t the only cracks in the crumbling young couple. 

Brick’s ankle, all wrapped in a cast now, had broken after a drunken night that still haunted Maggie’s nightmares. 

  Time had dragged on with little word of Big Daddy’s progress, and soon, almost a year had passed. Ten lonely months had passed since Big Daddy got taken away, ten months since Maggie had seen him, an even greater tragedy changed everything. There had been a phone call, a fight, and a horrible accident, and at the end of it all, Brick had lost the person that made him feel, (Maggie suspected) the way she felt about her own father in law. 

As their marriage had grown more distant, but somehow no less fond in some ways, Maggie knew, in hindsight, that neither she nor Brick were to blame for her husband’s despondency. She saw how he lit up around Skipper, she had seen at the wedding, even. But Big Daddy and the Memphis Mafia were her family, and Brick was dependent on her, more so than anyone knew if her suspicions about her husband and his best man were correct. 

Skipper had been, in life, more, and somehow less, than Brick’s best friend. In death, Skipper was the convenient excuse Brick had to pull away completely from Maggie, and drink more than she’d ever seen him drink. Brick’s grief was immense, and it pulled at him, tugging him away from Maggie like a rip current, though he told her time and again that he knew it wasn’t her fault.

“Well if it’s not my fault, then why won’t ya stop drinkin, and get back t’sleepin in our bed, with me?” she had wailed one night, sick from the silence, worry, and work it took to maintain Graceland while Big Daddy was away.

“I swear t’God Maggie, if ya say one more word I’ll march downstairs, tell Billy an’ Mae that you’re barren, an’ that Big Daddy won’t get one grandchild outta me unless we get a divorce!” he yelled right back. Maggie had nothing to say to that, both because of the tears in her throat tightening her jaw, and because for the first time in her life, she was afraid of him.

 The next day, their 4th wedding anniversary, Maggie spent alone, wishing she could take back calling Skipper to their home that night, and wishing that Big Daddy was thinking of her too and that he was doing alright. The day after Maggie celebrated her anniversary in misery, Ms. Pollitt received the word from Jerry that everyone had been waiting for; Big Daddy was doing well, and was coming home to stay in just three days' time. Maggie trembled with excitement, or rather, she wanted to. Her emotional display when he was taken was still so fresh in everyone’s mind a year later; this was plain as day when all eyes turned to her when Ms. Pollitt made the announcement at Breakfast. Brick’s lips twitched into a smirk at her predicament, and she wanted to slap him and break things. Wanted to shame him for turning himself into a drunken spiteful fool, and for turning her into an angry, frustrated, frantic, cruel shrew. But she would not. Not in Big Daddy’s house. Instead she gave a warm smile to the family at large, dazzling her brilliant eyes at Cousin Billy, which made Mae grumble.

“Wonderful news! Forgive me if I wait until he’s back with all of us at Graceland to raise a glass, but that’s simply marvelous,” Maggie declared warmly, and demanded everyone serve themselves and dig in.

Completely against the wishes of nearly everyone involved, Mae insisted on a large family gathering to celebrate Big Daddy Presley’s return to Graceland. More offensive than that, however, was her insistence that she and Billy take care of everything. 

“Mae, c’mon now, you do know, as we are all aware, that Maggie is Big Daddy’s particular favorite,” Jerry pushed back, thinking no one could hear Mae’s takeover and his stubborn refusal to let it stand. Maggie herself sat in the open window of her and Brick’s Graceland bedroom, much nicer than their room at their home in New Orleans, hearing every word. 

At that moment, Maggie didn’t care that Mae wanted to upstage her. She didn’t care that she was far from her supposed home. She didn’t even care that her husband’s indifference was bordering on cruel. She was Big Daddy’s favorite. Everyone knew it. And Big Daddy was well. He was coming home. She’d see him in three days. Nothing in the next 72 hours could bring down her mood, though many forces conspired to do just that. 

The day everyone had waited for finally arrived. The heat of the Memphis Summer sun beat down upon the impending festivities, a merciful breeze danced across the lawn, and the horses neighed in their paddocks. Anticipation had settled over the family, and the grand house itself. Mae and the no-neck monsters were rehearsing for some kind of hideous parade out on the lawn. There were ostentatious decorations, loud voices singing off key, and Mae blowing her infernal whistle trying to organize her little troupe. Brick had been more vicious as well, come to think of it- his ankle was hurting, still wrapped in the cast from the break, and he drank like a landlocked fish every minute of the day. Cousin Billy was the final straw that drove Maggie away from Graceland and into town, with a loudly proclaimed vicious rumor before breakfast had even been served.

“We all know he’s dyin, why can’t he just admit it? Just you wait, this place’ll be ours by the time my precious lil girl is born in October,” He said proudly, where everyone could hear. Jerry, always the loyal and trusted friend to Big Daddy, took Billy by the neck while Steve set him straight. 

“It’s not true,” Maggie shook her head, staring at Brick desperately. The two of them were holed up in their room, sweating out the wait in the summer heat instead of spending a single moment around Billy and Mae. “It can’t be true.”

“What the hell do you care if it is, Maggie?” Brick asked sourly, finishing his drink and immediately pouring himself another.

“Because he’s your father,” She snapped back, turning her face away. 

“Sure, Maggie. Whatever you say. Don’t ya have a new dress to buy?” he rolled his eyes. “Go have breakfast with your buddy Jerry and then shop til you drop. It’s all you’re good for.”

Maggie flinched as though she’d been slapped. Not that Brick could see her, of course. He was staring out the window, sipping his vodka on ice, and resolutely not looking at the wounds his words caused.

“I don’t deserve that. You know I don’t. Please look at me, for a moment, we can talk about this, we can talk about why you’re so angry with me,” she begged, tears forming in her eyes. She wanted to tell him the truth bubbling up in her lungs, drowning her, but he made a low sound of pure rage.

“We don’t talk about it Maggie, remember? If I’m going to keep living with you, we don’t talk about it. Ever,” he insisted, eyes nearly black. 

“I’m not living with you!” She cried. “We’re occupying the same cage, Brick. That’s all.”

“Then get out of it,” he sighed, pushing open the door to the veranda. Maggie didn’t need telling twice. She bolted from the room, from Brick. She didn’t even pause to tell the Mafia she would be skipping breakfast before running to the car, wiping her tears, and heading into town. The thing that stung the most was that Brick was right; she did want a new dress for the dinner tonight. Mae could be as nasty as she wanted, Billy could be a greedy sonofabitch, and the no-neck monsters could run wild, but Maggie was determined to be what she had always been. A breath of fresh air for Big Daddy, the man who had always been so kind to his family, and her in particular. She was his favorite, she knew, and she was determined to remain so while rubbing it in everyone’s face. The only person she would spare if she could was Brick. Try as he might to push her away, she loved him, still. It was an uncomfortable feeling, grabbing a bite to eat and buying two new outfits for the day ahead all the while daydreaming about both of them; her husband and her father in law. Two very different men, and thus her pull to them was so very different. She tried to stop thinking about them, but it was impossible. She had set herself on this path. Her life revolved around them both. 

By the time she got back to the house, preparation for the return of Big Daddy was in full swing. Mae led most of her children in a repetitive, screechy rendition of Dixieland, played on recorders and children’s trumpets, Billy sat in a lounge chair, pretending to watch over his family, and Jerry, Scotty, Steve, and Bones, sat on the porch, bemoaning the flagrant brown-nosing on Mae’s part.

“He can’t stand those fuckin kids,” Jerry shook his head and Bones chuckled.

“Maggie’s always right, we should all know by now,” he took a long drag of a cigarette. 

“Where is she, anyhow? Where’s Brick?” Steve asked, knowing full well that those weren’t the kinds of questions one could or should ask, but for that very secrecy, those questions plagued everyone’s mind. 

“I’m right here!” Maggie smiled brightly, catching the tail end of the discussion as she came up the steps, shopping bags in hand.  “Brick’s upstairs gettin ready I’m sure. We’re gonna meet Big Daddy’s plane!” Her voice vibrated with excitement.

“Brick joining ya for that, Honey?” Steve asked, handing her his cigarette as Mae’s monsters ran by. She took it gratefully and took a few drags. 

“I’m sure he will, unless his leg’s buggin’ him too bad,” she answered at last, her tone softer and less inviting. “I’d better head up t’see how he’s comin along gettin’ into his nice suit.” She kept a smile on her face but the hand that reached for Steve’s cigarette trembled, and she took a slow lazy drag before collecting her bags and her purse. 

When she got upstairs, her eyes landed on Brick, drinking the day away still.  

“Brick?” she asked as softly as possible, though her frustration was beginning to show. “Ya gonna come on down to dinner when I get back?” 

“Ya just go back, where ya goin now” Brick muttered, slurring his words slightly. Maggie couldn’t help but try to drop a kiss on his damp forehead, a gesture he accepted, but not without grumbling at her.

“I’m gonna go meet Daddy’s plane, Baby, then we’ll come on back and it’ll be dinner time, ya gotta come down an’ help me out with Mae an’ Billy like ya did a few months back,” she replied, her voice filling with a dangerous kind of hope when she remembers his wholehearted defense of her. 

“They ain’t gonna get up t’that kind of talk t’night, Maggie,” Brick slurred dismissively. The drink, or the heat was clearly affecting his memory.

“It goes on all the time,” she snapped. “That an’ all the little comments about how you and I haven’t had any children yet, I can hardly stand it. At least Big Daddy knows what they’re up to, that’s one thing we’ve got on our side,” Maggie smiled warmly as she walked to the mirror with her shopping. She had work to do,

“Our side? What else exactly, do we got on our side?” Brick asked snidely. 

“Big Daddy adores us,” she replied confidently, changing her stockings quickly and slipping on her new skirt, white with pale blue flowers. She smoothed her hands over herself in the mirror, ignoring Brick and the hammering of her heart in her chest to assess her reflection.

“An’ he adores Billy too,” Brick rolled his eyes. “Don’t look like that, Maggie, he does.”

“But he hate hate hates that awful shrew, Mae,” Maggie smirked confidently. “And he adores me, you know he does,” she said, her voice softening at the mention of the man who’s plane would be landing at any minute. “An’ I think he’s still got an eye for girls, if ya ask me.”

“What makes ya think that, Maggie? The nonexistent parade of women in an’ out o’ this place?” he snorted, finishing his drink and pouring another almost in the same breath. 

“The fact that he’s got a bit of a crush on me.” The self satisfied smile on Maggie’s face was almost enough to make Brick puke.

“That kind o’talk is disgusting, Maggie,” he spits at her, but she was not to be deterred.

“You’re a puritan, Brick, a back achin’ puritan, that’s your problem. Billy an’ Mae sense that about you, that’t why they make fun of me so, for our havin no children yet, even though that’s all I want,” her voice carried softly through the room like breeze through the trees as she sat beside him, leaning in a little. She wanted a kiss, and once upon a time, Brick would be able to give it to her, but not today. Maybe not ever again.

“Ya want children so damn bad, Maggie, take a lover. Jerry’d take care o’ya in a heartbeat.” 

The words from her husband who she, against reason, still loved, were a knife in Maggie’s chest. She flinched back from where he lay, which must have looked so odd to anyone who might have looked in on this private pain; a woman flinching back from her husband who was in no position to strike her. His prone form took no notice of her suffering as he lay, elevating that infernal broken ankle all the while, taking barely any notice of the beautiful woman he kept chained to his side. 

“That’s not fair, Brick,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. She didn’t want to be sad when she saw Big Daddy again.

“Life’s not fair, Maggie,” he sighed, turning fully away from her. “You’d better go if you’re going to meet the plane.” 

Maggie didn’t need telling twice. Slipping back into her heels and collecting her purse and her lipstick quickly, she practically ran out the door to the balcony, down the steps to the front yard, and into the pink Cadillac that had been reserved, in Big Daddy’s absence, for her particular use. Damn this family, and damn Brick too, for suggesting she sleep with Jerry. The man was handsome, no doubt, but not Maggie’s type. Maggie’s type, as far as anyone was concerned, was forever and always Brick Presley. That was all anyone knew or could reasonably claim about Maggie, and that was true. Brick was the only man for her… with one impossible, but notable exception. 

That notable exception was on the plane that had barely just landed when Maggie arrived at the air strip. Mae, Billy, and the children were full steam ahead, barrelling loudly, with their offkey parade of music and chanting, toward where the door to the plane opened, and Elvis Presley, the man himself, stepped out into the sunshine. At the top of the stairs, he paused, barely hiding his disdain for the noise surrounding him, looking past the crowd of children led by a widely smiling Mae. His eyes met Maggie’s and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t help it. He looked amazing, bold, healthy, brave, and free. She hung back though, waiting as Billy thrust his children upon the long-awaited patriarch of the Memphis Mafia. 

“Give the children a big kiss, Big Daddy, we all missed ya somethin’ fierce,” Mae practically yelled. 

Big Daddy rolled his eyes behind his shades, but Maggie saw and her stomach clenched with a ferocity she’d never known. 

“Not right now, Billy, get ‘em outta here,” he said briskly, walking with a strong determined gait to where Maggie stood waiting patiently. A smile settled on both of their faces as he stepped into her space.

“Ain’t you the sweetest sight f’sore eyes?” he sighed softly, exhaling months of heartache at the mere sight of her. His youthful lopsided smile made her stomach flutter, and she couldn’t help but squeal with delight when he scooped her into a hug and spun her in a circle.

“Big Daddy!” she laughed, and kissed him on the cheek, and his heart grew even stronger than the months of treatment could ever have done as he saw how she looked at him, as though he hung the sun, moon, and stars. 

“Maggie the Cat,” he grinned broadly at her, his hand cupping her jaw. “Ya look good. You’re all flushed, darlin, ya glowin yet?” His eyes travel down to her stomach and she shakes her head.

“Not yet, Mr. Presley, just happy t’see ya is all. We can talk back at the house,” she demurred, adjusting her skirt nervously. “I’m sure ya wanna ride back with Billy an’ the kids,” she blushed, knowing he didn’t, but very aware suddenly of her own shortcomings. Of her empty womb. Of her failing marriage to Mr. Presley’s son. 

“Course I don’t darlin, an’ a man who’s been through all I done needs the company of a beautiful woman. An’ I see ya look good with my other favorite lady,” he gestured to the car, before getting in the passenger seat, as Mae and Billy gaped at the pair of them.

“Ya sure ya don’t wanna drive?” She laughed, fighting the temptation to lean over the door of the car, give him a view of her chest, and kiss his soft, plush lips. 

“Nah, wanna relax a bit, an’ I wanna see how ya handle this ol’ girl,” he pats the dashboard with affection. He looked up at Maggie as though he wanted to add something, but instead he just squeezed her hand and kissed it, before letting her go.The low purr that escaped his chest when she walked around the front of the car in that tight skirt was mercifully inaudible to anyone but him and God, and he sent up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness for the way his body longed to cover her slight frame and give her what she was so clearly not getting. 

“We’ll go straight t’the house, Big Daddy,” Maggie was breathless when she took her seat behind the wheel. Adrenaline, joy, and arousal flooded her system, making it hard to catch her breath. “Everyone’s making a big fuss, would ya believe? I kept th’place in tiptop shape for ya, an’ they insist on makin a mess for a big dinner,” she laughed and he chuckled with her.

“So everyone’s at the house then?” he asked, wistful for a moment alone with her, just moments of her attention on him as long as he could hold it.

“Just about!” she replied brightly, and he cleared his throat.

“Then we’re stoppin at Circle G f’a bit, wanna go see Bear,” he hummed, thinking about the company of his horses. It was hard at times to see past the gaping loss he felt most during his time in treatment, but now that he was back and feeling well enough to think and feel for his own self, there were many aspects of home he had missed.

“I know he missed ya, Mr. Presley, that’s a fine idea,” the soft melody of Maggie agreeing with him was music to his ears in more ways than one, and God Above had he missed music. He wasn’t sure, in his lack of certitude  as to his way forward, if he’d perform again, but playing and singing would always be a part of his heart.

“I missed home. Missed a lot,” he confessed and a small hand darted out to rest momentarily on his, so fast and soft he swore he invented the whole thing. He chose not to mention it as they pulled up to the large white paddock fence, and Bear and Rising Sun came running over, as though he’d only been gone a week. Billy and Mae drove past, looking as though they wanted to pull over and join, but Maggie successfully waved them off, much to Elvis’s gratitude.

When she turned around to make a scathing joke at Mae’s expense, but Big Daddy was looking at his horses with such soft fondness it almost made Maggie sink into the ground. Here was a man who would forever be just out of reach for her, with a tender heart, big hands, and red hot American blood that pumped through his veins with renewed strength. Surely, he’d take a lover, and Maggie would have to endure yet another heartache, atop the thankless empty life as the wife of Brick Presley. The thought was torture, and she fought tears as she stood by his side, watching the horses. 

“It’s damn good to see you back where you belong, Big Daddy,” She said brightly, trying to conceal her own burdens from him. His step was so light now, and a smile played so easily upon his lips that she didn’t dare tread where she wasn't wanted. For all the wonderful things about him, Big Daddy’s temper was just as legendary as his big heart. 

“Be honest, Maggie, did ya think I wouldn’t be back?” He asked, patting Bear’s nose absently, as though his mind was divided no matter which way he directed his piercing attention.

She wanted to say she’d never doubted him for a moment. She wanted to say that she’d never thought for a moment that he’d leave Graceland forever. But it wasn’t true, and she knew he’d know. He always knew, always saw her. 

“I wanted to believe,” she confessed. “But ya didn’t call, an’ I though you were scared t’tell me an’ Brick somethin’ dreadful, an’ then Mae an’ Billy were goin’ on about how if ya been gone this long without any news, then if they ever did send ya home, it’d be t’set affairs in order an’ go home t’the Lord in your own bed,” she shuffled her feet a bit, not wanting to upset him or be a tattler on Billy and Mae. Big Daddy’s disdain for the pair of them was obvious, but she could remain in his good graces without stooping to the level of mean gossip. She was better than that. For Big Daddy, she could and would be better than that. 

“Well, then, my dear,” Big Daddy sighed, and looked at her with a playful but all consuming glint in his blue eyes. “Why don’ we go ahead an’ keep this lil chat between us?” his smile expanded across his whole face as he looked out on to his beloved horses.

“Whatcha mean, Big Daddy?” she asked, hanging on his every word. He either had the best news, or the worst.

“I’m gonna live, Maggie,” he grinned. “I’m gonna live. The doctors fixed me right up an’ got me off the damn pills,” he winked at her. “I was real scared there for a moment, I don’t mind tellin ya. I’ve got a million kinds of feelings left in this ol’ heart, an’ I wanna do somethin’ with em. Make some music, ya know? Be the kind of man I wanna be.” His eyes landed on her and she returned the look with the sweetest smile he swore he’d ever seen. Maggie had no idea, he could see, what he was speaking of, or she’d surely run for the hills. But he knew he had to do something with the time he’d been given.

“Well I think that’s a fine idea, Big Daddy,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Ya always were the best this side of the Mississippi.”

“You’re jus’ sayin that cuz you’re hungry, Darlin, I can tell. Let’s go up t’the house, watch Mae an’ Billy sweat it out waitin’ fo’me to keel over dead in m’dinner.” he laughed, a big laugh that shook through the trees. She laughed with him, and they got back in the car to drive up the rest of the way to that beautiful home, Graceland.

Awaiting them, once more, there was Mae and the children making a fuss, but Big Daddy paid them no mind, waving off their loud music, high nasally voices, and cloying attention. Upon seeing the old house, Big Daddy felt emboldened to ask something that had played on his mind since long before he had gone away. 

“Maggie dear, is everything alright between you an’ Brick?” he asked. “I mean, Billy got all his goddamn children runnin wild ‘round here, an’ I know you’d make a finer set o’little ones than… well, hell. Anyone, but especially Mae,” he chuckled. 

“Brick and I are fine, Big Daddy, we’re tryin’ now in fact. Jus’ been a lil preoccupied with wantin’ ya back home with us, and now that you’re home, I’m sure everythin will move right along as it should,” She said brightly, biting her tongue to fight the flood of tears threatening to break free.

“Why’s he makin’ such a fuss for? Brick don’ ruffle his feathers f’nobody,” Big Daddy shook his head. 

“He’s worried, Big Daddy, Brick loves you,” Maggie scolded him gently. “You know he does.” 

“Yeah, but does he love you?” Elvis retorted, knowing he was goading her. Maggie tried to pay no mind, but she knew the jig was up. At some point she’d have to stop lying to him about her marriage to his son, sooner than later it seemed.

“What do you want, Big Daddy? Proof?” she chuckled nervously, getting out of the car to avoid looking at him, and he knew in that moment he’d hurt her. Gone too far, or if not too far, aimed his questions in the wrong direction. He quickly got out too, and his hand shot out to hold hers. Looking into her eyes, he leaned in and said, as though for a moment it was just the two of them in all the world,

“If I was married to you three years, you’d have the living proof. Three babies runnin around, and a fourth in the oven.” He looked so sincere in the moment, so full of love for her, that she leaned in a little, chasing a kiss she knew could never come, until the world righted itself when Jerry, Steve, and Billy’s 5 children surrounded them in a rush to greet Elvis Presley, and welcome him back to Graceland, pulling him and Maggie farther apart than ever. 

#blue banisters #big daddy elvis × maggie the cat #big daddy elvis fic

[wanderingelvis]

Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea

Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 2,649

Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)

You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man. 

Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.

Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.

You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.

Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple. 

You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia. 

Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine. 

You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.

The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.

And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter. 

It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.

"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you. 

You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis. 

"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.

See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do. 

Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."

"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.

"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.

"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.

You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.

You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right! 

It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally. 

The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering  everywhere. 

You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.

As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands. 

You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party. 

That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.

"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.

As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.

So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you. 

"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.

You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze. 

"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.

Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.

"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears. 

"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.

"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.

Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.

"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened. 

Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care. 

"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.

You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.

"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain. 

"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.

"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.

"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.

Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.

Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner. 

Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic. 

"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere. 

"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.

Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed. 

Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared. 

You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.

Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.

"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.

Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.

#elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis fluff #elvis x you #70s elvis #yandere elvis #60s elvis #50s elvis #elvis fans #elvis fanfic #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis x oc #elvis angst #elvis fic #big daddy elvis #innocent reader #innocent!reader #golden retriever reader

[be-my-ally]

Let Yourself Go

Overstimulated Reader! Request.

my darling, what a dream request - thank you anon! for both your very kind words + excellent request!!! this has consumed my brain for the past week; I originally intended it to be short like 2.5-3k, and then it turned into 4k and then I realised that in all of those words elvis had only been treated once so it turned into 6k. so this is 6.7k of pure, absolute, filthy smut just for you that i really hope lives up your expectations!

summary: slightly innocent!reader is convinced girls can't really orgasm - elvis sets out to teach her how wrong she is.

pairing: afab!reader/elvis (big daddy e)

warnings: 18+, 18+, 18+, tiny bit of daddy kink, implied age difference, oral (p+v receiving), p in v sex, fingering, mirror sex, overstimulation, very brief spanking. I think that's it? Reader does attempt to stop the proceedings a couple of times and elvis doesn't stop but it is all consensual.

wc: 6.7k

suggested listening: the end of such a night + of course, let yourself go.

You’ve not been together very long and you were still learning about each other in many ways. It confused you a little that he, who you knew had girls throwing themselves at him, would take the time to bother to get to know you better. He’d picked you out of the crowd and put you on his lap in his dressing room before he’d even learnt your name. When you’d told him, earnestly, that you didn’t expect to be married or anything but you were a good girl, who wouldn’t sleep around, you’d expected him to tell you that he wasn’t going to see you again. But no, he’d put in the effort and here you were, a few weeks later, at Graceland of all places. You’d been brought back with him after his engagement at the International ended for this year, allowing him a short break before he resumed touring. 

He’d taken you out on his bike earlier, showing you the sights of Memphis and you’d loved the rush, so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Despite the fact that you dreaded the call from your parents at the photos that would inevitably be published of the two of you - you hadn’t really been dressed to go out (the outing unexpected), nor had you been able to help snuggling into his back, your hand resting on his solid thigh at the lights. When you’d gotten back to the estate you’d expected a party - a celebration of his homecoming, and you’d been bracing to have to deal with losing him for the evening, but you’d been pleasantly shocked when he’d kicked everyone out after dinner, announcing that he wanted a night just the two of you. 

You wanted to tell him that his expectations were a bit forward, to not get his hopes and that you still weren’t sure you were quite ready to have actual sex with him but in all honesty, you were ready and only your (perhaps misguided) morals had prevented you thus far. You had been slightly surprised at how unbothered he had seemed at the concept of sex - he’d laughed you off when you’d told him you didn’t want to sleep with him on the first night; telling you that was all very well but would you sleep with him because he couldn’t “bear the long nights all on my lonesome”. He hadn’t pressured you at all, less than your last boyfriend for sure, and seemed to genuinely enjoy your makeout sessions as much as you do. To tell the truth, you weren’t really sure why anyone was that bothered by sex - it felt fine sure, but it didn’t blow your world apart, was mostly very awkward, and you couldn’t understand what the fuss was in general. 

You’d followed him into the bedroom, into his room, and while part of you wanted to inspect every little detail of this hidden, protected space, the other part of you could feel his impatience from the bed and when he smiles at you - all cheeks and teeth, asking; 

“Wanna have some fun tonight darlin’? Cleared the place out for ya, didn’t want you to go all shy on me…some girls get nervy at the number of people in the place. Get real quiet and the like, even though I tell ‘em I got the sound locked down.” You forget any desire to rifle through his drawers and instead stare at him, slightly confused - just hoping he’s not going to be disappointed; 

“Uh, oh, well, I can’t say I’m that loud anyways, always, I always thought that was just a thing girls, uh, exaggerated?” You look down, embarrassed that you may be having to burst his bubble - you don’t want to be the first to tell him that from what you know there’s nothing to be shouting about. But he doesn’t react in the way you expect - blinking at you from under his glasses and patting the bed next to him. 

“C’mere doll, tell daddy what you mean.” You sit where he tells you to, tiny shorts hiking even further, and you curl your legs up underneath yourself. 

“I don’t, sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking? I’m just, just, saying that I never understood what those girls on the … on the … the stuff you like to watch, what they’re shouting about is all. Never seemed like anything worth carrying on like that is all.” He’s a little shocked but not altogether surprised - you’re young and a little sheltered, perhaps more than he thought at your reluctance to even said the word ‘pornography’ and he knows your only other relationships have been serious with boys from home, less about fun and more about futures, and he knows that they don’t always put the effort in they should. Still, he needs clarification - his eyes burning with curiosity; 

“You mean you ain’t ever .. got your rocks off? Never creamed those lil’ shorts of yours?” His thick hand finds its way onto your thigh and he flicks the hem of your shorts, practically between your legs. You giggle, pushing his hand off.

“Elvis. Don’t be silly, unless you’ve been with some funny sorta people - girls can’t do that! That’s… I might not know much but I do know that.” He looks back at you, utterly stunned, before smiling like all his Christmases have come at once, a full cheshire cat grin. 

“You - you ain’t never?” He’s shocked, but desperate to know your answer, taking his glasses off, leaning closer and waiting with practically bated breath in excitement, clenching his hands on his thighs. 

“I just told you E, that’s not something girls can actually do. Don’t you think I’d know! If you’re just gonna tease me I swear I’m gonna walk right out of here!” He laughs again at your indignation, shaking his head, 

“Naw little one, don’t do that, don’t do that - I just uh, I think I might be able to teach you a few things tonight is all. Just, ah, need to re-evaluate some things’all.” He frowns, “You know the other day, baby, when I stroked your little pussy and you pushed me off - told me you were all done?” 

You remember the incident he was talking about, He’d had his fingers up you, rubbing you exactly how you needed and you’d crunched with an involuntary shudder, couldn’t quite catch your breath properly and had told him to stop. You’d pushed him away in a panic that you didn’t know what was coming, but that that was certainly enough. He’d been a little worried then, worried that he’d pushed you into something you hadn’t wanted to do. But, he’d relaxed when you’d relaxed on the bed - he wasn’t happy with leaving you like that, on the edge, but he’d figured you were just shy, nervous that his entourage was a mere wall away. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that you genuinely believed that was you finished. 

“Yeah, but what about it? We were done - I was done, it was starting to make me feel weird. I actually think we went too far.” He lets out a pure incredulous laugh, shaking his head. 

“Oh baby, baby. I’m gonna, I’ll teach you baby, it’ll be ok.” You nod, but you’re honestly a bit confused about what he’s even planning on teaching you, but you don’t want to tell him he’s wrong again. You suppose he does have quite the reputation, so maybe he does have some things to show you, you doubt it somewhat but keep that to yourself.��

“Right, yittle, need these all off of ya,” He tugs at your shirt, starting to unbutton it. “and these, these slutty little shorts need to come off, lemme see what I’m working with.” He’s practically crooning at you, slipping your shirt off gently, divesting you off your shorts - undressing you as if you were a babe. He strips you of your bra, leaving you in little white panties, before pushing you back onto the bed to lie flat. He doesn’t give you time to worry about your nudity, cupping your cheek with one thick hand, leaning over you to kiss you. 

His tongue slips in, it’s like he’s mapping your mouth and you don’t bother to fight for dominance, letting him in, submissively brushing your tongue against his. He pulls away slightly, grabbing a breath and you can’t help it, his pouty perfect lips too tempting, you surge forward to softly suck on his bottom lip, nibbling gently. He responds in kind, pulling your head back, baring your neck - he tugs your lip between his teeth pulling as he pulls away. You moan at the little sting, and he presses a soothing peck against it. Before trailing down and pressing little open-mouthed kisses at your cheek, mouthing at your neck - tiny little suctioning touches until his hand, which he’s not resting on, is trailing further down. His fingers spread across a breast, fingertips playing with your nipple. You can feel the heat coiling in your tummy - your throbbing heartbeat between your legs. He’s pressing little kisses down your soft stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself - up on his knees slightly. It worries you briefly, he’s been using a cane as more than just an accessory more frequently lately - his youthful actions having been hard on his knees and legs, before your mind is wiped by his actions again. 

His hand trails lower, even as he continues to press soft kisses on your stomach, and he swipes down in a languid stroke over your panties, feeling your pooling wetness through the forming damp spot. He pushes it into you, rubbing you over them - the fabric catching slightly, along with your breath. He moves his head back up, sucking you by your collarbone and on your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. The noises coming out of your mouth are unlike how you’ve ever heard yourself before, and as he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and off - the dampness making them pretty much see through - you would normally cringe in embarrassment but as you watch him lift them to his mouth and suck on them you can’t do anything but stare in an absolute state of shock and arousal. He’s still fully dressed although his shirt is so lowly unbuttoned, his chest with its covering of hair, god even his nipples practically out, that it barely counts. You can feel his own arousal growing against your side, still confined in his tight, slightly flared, trousers the heat of it, and can’t help but wiggle against him. He folds your panties, scrunching them up, before shifting to push them into his trouser pocket. You gape at him, 

“Good lord, you can’t - they’re so dirty Elvis - you can’t keep them. They need to be washed!” He smirks at you, smirk turning to a grin as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, moving his hand away from you as he does. 

“Baby, when they taste that good, I’ll do what I damn well like.” He licks your cheek, and it's something that you would have found disgusting from anyone else, but somehow him doing it makes your heartbeat pulse in your core. He lets his hand come back down, lightly slapping against your pussy, you jolt forward, mouth falling open, and eyes rolling slightly at the sudden intense pleasure from it. He chuckles into your ear, tickling your neck, “Oh - you like that mama? Like that baby?” He does it again, and you’re horrified at the wet slapping noise - but also at the sudden surge of wetness, you can feel.  

“Oh god, Elvis, you gotta - gotta do that again. Please.” He obliges, patting you once, twice, three times before letting his hand fly slightly harder, you can feel your heat rising - and you shiver slightly. You’ve reached the peak of where you’d been before. Your heartbeat fast, and a constant thrumming at your centre. He laughs, teasing you in a low tone, 

“God, who’d have thought you’d be such a dirty fucking girl, letting me - begging me to spank that yittle cunt of yours.” He puts an inflection onto yittle, as if even when talking about your ‘cunt’ he’s unable to stop his penchant for baby talk. 

He uses his fingers to spread you apart, middle finger sliding in your slick. The metal of his ring is cold against your burning skin, sending goosebumps down your flesh. You think he can’t make you feel any better when he slips two of his fingers inside you. His huge square ring catching on your entrance for a moment and you buck your hips as he slides it in. He pumps them, in and out, as you squirm on the bed. Your eyes fall closed for a moment and he whispers to you, 

“You like that little? My fingers in you? Gonna show you how girls do it, teach ya how it goes.” You respond with a whine - his words causing a blush to travel from your chest. You’re simultaneously embarrassed at needing to be taught something about your own adult self and aggressively turned on by his narration. 

You’re breathless and while he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his face - pure concentration in his burning eyes, you can’t help but wonder what he’s getting from all of this attention on you. But to be the centre of his focus, him looking at you like you’re the whole world - the only thing in the world, is another level of high. Behind him you can yourself reflected in the mirror above - you look fucking debauched, unlike yourself and seeing him from above, in all his iconic glory, reminding you this is Elvis fixated on you brings you even closer to the cliff edge. 

He pushes into you, unnecessarily - his fingers were long enough he could reach with his thumb without having to strain at all - to reach your hooded clit. He finds it expertly, rubbing it just so. You shudder, and he keeps going just as he was, but kisses down your neck to your nipple again, swirling it in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth slightly and you can feel yourself about to fall. You panic at the unexpected and unknown feeling and try to throw him off, 

“Elvis! Elvis stop - stop I can’t - I can’t do it, it’s too much - you gotta, you gotta st-“ You’re thrashing about the place, arms flailing as you try to push him away, but his fingers don’t stop and he hushes you as he’s suddenly stroking this little spot inside of you. You can feel it’s different but can’t quite tell how until he crooks his fingers and presses. You shudder, your mouth falling open, although you’re still far quieter than he’d like - he makes a mental note that his aim tonight is to make you scream. And then you’re shaking, convulsing on his hand - stomach and core muscles clenching of their own accord. He rubs and strokes you through it. Your mind is blank and all you can feel is your thighs shaking - your head rolling from side to side. He keeps going and you keep going for him, clutching the covers in tight fists, mouth open in a silent scream as one of your legs randomly seems to jump about. He can tell you’re at the end of what you can do for him at the moment. He softlypulls his fingers out, trying to bring you down gently. His fingers leaving feather-light touches across your mound and thighs. 

“That good, baby?” He pats his sticky, wet hand on your tummy and you can’t speak, taking heaving breaths. 

“W-was,” You’re slurring as you come back to, your ears ringing, “Is that, what I’ve been missing? Is that meant to happen?” He laughs at you, finger drawing little shapes on your stomach, 

“Yeah, when you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” He puffs his chest out a little, clearly proud of himself, “A real man.” You laugh, and he kisses you again and again until your lips are swollen and bitten raw and you’re gasping for air. You lay back for a few more moments, looking up at him leaning over you. He moves his arm, and you’re not quite sure what comes over you, but the movement had spread his shirt even more and it’s not something you’d ever considered doing ever before, but he did do it to you earlier so you gain the courage to ask; 

“El- can I, can I…please can I taste you?” He raises a brow at your polite request, but is not going to turn down such an offer, 

“Sure baby, lemme get lil’ Elvie out now - “ You frown, interrupting him. 

“No, no… can I just… like you did earlier?” He looks slightly confused, his brow furrowed, but he agrees nonchalantly - clearly used to letting whoever do whatever they like with his body. 

“Sure - “ He starts to say something else, but you’re too distracted by the permission, rushing forward to kiss his chest, moving down to capture his nipple. He jerks,

“Christ - Oh lord,” You’re practically suckling him, one hand threading through his chest hair, feeling his stomach, the hard line where he’s definitely still muscular somewhere underneath but is soft and cushy above, grasping at his pillowy sides. His hips are bucking, circling with the effort not to throw you off accidentally, “Oh gods, baby, christ little one, lord, oh lord.” He’s unable to be silent, constantly babbling a stream of curses and praise. You pull off, and suddenly, you’re mortified. 

“Oh my goodness, Oh, Elvis, I - uh, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” You’re shocked at yourself but he’s panting, and you can feel him straining against his pants. 

“Oh darlin’, lord, darlin’ it’sss ok, it’s so good, so good baby. Love your lil’ mouth on me.” You smile a little bashfully as he pats at you as if praising a dog. “Think now little Elvis would too baby, get him out - show him how much you ‘preciate him too?” You pant back at him nodding your agreement. He’s resting further up on the bed than he was before, you’d both travelled around the last few minutes and he sits to take his shirt fully off, before unbuttoning his trousers finally and wriggling out of them. He shuffles further back and you get yourself situated between his legs, bracketed by his thick thighs on either side of you, their covering of downy hair tickling your sides. You lean down, gently stroking his hardening cock - but then pause, 

“Elvis, I ain’t ever - you gotta tell me how to do it.” He groans, his head falling back, 

“Goddamn, like you were made for me, fucking made for me honey,” he peers down at you, over the slight swell of his stomach, tucking his chin in - one of his meaty fingers stroked the side of your face before gently grasping your head, lowering it to his cock. “You gotta, gotta say hello little one, give ‘im a little hello kiss now - “ You do as he says, brushing your lips against the very tip. You’d seen it briefly before, so although not this close, and you had given him a … helping hand over the past few weeks so you’re not surprised to see he’s uncut nor at the size of him - generous in length and girth, but it’s still fascinating to you up close. You can't help but study it briefly - assessing how his foreskin is starting to retract back slightly and you absentmindedly reach for it, gently rolling it forward and back a little bit, unsure how far it should go. His hips jerk, 

“Christ, baby, you gotta warn a man first.” You smile, meeting his blazing blue eyes and amused expression. 

“Sorry - I thought me being here was warning enough.” He laughs and pats your cheek. 

“Right little one, back to work. Kiss down little Elvis, let him know how much you wanted to see him - ‘ You obey his orders, pressing little kisses all the way down his shaft. “Ok, now doll you're gonna take him in that hot little mouth of yours - gonna be re-eal careful of your sharp little teeth, got it?” You obediently bob up and down in a nod, making sure not to scrape him.

Instinct seems to kick in and you take a moment to suck down on him, flattening your tongue against his underside. His other hand finds its way into your hair accompanying the one still resting on your cheek and neck, hand spanning across the distance. His hip jerks forward and it causes his dick to knock further back than you were expecting and you pull back with a little cough.

“S’ok baby, sorry, felt so good, couldn't help myself, not gonna make you take all of him tonight, you can use your hand go on, show the rest of him how much you love him.” He pats you again and it’s enough encouragement for you to go back down on him. You do as he suggested, stroking and pulling him with your hand where your mouth can't comfortably reach, growing bold enough to reach down and delicately hold and stroke his balls. His hands are insistent on your head, not forcing you but certainly moving you exactly how he wants you. You can taste the thin salty trickle of precum starting to dribble out of him.

“That’s it, baby, I was already so close, just from touchin’ ya honey, just gotta suck me just like that, that’s it like a damn popsicle.” His hands grow a little rougher, tugging on your hair slightly, as his hips circle and his thighs clench around you. “Gonna, you gonna stroke me now, yittle, you just gonna stroke me, I’ll let you have a taste, give you a treat but that’s enough for now - ’s about you tonight, about you honey.” He's babbling now, and you're not paying much attention to his words coming out of his mouth except when his request filters through to your brain, and you pull off with a little wet pop, stroking him to completion. He squirts over your hand - ribbons of white hitting you on the chin and chest, moaning as he does and his eyes falling closed.

He leans back, breathing heavily as his cock finishes jumping about, slowly softening before your eyes and you glance around, before grabbing his discarded shirt to wipe your hand on. Before you can raise it to your chin to wipe it off of there he sits up and moves his hand from your face to swipe a finger through it. “C’mon baby, gonna have you swallow it next time,” You're uncertain about this, but don’t bother to say anything right now as he rubs his fingers on your lips, “Go on, open up honey, have a taste for me. Lick it clean.” You do as he commands, tasting the salty tang of a man’s cum for the first time. It's not wholly unpleasant, although you're not sure about the texture, but you can’t say you'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of swallowing his full load. He watches as you suck his fingers, licking them completely clean looking up at him under your lashes as you do. 

He leans forward to kiss you but then suddenly grimaces, frowning. Twisting slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from his hips and back. 

“I’m sorry, honey, but I gotta- I gotta lie down again.” You frown, worried. 

“Of course! don’t - you’re meant to be relaxing!” He’s proven himself to you - taught you that there was something on the other side of the cliff edge and it was good. But you weren’t worried - didn’t see any reason to continue, you’d both been taken care of and you were now perfectly happy to be tucked up in bed for the night.

“Oh no, I don’t mean I’m done. Get over here, little girl…” He manhandles you, ringed fingers digging into your thighs as he arranges you over the top of him. He then lies down, sliding between your legs, before huffing a tiny bit as he heaves you up from his chest and down onto him. “That’s it, mama, right over my face. Lemme get to that poor little kitty of yours.” You’re confused as to what he’s going to be able to achieve from this angle - he can’t possibly just want such a closer look, can he? But then, without warning, he pushes his head up licking down your labia before pulling you off balance to literally sit on his face. 

“Woah - Oh, Elvis I’m gonna hurt you like this, I can’t just - I’m too heavy!” You try to move away but you can’t escape from his tight grip. 

“Ain’t gonna hurt a fly baby - lemme just.” And he pushes his tongue into you, spearing into your hole. You’re sopping wet already, his fingers having seen to that, and the noises are obscene - the wet smacking and sucking. 

“Elv-oh my god, Elvis you can’t-“ You try to get off but his hands don’t let you move at all - pinning you onto him. But as you struggle your thighs touch and you can feel the wetness and the stickiness that’s spread throughout - tangling your curls, sticking your thighs. “It’s- it’s - it’s dirty, you can’t, you shouldn’t - that shouldn’t, you’re not meant to do that.” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t even respond, simply holds you down and goes harder.

You’re supporting most of your weight on your own legs but every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in - sure you’ll have bruises where his rings and fingertips have been. You can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth. It’s outrageous and you can’t believe this is something people do, but now it’s happening you wonder how you’ve lived this long without it, without knowing how this feels. His tongue is flicking between lapping at your hole and your inner folds. Your hips circle and one of his hands comes around your thigh - curling around to join his mouth. He moves his mouth up to suck on your clit, and the warm wet pressure, the suction, the everything - it’s too much. You’re losing control again, fighting the panic for a second time that evening - but this time, the pressure is growing even stronger and though you recognise the feeling now it feels different. 

“Oh my god, Elvis, god, Elvis, Elvis please, please, you gotta stop! I’m gonna-” You grind your hips again, but he must be able to hear the sudden change in your tone - the sudden, very real, panic. And despite his instinct telling him not to he worries it’ll make you lose your relaxed state and he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh, 

“Relax baby, dontcha worry, oh my poor baby’s little neglected pussy - you’ve got no idea, just been waiting for a real man, for daddy, to show you what you’ve been missin’ all this time.” He croons into you, hands stroking your thighs, soothing you into compliance. As soon as you relax into his hold again he surges forward once more. Your folds are swollen and slick, feeling like they’re burning, you feel so hot. And your entire focus is on your cunt and Elvis. Unable to even think about your thigh cramping or your foot falling asleep. He kisses up you, capturing your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard. You think you might be about to pass out - it feels so overwhelming, but suddenly the pressure changes - and as he slips a finger back inside you it starts to feel a little too similar to something else. 

Your panicked noises come back out, and you once again are begging Elvis to stop warning him; “I think I’m gonna pee, Elvis, seriously! I can’t - I can’t hold it! Elvis - daddy, fuck, I can’t, I seriously think I’m gonna - gonna pee.” But he doesn’t stop this time, not even to reassure you, just continuing his steady ministrations, speeding up, and the pressure is steadily mounting again, reaching the peak. Your orgasm rips through you and you have to throw your hands out to support yourself on the headboard to simply stay upright but you’re barely able to think about it, moving on instinct alone. You’re shuddering and he’s continuing, won’t leave you be. And then, the pressure seems to burst - slowly yet somehow quicker than anything you’re ever felt. It’s like your vagina is simultaneously your whole body and also entirely separate from your body as it clenches before you’re gushing, liquid shooting out of you. It drenches his face, it’s in his hair, in his sideburns, and he sits up, as you fall off of him to one side, and he’s glistening. 

You’re in a daze but a little embarrassed, both at him covered in your juices and that he was right and you were wrong about your abilities. But his reaction makes you second guess your immediate response - he’s grinning, licking his goddamn lips like he’s just eaten the best-tasting dessert of his life. He uses one of your discarded shirts to wipe his face off, smiling at the damp patches it causes. 

“There we are baby, Daddy got’cha there, got you to that special place - that’s what it’s meant to be like darling. Told you didn’t I, told you, you just gotta listen to me, let yourself go.” 

You lay back panting - you’re a little sore and a lot tired and you’re sure you’re done. You can feel his cock hardening against you again in a gentle coaxing sort of way, and you reach over a hand. You can do this, but you’ve just not got the energy for anything else - and your pussy is still pulsing, soft and swollen and puffy. He bats your hand away though, 

“Right, mama, gonna show you how it’s really done, you’re gonna reach your little o on my cock, and you’re gonna know that’s how it should be every time.” He kneels up on the bed, pulling you up onto your knees too, and he’s putting you exactly where he wants you. You want to refuse, but he’s so convincing, and you are a little curious at how he might be able to make even this so spectacular for you, an act that you’d been ambivalent about, mostly put up with; knowing it was something women just did to keep their partners happy. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him, your back slightly arched, hands clutching the top of the headboard and he brushes your sweaty hair off of your neck, kissing where it lay before. 

You stay where he puts you, slightly shell-shocked at your easy compliance, and at what he’s suggesting. You glance up from under your lashes and notice the huge mirror above the bed - you’d seen the one above yourself in the bed but not the glass above the headboard - and can see how you look. You watch your face contort slightly as he presses a few of his fingers into you again, testing if you’re ready. But you’re loose, in a novel sort of way - so aroused that it’s easy in a way it’s never been before. You’re studying your fucked out face, shocked at how wide your pupils are, the redness of your lips and cheeks, before you turn your attention to Elvis watching his rosy reflection - his hair sticking down, body and chest shimmering with sweat, clinging to his chest hair, his plush lips bitten red and his face still with a hint of damp, blue eyes sparkling. You’re about to utter something completely embarrassing like, “Oh my god, you’re so pretty,” or “I love you.” But you’re (somewhat thankfully) distracted by him rubbing himself on you a couple of times before fucking into you. You jolt forward, mouth falling open as he simply pushes his whole length in, immediately pulling back out to shutter his hips forward again - gripping your waist and pulling you back onto him too. You’re shouting, finally, garbled noises and moans as he gives you no time to adjust and instead slams you back and forth to him, his balls slapping against your wet skin. 

He spanks your ass and you shudder, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure of him hitting that spot in you, getting in so deep you feel like he’s in your soul and not just your body. You can feel yourself starting to go again, starting to ride the crest of that wave when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again and you can barely breathe, noises catching in your throat at the sight. 

“That’s it sweet, that’s it sugar, look at yourself,” He wraps an arm over your chest and grips your chin, pointing it straight at the mirror, “Look at us honey.” You can see him behind you, behind your flushed body - himself pink and damp with sweat from the exertion, its practically dripping down his forehead and onto his chest - he lets go of your chin and moves one hand to fondle your breasts, pinching your nipples, the other to slip between your legs. You jerk when he strokes where the two of you are joined. It’s filthy. You’ve never been this visible like this before, having very much been under the covers with previous lovers, and your knowledge of positions was limited to on your back, on your front and your side. Very much lying down. The image of his cock sliding into your folds, the pink fuzzy base barely visible through your own fuzz and his hand splayed over your stomach as if supporting where he sits internally is filthy in the best possible way. 

You feel utterly surrounded by him, you can’t think of anything but how he feels, how he looks, you can’t sense anything else. You can’t see anything but him, it’s all him as you look around - the mirrors on the back wall and above you reflect back the image of the two of you, but your eyes skip over yourself only seeing him. His thick form. He’s muscular in a solid way, an accidental way, and the layer of softness that covers all of him, but especially over his tummy, only makes him more attractive to you, more real. When you close your eyes the vision of him is imprinted on your eyelids, and all you can smell is him. He’s got a slight sweaty musk to him from the exertion and activity, but under it you can still smell the hint of his cologne. His sheets smell aggressively like him, like the Vegas him and the home him - he must use the same products (or his laundry service must) wherever he is. The room too - there’s his unique blend of homely smells but also the heavy scent of the blend of his favourite specific brands of cigarettes and cigars. The smoke, despite him claiming he only smoked very irregularly, clings to his thick curtains and the drapes that surround the room. The room which screams, as much as the rest of his house does, of him - of solely him, of his outrageous, outlandish, tacky, wonderful, style. 

You aren’t able to have any of these thoughts though, as his fingers stroke himself before once again finding your clit. He captures it between his fingers, rolling it, before brushing his finger over it and before you know it you’re quivering - shaking as your orgasm overcomes you again. It’s too much, your body has barely had a chance to recover and while you’re not passed out you’re also not…all there. Your body slack as Elvis holds you up, just a rag doll for him to take what he needs for his own orgasm - chasing his completion. He does, barely a few strokes later, a litany of praises spilling out of his mouth, pulling out as quickly as he could, seemingly caught a little by surprise. And you can feel the last few sprays from him as he splatters over your already sticky and trembling body. You slump down without him holding you up by the waist and hips, and he catches you - laying you out on the bed. He lays next to you, panting, chest heaving for a few moments before propping himself up on an elbow next to you. 

You’re sore, internally and externally and worse - sticky, but he doesn’t let you sleep yet, running his cum-covered fingers through your soft pubic hair, before tracing shapes on your lower tummy, gently brushing lower and lower until his fingers are stroking through your sticky soft folds. You squirm, sleepy, and he hushes you, 

“C’mon baby doll, give me one more, gotta make up for lost time darling. Give em all to you tonight. One more baby, c’mon do it for daddy, give daddy one more.” He’s speaking lowly, so as not to disturb your sleepy state, but what he’s asking you to do is bringing you back to awareness. He’s barely touching you, nudging your little stretched hole with his wet fingers, barely pressing the outer rim before delicately stroking your sore, puffy, clitoris again. You feel your legs shaking, seemingly of their own accord, and can’t focus on anything he says, resorting to begging over top of his continued whispers; 

“I can’t, I can’t, Elvis please, daddy, please, it’s too much, I can’t,” but you’re already so close to the edge that you gasp, mouth open, as he inserts his fingers again, and it only takes him crooking them just so for you to shudder and scream. It’s borderline painful, and your legs are shaking, “Lord, daddy! Oh my god, Elvis, daddy, oh my lord. Oh - “ and as he continues to stroke that little place inside of you, as you ride the waves that wash over you, your words trail off to just noises. You're practically yowling as you slump over, still shuddering and stomach still convulsing when he slows his ministrations and pulls his fingers away. Your vision is white and black and you can't focus on anything he's saying through your ringing ears although you're aware he's talking. It takes a few minutes for your body to calm down, Elvis’ large hands gently rubbing you down like a horse after a race, and it's not until your heart rate slows again that you’re able to open your eyes and try to focus on what he's saying.

“Told you didn’t I, you gonna learn to believe your daddy now? Believe what he tells you?” He’s unbelievably smug and you can hear it in his voice, and in the way his eyes crinkle looking down at you. 

“Course, Daddy,” You blush, “Elvis. Of course, I just - I just didn’t know! I didn’t know what that was…inside me.” He laughs, 

“Well, not everyone can find it doll, it keeps itself real hidden like, less you’re just the right fit.” He squeezes your cheek as he says it before he pats you again and heaves himself up into standing. “Right honey, gonna have to get you all cleaned up - you’ll be drippin’ all night else.” You wince as he wipes at you with a little towel, even his expensive cotton too much abrasion on your still throbbing centre. You roll into the bed, far too exhausted to even stand up, and your eyes are closing as he comes back over with a glass of water, he makes you drink half and you do so, sleepily, while he maintains his grip on the glass. “We’ll have to shower in the morning honey, think you’re fixin’ for a snooze now.” He pulls the top comforter off, throwing it on the floor, and you can just see through your hazy tired gaze that there’s a large wet spot on it. “Least we ain’t gotta change the bed.” He mumbles as he climbs into it. You squirm as he pulls you close against your chest and his hands find their customary positions - one just a little too close to between your thighs but he pets and shushes you, humming a tiny lullaby that makes you fall deep asleep almost immediately. 

#elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #fic request!! #be-my-ally #big daddy elvis

[from-memphis-with-love]

Magic Man

Summary: Elvis breaks in a virgin. Word count: ~2,200 words of pure, unadulterated smut inspired by this post. This is purely a work of fiction, and from what I have read of how Elvis actually treated his lovers in real life, is probably a lot less tender and loving than the actual Elvis would have been. But it's make believe and fun, so enjoy it! Warnings: 20 year age gap, dubious consent at some points, full intercourse, course language. Somewhat callous treatment of Elvis' taste for younger women.

His bedroom is a gilded cage, dripping with excess and the stench of hedonism. Elvis's entourage has left them alone, finally, after weeks of teasing glances and knowing winks. Tonight, it’s just him and his prey—sweet little Molly van Patton. All night, she’s tried to resist, but his primal aura is too strong to deny. He’s charming. Dangerous. A seasoned, world-famous rock star. And she's just a 19-year-old innocent, trembling on the edge of womanhood. Just like he likes ‘em.

Their meeting felt like some sort of strange, cosmic joke. She wasn’t a fan, hadn’t even intended to go see his show. But her best friend convinced her, one thing led to another, and now here she is, somehow lying in his colossal bed like a tiny helpless creature, her presence filling him with a burning desire to crush and destroy.

Now, he traces his lips down her neck, pausing to nuzzle at the hollow of her collarbone. Sweetly at first, then more insistently as she drags long, jagged breaths. Molly can’t help but gasp under the full weight of him, her body opening up in ways she’s never experienced before. It’s heady and intoxicating and dangerous and delicious and—

Oh. Oh. 

Each touch sets off an electric current, making her arch closer. She runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the cool metal of his gold lion's head medallion pressed against her own breasts. But as he reaches for her waistband, she hesitates.

“Stop,” Molly trembles. Heat flushes her cheeks. "I’m not… I don’t…"

Elvis nuzzles her neck. His hand is dangerously close to unzipping her skirt. He’s in a taking mood tonight.

“Please,” she pleads. “Won’t they know what we’re doing in here?”

Elvis chuckles, a low, deep rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones. “Baby, they don’t care. They’re probably already placing bets on how long you’ll last.”

Molly's heart plummets into her stomach. Of course they knew. All those knowing glances and hushed whispers, they’d known all along. Her face flushes and it's all she can do to grab her things and run.

But Elvis doesn't give her time to process this newfound knowledge. His insistent lips find her earlobe, nibbling it lightly as he whispers lewd suggestions she can't comprehend but her body understands. Against her better judgment, heat pools between her legs, and she bites back a moan of desire. 

"Just one more," Elvis purrs, his voice thick with want, sending shivers down Molly's spine. "One more’n I'll stop.”

But one more turns into two, and then three, and before she knows it, she’s powerless under him. She feebly attempts to push him away, but his strong arms grasp her tighter. His grip is firm but not quite enough to leave bruises. Not yet at least. But she knows it’s coming. Braces for it. His lips find her neck again.

The heat between her thighs grows unbearable, and she clenches them together, as if that could stop the freight train that is Elvis Presley. As if it could cool the fire raging through her veins. She’s never felt so alive, so free, so needed and… so scared, as she does tonight in his arms. But as he inches lower, kiss by agonizing kiss awakening something primal inside her, Molly panics.

This is really happening.

She’s about to give herself to a man she barely knows, a man nearly twenty years her senior. One who could crush her like a fly if he wanted to. Her heart kicks into overdrive, adrenaline coursing as she manages to shove him off. 

“No!” she cries out, the word catching in her throat. Molly’s outburst gives Elvis pause. Hurt and confusion flash across his face as he pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“What is it?” his voice is gruff but not unkind.

Molly turns her face away, cheeks flaming. How can she tell him? That despite her adventurous friend and all the talk, she's never actually… that he would be her first. 

Elvis regards her steadily. Impossibly long black lashes curtain the genuine concern in his eyes. Molly's pulse throbs in her ears. 

"Please don't make me say it," she whispers finally. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. But a single drop escapes, trailing down her cheek. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've never…"

Understanding dawns on Elvis' face. He brushes the tear from her face with surprising tenderness. 

"Never been with a man before?" he asks gently. 

Molly shakes her head, a furious blush creeping up her neck. She expects anger, derision, rejection. For him to throw her out and call for the next girl. 

But instead, Elvis tips her chin up to look at him. "Oh honey," he murmurs. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Molly's breath catches in her throat as Elvis regards her with unexpected tenderness. His hands, which moments before seemed so insistent, now caress her face and arms with featherlight touches. 

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elvis shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Oh darlin', that don't matter one bit to me. I want you, Molly girl. I want to make you feel real good." 

He drags his thumb over her bottom lip and Molly shivers. She knows she should leave, should find Doreen and book it out of there before she does something reckless. But the way Elvis is looking at her, like she's the only woman in the world… it makes her feel powerful. Desired. Dangerous.

She... likes it?

"Just relax and lemme take care of you," Elvis murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. With that, the last of her resolve melts. 

His hands, knowing and sure, explore her curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moans, melting into him, her body betraying her. She's scared, yes, but she's also aching for more. He senses her hesitation, easing her back even further, parting her thighs with a tenderness belied by the impressive size of his hands. His eyes are hungry, admiring the perfect, trembling creature before him. 

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, running a calloused finger along her jawline. His words were like sweet poison, both thrilling and terrifying. "Shh, baby," he coos, "I gotcha."

He kisses her, his lips firm yet gentle, as if he can taste her innocence. Her first kiss, her first everything, all with him. She was born for him.

*

His lips trail down her breasts, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Molly arches into the sensation, the soft scratch of his stubble against her skin. His hand slides down to her stomach, fingertips tracing the sensitive flesh just below her belly button. 

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely. She shakes her head, unable to form words. "Say it, Molly girl." He presses a kiss to her hip bone, nipping lightly at it. 

"No," she gasps. "Don't stop."

He smiles against her skin. "Good girl," he purrs before lowering his mouth to where she's aching for him most.

His tongue flicks forward, teasing her entrance and Molly cries out, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She looks down at him—somewhere down there—through one open eye.

"Is that what... are you supposed to be—"

Before she can finish her sentence, his hands grip her thighs. Fear and desire battle within her, but desire wins out as curious pecks and licks turn into long, languid strokes. Bracing himself, Elvis feasts on her, like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. She finally opens her eyes and there he is in all his glory: lapping at her, coaxing the desire out of her body and onto his waiting tongue. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her. "Oh God," she whuffs out, her head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice wonders what everyone else must be thinking. But then Elvis's tongue buries itself deep within again, soft and wet, and all thoughts vanish into thin air. His hands grip the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her closer to him as he laps at her vulnerable center. She's never felt anything like this before, the pleasure so unbearable it hurts. 

"That's it, baby," he growls into her glistening pussy, "ride it out."

And she does. His tongue flicks and swirls, plunging inside her, mimicking what she imagines is his impressive length. 

By now, the whole house must hear her moans, but she doesn’t care. She’s coming undone whether she wants to or not, and she’s never felt more alive.

“Oh, Elvis,” she moans, her voice high and desperate, “Oh, I—”

Molly van Patton shudders and bucks against him, her first ever orgasm coursing through her body like wildfire. He doesn't stop though, not until she's sobbing and spent, her juices coating his face. He looks up at her through hooded lids, a satisfied smirk on his full lips.

“I ain’t done with you yet.”

*

He moves up her body, his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her entrance flutters in anticipation, and Elvis smiles at the sight. He positions himself there, large and intimidating. 

“Relax, li’l girl,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll be real gentle.” Molly looks up at him, eyes wide, pleading. 

“You sure you want this?”

She nods dutifully.

“Say it f’me, now.” 

“I want you inside me.”

That’s all he needs. Before she can take it back, he slides in an inch, and then another. He’s so big, stretching her so wide she’s certain she’ll split in half. Certain he'll pierce her and she'll never be the same again. Tears leak from her eyes, mixing with the mascara from earlier.

“Shh,” he soothes, “I got you.” His accent is thicker than usual, sweet like molasses. Slowly, bit by excruciating bit, Elvis works himself inside her tight heat. Molly bites her lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway.

At that, Elvis groans, and then he’s entering her more and more until he bottoms out. He's still for a moment, ensuring she can truly take in all of his length. “Tell me how it feels,” he grunts, as he slowly picks up speed.

“It hurts,” she pants out. But it’s a delectable sort of hurt. He’s filling her up in ways she never thought possible. Each thrust has her teeth bitting his shoulder tighter.

“I know, baby,” he coos into her ear, “but it gets better, I promise.”

And somehow, it does. The pain eases and is replaced with a delicious ache that has her hips rocking towards his.. Heat pools in her belly as he claims her with every thrust, like she was made for him and only him.

“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Made for me.”

It’s a mantra, a vow, as a he pistons in and out, breaking her in with every stroke. Her climax from before was nothing compared to this. She’s soon whimpering, clawing at his back, an evil sob stuck in her throat. 

"That's it, baby," he pants, "give it all to me."

Elvis pulls out swiftly, leaving Molly empty and aching. In one smooth motion, he flips her over onto her stomach. 

"On your knees," he commands.

Molly whimpers but obeys, presenting herself to him on all fours. Elvis groans at the sight, gripping her hips tightly. 

He enters her from behind in one powerful thrust. Molly cries out, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Elvis sets a ruthless pace, pounding into her relentlessly.

The sound of slapping flesh fills the air as he claims her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He hits a spot deep inside that has Molly seeing stars. She pushes her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough.

"That's right, take it," Elvis growls. His breathing is labored in her ear, hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto her shoulder blades, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re taking me so good. You love it, don’t you?”

She does. Oh, God, does she ever. Fuck it. If this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right. 

He keeps pounding into her, and it's dizzying and intoxicating all at once. The room spins as she clings to the headboard for dear life, his name a curse on her lips, a talisman against the building pleasure-pain coiling in her core. His pace quickens, hot breath on her neck, and his thick chest hair tickling her back.

“El… vis…” she mewls. “Right there!”

He obliges, his expert hands massaging her swollen clit as he pounds into her from behind. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps as Molly bucks against him, working the length of his cock with her slick and pushing her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough. It shocks him how quickly she took to his cock. Elvis’ fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, urging her on. “That’s right, take what you need.” 

"Elvis, I..."

The pressure builds, coiling in her belly like a spring. “That’s my girl, let it go,” he growls in her ear, and that’s all it takes.

Her body explodes into a million stars, tightening around him as she screams her release. Just like that, it hits her all at once—from heaven and hell itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave and even more powerful than the first. Colors dance behind her eyelids. 

Elvis’ nails dig into her back, and she can feel the delicious sting as they break the skin. “Unnngh,” he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ close.” The filthy words spur her on, and she clenches around him, the fluttering of her walls easing up, and suddenly she’s slowly floating back to earth and back to life and back to his gigantic bed in his gigantic mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

He growls and buries himself even deeper, his thrusts erratic and desperate now. Harder and harder until he, too, splinters apart, shattering inside her like stained glass. He grunts, his release warm and sticky deep inside her.

Later, Elvis cocoons Molly in his strong arms and starts to rock her gently. As she drifts off to sleep, she knows there's no going back.

She's his now, body and soul. That’s the price she paid for giving in to her darkest desire.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis x oc #elvis fic #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #big daddy elvis

[jaqueline19997]

I love this man so much!!!! I feel like every day I love him just a little more!!!!❤️💓💞

#elvis presley #big daddy elvis #elvis aaron presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis angst #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #60s elvis #lisa marie presley #70s elvis #army elvis #elvis music #austin elvis x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis fandom #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fans #elvis history #elvis fic #elvis imagine #elvis and priscilla #elvis in hollywood #elvis photos #elvis presley imagine #elves #elvisedit #elvisaaronpresley

[vintageshanny]

Softness and Security

This is just a little BDE one-shot in response to an anonymous request. Thank you to whoever requested this, I really love comforting and loving on Elvis through my writing! ❤️

Content: Big Daddy Elvis, mentions of medication and body insecurity, light smut, fluff, 18+

January 1977

Your heart raced nervously as Elvis deepened his kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth with an urgency that seemed heightened compared to his usual gentle kisses. You had been dating for only a couple months, but you’d assumed a big star like Elvis would have moved a lot faster than he did. He usually seemed content to just make out, his hands often running over your curves as his plush lips smushed into yours. You had tried a couple times to reach for the waistband of the track pants he liked to wear, indicating that you were okay taking things to the next level, but he would still your hand with his and whisper “Not quite time yet, darlin.’”

Tonight felt like it might be different. You had started the evening, as you often did, just talking. Elvis enjoyed talking about almost everything under the sun, and he seemed to know a little bit about everything. He honestly had impressed you with his knowledge. As you stared into each others’ eyes, the conversation eventually gave way to kissing, and somehow things just felt different. Like maybe he wouldn’t stop you and say “not quite time” tonight. Elvis’ hands moved from where they’d been cradling the back of your neck, one of them coming down to rest on your right breast, his long fingers spreading over it, and the other dropping to his own lap.

You decided to go for it and reached out, first giving the hand that rested on his lap a gentle squeeze, then reaching for the waistband of his navy blue pants. Instead of trying to stop you, Elvis groaned a little bit and murmured, “I haven’t been this aroused in a long time, honey. Go ‘head and see what ya do ta me.” You reached your hand down inside of his pants, discovering he had on no underwear to get in your way. You let your fingers travel down lightly over his skin, feeling the tickle of his curly patch of hair as you wrapped your hand around the base of his thick hard cock. You pumped your hand up and down a couple times, watching as his head tilted back in pleasure. “Damn, honey, I think it’s time,” he whispered excitedly. He stood and removed his jacket and tee shirt while you shyly slipped out of the wrap dress you’d been wearing. Elvis stepped closer and pulled you in tightly, his arms wrapping around you and unhooking your bra. He slowly pulled your panties down your legs, leaving you standing bare before him. As his hands roamed over your body, he asked with a little smile, “Ya nervous, honey?” Trembling under his touch, you nodded and closed your eyes. It always felt nerve-wracking the first time with someone new. And what a “someone” this was. “Me too,” Elvis admitted as he pulled his pants down and stepped out of them. As you looked over his naked body, you saw a blush creeping onto his face.

“Elvis, you’re so handsome,” you whispered, causing his blush to deepen as you lifted your hands to touch him. You traced over the trail of hair that led down his thick chest, all the way down to that part you wanted inside of you so badly. Elvis gently pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you, his stomach pressing against yours. As he lined himself up to your entrance, you heard a small sigh escape his lips. “Is everything okay?” you asked nervously, hoping you hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe he’s realizing he’s not attracted to me, you thought, feeling suddenly panicked.

Elvis raised his head toward you but avoided eye contact, his whole face beet red now. “I-I-I’m sorry, honey, I-I th-th-thought I was ready, b-b-but…” he could barely get the words out through his stutter, and you realized that what you felt pressing against you down below was no longer hard.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no, honey, ‘s not you at all. I’m t-t-takin’ some new medicine, and sometimes it just, I mean I can’t…” Elvis trailed off again, and you could see how embarrassed he was. Now it was all making sense why he kept telling you it wasn’t time yet. He was nervous about not being able to perform.

You grabbed his sweet face with your hands and tilted it toward you. “Elvis, look at me,” you instructed.

“I-I’m sorry, honey, ‘m jus’ embarrassed,” he mumbled, but he forced himself to look you in the eye.

“There’s nothing at all to be embarrassed about. It’s just from the medicine, like you said.”

“I-I know, honey, but I still wanna satisfy ya,” he mumbled. “Like a real man.”

“Elvis, you are most definitely a real man. There’s no question of that,” you whispered as you pulled him closer to you. He nuzzled his face into your neck as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of his sexy gray roots starting to show. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Just feeling you lay on top of me like this, I’ve never felt so secure before. Only a real man could make me feel that.”

You could feel Elvis smile into your neck as he responded. “Is that right, honey? Ya like havin’ this big belly pressed against ya?” He asked in that self-deprecating way he had about him, half joking but half worried what you were thinking of him.

“Oh, if only you knew how much,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “I love having every inch of you pressed against me. I love…you,” you finished, surprising yourself with the confession, hoping it wasn’t too soon.

Elvis looked up at you with the sweetest lopsided smile. “I love ya too, honey.”

#elvis #elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #big daddy elvis #i love this man

[elvisalltheway101]

moonlight lovers; big daddy elvis x reader‼️ ☁️

summary: from the start of his career, fan mail was always there but it was a certain sender that caught not only his eyes, but also his heart.

author’s note: one of my favorite childhood artists! there’s not that much hearty or angsty bits in my 70s elvis so…let’s change that

••••••••••••

it all started from his first ever show. After being presented like a golden prize in spotlight on the Louisiana Hayride, he’s receive mail from fans. Fan mail.

Being all laid out on the couch of his dressing room, going through the pages of filth and smut, would be entertaining, wouldn’t you think? But for him, it only brought frowns and wrinkles of worry to his precious facial features.

is that all they cared for? The wiggle of hips? Somehow relating to sexual behavior and vulgar activity?

When he finally sighed and groaned to call it a night, a letter with a pretty pink bow wrapped around the width of a letter caught his eye.

Reaching over with pure curiosity, the appearance of this paper oozed innocence and humane thought and care.

Fumbling with the delicate parchment into his long digits, he immediately caught scent of a divine, floral palm pink aroma. this made him smile gently to himself, the only thing that has been different from a frown all evening.

Gently untying the ribbon that laid perfectly at hand, his eyes averted to careful and steady words of absolute encouragement and awe, with a thoughtful question of how he, himself, is doing.

His eyes trailing over the pretty handwriting ended with a pretty signature,

Moonlight.

The words and sentences that the letter contained made his heart swell. Of course, he’s grateful for his fans and all their charity…but it’s different to see that one is just as grateful to see him.

And that’s where it all lead from. Letters wrote back and forth, especially during the time of army and training. It was his hardest years. But somehow, this absolute foreign heart made him pour his feelings and soul onto paper.

And it all ended the same way, whoever that was that answered back sweetly, Moonlight, and his letters ended with Elvis.

Nothing changed even while his career drove up into the sky’s limit. He would always look forward to that one noted later, pretty in pink and ended with Moonlight. The same floral, pink palm scent would fill his nose, the scented paper was obviously decorated with the same ribbon fabric and perfume of her likings.

Through all the women, all the films, all the events, nothing helped more than that one letter in the postman’s baggie.

Moonlight, or whoever this complete stranger but loved at heart was, always checked upon him, asked of his career, and wrote to him as if it were being written to a dear friend. And it always made him smile with all genuine that someone out there, whoever they were, knew him simply.

This would continue until the last of life’s heart dripped every drop known of beauty, the hands of the living one with humanity in living soul and heart would eventually stop and falter.

Not by boredom or of willingness, but by when death does them apart. Maybe he will find out who wrote to and from all these years. Staying almost loyal and side by side all these ups and downs, but with no identity.

Moonlight lovers.

#Spotify #elvis #70s Elvis #big daddy elvis fluff #elvis angst #big daddy elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis aaron presley #sammy j #moonlight lovers

[mahg-stuff]

Hi. Can I request a big daddy elvis (late 70s) in which he and female reader are having an argument and he says something really mean so she heads into the bedroom and cries. He goes into the bedroom to apologize and then make out. Smut, detailed if you can and also some aftercare. Thanks

Tysm for the request! Enjoy it lovee! ♡

Kiss'n make it better

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Word count: 6.4k (quick) Summary: Bde grows stuffy as he witnesses you playing a card game with the guys, but not only that, you are in your delicate bed attire while you do it. Pairing: (1976)bd!elvis x afab!reader Warnings: 18+!, smut, p in v, elvis finally fully takes the reader, cherry cream pie (if you know what I mean...), kissing whilst bodily fluids are present on the mouth, tasting of bodily fluids, playing around with spit?oral fixation?, mention of elvis’ medications/pill use & dr. nick (im sorry), elvis’ standards for his women, toxicity, once again elvis being volatile, use of the word daddy, & of course fluff + baby talk!!

───

AN: Hello there! I was off and on while writing this since I was eager to let it out soon bc I felt I’d left the anon hanging for too long so, certain areas may seem rushed/lack context but I did my best with the details! I hope it’s not a bother, but overall I enjoyed writing this little piece. Anywho, my dear anon I hope you are pleased with this! And to the rest of you loves, enjoy! ♡ (keep the requests coming!!😚)

- pls excuse any errors, your girl got tired half way through cleaning it up 🥹💋

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Elvis was, as of now, getting his day-by-day measurements of meds from Dr. Nick within the master bathroom in his room. In the meantime, you held up in his bed, twiddling your thumbs as you waited, you both had just woken up. He would always make sure to do it in a different room, given that you had eventually told him that you didn't enjoy seeing everything they put in him. When you witnessed firsthand how much his body had to ingest, you expressed your concern, but he waved you off, saying everything was always under control.

At some point, you stopped showing concern upfront to him because it had resulted in the first argument between the two of you, however, you'd unconsciously always be pinching away at your arm's flesh as you worried about him. You were still relatively new to his lifestyle, but you were gradually adapting.

Things were taking quite a while, so you began wandering around his room. You'd only been together for a few months now, so you were still trying to settle in. Elvis asked you to move in right away, and you soon found out he didn't like being left alone. As you moved around the room, you were still in your night slip. It was a look that he found especially appealing. You tip-toed barefoot to the door, peeking outside, and then back over to the closed bathroom door in the bedroom. 

You heard them mumbling inside and decided, Why not go downstairs? 

Making your entrance to the living room and taking in more glances of the house you hadn't paid much attention to before, your eyes shot up towards the voices in the kitchen. As you peered into the kitchen, you saw two of his guys sitting there chatting with some cards in their hands. They took notice of your presence and glanced over at you, their eyes lingering on your attire. Going quite unnoticed by you. 

One clears his throat.

"Hey there, y/n, ya need anythin'?" 

You shrug, not really knowing what you need or want, but feeling a bit restless. 

"No, just bored waiting on El," you reply absentmindedly. 

One of the guys chuckles and nudges the other, whispering something to him. You catch a snippet of their conversation and wonder if they're talking about you.

"What's so funny?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion. 

The guys exchange glances before one of them speaks up, struggling to find the right words. 

"Oh, nothin', just...you know...we were just talkin' 'bout how...um...how fashionable you look today." 

You give them a skeptical look, not fully convinced by their compliment. 

"Really? They're just my pajamas, the first thing I found in the closet last night," you admit with a sheepish shrug as you look down at your delicate garments. 

They both burst into laughter, causing you to giggle along. The guys exchange knowing glances, struggling to contain their amusement at your naivety. Being new in Elvis' life and feeling a bit clueless around the guys sometimes—I mean, you'd never been surrounded by so many men before, so it was uncommon for you to catch their brash ways.

 

One of the guys begins talking, "Since you're bored, why don't ya join us? We're playin’ a card game." 

You happily agree and take a seat at the table. They explain the rules to you as one of them shuffles the deck of cards. The game soon progresses, and the guys bring out their competitive sides, teasing each other and making playful taunts. Even though they might’ve been acting a little abruptly, it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. Amidst the banter, one of the guys turns to you with a mischievous grin. 

"Hey, watch out, I wouldn't want ya to get too confused with all these cards. It might be a bit too much for a girl to handle," he says snarkily. 

You titter and shake your head, clearly letting the comment go over and past your head. 

"I can handle." 

You say it humbly.

***

Elvis, grumbling his way downstairs to look where you'd wandered off, stops at the bottom of the stairway as he hears his precious girl's laughter from the kitchen. He stalks quietly towards the doorframe of the kitchen, there he sees you sitting pretty with his men. He scans your body until he gets to your bare, wriggling sooties that are dangled just above the ground in the chair. Elvis clenches his fists, feeling his irritation rise at the sight of you playing with the guys.

As he watches, he can't help but notice the unkempt yet alluring exterior you possess. Your tousled hair and streaked makeup from the night before only seem to enhance your beauty, giving you a tempting appeal that could captivate those around you. He had set certain expectations for you, and seeing you in this compromising situation with the guys confirms that you were not fulfilling them. He storms in, his footsteps echoing through the room as he confronts the scene before him. 

"Darlin', you know bedder than to be gallivantin' 'round in your night attire with these fellas." He narrows his eyes, his southern accent thickening as he speaks.

Your head quickly turned to that familiar gruff voice, his appearance matching the roughness in his tone. There he stood, portly and only in a silk robe, a region of dark hair trailing down his navel from the open slit and his luscious sideburns framing his face. His noir hair, slightly disheveled from a restless night, completed the picture of a man who demanded attentiveness. As you caught his gaze, you could see a mix of disappointment and fret in his eyes. You instinctively straightened up, feeling a twinge of shame creeping into your conscience for some reason as you looked down at your attire and then back at him. 

"Well, I thought it'd be okay. I mean, I do live here now. Shouldn't I be comfortable, El?" You voiced cunningly, not purposefully trying to provoke him but unable to resist the urge to justify yourself. 

But there was an inimitable standard he held you to, one that required impeccability and grace. 

"Goddammit!" He started. 

"No man's woman should be 'round men in such whorey showin' garments. 'Specially not mah women!" 

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his strong reaction. The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew tense, and you could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down on you. 

His pride was unexpected for you. 

As you searched for words to respond, his intense gaze never wavered, making you feel insecure and exposed. 

"W-Well, the guys think otherwise!" You spoke aloud as your throat tightened. Well, at least you thought they didn't find your attire whorey—a word Elvis had introduced to you when he saw an outfit you picked out while shopping with him. 

Elvis glared over at them, and they both quickly stood up from their positions, some cards falling off the table as they did so. 

"That right?" 

"N-No Ep, 'course not." They stood there longer than they should have. 

"The hell y'all still doin' standin' here, for?! Go on an' do sumn then." Elvis spoke sternly as he pointed, his robe falling more open with his motion. 

The guys hastily scampered away, not wanting to further incur Elvis' anger. You look at Elvis, noticing his neglected appearance and glazed eyes. Nervous, you place your cards down, your eyebrows puckering in disarray. 

"What was that, Elvis?" you ask softly, but your voice is filled with slight perplexity. 

"They didn't do anything." You squeaked. 

"Didn't do anyhtin'." He scoffed under his breath. He shook his head and met your gaze again. 

"Matter uh fact, the hell were you thinkin' wonderin' off?" His words were a bit slurred. 

"Know all yur attention should be on me, 'n only me." Elvis' words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of fury and vulnerability. 

You could sense an ache behind his harsh tone, and it struck a chord within you. 

"Elvis." You delicately said his name, the concern evident in your voice.

But before you could continue, he raised his voice again, his drooping eyes glaring. 

"Kept mah eyes off ya for just uh moment, den I find you playin' bimbo wit' 'em fellas." 

Your heart sank as Elvis' words echoed in the room. 

This wasn't your Elvis. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you stood up from your seat, covering your face with one hand as you moved to leave the room. 

"The hell are ya goin'." He says this as he tries to stop you, but you pull away forcefully and hastily walk upstairs. 

Elvis hears your faint sniffle from the hallway, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. He paced around, mumbling words to himself as he held his forehead, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

It was clear that his head wasn't in the right place. 

***

As Elvis continued to pace, he barely grasps the impact of his words and considers the hurt he may have caused. 

"Baby," he muffles to himself as he looks around. 

He rubs his eyes and begins to walk towards the staircase. 

"Baby." He muffled again, as if he were whispering a plea into the empty space. 

He reaches the top step and hesitates, unsure of whether to knock on the closed bedroom door or barge right in. 

"B-Baby, a-a-ah wannas come in," he says gently in his gruff voice. 

"W-Wanna come in." Elvis stands in front of the door, his voice quivering with desperation. 

His babyish tone reveals the depth of his regret. Your ears perk up on the other side of the door, straining to catch every word. You can sense the turmoil in his voice, the vulnerability, and the longing.

It's a side of him you were weak for, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Slowly, you rise from the bed, your footsteps barely audible as you make your way to the door. With a shaken hand, you turn the knob and open the door, revealing Elvis standing there, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and fear. He takes in your appearance—your tear stained cheeks, red, fuzzy nose, and the slight puffiness of your eyes. His face softens with concern, and without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace. Your face buried into his exposed, hairy, warm torso through the opening of his robe. 

Feverishly, he brings his large palms up to either side of your face and pulls your face upwards. Taking in your babyfaced features. Your damp lashes flutter as you meet his gaze. 

"A-Ah made my little 'un cry." he mumbles as he grazes the pad of his thumb under your eye. 

"Y-Ya know ah ain't meant what I said back dere," he continues, his voice filled with veracity. 

"M-My temper… mah words came out wrong. A-Ah, wudnit wha I meant—", he trails off just before he wavers off, trying to focus his eyesight all of a sudden. 

As his eyelids droop, a gentle sigh escapes his lips. You can see the drowsiness etched across his weathered face, the lines deepening in the dim light of the room. 

It always tortured you when you saw him like this. 

You noticed it was one of the many effects the pills had on him, before starting him up, they'd slow him down first. 

Even with his abrupt weariness, you recognize that sincerity in his voice and the sorryness in his slumped eyes. You reached out and took his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it, offering a silent reassurance that you understood what he was trying to get out. 

You cared deeply for him, so forgiving him always came in a hurry for you.

***

As you both stood there, the grogginess began to fade, and his eyes soon became more and more focused. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He gave your cheek a gentle squeeze. His gaze lingered on your face as he continued to graze his thumb gently on your cheek. 

"Let me m-make it up t-ta mah sweet girl, hmm." He says it so softly with that drawl of his.

As you listen to his soft voice, filled with tenderness and warmth, it becomes evident that he was speaking to you with the same affection one would reserve for a baby. One of his traits you had gotten used to and valued thoroughly. Your cheeks fill with warmth. He holds you by the waist, turning you over, and fully enters the bedroom with you. Shutting the door, he then leads you to the bed, helping you sit down on the edge. Elvis sits down beside you, and you feel the bed sink from his weight. 

He turns your face over to him, and he places a hand on your cheek. He begins caressing your face ever so lightly, as if you were made of spun glass. 

"Kiss'n make it better." He mumbles pouty-lippedly as his thumb runs over your lips. 

You stare into his hollow eyes, nodding, as he begins to push his thumb into your small mouth. Politely opening your mouth for him, the taste of his skin lingers on your tongue as his thumb explores the contours of your mouth. You both hold each other's gaze, and you lightly suckle on it, watching his eyes light up at your action. He gently brings his thumb out, a string of saliva dribbling down your lip. Elvis smudges your saliva all around your soft pout, making your lips appear glossy, then brings his thumb up to his lips to suck off your slobber. As you both continue your intimate encounter, the air around you seems to grow heavier. His fingers then work their way down your torso, tracing your dainty body. With a famished mutter, he slides his hand beneath your slip, teasingly grazing over your soft, small chest, giving one of your nipples a tug. You can't help but whimper at his action.

And want grows between you, feeling a surge of heat run from your face down to your toes. 

"C'mere, let ol’ daddy kiss ya," he leans in, capturing your lips in a fervent, persistent kiss. 

The taste of him fills your palate as he slips his tongue inside your pretty mouth. You find yourself feeling fuzzy in the rush of the moment, willingly giving into his actions. His large hands begin gripping your small waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. His supple kisses had always been tender and gentle, but this one was different. It left you almost breathless. His touch was heavy, and you found yourself slipping in the heat of the moment. Your slip rises upwards at his action, revealing the pair of tiny matching ruffled shorts. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his pillowy lips glistening. His eyes lock onto yours—a look of want. Elvis' hefty hand goes down to your upper thigh, and he grazes the fabric of your shorts. 

"Take 'em off, 'ittle." He rasps quietly, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

Your breath hitches with a half-laugh. "Kay." You gently get off the bed and look over at him as he keenly stares at you with his still-glazed-over eyes. 

A look you may never get used to. 

You began pulling down at the hem of your waistband until the fabric hit the ground, being completely bare underneath. 

While the length of your slip fell just enough to cover your most delicate parts, he whispered, "Lemme see her." 

His voice is playful as he motions for you to come closer.

You take a step toward him. He reaches out and gently tugs at your hip, his thumb rubbing your hipbone, sending a muzzy feeling to your belly. With his other hand, he reaches over to the hem of the fabric, pulling it up—he throbs between his legs.

From his view, he could see all of you. Your narrow hips and thighs and the smallest patch of curls that covered your pussy. The little crease in the middle—so sweet, you were puffy, and sticky just from his kisses. You looked over at his garb—his robe now fully undone from all his movement, also nothing underneath. You took in as the section of his body hair went from his pudgy chest to his soft belly, which hung just barely over his waistline, and then turned into thick curls at his mound. His corpulent and hard, leaky cock presently standing tall just for you against his paunch. You gazed at the ridge of his pretty, purplish, rosy tip weep as it peeked from his foreskin.

Suddenly, you jolted as you felt his thumb at your swollen clit, a splotchy pink filling your cheeks. His touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers perfectly caressing your sensitive nub. You couldn't help but whimper, the lovely sound escaping your pursed lips as your hips instinctively bucked against his digit. 

"Ain't nothin' more purdy than seein' you all pink 'n warmed up. Could spend all day thumbin' away at that ‘dorable clit uh yours." He babbled as he applied more pressure and quickened the pace of his movements. 

Making you even more rosy. 

You could feel the heat building between your legs, the ache for release becoming almost unbearable. Every swipe of his thumb seemed to bring you closer to the edge, pushing you towards the brink of ecstasy. Your back began to arch as you leaned into his touch, but just as you were almost there, he pulled his thumb away. You let out a frustrated whimper, desperately wanting him to continue, then you went to cup yourself until he swiftly stopped you. 

"Dun cha get greedy on me now," he whispered, his voice coated with directness and a hint of humor. 

You couldn't help but pout, your need for satisfaction overwhelmed your senses. You ached. He had never stopped on the brink of your release like this before. His hand left your trembling body, resulting in you feeling empty and yearning for more. You watched as he brought his thumb to his lips, tasting the remnants of your sweet desire, a sly smile playing on his lips. The rosiness in your cheeks seems to grow darker with his action.

"Ah can't have ya fallin' apart jus yet," he murmured, his voice low. 

You looked at him doe-eyed as you clamped your legs, standing there. 

"Little 'un." Elvis whispered as he reached out for a hand. 

"Idenit time for ya to blossom," he continued as he pulled you closer, his warm breath hitting your cheek. "'ittle flower of yours needs ta bloom." Elvis gave you a nod as he spoke and guided you. 

"Bloom," you repeated as you held his strong gaze, and he began helping you lay on the bed. 

"Mhm, correct baby." He cooed as he helped you lie down. 

When you finally understood what he had said, your heart seemed to race. Staring up at the mirror above you on the ceiling, you took in as you laid delicately on his silk bedding. You began recalling the past nights and days of glancing up at yourself while Elvis rutted against your tummy when he cuddled you until he came, or when he'd only do little more than barely let the tip of his cock pierce your tiny hole—but never more than that. 

Now, he indicated that he wanted to take things further. You were both a little afraid and excited by it. Even so, you were genuinely more willing than ever. It made you rub your legs together thinking about it. You would constantly pester him for more, but he would tell you that it wasn't the right moment and that he knew when it would be. Thinking of his words from earlier, you thought maybe this would be his way of making it better after he'd lashed out. Maybe, he wanted to make it up to you by fully fulfilling your needs. You beamed at the thought.

Lost in your little mind, you were interrupted as you felt the bed sink next to you.

There he lay, still in his loose, silky garb, fully open, his hairy manliness laying solid against his belly while his balls were perfectly nestled below his shaft. You looked over at him as he began lying on his side to face you. His jawline was soft and his cheeks full, adding to the suppleness of his overall appearance. His overgrown sideburns adding to his rugged allure. The word ‘mesmerizing’ repeating in your head.

"Rest on yur side f'me, baby." You began turning over for him, but before you could, he stopped you—he saw the mild unease in your eyes. 

His hand cradled the side of your cheek as your eyes stared into his. However, he couldn't help but smile, thinking your muddled face looked adorable. 

"Hers dudden needs to be afraid." He whispered softly and patted your head now. 

With each light pat on your head, his warmth enveloped you, making you feel comforted in his presence. You smiled back at him softly, it sort of surprised you when he caught it. 

"H-Her knows." You whispered back in the same way he spoke to you. 

It was really rubbing off on you, for sure.

He leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, and then motioned for you to rest on your side. Such a baby, you thought as you gave his chubby face one last glance. As you shifted onto your side, he scooted in closer, so he was spooning you, his round stomach pressing into you. You felt the hardness of his length up against your lower back, feeling the warmth radiating off as it throbbed against the thin fabric of your slip. You couldn't deny the growing ache between your legs, yearning for his touch and for him to take control. 

Elvis began lifting the hem of your garment, exposing your bare, pretty, round backside to him. His hand rested on the curve of your hip, his touch both firm and gentle. A shiver ran down your spine as his palm traced delicate patterns on your skin, sending those funny feelings through your body. You felt him move your leg a bit, so your pussy lips were peeking out between your thighs from his view. You felt him pulsing along your rear now, slick already forming at your petals. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. You heard him snicker behind you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Elvis grabbed his thick shaft in one hand and brought it between your thighs, your slick and his precum mixing into one as he rubbed the ridge of his cock along your lips. 

Eagerly, you try to slide down, so his tip pushes up towards your entrance. 

"Careful, too big for yuh to take so fast," he warns as you bare down on his leaky tip. 

You move back unconsciously, and the head of cock grazes at your swollen clit causing you to shudder. 

Trying again, you huff, "Won't fit." 

Elvis is quite amused by this, and he tittered as he leaned into your neck for a quick peck. 

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "Baby, needa take time t'stretch ya out properly." 

He trails his fingers along your inner thighs, teasingly rubbing circles on your sensitive heat. Your body reacts, flushing with chills and impatience. You can feel yourself clenching at nothing. Elvis raises the leg you weren’t resting on with his other arm, and you blush at how vulnerable you seem in the pose. He moves the hand he was massaging you with toward your mouth. You understood what he meant, of course. Carefully, you used your hand to hold the back of his large one as you carefully spit into it. You watch as Elvis gruffly giggles at your compliance as you gaze up at the mirror, his eyes peeking over you as he watches his hand lower back down.

Bringing his hand back down to your throbbing core, now slick with both your juices and saliva. His fingers glide along your folds, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. As his thumb brushes against your clit, a shudder runs through your body, aching for more. You arch your back, silently begging for his touch to become more demanding, more intense. His finger begins to pry at your snug cunt, slipping inside with ease from all your wetness. You feel him begin to inch a second finger inside of you, stretching you further and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, his fingers deeper than you were used to. He would only nag at your hole in the past. You whimper as he starts to move his fingers in and out—a slow and deliberate rhythm. Your hips instinctively press down on his hand, seeking more friction and more of his lengthy fingers. You can't help but squeal, the sound escaping your lips as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting a sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. You try closing your legs, but he still holds one up. He feels your leg shift and hears your cute squeal. Elvis lets go, letting your leg rest down, with a snicker as he looks over at you with a mischievous grin. Soothing his palm up and down against your thigh, he leaned to kiss your upper arm. 

"Ya kay, 'ittle?" he whispered in his southern drawl. 

You nod, unable to form words, as the sensations overwhelm you. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers from inside you, leaving you aching for more. But before you have a chance to say anything, Elvis is already positioning himself between your legs from behind. He catches a glimpse of your sweet little gaping hole that was dripping with want. He begins rubbing the ridge of his cock along your pussy, you feel his chest vibrate behind you from a low groan. His tip begins to ease in as he coos in your ear slowly. Without delay, he plunges inside you halfway, his lip curling at your tightness. You wail as he bucks his hips further, and you try to get away due to the harsh feeling of the big stretch. He carefully moves the arm he was resting on to go under your waist to hold you from your firm stomach as he hitches up the rest of your babydoll. Pulling you towards him, his gut pressing into you more. 

Taking a glance at your clenched fists and shut eyes, he grumbles, "S'okay baby, breathe." 

You gulp down and gasp, "'S't-too much." 

"Needa bit more little 'un." He croons and brings his empty hand to swipe at your clit from the front in order to break you in with more ease. 

With a final buck of his hips, he fills your sweet cunt completely, taking him all in. You cry out at the forceful pinch, your hand gripping at his hand that held you from your tummy. Elvis grunts loudly when you clench at his cock. 

"M-Mah god, baby, let loose f'me. You'll break me off wit' all tha squeezin'." He blurts out, his voice strained with pleasure and urgency.

Your body trembles against his, and he continues to swipe at your tender nub, wanting to bring any type of pleasure to you right now. Elvis glanced up at your face, a tear dribbling down from the corner of yours. He leaned in, kissing it away. Gently opening your glossy eyes, you look up towards the mirror, taking in the way you were both at last bound. His robe was still hanging loosely on his body, and his hair was tousled as he pressed his face into your nape. As you gripped him with your hand, you felt him grab hold of it and start pulling it down to your heat. Placing it between your thighs, where you and him connected, you traced his weighty balls over with your small hand. Indicating he was practically balls deep inside your dear little hole. 

"Yuh feel him inside ya." He whispered airily into your nape, the bass of his voice rumbling against your back. 

You blushed at his words, feeling a mixture of shyness and alertness. You nodded, unable to find the words to respond, as you focused on the sensation of him filling you completely. His hand remained on yours, guiding your movements as you continued to explore the intimate connection between your bodies. Your digits now covered by both yours and his fluids. Elvis let his hand loose and moved it over to your waist, both of his arms now holding you in a spoon position. As the initial sting began to fade and pleasure took its place, you began moving, slowly your movements against him became more confident. Each motion became braver as desire continued to build between you both. Your whimpers got louder, and you felt the hairs on your nape stand as you heard a little huff come from Elvis behind you. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. Pulling himself out slightly and then bucking into you again, causing you to let out a high-pitched moan as you experienced the overwhelming sensation for the first time. A dance of pain and pleasure intertwined within you. You were sure a trickle of blood had stained the satin sheets beneath you both as you felt the warm wetness building between you two. You were too busy taking in the feeling of his hardness inside you, he noticed as he peeked up at the mirror and saw you lying there with your small mouth gaping and your hand buried between your thighs where he had left it. 

"Touch yuh'self sweetheart." He grunted into your ear as he strained himself from moving his hips too harshly, his grip on your waist still firmly in his arms.

You complied, your fingers danced over your sensitive folds, slick with arousal, and maybe more, until they found your swollen clit. As you began to rub circles around it, your moans grew louder and more dire, echoing through the room. The mirror gave you a clear view of your own flushed face, your eyes filled with desire and vulnerability. The way he watched you, his dark eyes smoldering with lust, only fueled the fire burning within you. Every movement caused the robe to sway gently, revealing hints of his luscious curves beneath. As your fingers continued their rhythmic dance upon your clit, you couldn't help but imagine his hands—those strong and skilled hands—taking over. The thought of his touch, his fingers tracing the same patterns you were now creating, made your toes wriggle. Your breath hitched as you quivered as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen became more and more unbearable. His thrusts became more vigorous, matching the intensity building within you. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans mingling with his low grunts. As he maintained his relentless pace, you surrendered yourself completely to what your body was feeling. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter until, finally, with one strong thrust, you unraveled into a state of euphoria on his cock. Your body trembled with sheer bliss as he continued to move inside you, he watched as your pretty face contorted and your blush deepened. 

"O-Oh god." You whined loudly, tightening around him, and the throbbing of his girthy cock became even more pronounced. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, looking for his own release. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you moan prettily but uncontrollably. He glared over at you, bringing one hand up to grasp your jaw, his thumb once again finding its way into your mouth.

"N-Not so loud baby. Ain't want no 'un else hearin' ya gone like this, only me." He spoke between each heavy breath, sounding imposing. 

You nodded, unable to say any words. 

His thumb pressed against your tongue, silencing your moans as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. The room was filled with the sound of skin pushing against skin, blending with your muffled cries of pleasure. You felt your ears grow hotter as his grunts turned into gruff whines, it made you wonder how such a man could make such pretty sounds. He pressed into you harder, the suppleness of his hair-filled belly now squished into your lower back. Elvis' grip on you toughens under you, his fingers digging into the skin of your tummy as he pulls you closer, seeking an even deeper connection. His other hand now filled with your drool. Watching as his lip was now curled, you couldn't tear your gaze away from his beautiful expression slipping into that o-face of his through the mirror. With one final thrust, he let out a garish whine, emptying himself inside of your now-tamed pussy, filling you completely with his essence. You couldn't help but muffle a sob and bite down on his thumb as you felt his scorching seed paint your walls. 

He was still so far buried inside you as he let out heavy sighs. Elvis slowly began to withdraw his upper body from you, looking down at the slight space between his belly and your back, shifting his hips slowly to pull out, the base of his cock streaked with your pure blood. He paused as he felt your tongue pushing at his thumb and looked over, your eyes were watery. 

He withdrew his large hand, you turned your head over to him, the position putting a little discomfort on your neck as he was still spooning you. You were in awe of his blushed face and matted, lush hair sticking to his forehead from all his sweat. Bringing the hand you still held between your thighs over to hold the side of his face, your eyes widened as you focused on the redness of your blood on your digits, which had now smudged a bit on his cheek. Elvis took in your expression and glanced over at your small hand against his cheek, he snickered. Grabbing ahold of it, he brought it over to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss and even a subtle lick. Your purity now smudged along his soft lips. 

"A fine 'ittle flower 'as bloomed," he mumbled as he leaned his face into you. 

Your heart raced as his lips pushed against yours gently. The taste of his kiss, a mixture of your blood and his own essence, sent warmth down your spine. He steadily pulled away, enjoying the fact that your lips were stained right along with his. 

It left you brain-scattered and your hind eyes in a fuzzy state.

You were brought back when you felt him pulling his practically flaccid cock out of you. You winced as a dull ache shot through your body. Quickly sensing soreness, but a satisfied, weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, knowing he'd finally gone completely with you. You stiffened as the warmth of his spew slowly oozed out of your snug, bruised hole. 

Elvis' view was a delight, he thought, watching as the scarlet milky mess glazed your puffed-up pussy lips, running down your inner thigh. Slumbering on your back now, your babydoll still pushed up but remained covering your small chest. 

But before you could turn to fully face him, you panicked as he stood up from the bed abruptly. 

"E-Elvis," you sputtered out, even reaching your hand out for him. 

He ignored your plea as he hurriedly walked towards the bathroom. His footsteps echoed in the silence, and you suddenly felt anxious. Moments later, he emerged with a damp towel in his hand. As he approached you, he saw the look on your face as you laid on your back. 

"Hey, what's wit' da worried eyes baby," he asked gently while gently leaning over at you. 

You still felt the pang of fret in your chest as Elvis leaned over you, his concern evident in his eyes. 

"I-I just got scared. Thought you w-were leaving," you admitted, your voice shaky. 

Elvis' expression softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair off your face. 

"Aww, don' worry, sweetheart. Am here now, ain't goin' anywhere," he reassured you, his voice smooth and reassuring in his drawl. 

His touch was comforting, and you felt yourself relax under his calm presence. 

As his hand lingered on your cheek, he spoke again. "Ah's needs ta clean my little girl now, kay." 

You nodded as Elvis stood in front of you while you lay splayed on the bed. He softly lifted your legs and began to gently wipe away the sticky residue, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His sunken eyes met yours briefly, a glimmer of tenderness, before he focused back on cleaning you up. You flinched as he swiped at your tender bud, and he couldn't help but grin. Finishing up, he tossed the used rag aside. Elvis had always been thorough in his caretaking when it came to you. As he gently began tugging your delicate top down to cover you, he paused and scrunched it up, revealing your small, supple chest and your soft pink meek nipples. 

Leaning down to give both of your petite mounds delicate kisses, "Almost forgot 'bout 'em sweet lil' things," he muffled as he kissed your warm skin. 

You found yourself giggling as you ran a hand through his tousled-up hair. One of the things he had made you become—a giggler. 

He stood back up and fixed your babydoll fully now as he smiled at you.

"All done, my little 'un," he whispered softly, his voice filled with pride and adoration. 

Collapsing beside you, his hand tenderly stroked your hair, whispering, "We'll get tha rest uh us cleaned up later." 

He then continued as you moved over to fully face him, his robe now imperfectly tied. "Needa hold ya darlin’, ah know how emotional you puny things can be after experiencin' this kinda thing." 

You snuggled closer to him with a giggle, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in his embrace. The tubbiness of him being all the more cozy. As you both basked in each other, you felt the palm of his hand smooth down at your lower abdomen. 

"Yuh sore?" His voice held that babyish tone. 

"Bits," you mumbled as your cheek rested against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. 

His hand continued to caress your belly, his touch gentle. “Love her lots,” he suddenly blurted and leaned in to give your forehead a kiss. 

You gazed up at him, leaning in to kiss the fullness between his neck and chin. “Loves daddy lots too,” you whispered as you followed up with another kiss before you snuggled into him again. 

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[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pat pat pat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” she perks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

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

“The papaya shit–”

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

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

Gigi’s.

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

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

“Gigi’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.” She swears.

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

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

“Oh? What on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t have one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bi–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is a little girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God moves in mysterious ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

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

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #big daddy elvis fic #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis one shot #70’s elvis #elvis x you #army elvis #elvis x reader #elvis smut #austin elvis smut #elvis photos #elvis fic #elvis fanfic au #elvis au #austin elvis fluff #70s elvis #elvis 2022

[precious-little-scoundrel]

dunno how busy you are with writing atm, but i'd love more sub elvis-- any flavor. maybe big daddy, because sub bog daddy e is soooo rare and i feel like you would do it so well 🩵

maybe Sub Big Daddy they say oh so casually, not knowing I have something already begun in drafts and my mind lives there! Oh I can cook this up for you, 100% yes. It’s happening.

I’m going to make it a reader insert but I think I’ll piggy back off a “old flame” sorta story so he’s truly comfortable and who better than the gal from Sweet like Cinnamon? Except it’ll be reader but…reader will be Susie, if that makes sense. No need to read that if you haven’t before but it’s the most subby thing I’ve got so far and it’s, well, quite subby.

Would you like a sneak peek at the draft?

:

“Come on down to Las Vegas, baby, come sort me out.” he had begged and now you were strutting through the back halls of the international, your bag politely carried by Sonny and your tremendously large purse clutched in your hand, and in it the most scandalous of gifts. Or toys. Or a gesture of your esteem and belief in his willpower.

It was hard to think of gifts that a man who has everything would find worthwhile or satisfying. You flattered yourself with thoughts of your successes over the years, the elephant tusk handled pistol and the illuminated Bible that was one of a kind from your trip to Armenia. He’d lit up like a kid at each of these and poured over them for hours.

They were, after all, original thoughts, first and foremost, and secondly, gifts not paid by his own credit card.

Just like this one.

High off catching the last hour of his first show of the night, you clip clopped over tile and chatted with Sonny about life since the Hollywood days, touring Vietnam to cheer the troops and life as a thirty year old female with no kids to show for it. Altogether you were decidedly happy, and being married was part of that and no amount of small talk was going to get Sonny any closer to this intricacies of a liberal marriage that allowed you to show up when Elvis Presley occasionally deigned to beg for you to sort him.

———————————————

“Your boys tell me you’re in a slump? judging by that performance out there I’d say they’re blind as bats. Or maybe…there’s a different sorta performance suffering, hmm?”

#Elvis prompts #prompts accepted #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #big daddy prompts #big daddy elvis fic

[rosepresley68]

I just leave this here

I haven't been feeling well these days and I honestly look at these images and then I look at the sky thinking "can you come down and hug me? Please! I need you to hug me."

#big daddy elvis #elvis aaron presley #elvis fans #elvis history #elvis imagine #elvis music #elvis photos #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis the pelvis #50s elvis #kisses #hug me please #i love him #i love you #♥️ #gorgeous 😍😍😍 #elvis presley x you #Elvis Presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley history #elvis fandom #elvis

[butlersxbirdy]

Blue Banisters: Prologue

Let's Rewrite History

Warnings: Mentions of drugs/overdosing, Big Daddy in a relationship with an oc (Maggie is not a reader character), misunderstandings, grief

Graceland was uncharacteristically quiet. The Memphis Mafia slept soundly in their private guest rooms of the large, plantation-like wonder. The white house was a true gem of the south, sparkling in the moonlight, almost brighter than it did in the heat of the day. Peace settled over the stunning exterior of the extravagant home, while turmoil rolled and rumbled like thunder within. The willows whispered truths to the young woman, beautiful but with lifetimes of sadness welling in violet eyes, walking beneath their drooping leaves in the darkness, unaware that she was desperately needed within.

Inside the walls that had closed in on the goddess wandering alone, cool tile pressed against the face of a falling angel. Elvis Presley could do nothing but lay against the tile floor in his own sweat and sick. The empty bottles of pills around him on the bathroom floor were as hollow as his unevenly pounding heart. He knew it would give out any minute- damn thing was broken in more ways than one, and he knew that this was the end. He already missed his family- his father, his Memphis Mafia, his son, his music, his- not his… never his…

The light of the bathroom hurt his eyes, but closing them hurt worse. He tries to crawl to his bed, for some quiet rest before the end, but his body gives out, smacking obscenely against the nearly flooded bathroom. Oh… he’d wanted a bath. 

Unfortunately, or rather, fortuitously, the sound of his body hitting the floor, summoned the ever watchful Ms. Pollitt up to him.

“Mr. Presley! Oh my god!” she screams, and the light and the noise summon a wave of nausea and dizziness he can’t fight. His stomach turns and he wretches, adding to the mess he’s making of himself and the floor. “Get it all up, that’s it,” she encourages shakily, taking his pulse before running out of the room but there was no need. Footsteps come, male footsteps, dashing the last of his hopes.

“Mama..” he croaks, between the fountains of acid, pills, and the remains of his dinner pouring from his trembling lips. 

He nearly chokes but then strong hands are laying him on his side. Too big to be hers. The only one he wants. The only one who can save him. The goddess in the moonlight. But then again, no… she was already so troubled, he couldn’t add to her burdens. Better to slip away.

“Mama…” he begs again, and Jerry’s voice breaks through the silence. 

“Ya ain’t goin up to see your Mama today, Mr. Presley,” Ms. Pollitt’s stern voice cuts through the sadness of misunderstanding. 

“It’s time. He’s been goin’ down this road a long time. We’re gettin ‘im to a clinic and when he comes back,” Jerry sighs heavily.

“If,” Elvis could barely hear Scotty mutter as he trembles on the floor. There’s a loud crack from somewhere above his head. Muffled swearing. Blood dripping on the floor among the water, sweat, and vomit.

“When,” Jerry hisses, rubbing his knuckles as Scotty holds on to his dripping nose. “When he comes back, he’s getting overseen by a real doctor. Ain’t no one gonna kill Elvis Presley on my watch,” Ms. Pollitt says firmly. 

“Come on now, let’s get him in the car. Windows down is best,” Jerry says, snapping at Scotty to quit whining. 

All he knows beyond the noise is his heart thumping, and the sensation of being lifted away. Away from his home, his family, and his heart’s desire. He was going to get better, though the thought of doing so never crossed his mind. He was going to heal. But what would he come home to if he ever made it back?

Like ships passing in the night, Maggie never saw her father in law leave the house in Jerry and Scotty’s arms. The stairs that took her back to the loveless bed she shared with her husband were out of sight from the oddly quiet hospital-bound group. Her own thoughts carried her mind far away from the sound of Ms. Pollitt cleaning up the mess left in the wake of the barely escaped tragedy, and by the time Jerry and Scotty returned with bloodshot eyes and hoarse throats, all was quiet. It was as though nothing had changed, though of course, seemingly in the blink of an eye, everything had. 

It was the fondness she daren’t ever speak of that carried Maggie the next morning, in fact most mornings, straight from her room to the kitchen.

“I’ll take him his breakfast,” she smiled to the maid who was preparing the tray. “Maybe an extra biscuit, poor thing was lookin a little worse for wear yesterday, I’m sure he’ll be right as rain soon enough.” Her skirts bustled and swished with every move, busy as her mind. He has to be alright. 

“That’s kind of ya, Mrs. Presley, Ms. Pollitt’s havin a bit of a lie in t’day,” Souky says sweetly as she puts the finishing touches on the tray.

“Souky, how many times do I have ta tell you,” Maggie’s blush and toss of her curled hair covered the discomfort quite well. If only she couldn’t feel the dagger in her heart so acutely. “There ain’t no Mrs. Presley until Big Daddy takes a wife. Mr. Brick and Ms. Maggie suit me an’ my sweet husband just fine.”

“Apologies, Miss, ya need help with the tray?” Souky asked kindly, but Maggie shook her head quickly. Mornings were a sacred sliver of time wherein she could dream.

“I’m perfectly capable, Souky, take a deep breath, I’m sure Mrs. Pollitt will be down soon.” She didn’t wait another second before turning on her heel and marching up the stairs with the determination of a General, not spilling a bit of the delicious meal and hot coffee laid out so perfectly. She vibrated with excitement- something about this morning, felt so new and different. Her moonlight walk had emboldened her. 

“Rise an’ shine, Big Daddy, I hope you’re feeling-” Her words stopped in her throat when greeted by an empty room. The bed was perfectly made, unslept in. The empty pill bottles by the bedside weakened her grip on the tray, and forced a scream from her throat as Big Daddy’s breakfast crashed to the ground. Chaos descended.

Brick, Jerry, and Scotty sprint upstairs, tripping over themselves, and the entire household staff, including a very tired Ms. Pollitt, run in, surrounding Maggie and the mess on the floor Ms. Pollitt had worked so hard on.

“Maggie!” Brick gasped, trying to put his arms around her, but she fought him off.

“Where is he?!” she screamed, knees buckling. Jerry caught her before she collapsed and cut her legs on the shattered glass. Ms. Pollitt, features stricken with grief, was already directing the servants to clean up, but Maggie didn’t pick up on any of it. All she could see was that big empty bed.

“C’mon, Maggie,” Brick tried to calm her in a low voice. “C’mon, Maggie, they had t’take him, he was so sick.”

“Let’s get her downstairs,” Jerry sighed heavily. “Goddamn, I feel like I just did this. She weighs less though,” his attempt at humor fell flat, and for the first time in so long, Brick Presley carried his wife in his arms down the stairs. 

“How did it happen?” Maggie the cat asked the group surrounding her. A cold washcloth was pressed against her forehead and an uncharacteristically early morning iced vodka shook and almost spilled with the trembling of her hand. “How did Big Daddy die?” Her voice shook with tears unshed. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper. No young woman sheds tears for her father in law, especially not after attempting to sneak him breakfast. That wouldn’t do. 

“See, I told ya, we shoulda woke her up,” Jerry hisses at Scotty, who looks offended that he is once more the brunt of Jerry’s wrath. “Maggie, Honey, Big Daddy’s not dead.”

“Shoulda woke me up too,” Brick chimed in sourly, drinking his own, slightly less unprecedented iced vodka, with a steady hand. “He’s my family.”

“He’s all our family,” Scotty argued, ducking in case Jerry’s fist flew. 

In all the arguing and heated emotions, no one noticed Maggie, downing her drink and sitting up slowly.

“He’s not dead? Where is he, ya said ya had to take him away!” she snarled, eyes gleaming and her lips curling back in fury. Brick could have sworn on a Bible that her canines looked sharpened, she was so full of rage and grief.

“He was in a real bad way… took all those pills, was cryin out for his Mama. Maggie,” Jerry sat down next to her and looked in to her beautiful, almost purple, eyes. “He’s been headin for an overdose for a while now, his heart can’t take it. An’ I know ya have a blind spot for the old man, but we’ve been down this road with him before. There wasn’t much t’do except wait for him to be so sick that he’d have to get treatment, even if he didn’t want it,” Jerry explains. 

“Why wouldn’t he want to get help?” Maggie sobbed, her face finally landing in her hands. The shock of the new developments didn’t prevent anyone from being surprised at this. Maggie, who would not crumble, Maggie who never yielded, was breaking like candy glass right in front of them. Jerry and Steve, who’d just come in from the porch for a smoke, exchanged a look. They had suspected the well of sorrow from which the unshed tears pooled in Big Daddy’s eyes, but they could never tell. Not now. 

“He’d been depressed for awhile, and you know he relied on those pills and those doctors for so much. But hey,” Steve knelt by Maggie’s other side, a sturdy presence as always. “He’ll be back when he’s ready. And we’re gonna get him real doctors. Ya gonna be here when he gets back, Maggie? Ya know the ol’ man dotes on ya somethin’ fierce,” Steve smiled kindly. Maggie’s face lifted slowly skyward, and Steve used a satin hankie to dab at her tears. Brick’s face settled into an unreadable scowl and he shook his head.

“Course we’ll be here. Big Daddy loves Maggie.” 

Maggie, as usual, paid no mind to his childish surliness. She stood slowly, and looked around at everyone.

“Well then,” she smiled, her usual charming smile, though her eyes were hollow. “I say we all touch up the house, have ourselves a nice breakfast, and together we’ll have this place ready at a moment’s notice for Mr. Presley to come back,” she commanded, kindly but firmly, like a sugar coated drill sergeant. Ms. Pollitt bit back a grin and immediately set the staff to work.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Maggie cleared her throat politely. “I’m afraid I’m rather in need of a washing up. Brick, Baby, why don’t ya go shootin with everyone, that oughta make for a nice mornin before we eat t’gether.” In true Maggie fashion, she didn’t wait for an answer before heading up the stairs, though she did yell down halfway up, “An’ someone better take charge o’keepin Billy an’ Mae an’ those God awful children out o’this house, dontcha think?”

#Blue Banisters #Big Daddy Elvis Fic #big daddy × maggie