Livin' From Day To Day, Chasin' A Dream...

Another night, another fight with Priscilla. Elvis is about fed up with these late-night screaming matches. Thankfully, they never wake up Lisa. She happens to be the heaviest sleeping baby he's ever encountered. Not that he's encountered too many babies, really, anyway.

These are the thoughts that are swirling around in his head as he walks through the streets of LA after midnight. He'd started out in his car, but then he wanted some night air to try and cool off. He wasn't even paying attention to how far he'd walked when the raindrops started to fall. With another string of muttered curse words, he ducks inside the wooden door to what appears to be some kind of dive bar. Inside, the air is stale and smoky and smells like cheap beer and cigarettes. Perfect for the mood he’s in. Not that he'll have a drink or anything, but the darkness, both metaphorical and literal, suits him. He makes his way to the bar to order a Pepsi, but halfway there, he's assaulted by a voice. Assaulted is the wrong word. He's damn near haunted.

The lyrical tones of a woman's voice cut through the smoky haze and stop him dead in his tracks. But it's not just the perfect lilt of the melody that hits him square in the chest. No, it's the melancholy timbre that invades his senses and causes a lump to form in his throat. She's not just singing. She's bleeding her heart out through her mouth, her fingers gently pressing brokenness into the keys. Something about the way the notes roll out of her and onto the floor sends them through the dirty wood like lightning into the bottoms of his feet and up to the place where his soul is lodged in his bones. For a second, he stands there paralyzed with the emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. Who is this girl?

Just as he begins to walk towards the piano, though, she stops, groans, and then scribbles something on her notepad. She dives back into the song, trying the new lyric, and then stops again. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches her chew on the end of the pencil and battle internally with whatever it is she's trying to write. By this point, he's close enough to see her eyes darting across the page, deep in concentration. They're so dark, they almost match her black hair where it hangs over her shoulders. Her lips move as she tries to reread what she's written.

“What's the matter, songbird? You stuck?” He asks, almost teasingly, forgetting that she hasn't seen him yet.

“Nancy.” She responds without looking up.

“Huh?”

“My name is Nancy. Not ‘songbird’.”

“Oh.” He walks up on her left side and sets his hand on the piano. “I'm sorry, Nancy.”

“That's okay, just—” She finally looks up and gasps softly. “Holy fuck, you're Elvis Presley.”

“Am I?” He laughs dryly. “That's quite a mouth you got on you.”

“All the better for disappointing misogynists.” She goes back to writing something on her notepad. Elvis drums his fingertips on the piano and she sighs. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, no. I'm just watching. You mind? I don't write my own songs.”

“I know.”

For the first time since he heard her voice, he bristles a little with annoyance. The fact that he doesn't write his own music has become a real pain in the ass lately. Everyone seems to want artists to write things now. Damn Beatles.

“You have a hell of a voice.” He says, trying to change the subject back to something he knows.

“Mm.” She says, not looking up.

“I'm just sayin’. I'd love to hear more if you—”

“Shit, what time is it?” She looks around frantically for a clock and eventually settles for the watch on his arm, grabbing his wrist to look at it.

“You always talk like that?” He raises his eyebrows, ignoring the impact that her touch has on him.

“Sorry, it's almost 2 am.” She lets go of him and stands up. “I gotta go. Nice, um, talking to you.”

“Wait, you play anywhere around here?” He panics a little as she backs away from him.

“My band, Feveroot, plays sometimes.” She heads for the door.

“Nancy, wait—”

“Bye… Elvis Presley…”

And then she's gone.

******

Elvis is antsy. He’s in that weird downtime that he gets sometimes between projects. He’s really proud of his latest album, From Elvis in Memphis, but he doesn’t start his new shows in Vegas for another month. He’s not just antsy about the upcoming engagement, though. He can’t stop thinking about Nancy and the way her voice was like something from a dream. After a few days of trying to get her out of his head, he decides he won’t rest until he finds her again. All he has to go on is her first name and the name of her band. He starts with record stores, but it doesn’t seem like they’re very popular, if they’ve recorded an album at all. His next move is to call every record producer in town and ask about them directly. He’s starting to lose hope when Bones Howell finally calls back.

“Elvis, I think I found that band you’ve been looking for.”

“Feveroot?” He tries to keep his voice even.

“Yeah, man. Ed has them booked in a studio this Thursday. I think they’re playing a show next week on the strip, too.”

Elvis rubs his eyebrows. He has to be back in Vegas this weekend. He’ll have to try to intercept them during recording. “What studio?”

“Little nowhere place on Melrose. It’s called Blue Room Recording.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t. Just look for a blue door shoved between a laundromat and a liquor store.”

Elvis tries to picture Nancy in a place like that. She deserves a weekend slot at the Whisky, not a shady studio no one even knows about. “Alright, thanks, man.”

“What are you thinking, Elvis? Is this a group I should have on my radar?”

Elvis sighs. Nancy is, but he has no idea about the band. “I dunno, man. I’ll let you know after I see ‘em.”

He hangs up with Bones and drags his hand down his face. What the hell is he doing? He looks at the picture on the wall of him and Priscilla and cringes. Thursday.

******

When the day finally comes, Elvis makes some excuse to shake his guys and heads to the studio. His fingers tap nervously on his knee, and he can see the sweat on his forehead in the rearview mirror, but he’s not turning back now. This girl has dug into his skin, and he needs to know why.

He pulls on the handle of the blue door and is greeted by the familiar sounds and smell of a recording studio, just a little more stale than he’s used to. The air feels thick and heavy, like his own breath is bouncing off the carpeted walls. He greets the wide-eyed girl at the front and follows her finger where she points silently down the hallway. When he gets to the booth, he pauses for a second with his hand on the doorknob and listens. He can hear a voice, but it’s not Nancy. He turns the knob and pushes it open to a rush of sound. The engineer looks back over his shoulder for the source of the disruption and does a double-take.

“Close the door.” The producer calls without looking up. The engineer goes back to his work on the sound board, so Elvis pulls the door shut and steps in to watch through the glass.

It takes him less than a second to clock that she’s not even on the mic. No, some tall, skinny guy with long blonde hair has his eyes closed as he sings the song Nancy was working on at the bar. Elvis scans the room, finally landing on her tucked behind the keyboard. She has a pair of clunky headphones over her ears, her eyes trained on the guy at the mic. For a few moments, he just watches her. Even without singing, her fingers dance over the keys like sparrows, and her presence is hard to ignore. Still, why isn’t she singing?

He’s lost in this thought, brow furrowed, when she feels his eyes on her and looks up to the booth.

“Oh, fuck.” She says it loud enough that the mic picks it up. Elvis stifles a chuckle as the singer opens his eyes and his mouth pops open. Simultaneously, the producer turns and sees Elvis, standing immediately.

“Elvis! I’m Ed Sumner.” He sticks out his hand for Elvis to shake. The recording stops, the room frozen with his existence.

“Hi, Ed. I’m Elvis Presley.” He turns to the band in the live room. “Y’all must be Feveroot.”

“What are you doing here?” Nancy stands up from the keyboard and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I told you—”

“Elvis! Wow! I can’t believe you’re really here.” The blonde man cuts in excitedly. “We used to listen to your records when we were kids!”

Elvis still has his eyes on Nancy, though, and it doesn’t take long for the lead singer to notice. Nancy shifts from one foot to the other and cuts her eyes back to the other guy. She bites her lip and then holds her hand up to gesture to him.

“Elvis, this is Jason—”

“Jace! Honey, I’ve told you so many times. Call me Jace.” His tone is friendly, but there’s an edge of something else underneath it. The other bandmembers move around uncomfortably, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m Jace Calloway. This is my band.”

Elvis finally turns to look at Jace. “Your band, Jason? You write this song?”

Jace blinks a couple of times and then nods. “I– we all did.”

“Mmm.” Elvis looks back at Nancy, who is now looking at the floor.

Jace follows his gaze before snapping his head back to Elvis, his eyes narrowed slightly. “We write all our songs together. Me, Dave, Chris, Mike, and Nancy. You mind if we finish recording?”

“Of course not. I’d love to watch, if you don’t mind?” Elvis gives him a congenial smile. Nancy looks back and forth between the two of them, thankful for the piece of glass that separates the rooms.

“We only have the studio for a few more minutes.” She half-mumbles.

“Right. Just pretend I’m not here.” Elvis says softly to her. He sits down next to the engineer and watches quietly as Jace steps back up to the mic.

They finish recording in about fifteen minutes with Elvis watching patiently. To his shock, Nancy doesn’t open her mouth to sing a single note. Jace sings all of it.

When recording is finished, the band members noisily make their way back to the lobby. Elvis files in between Nancy and Jace, who yells to the drummer not to flirt with the front desk girl. Nancy is still silent, and Elvis resists the urge to grab her hand as they walk.

In the lobby, he leans in close and speaks quietly to her. “You wanna get a bite to eat or something?”

She looks up at him and then over at Jace, who is watching them from across the room. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Strictly business. I have a song I’d like you to look at.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”

Elvis smiles softly. “It’s called ‘Caged Bird’. Come on. I don’t bite.”

He follows her eyes over to Jace. Jace gives a small nod, and she looks up at Elvis. “Okay. Just food and music, though. I’ve heard about you. I’m not interested.”

Elvis rolls his eyes. “Fine. Food and music. Two of my favorite things.”

She moves to the blue door and pushes it open to the warm LA night air. As Elvis follows her through it, they hear Jace shout from behind them. “2 am, honey.”

******

They settle on a late-night diner down the street, the kind with a jukebox and homemade pie, and lights that are way too bright for the time of night. The waitress shuffles over in her pink uniform and drops off two cheeseburgers with fries.

“So tell me about this song.” Nancy says before taking a bite.

Elvis chews quietly for a second. “There isn’t one.”

“What?”

“I told you before. I don’t write my own songs. You could write one for me.”

“And call it ‘Caged Bird’?”

“Nah, that was just to get you here. You looked like you needed someone to pry open your bars.”

Nancy sets down her cheeseburger defiantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No.” Elvis reaches across and grabs one of her fries. “But I know a cage when I see one.”

“Yeah? What kind of cage are you in?’ She picks up her burger and takes another bite.

“This ain’t about me, songbird.” He says it playfully, but Nancy isn’t blind. There’s something there just under the surface. Her eyes drift to his wedding ring and then back up to his face, but he just smiles sadly.

“You know, you could talk to me.” She shoves a fry in her mouth nonchalantly.

“Why don’t you sing in your band?”

She takes a sip of Pepsi and sighs. “I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I sing backup a lot.”

“That ain’t the same. You know what I mean.” Elvis finishes off his burger and goes for her fries again. She slaps his hand.

“My fries.”

“Answer the question, or I’m eatin’ ‘em.” He pulls his hand back and takes a long swig of his soda.

“Jason— Jace says people prefer male singers for rock bands.”

“Jason says, huh?”

She nods and hands him a fry. “He’s my ex.”

“Oh.” He shoves the fry into his mouth and digests that information.

“It’s more than that, though. Before him, I was just some girl taking piano lessons between Bible studies in Oklahoma.”

“Nothing wrong with a Bible study.”

“No. But I wanted to be a rock star.” She eats another fry and hands him another. “His old band played a show in my hometown and we… things happened. I showed him my book of songs, and he asked me to come with him on tour. That was three years ago.”

Elvis’s jaw tightens at the mention of the two of them together. Nancy hides a smile at his reaction and pushes the plate with the rest of the fries towards him.

“You’re not still with him, though?”

“No. We broke up about a year ago when I caught him with two girls after a show.”

Elvis clears his throat and pretends to find something on the wall very interesting.

“It wasn’t even just the cheating, though. You don’t date a rock star and expect perfect fidelity.”

“What was it, then?”

“When I was throwing their clothes at them, one of the girls said I didn’t deserve to be with such a genius songwriter.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s one thing for him to take credit to get us recording deals and shows. It’s another for him to use my work to get laid.”

Elvis watches her silently. He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “We should get out of here. It’s getting late. What time is it?”

He looks down at his watch. He knows why she’s asking. “2:16.”

“Fuck!” She slides out of the booth, drops some cash on the table, and heads for the door.

Before his thoughts can catch up to him, Elvis follows her. “Nancy, wait.”

“I can’t.”

He gently grasps the top of her arm and pulls her back. “Why not? You’re an adult.”

“Elvis, you don’t understand.”

“Will he hurt you?” His eyes darken angrily.

“No. I don’t think so. He just… I have to go home.”

“Will you let me drive you, at least?”

She looks up at Elvis, searching his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” He leads her back to his Lincoln, and they ride in silence as she guides him to their house in Laurel Canyon. He doesn’t tell her, but he has every intention of making sure Jace doesn’t come anywhere near her when they get there.

Finally, they pull in the driveway, and she scoffs. “He’s not even here.”

She pushes open the car door and gets out. Elvis follows her out of the car and to the front porch. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“His car isn’t here.” She gestures to the driveway.

“Good, so you can come with me, and we’ll go somewhere—”

“I still have to go inside.”

“Why?”

She rounds on him, her eyes on fire. “You don’t understand, Elvis. This is my life.”

He stands in silence for a few seconds before turning to leave. But then he turns back. “No, you know what, it’s not okay for him to take credit to get the band gigs either.”

“What?”

“In the diner. You said you didn’t mind him taking credit for your work if he was doing it for the band. But that’s not okay either, and I think you know it.” His eyes are flashing now, too.

“Fuck you, Elvis.” Her voice is shaking.

“Fuck me? I’m trying to help you!” He takes a step closer to her, the heat between them filling the space.

“I don’t want your help!”

“Don’t you?” He says softer. His hand flexes at his side, desperate to reach out and touch her.

“I’m f-fine.” The tears that have been threatening to slide down her cheeks finally do. She looks away from him and sniffles.

“Nancy. Look at me.”

“No.” He steps so close that their bodies are almost touching.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want out, and I’ll leave right now.”

She looks up at him, shoulders shaking with sobs. “Elvis…”

“Goddamnit.”

His lips crash into hers as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in close. They collide like eagles in a hundred-foot freefall. Their mouths are not careful as they try to consume each other, seeking a closeness that defies the boundaries of skin. She jumps, and he catches her, legs around his waist as his hands roam over her hungrily.

“Inside.” She whimpers into his mouth, and he nods, searching for the door handle. He gets the door open, and they crash into the living room wall. He looks around to make sure they don’t break anything as she presses hot, wild kisses to his neck. The place looks exactly as you’d expect, with beer cans and cigarette butts littering every open surface. They tumble down the hallway, and she points to a door under the stairs. He falls backwards through it into a glorified closet, but there’s a bed. He heads for it as she strips off his jacket and shirt. Her dress is the next thing to be flung across the room as they collapse into the bed. Everything is hands, lips, and soft moans as they remove anything else separating them. He drops open-mouthed kisses down her body, the warm wetness of his tongue cutting a hot path down to her center. When he settles between her thighs, she cries out as he dives in to taste her. The pleasure is blinding, her hand in the front of his hair, rolling her hips to get as much as she can. He groans into her, rutting against the small mattress where he’s hard and aching for her. He works her relentlessly, driving her to the edge, sliding two long fingers up into her, and pushing her even closer.

“Good?” He murmurs against her.

“Don't stop!” She gasps and arches, moaning his name as one final drag of his tongue breaks her wide open. He starts to slow his movements, coaxing her back down, while her hands loosen their grip on the sheets. When he finally pulls back, she doesn’t wait before rolling him onto his back and settling with her knees on either side of him. His hands move to her hips, wide enough to hold her steady despite her trembling thighs, as she sinks down onto his cock.

“Fuck.” He moans, his eyes rolling back.

“That’s some mouth you got on you.” She whispers breathlessly.

“You weren’t complainin’ about my mouth a minute ago.”

“I’m not complaining now.” She lowers her body forward and kisses him deeply, rolling against him and pushing him deeper. He moans as she keeps moving, guiding him in and out of her in a tantalizing rhythm.

“Ain’t gonna last long like this.” He whimpers, wrapping his arms around her waist and thrusting up into her from below.

“Good. I want to feel you lose control.” She drags her tongue up his neck and nibbles on his earlobe. His movements become erratic, and he groans again.

“God, Nancy.” He moans, hips stuttering against her. “My beautiful bird. My Birdie.”

With one final thrust, he spills inside her, pulsing and holding her tight to his chest. She stays there for a long time, longer than she should, but she doesn’t want him to let go. And he doesn’t want to let go either. So they settle, wrapped tightly together, as their heartbeats begin to slow and the air comes back into the room. Finally, he kisses her forehead and strokes her hair. She sits up a little to be able to see him.

“What did you call me?” She speaks softly as he holds the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“Birdie?”

She kisses the pad of his thumb when he presses it to her lips. “I like it.”

“It suits you.” He smiles and pulls his hand back.

“Do you have to go?” She says it like she already knows his answer.

He looks up at the underside of the stairs above him and thinks about going home. To his own kind of gilded cage. “No. I can stay.”

She sighs, smiling, and lays back down on his chest.

But as they lie there together, both of them close their eyes to push off the truth.

******

Until next time!

Taglist:

@ccab @deltafalax @rjmartin11 @wiseyouthinfluencer

April, 1972

If you’d known there was even a possibility of seeing him, you would’ve at least fixed your hair this morning. But instead, you woke up like you did every day, threw it in a ponytail, and went to work at the hotel, the San Antonio heat making your bangs stick to your forehead. It’s only April, but still, it’s sticky enough to make you sweat as you clean hotel rooms. You’re standing in the hallway trying to cool off when you see him. You’re on the top floor of the hotel, the last one you clean, and you could collapse, you’re so tired. Regardless, you look up when you hear the commotion of a group of men coming down the hall, too far away to see who they are. This is the nicest hotel in town, so you’re no stranger to high-profile visitors. You stand up straighter and lower your head, trying to make sure you’re somehow both respectful and invisible when they pass. But when his voice echoes through the confined space, your heart stops. You’d know that baritone anywhere.

Without thinking, your head whips up, and you somehow perfectly meet his eyes as he approaches where you’re standing in the hallway. Was he looking at you? Surely not. This must be one of those accidental moments the universe springs on you when you least expect it. Still, his blue eyes seem to pierce right through to your soul. They perfectly match the suit he’s wearing, his black hair a little wild from the Texas heat. You imagine running your hands in it and swallow hard. As all of those thoughts race through your head, he smiles softly and looks away. Before your brain can stop you, your body takes over, and you step towards him and take a deep breath, like you’ve got something to say. To your shock, he notices and stops walking about three feet away from you. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for you to speak.

“I…” That word and a small whimper are all you can manage with him looking at you. His face relaxes into a smirk. He’s obviously used to this reaction from people when they meet him.

“We gotta go, boss.” One of his guys tries to urge him along, but he doesn’t move.

“C’mere, honey.” He says it quietly, like you’re the only two people in the hallway. Your body carries you over to him of its own free will, and your brain has no choice but to follow along. When you get close enough to reach out and touch him, he pats his pockets and shakes his head. “I don’t have a scarf on me. You want me to sign somethin’?”

“No. I don’t have anything.” You’re amazed at how steady your voice sounds.

He stops patting his pockets and gives you a cheeky smile. His hands come up to frame your face. “This okay?”

You nod and close your eyes. You’ve seen pictures. You know what comes next. Still, something inside you explodes when you feel his lips on yours. The kiss is soft, chaste, almost friendly, at least at first. He pulls back a little, and your eyes flutter open. To your shock, he’s looking at you with a strange expression on his face. Then, he leans in and kisses you again. This kiss is different. One of his hands slides down to your lower back, and he pulls you in close as your hands find the front of his shirt. His lips part, and yours follow his guidance, allowing his tongue to slip tentatively into your mouth. When he realizes you aren’t pulling back, that you’re leaning into it, he gains confidence, and the kiss deepens.

“Boss!” The same guy grabs his shoulder and seems to shake him back into reality. The spell snaps, and he breaks away from you. He’s still holding you with both hands, though, and your heart is pounding in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, but you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the kiss or for stopping it. He starts to release you and step back.

“Elvis…” He freezes when you speak. “I…”

“What is it, honey?” His eyes are so clear blue as he looks at you.

“I just…” You take a breath to steady yourself. “I would’ve loved to know you. You’re worth knowing, I think.”

“EP, come on.” The red-haired man pulls on his elbow, and he moves away from you. His eyes are the last thing to leave, but he eventually turns and continues walking down the hallway.

Your body relaxes, and you fall back against the wall, letting it hold you up so that you don’t pass out. You’re pretty sure that’s the end of it, but about five paces later, he stops and turns around.

“Honey, you wanna come to my show tonight?” He hollers back to you.

You look down at your work uniform. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

He takes three steps back towards you. “Is that your only objection?”

“I look terrible. But yes.” He smiles so big, he almost looks like a little kid.

“Joe!” A small man steps forward, and Elvis gives him instructions. “Take this girl to buy something to wear. Let her get her hair done, makeup, whatever she wants.”

“Boss, are you sure? She’s a cleaning lady.” Elvis gives him a stern look.

“And I’m a truck driver. Whatever she wants. Jerry, go with them and make sure Joe behaves like a gentleman.” Then he turns back to you. “Joe and Jerry will stay with you and make sure you get to the show. Let them know what you need. Okay?”

You smile and nod. “Okay.”

He steps closer, leans down, and kisses you gently one more time. “I’ll see you later.”

Before you can respond, he turns away and disappears into a hotel room with his guys, leaving just you, Joe, and Jerry in the hallway.

“I guess we should get you ready.” Joe says halfheartedly. Jerry purses his lips in annoyance at Joe.

“He probably sticks you with this job a lot, huh?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nope. This is the first time. Come on.” Jerry says quietly.

That information comes as a shock to you, but you’re still not sure they’re telling you the truth. Doesn’t matter; you have shopping to do.

******

You have just about two hours before you need to be at the arena. That isn’t much time, so you try to plan efficiently. It doesn’t help, though, that you have no idea what to wear. You’re standing in a fitting room with a pile of what feels like a hundred dresses, but none of them feels right. To his credit, Jerry is the epitome of patience, giving genuine feedback each time you step out. Joe is silent and obviously annoyed. You’re standing in front of the mirror in a pink paisley mini dress when he finally breaks.

“Just pick one, sweetheart. It doesn’t really matter.” He doesn’t say the rest, but you hear it in his voice: you’ll still be a cleaning lady, no matter what dress you choose. The thought alone is enough to make you tear up.

“Okay. I guess… the green one then?” You look at Jerry for reassurance, and he sighs.

“No. Ignore Joe. Hang on.” He disappears for a few minutes, and you try not to meet Joe’s glare with one of your own. When he comes back, he’s got a slinky blue dress draped over his arm. “Try this one.”

When he holds it up, you stifle a laugh. It’s a silky, backless halter with not enough fabric and way too many zeroes on the price tag. “Jerry, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I can’t wear that.”

“Just try it on. Please.” He hands you the dress. Joe has an eyebrow raised in skepticism.

You take the garment and head back into the dressing room to change. When you get it on, it’s not nearly as provocative as you were afraid it would be. All the important parts are covered, and the way the fabric drapes is actually very elegant. The overall effect is soft and feminine, and you don’t hate it. Still, the prospect of even walking out in front of Joe and Jerry makes you nervous. The thought of Elvis seeing you in it makes you want to crawl back into your uniform and disappear into the floor.

“If you want your hair done, we don’t have time for this.” Joe calls to you from outside the fitting room. You take a deep breath and open the door.

“Oh, wow.” Jerry sits up straighter and gives you a wide smile.

“Is it okay?” You ask as you make a slow circle.

Joe closes his mouth quickly and shrugs. “It’s… it’s good.”

“It’s unbelievable.” Jerry claps his hands once, pleased with his work.

“I don’t know, guys. It feels like too much skin.” You instinctively cross your arms.

Jerry stands up and walks to you. “He’ll love that you think that. But he’ll love it even more if you wear it. Trust me.”

You nod, praying that Jerry is right. He’s been nothing but kind to you through this whole endeavor, but how well does he really know his boss?

******

Once you’ve got your dress on, hair blown out, makeup done, and silver jewelry in place, even you have to admit that you look pretty damn good. Joe and Jerry escort you to the arena and then to a seat in the front row. You feel wildly overdressed, but you’re not the only woman dressed to the nines. You figure every woman here must be planning to shoot her shot tonight. How will yours land among the masses? You have no idea. Maybe he won’t even notice you.

Your stomach is in knots as you wait for the concert to begin. The opening acts are good, but you can barely hear them with the way your heart is pounding. Finally, his intro music comes on, and you see him walk out to the stage. He starts the concert like he normally does, but you could swear he’s looking for something. Is it you?

And then he finds you. Even mid-performance, something about you stops him in his tracks. It’s not just the way you look, although that nearly knocks the wind out of him. No, there’s something soft about the way you look at him, a vulnerability in your eyes. He’s used to devotion, admiration, and even obsession from his fans, but with you, it’s something different. Like you really see him. He has a hard time tearing his eyes away from you, but he eventually does and goes back to the show. Still, he can’t help finding you throughout the evening. By the middle of the show, he quits even trying to stop it and turns it into a kind of flirtatious game. He winks and smiles and makes faces that you know are just for you. When he starts giving kisses from the stage, he waits for you to come up and kisses you three times quickly before moving on. You’re not sure if any of the other girls notice it, but if they do, they don’t say anything. By the end of it, he’s got you giggling so hard you can barely breathe. This lights him up more than the stage lights, and he’s positively incandescent on stage.

When he finally gets to the last note of the show, he gives you one last wink and then rushes off the stage. You sigh deeply and relax back into your chair, assuming it’s over. That’s when you see Jerry moving through the crowd towards you. When he’s about five feet away, he gives up trying to move against the people and just hollers, “Come on!”

You don’t even hesitate. Who else would he be talking to? You launch yourself out of your chair and push through to reach him. He grabs your hand and pulls you until you break out of the crowd and head to a heavily guarded stage door. “We have to hurry. He can’t wait in the car for long, or all hell will break loose.”

You move as quickly as you can, running in your heels to keep up with Jerry’s long legs. As you approach the car, one of the other guys hollers to him to hurry up. You lower your head and practically jump into the open car door, but there’s nowhere inside for you to sit. You feel hands on your hips that guide you down into a lap. “Sorry, honey. This is tight without you, so we don’t have much choice.”

But there’s no universe in which you’d complain about sitting in his lap. Elvis plays with a piece of your hair that sits on your shoulder and tries not to kiss you in front of the guys. “I like this getup almost as much as your little uniform.”

“Well, thank you. It costs about ten times as much.” You giggle.

“It was worth it. Seriously, honey. You look great.” And then he can’t help it anymore. He leans forward and presses his lips to your shoulder. The other guys in the car look away uncomfortably. They’re used to him kissing fans, but this feels different, intimate in some way that they shouldn’t be watching. You don’t care. The feeling of his lips on your skin is so electric, and yet somehow so natural, that their discomfort barely even registers.

Back at the hotel, there’s already a party raging in his suite before he even arrives. When he pushes the door open and walks in with you on his arm, though, you can see the ripple travel through the crowd as they ask each other who you are. He notices, but doesn’t say anything about it, as you move into the room. It feels like people are practically waiting in line to talk to him, but he’s gracious with all of them. He follows your lead and lets you introduce yourself at first, but when people start asking who you are and how you know him, he whispers in your ear. “You can be whoever you want. I like who you are, but I understand if you’d like to be someone else tonight.”

You look up into his eyes for a second, and he gives you a reassuring smile. Then, you turn back to the people standing around you. They’re waiting for you to answer, so you consider your options. You could tell them you’re an actress. A model. The governor of Texas. But you don’t. “How do I know Elvis? I don’t, really. I was just trying to clean the hotel when he abducted me.”

The way you say it causes Elvis to snort into his drink. The other people around you laugh politely, but the two of you giggle like schoolchildren. He revels in the obvious confusion and annoyance of the partygoers, and you love making him laugh. After that, you relax into the party, and the two of you become a kind of performance for everyone around you. You make jokes and volley off of each other, the banter flowing as smoothly as everything else you’ve done together. At one point, he plays the piano, and you sing together. He gets over the shock of how pretty your voice is fairly quickly and can’t help but notice how well you harmonize. For a few hours, the party goes on, but eventually you start to fade. It’s been a long day, and it’s getting late. He notices that you lean your head against his arm and are dropping your smile a little faster.

“Hey, honey, are you ready for me to kick these people out?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that for me.” You yawn, and he tightens his grip on your waist. He’s had his hands on you for most of the evening, but now it’s like he can’t stop.

“You’re exhausted. I don’t need all these people here. Just you. If you’ll stay?” He realizes he hasn’t officially asked you to stay with him, and he’s suddenly nervous that you’ll say no.

You look up at him a little sleepily and nod. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He smiles and then starts clearing the room. It takes him a few minutes to say goodbye to everyone, but eventually, it’s just the two of you. It dawns on you that he’s really a stranger to you, even though you’ve spent the last few hours acting like a couple. Now, though, there’s a brief moment of awkwardness as you stand and stare at each other. He’s still in his jumpsuit from the show, although the zipper has slowly come down to almost his belly button. You took your shoes and your jewelry off, so the illusion of your dress is less impactful. You’re not exactly sure what happens next.

“I need a shower.” His voice is almost a whisper.

“Oh… I can leave? Or wait?” You offer suggestions as he uses one hand to unzip the jumpsuit even more.

“Or you could come with me?” He doesn’t say it like a pickup line. It’s almost like a request he’s not sure you’ll say yes to. You take a step closer and move your hand to the zipper on his suit.

“I could.” You pull gently until it unzips the rest of the way, all the way down to his inseam. He isn’t wearing anything underneath the jumpsuit, so when he starts to harden, you can see it. You’re dying to touch him, but you hold back. “Is that what you want?”

He reaches up and tugs on the string at the back of your neck that's holding the top of your dress in place until it unties. When it does, he helps the fabric fall, exposing your breasts, and inhales sharply.

“Goddamn, honey.”

His cock is now straining against the material of his jumpsuit, so you push the shoulders back and off, letting it fall to the ground. He kicks off his shoes as you let the rest of your dress land on the ground next to his jumpsuit. You stand for a moment just staring at each other, eyes roaming over the naked body of the other. Then, he reaches out, places his hand on your lower back, and pulls you in close to him like he did in the hallway. You can feel the heavy heat of him where he’s hard against your hip.

“I’d love to know you, too.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Not just like this. In every way.”

“Then take me to the shower.” You bring your lips to his, and he grabs the back of your thighs, lifting you around him and carrying you to the bathroom. While you wait for the water to heat up, he sets you on the counter and lets his tongue explore your mouth. Your hands move over his chest and around behind his back as you hold your bodies together.

After a few minutes, he carries you to the shower and places you on your feet under the water. He turns you around, moving your hair off your neck, and presses his lips there. His hands move over your front, teasing your nipples and cupping your breasts as he pulls you back against him. His cock is painfully erect where it pushes on your ass, but he doesn’t rush. He slides his hand down your stomach to the place where you ache for him and starts to make slow circles on your hardened bud.

“Oh, fuck, Elvis.” You reach back over your shoulder and grab the back of his hair. He moans into your ear.

“You like that, honey?”

You whimper and sigh as he works you with a single finger, the intense electricity gathering in your abdomen. He gets you right to the edge and then stops, moving to push two fingers up into your heat.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans as he pumps them in and out, pressing his palm against your clit. “You gonna cum for me?”

“God, yes.” Your legs shake as you feel your climax approaching.

“Good girl.”

And then you come undone, waves of ecstasy washing over you as you shiver and pulse around his fingers. He continues to work you with his hand, coaxing you through it, as he kisses your neck. When you finally come back down to earth, you relax in his arms, and he holds you up while the water hits your skin. You stand there together for a second, just enjoying the feel of each other.

The urge to give him something in return overwhelms you, and you drop to your knees as you turn. You pump him with your hand first, pulling a primal groan from him. Then, you take him in your mouth, your hands on his hips, and push him as deep into your throat as he’ll go. He almost doubles over at the sensation. “Holy shit, honey.”

You moan as you bounce your mouth on him, swirling your tongue across the head of his cock. He runs his hand through your wet hair and then brushes his thumb against your cheek. It’s been a long time since he’s been so thoroughly loved like this. After a few minutes, he whispers. “Honey, c’mere.”

You back off of him and look up, his tip resting against your lips. “Is it not good?”

“Honey, it’s so good, I’m not gonna last.” He stands you up and pulls you into him. “That’s not how I want this to end with you.”

He finishes rinsing off and then steps out of the shower, wrapping himself and you in a towel. You can see his erection where it still stands against the cloth of the towel.

“Is that… are we…?” You look up at him expectantly, and he laughs.

“Not a chance.” Then, he scoops you into his arms and carries you into the bedroom while you kick and squeal. Your laughter subsides as he lays you gently on the bed and opens your towel like he’s opening a present. His own towel is next, and then he climbs on top of you, settling between your legs. He kisses your forehead and cheek, and pulls back to look into your eyes. “Before we do this, I have a question for you. And it’s gonna seem crazy, but I don’t know how else we do this.”

“What?” Your heart is in your throat.

He takes a deep breath like he’s steadying himself. “Will you come on tour with me?”

Your initial response is to laugh out loud, but he’s dead serious, so you stop. “Elvis, I have a job, remember?”

He shrugs like the answer is easy. “Quit. I’ll take care of you.”

You shake your head. “I can’t just—”

“Yeah, you can. Please. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back here.” The look in his eyes is so sincere that it’s like everything else in your life just falls away, and you know, this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer. You can always get another job.

“Yes, okay.” He smiles and pushes into you in one smooth motion. “Fuck! Yes, okay for sure yes now.”

He laughs and then starts to move against you, filling you over and over. His hips rock with a rhythm that only the two of you can hear. You both start to sweat as the intensity picks up, your bodies sliding against each other in a spontaneous dance. He kisses you anywhere he can reach and whispers words of adoration into your skin. The world stands still, and time stops, while your hearts beat faster and faster together. His hips start to move erratically, and he holds onto you tightly.

“Fuck, I’m… ohhh…” He moans as he shudders and pulses inside you, spilling himself so deep you can almost feel it. You’re both silent for a second as you try to recover and let your breathing come back to normal. And then he settles on your chest with a sigh. You run your fingers through his hair, just like you imagined when you saw him in the hallway, and a rush of affection fills you.

“Elvis?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“We really don’t know each other.”

He rolls off of you up onto his side next to you. “Then let’s fix it. What do you want to know?”

You smile as he brushes your hair out of your face. “Everything.”

“Then we better get started.” He rearranges so that he’s on his back against the pillows and then pulls you under his arm. Your fingers play in his chest hair, and you can hear his voice rumbling against your ear. Once he starts talking, you both have a hard time stopping. The conversation flows between you easily, and you barely even notice it when the sun peeks through the hotel room curtains. As he talks, you wait for him to say something that would make you change your mind.

You’re still waiting.

******

The End

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