Me On Christmas Day Having A Quick Cry About This Interview With Jane Elliot

me on Christmas Day having a quick cry about this interview with Jane Elliot

AUSTIN BUTLER hosting Saturday Night Live (December 17, 2022)

this is so fucking hot and for what?

A Whole Man is Hard to Find (An Elvis/Austin Au Fic)

|Chapter Ten: Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not, he’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got, O Lord, O Lord, I’m begging you please -don’t take this sinner from me

Summary: An Elvis AU taking place on a riverboat casino in the 1870’s, you’re welcome to imagine either Elvis or Austin’s portrayal

Warnings: 18+ talk of past violence, smut m.oral receiving

Notes: I cannot thank you all enough for your patience but even more so for your continued enthusiasm for this story. This chapter gave me hell to write, partly because I have so much planned for the future I just want to skip ahead and get there. But your love notes and screaming and encouragement have all aided me in truly giving these two rascals the development they deserve. Each time you checked in or messaged or commented helped an immeasurable amount to help keep the writing muse alive. Hope y’all enjoy.

Chapter Ten

Conversation was made, somehow, between the three of you, Captain Presley, Colonel Parker and yourself. And you thought it said something about the state of the world that only one out of three in this ostensibly genuine interaction was using his real name. The “colonel” himself made it speedily clear that he thought you being aboard -fresh from a whore house he assumed and confirmed- and then paraded as a trusted friend of the Captain, spoke a great about the general state of things aboard the Proud Marie. And he was not pleased. Not pleased at all. Apparently the Captain’s own displeasure regarding the handling of his father’s imprisonment had already been soothed, long before you stepped atop decks.

Oddly, and more unsettling even than the Colonel’s sudden reappearance in your life, was the nearly meek way the captain received his partner’s dressing down The entertainment aboard was lacking, the colonel said, because whatever Devine hypnotism you’d watched the Captain perform on his audience the other day was insufficient, it ought be happening more regularly, in the Colonel’s opinion. Something was said about Elvis losing his touch. Elvis said something about getting old. The colonel agreed that he wasn’t the looker he once was. Neither acknowledged the sickly pallor of his usually bronzed cheeks, the dark circles around his eyes and the glassy look overtaking their usual cerulean clarity. Your presence was ignored, a little dust mite quivering next to the Captain but not daring to alight upon his arm.

Instead, Like a boy again, the one who’d flinched when your father ran him away from the house when visiting Maddy, Captain Presley’s eyes wandered restlessly across the deck and his shoulders folded in on themselves. Only his hand, restlessly stippling against the gleaming deck rail, indicated some of the old temper and grit bubbling beneath.

Even if you had not known what you did, of both men’s pasts, the subtle manipulations and the over familiar patronizing of the elder would strike a person as false and not a little invasive. It was little wonder that the crew, though unaware of Elvis’ own depths or the “Colonel’s” crimes, found him near unbearable.

The secret ledgers, the hunted way the Captain talked about putting aside money for his causes, Jerry’s simmering mutiny, it all spoke to a hold over the whole little universe here aboard that was as sinister as it was absolute. And here you were, stuck in this floating coffin with a man who wanted you dead. This strangely submissive attitude of the captain’s was one you had only seen in glimpses and snatches by chance, and always in private. He failed to mention to his promoter that you were a crew member now, the purser in fact, someone privy to the colonel’s own dealings. Or partly at least.

Where with everyone else your virtues were exaggerated and great importance added to your name by him, in the presence of the colonel, Captain Presley diminished you in every possible way. Nothing was mentioned of your use aboard, your act of manslaughter, your care of his deteriorating health, even your basic companionship. For so very long you had feared and resented the hold that this odious man’s memory had on you, never once did you anticipate a man of Elvis’ strength succumbing to the same inferiority of character as yourself. Perhaps he was not as strong as you’d hoped. Perhaps he was more wicked than you ever expected, either he had done something very evil indeed in his past to have him so pathetic now, or perhaps he knew his partner made a living displacing and ruining helpless families and considered it a harmless part of the businesses.

You were guilty of forgetting, in his gentler movements, that he had purchased you from a brothel -one he had seemed notorious at. Captain Elvis Presley had a way of making you forget that he could change the center of his universe very easily, nothing existed if he did not speak it and touch it and love it into existence. With a few minor omissions in his speech to his partner, he had cut down the most significant relationship of your life into a passing dalliance. A few hours spent in the hot sun of his devotion did not guarantee a lifetime of steady flame. You felt the bile rise in you at the realisation that you were right to be wary of him, disillusion taking hold of you right under the beady eyed scrutiny of your most loathsome nightmare.

“And why has Miss Beaumont remained on after Memphis?” suddenly you were relevant again as the colonel asked the Captain this in an admonishing tone, “Memphis is her home, is that not what you said?”

“She, she hasn’t got a home no more, Colonel.” one of Elvis’ large hands ran across his brow in a frustrated tick, “S-she don’t mind it here and she hasn’t anywhere else to go. I’ve told her she can stay on.”

He had given you responsibilities and told you he was your daddy and would keep you forever but none of that mattered now, apparently. You were a charity case. You wanted to cling to him, sneak beneath his arm and feel that old comradely weight around your shoulders. Yet you’d never seen him less welcoming, even when he was angry he touched you, but not now, now you stood stiffly beside him and watched as the colonel gave you a look of faux sympathy before he brought the full strength of his admonishment to back bear on Captain Presley,

“My boy, we are running a business here-“

“I know tha-“

The colonel gently railroaded his defense, “Why don’t you provide her with a nice little situation as you have your other lovers? Somewhere safe and where you won’t be distracted by her -charms. I’ll see to arranging it, do not fear, her every whim will be met. ”

Other lovers. That little sentence was meant to unsettle you, meant to make you resent Elvis. The Colonel thought himself subtle, no doubt, but while you might give the Captain power to belittle what you two shared, that was not something you would give this self important toad.

“She’s stays aboard.” Elvis replied with something of the old authority that had first held you spellbound by him.

“My boy,” the colonel actually smiled as if indulging a child and your fingers itched for that handy letter opener, “we have already discussed the impossibility of your developing an attachment, and I would not wish to speak of this in front of the lady but you have brought it up so I must, mustn’t I? It is out of the question, and if the papers were to-“

“-they’ll not.” Elvis snapped, and your heart calmed at the appearance of his old self. “And you won’t break a promise of mine.”

“It would be humiliating,” the colonel tried another tactic, “for Miss Beaumont if she were to be connected with the nature of your past-“

That was enough, to watch this man use the Captain’s deepest hurt as a shame against him brought out that new, feral protectiveness, filling your chest with tightening rage, serving to make your voice thin but steady as you cut in, “I think you’ll find that my being sold on an auction block in a New Orleans brothel will surpass any future embarrassments I might suffer, from association or otherwise.”

Elvis looked at you then, finally and clearly, that old hopeful glimmer sparking before something like fear took over and he glanced back at the colonel, to gauge his reaction. The fellow was obviously surprised that you were lacking in curiosity over his illusions to Elvis shame, he having banked on the supposition that your jealousy of past lovers and your previous prudery over his reputation would slice your enamourment like a knife could butter.

It would have done so to the girl you were a few months past, but an entire lifetime of learning can come to fruition in a single month sometimes, and it had for you. Years of manipulating others made you keen on sighting it, and it gave you a sour victory that you could match this horrid man. For either match him you must, or else conceded now and end your agony, throwing yourself overboard was an accessible remedy. The thought of those blue eyes so sad that you’d leave him like all the others rooted you to the freezing deck, gave you strength to smile challengingly back at the colonel’s emotionless grin.

“Captain Presley!” a very feminine, very northern voice and the accompanying sound of heels clipping against the deck broke apart the blinking contest Elvis was moderating between you two.

“Why, Miss Peabody!” he spun round to greet her with forced cheerfulness that was remarkably effective despite the rigidness of posture. “Good morning, you little darling!”

Miss Peabody’s brisk little pitter patter nearly faltered at the palpable tension between your little group -or maybe it was the captain’s endearment- but after a brief stumble she regained her composure and extended a hand he gallantly took, kissed and kept clasped in his as he inquired about her morning.

And while he was busy with that you chose to meet the colonel's gaze behind his back and give the odious man the closest thing to a snarl you could manage, something to inform him that you were no longer that terrified girl who’s throat he had bruised in the hallway of Belle Mead all those years ago. He did not bother with niceties in response, even risking the Captain seeing him make a motion of slitting a throat. Your throat, presumably. He had calculated well, Captain Presley was too busy with his almost drunken teasing of poor Miss Peabody and you felt nothing but sorry for the both of them, him barely managing to keep his eyes focused and her stammering too badly under his flirtations to be understood.

“What did you want with me, honey?” he asked her and his tone was intimate enough to make you blush for her.

For her it was almost too much to borne, her spindly little frame bowing away from him like a weed from the scorching rays of a noonday sun. “A-actually I came to extend an invitation to Miss Beaumont.” her eyes tore themselves from where they’d latched onto the comparative safety of his throat and found yours.

The colonel looked as surprised as yourself upon hearing this, while Elvis beamed down at her like a child. “Aww, where’re you taking my Rosy to?” he asked her and in that unguarded slip of his you were given the weapon you so longed for. The one to plunge into that blubbery body.

“I-I wished to see her at the banquet tonight, the one held by the fur traders association? A celebration of the city’s growth. You're invited too Captain, of course, as my-“

“Alas, Captain Presley has a prior engagement.” The colonel interjected.

“I do?” Elvis laughed.

“Yes, he has been invited to a function held by shipwright’s guild of St. Louis-“

“-those social functions are one in the same, sir.” You wouldn’t have thought Miss Peabody had enough spine to interrupt the Colonel so tacitly but apparently you were not the only one who found his overbearing presence suffocating. “The city of St. Louis is hosting them.”

“I’m don’t see how that is possible, I have a invitation from the mayor himself-“

“-that is my father, sir.” Miss Peabody’s pointed nose grew sharper and you realised you had pegged her as weak a little too quickly.

“The mayor is Mr. Clarke, and you are a Peabody.” The colonel was pleased with having ferreted her out, just as he had your own alias.

“I am married to a Peabody.” she gave him one last look before turning back to the Captain who seemed to be a little remorseful that she was a married lady. “Might we expect the both of you this evening?”

“Certainly.” he grinned down at her, “And might I steal you for a few hours beforehand?”

“Whatever for?” Mrs. Peabody was back to quivering and looking available.

His grin grew wider but he looked at you while addressing her, “I was just about to take Rosy to the dressmakers, she needs a winter trousseau, and it’s occurred to me a womanly touch might do.”

“Oh captain!” she beamed at the both of you, “Leave it to me entirely, it wouldn’t suit for you to be going into Madame Chardenauex’s, I will accompany her -you were intending to take her to Chardenauex’s?”

“As if any other dressmaker would know what to do with a complexion that magnificent.” he rolled his eyes and she giggled conspiratorially.

If it were not for that murderer’s bulk beside you, it might have been a joyous little moment, even for you. Dressmaker! He had said he would get you “better things” upon arriving in Saint Louis but this outing was a festive affair unlike any you’d ever been a participant in. The real Miss Beaumont had been taken to Europe in her childhood and spoiled there, even if the war had interrupted her coming out debut and it’s accompanying trappings.

“But I’m going with yall, no use objecting.” he added soberly, and you knew he saw your plain relief at his declaration.

“Sir it’s not proper-“

“Do I strike you as proper Miss Peabody?” he asked dryly and her mouth worked like a fish before resigning herself to his oddities.

“I really must advise against this.” the Colonel blustered again, “If the papers were to catch wind of this there could be rumors.”

“Oh hell, that’s unlikely” the captain chuckled with good natured exasperation.

“The West brothers are making trouble.” Colonel Parker rejoined with a significant raise of his non existent brows. “Spreading rumors regarding where you came from-“

The fact he would brazenly mention, in front of a guest no less, an aspect of the Captain’s life that Elvis himself kept strictly to himself, suggested your worst fears were founded -the more salacious his investment appeared to the world. the better for business in his mind.

“-I’m a hick child from Tupelo, Colonel,” Elvis willfully misunderstood him, his tone firm as his hands gathered both your own elbow and that of Mrs. Peabody in his warm palms, prodding you both towards the main gangway, “and I ain’t ever pretended otherwise.” he hollered back over his shoulder. “Oh and Colonel, if you’d read your damn correspondence you’d know that the West’s -they’re cousins.”

Guided away from the looming threat of the man’s presence, your little heart began to speed up, a frantic processing of the amount of hellfire you were about to reap overtaking the cold calm you had managed under his scrutiny.

You had to find Scotty Moore, that was all your brain supplied -you had to inform Scotty. And then what? Hope the genial lawyer had a stairway to Heaven at his disposal? Knife the fat fellow in his sleep before he managed the same to you? Or worse, told the Captain his version of the truth. But he wouldn’t, telling him would out himself.

Neither of you could damn the other without digging their own grave. You were so lost in the cold dread and panic of your future that you were entirely deaf to the conversation regarding trunks and carriages and dresses carried on at your side by Captain Presley and Mrs. Peabody.

“Honey, you alright?” Elvis’ warm hand suddenly cupped your cheek and stalled your walk beside him just as you neared the stairway leading down to the rooms. Suddenly dizzy from the erratic pulse of your fear, you swayed away from him, back thumping against the large ballroom windows, soul sick and numb. It was the first time he’d really touched you since your little world caved in and it was too strong a jolt of contact. “You look downright peckish.” he fretted and hemmed you in against the window, inspecting your eyes like he had some skill in detecting ailments, “You ill, darling? We don’t haveta go, you can stay-“

The idea of remaining aboard without him terrified you, bringing to mind those first hours aboard and the shattered glass in the bath, the endless gunshots pinging against the tub.

Elvis’ body was blocking out the glare of the late autumn sun as he hovered in front of you, warm hands thumbing at your cheeks and eyes concentrated on you and you alone. It brought you some measure of serenity again, like things being tilted aright after being askew, put so by his chilly decorum earlier. You pressed your face into his warm palm and breathed in, heedless if Mrs Peabody thought your behavior loose. To your immense relief he folded you into a soothing embrace and pressed kisses into your hair.

“I’m just cold.” you lied into his chest, though now that some semblance of feeling had returned you realized St Louis’ northern climate really had pierced you right through, “I’ll just go fetch a coat, and be right up again.” you assured him as you two pulled away from your embrace. You intended to dash away and find Scotty on the way down, to at least enlist someone’s help in this debacle -as if mortal hands could aid you in this vengeful twist of fate. The look on the captain’s face stopped your intended errand, his eyes squinting at your eagerness to leave and a sore set to his mouth taking over. It gave you an irrational moment of panic, common in the guilty, that he was all knowing, all seeing.

“I’ll accompany you.” he told you, and the tone wasn’t sweet, even if the sentiment sounded so. “You wouldn’t mind waiting, would you?” he turned to Mrs. Peabody, “Only be a minute.”

“I’ve the trunks to see to, anyway!” she assured him, “And I’ll arrange a hackney cab at the ready, there appears to be quite the little crowd on the dock, I think I even see photographers among them.”

He abruptly left your side to stand by the railing and observe the throng below. He grumbled to himself upon confirming her report and you contemplated bolting to get a head start on him, to maybe run into Scotty and tell him who to blame if you didn’t come back from this outing. He spun round too fast for that, clicking his tongue in frustration and hauling you by the arm down to the lower decks. He took you by way of the outside ladders and so you encountered no one but the occasional guest bustling to disembark. Opening the door leading to the suite he pushed you in with gentle fingers prodding between your shoulder blades. He had said not a word the entire walk and you had spent the time trying to think of a subject to make conversation, but the only word on the tip of your tongue was the one you had been swallowing for ten long years. Help! Like a mechanized thing stuck in a endless cycle of self propulsion, you couldn’t seem to stop forcing it down, so you let him push you into the suite with a meekness born of terror.

“The hell is wrong with you?“ he hissed quietly as soon as the door was shut and you cursed him for studying you as intently as you did him. For caring just enough to make this hurt.

“I am only cold.” you gave him a watery smile and turned from him to open the wardrobe.

He caught you by the length of your hair, tied and flowing down your back as it was, and his hand wound the strands around his palm like rope, and he used it to haul you close. It made you yelp, less from pain and more from the shock.

“I have a great deal on my plate, right now,” he kept his voice appropriately quiet for being nose to nose with you yet it was anything but gentle and you felt yourself shake, “the last thing I need is a grown woman pouting like little girl when I’m about to spoil her. Tell me to my damn face if you don’t want to be seen in the papers with me!”

That was a turn you had not expected. You expected a reproof regarding your terseness towards his investor, but as usual, Elvis’ offense was not the more obvious one. “That's -I would never mind that.” you swore and your confusion must have struck him as genuine enough, causing his grip to loosen and his face to look puzzled in turn.

“What’s eating you then?” he was back to searching your eyes and you thought him silly to attempt it at such close proximity.

“I was cold, and nervous over meeting your partner-“ you began, your mind grasping for sympathetic explanations.

“Oh don’t mind him, he’s a damn ogre when it comes to ladies.” Elvis visibly relaxed and the tug on your scalp lessened, “But why are ya shakin’ like this, been pale too.”

“I thought you said my complexion was magnificent.” You quipped and he pulled away to let out a laugh and remained at a little distance from you.

“Tell me,” he sounded the closest thing to a gossip you could imagine, sitting himself at the foot of the bed, “did you peg her as a married woman?”

You let out a laugh of your own recalling when you first saw Mis Peabody in his embrace, and stepped away to get the coats, “I did not.”

“Ha.” he pinched at his lip and watched you rifle through his extensive wardrobe. “Grab that trimmed one, there.” he pointed out a handsome long coat with a copious fur collar and cuffs, something a French fur baron might be proud to be caught dead in.

“This will swallow me whole.” you protested as you held the length of it above your head just to spare the hem.

“That one’s for me.” he answered and his face had clouded again in the time you turned away and back towards him again, “Mrs Peabody said she’d loan you a coat from her trunks. Did you truly not hear a word we said up there?”

“I-I did not.” you admitted.

“What is wrong?” he asked again and he punctuated each word distinctly, “You feelin’ faint, need Etta to give you something?”

“What?” you were truly at a loss.

“Don’t act all prim now.” he groaned and scrubbed his face, looking so tired when his hands finally fell away that you would have done anything to actually understand his reasoning and spare him the frustration. “You bleedin’ out on me or somethin’?” he whined, “Don’t act delicate, I was swimmin’ in your blood this morning.”

Oh. Oh sweet man. He thought you suffering from your cycle. And it really was the perfect excuse, one you would have thought of yourself if your mind were not so fuzzy in shock. You walked up to him and lopped your hands around his neck, happy to see the way he accepted the gesture and leant back to watch you hover over him,

“Just a little dizzy at times.” you murmured, “Haven't had a new dress since, well I can’t recall, really, I’m looking forward to it. I’m sorry for being distracted, I swear I am gladdened by it.”

He brought his hands up to rub your forearms, just a little moment that seemed to dispel the tension between you both before he leaned up with the intention of kissing you and you complied, bending down to press your lips together and scratch as the back of his head, drawing a moan from him and savoring this sweet peace you two had built. Before it got ripped to shreds by your own hands or another’s.

“You really don’t mind?” he whispered again and this time it had no bite, just an honest inquiry if you’d rather stay behind and not face the raucous of St Louis’ journalistic core.

“I’d be delighted, more like.” you murmured and stole another peck before pulling back to look at him, cataloging the exhausted lines of his face, no longer furrowed in worry, though.

“Well, turn round then,” he muttered and spun you gently, “can’t have you going out there with hair loose like that.”

He snagged the ribbon from your hair and braided the length of it down your back, making to pin it up in a crown atop your head before realizing the pins themselves were in a drawer across the room. You had foreseen this obstacle but had held your peace and continued to do so as he got up behind you and shuffled the both of you over to the dressing table, your braid like a leash in his hand. You sat down in the wooden chair for him and he stood behind you, softly humming beneath his breath as you passed him pins and watched in the mirror as a beautiful crown was constructed from your strands, the vibrant ribbon woven through it like a river of silk.

“You are remarkably proficient at all pretty arts.” you marveled to yourself but was glad it slipped out as his bashful grin in the mirror made your heart skip from something other than fear.

“Thank you.” he murmured as an elegant finger tugged little curls loose from their braided constraints to frame your face.

You caught that hand in yours and kissed it, kissed it and pressed your cheek to it and pretended for a good minute that the man blushing in the mirror was yours. My boy, and not someone else’s.

“We should go.” he rasped and you were certain these hours would be better spent by him sleeping but that was just another losing battle. “Got that function thing later on.”

“Why do you think she asked me to attend?” you inquired, genuinely a little puzzled at her warmth towards you. “I would have thought she would prefer to have you alone before you go back down river.”

“I think you’ve got her wrong,” he grinned as he opened the door and you two stepped out onto the balcony, the chilly air hitting you square in the face as he folded his coat over his arm and pulled on his leather gloves, “she ain’t had eyes for me since you murdered that fella so prettily. Reckon she just wants a chance to see you in your underthings and then show you off in front of her friends.”

“Oh! Hush!” you cried in shock, slapping at his arm and he chuckled harder.

“There’s some that do that, ya know.”

“Do what?” you cried.

“There’s ladies who like ladies.”

“Miss Peabody liked your manly self just fine as I recall.”

“Mhmm, but I didn’t stand there before her coated in blood, licking my lips like a damn vampire afterwards.”

Scotty, you were not going to be able to tell Scotty anything with this route up the promenade but at least the Captain’s good humor had returned, “I did not lick my lips, save from vomit. You were the vampire.”

“Hmm, there’s somethin’ to be said for the way you look in red, Rosey.” he agreed, taking a rich fur from the valet who extended it to you with Mrs. Peabody’s compliments.

“She’s already in the cab, suh.” the man told the captain, “Been waiting for y’all. Wanted to run the gauntlet early, she done said.”

“Right, thank you.” Elvis muttered, tipping the man generously before wrapping you in what had to be a dozen Arctic foxes in their previous life, “Now with those fellas waiting for us, you just stick close and nevermind what they say, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” you nodded confidently, sensing his worry. “Why aren’t we taking the horse?”

“The horse has a name.” he replied, his tone sounding offended on behalf of his equine friend as he shrugged on his own opulent coat, the jet back fur causing his eyes to gleam a startling shade of blue.

“Oh?” you queried, trying to get his mind and eyes off the swarm of journalists and sightseers waiting at the bottom of the gangplank, blocking the carriage door.

“His name is Beans.” Elvis replied gravelly, gaze unwavering on the crowd as he did up his buttons.

“Beans?” you giggled.

That made him drag his eyes down to where you stood ready and shaking with amusement, “Don’t start with me lil girl, it’s a perfectly fine name.”

“Mhmm, perfectly.” you gasped out and he pinched your cheeks before the white flash of an exploded bulb from the docks below told you that gesture was caught for all eternity in a photographer's glass.

Your eyes grew wide staring into his own as the implication of that dawned on you. Then a savage little exultation took over as you realised that no matter how this ended, how he was ripped from you, at least there would be proof that for one brief moment Captain Presley found your cheeks pinchable.

The cocky smile taking over your face was not the reaction he had expected, but it was entirely the most comforting thing you could have given him before you took his arm and began to walk down the sloping ramp, a den of flashing bulbs and yells from below making it look more like a mob rather than a welcoming committee.

“Captain Presley!” there were screams of and:

“Is it true you’re running for President?”

“Is it true you built this ship yourself?”

“What do you make of the rumours you’re an opium trader?”

Elvis chuckled and you could feel it vibrate along you as he pulled you closer, you two continuing your descent without reply.

“How many men have you really killed, sir?”

“Have you anything to say to the youth of our day about gambling?”

“Is it true a man died aboard this last voyage?”

He shook his arm free of your hand and threw it around your shoulders, tucking you into his side and making it an awkward business to keep walking alongside him.

“Did you shoot your mother?”

You gasped at that one and turned to give the fellow a piece of your mind, but the Captain just yanked you along with a warning, “Don’t.”

“Is it true you bought your old master’s daughter in a brothel?”

Even he tensed at that one, astounded by how fast word spread but judging by his gait and expression, nothing they said mattered a damn. No wonder he’d been so apprehensive regarding your handling this mayhem.

“Captain Presley!” one man greeted, distinguished from the others by his respectful bearing and patient position by the carriage door.

“And you are?” the Captain raised a brow, peeved at being detained in front of his own cab.

“Stephen Binder, sir,” the man presented a hand and Elvis’ face cleared in recognition.

“Chairman of the Waterways Committee, yes?” he shook the offered hand warmly.

Mr. Binder’s shoulders relaxed at the improved reception and he gave your hand a respectful bow, in turn. “May I congratulate you, sir!”

“I, that is, we ain’t-“ Elvis’ impassive mask broke for a moment as he glanced at you and then back to the expectant man.

“Oh no, not my meaning!” Mr. Binder clarified hastily, “I mean on breaking the record!”

“Breaking the record?” Elvis repeated at a loss.

“Time in traversing the river from Memphis to St. Louis.” Mr Binder seemed confused by his ignorance, “You’ve surpassed the last record by three hours, man! Surely you were aware of that!”

“Oh.” Elvis grunted, unbothered, “No, I wasn’t.”

“You're telling me you were not trying to?” Mr. Binder’s whole being was stunned.

“No, Mr. Binder I-I jus’ had some business here a-and I was in a hurry to arrive.”

“Good lord.” the fellow was still processing that as Elvis started to eye the carriage door handle, icy wind picking up and ruffling the fur around his neck.

“Yes, well, if you’ll excuse us.” Elvis hinted to him over the den of the rabble around you still.

“Ah yes, of course -it’s just-“ Mr. Bidner leapt out of the way in a daze and opened the door himself like a servant, “Will I see you tonight?” he inquired after Elvis as the Captain handed you into the carriage Mrs. Peabody was already occupying.

“Hell, you sound like a lover, sir.” Elvis laughed as he settled on the seat next to you, “You mean at the city function?”

“Yes!” Mr. Binder’s enthusiasm was not abated by the barb.

“Yeah, we’ll be there.” Elvis answered warily before thumping the roof with his fist to signal the driver to walk on.

“That’s a remarkable achievement, Captain.” Mrs Peabody warbled and you had to agree that he was strangely listless about his success.

“To be perfectly honest, ladies,” he murmured, “I was anticipating him putting me in the big house, soon as I stepped ashore.”

“Whatever for?” she cried, aghast.

“Gambling’s been outlawed on the river between here and New Madrid.” he shrugged, “I’ve been anticipating a man such as himself, newly installed in a position of absolute power on the Mississippi, would be eager to flex it.”

“You don’t think he’s toying with you, do you?” You pondered aloud and Mrs. Peabody gasped in outrage at the thought.

“He is my brother in law,” she declared, “and I assure you, he would not toy with you, sir.”

“I’ve no earthly notion what he wants.” Elvis shrugged, looking very snuggly in his furs and leathers, his hand wriggled into your skirts till he found your own, “But let’s not dwell on that! We’ve duds and furbelows to discuss. Say Mrs. Peabody, -may I call you Gloria? I really feel I must be allowed, yes? well Gloria, what say you to la mode belle cut on dresses these days-“

A great deal of French was passed back and forth between the two and you made certain to remain perky and invested while your mind was running a million different scenarios for remedying your predicament. The most rational of them involved having Scotty tell Mr. Binder that a criminal had his thumb on Captain Presley and the whole operation.

The more irrational and the more tempting options presented by your exhausted brain involved murder and a vicious appetite for jugulars in little Sweet Pea which was not previously detectable.

“What is the English name for that?” you inquired when a bit too much french had been bandied about between these two culprits in regards to corsets.

“Swan.” Mrs. Peabody supplied, puzzled, “It gives a delightful shape to the bust.”

“Three years abroad and endless boarding schools and you didn’t retain a lick of French?” the Captain’s tone was teasing but his eyes were not, and again you had a lurch of guilty panic that he somehow knew you’d never been to Europe once in your whole life.

“I’ve had no use for it since.” you fibbed and your throat felt close to collapsing under his stare, “I-I suppose the adage is right that if you do not use a thing you-“

“-Loose it.” Mrs. Peabody supplied graciously, directing her gaze away from your flaming face and drawing back the curtain a little to watch the storefronts as your carriage passed by.

Elvis was not so gracious and his eyes burned into yours. Panicked, you tried to tease him, “How is it you know so much?”

“I don’t know much.” he was contrary.

“But you do!”

“I only know the French words relating to fashion and pleasure.” he winked at Mrs. Peabody and withdrew his hand from your lap.

It was a theme of today that just when you panicked and needed a moment to collect your composure, life lurched on and required movement and enthusiasm from you. As the chill of his withdrawn hand truly settled in, the carriage halted and another gauntlet of well wishers regarding the Captain's record had to be navigated.

He threaded your arm and Mrs. Peabody’s through each of his own and with a brilliant smile tossed out thanks and compliments to the crowd all the way to the door. Once inside he was predictably informed that it was strictly a ladies’ establishment. A few choice comments regarding the manager’s lace blooming from below her decollage turned her to putty in his hands and it put a changing room at your disposal, complete with a little round stage in the center upon which you were erected like a damn statue, and directly swathed in garlands, silks and lace.

It was absurd that while everyone was jealous of you in this movement, you were jealous of them. At least he interacted with the seamstresses and the refreshment girls, grinned at them, spoke to them in first person and even let his hand linger on a hand or two. Certainly he touched you, large hands spun your waist and slid across your collarbones and tugged at your various skirts but there was a lack of intimacy to it that tore at you. He assessed your figure in the mirrors, and up close, but never once met your eyes. And you let him, spun and dipped however he chose to move you, as if you were inanimate until he addressed you. It made you want to stomp your feet and beg him to meet your eye, no matter if he was spending a fortune on prettifying you and seeing to your comforts better than most husbands would.

You were unsatisfied but dared not show it, your smile growing stiffer as an outing which should have been charming grew wearisome and dragged on, your belly cramping and your arms weary of being constantly outstretched.

A pretty yellow print was suggested and as you were about to agree when he snapped and snatched the fabric from around your shoulders hastily.

“No, no, not yellow, not on her.”

“Does it not suit me?” you asked, genuinely curious, for that shade had been an old favorite but you noticed now he had never provided you a dress of that color on the boat.

“I thought it rather lovely-“ one of the more helpful ladies supported you.

“That shade was rather striking with her hair-“ Mrs. Peabody had grown bold and used to his easy banter and was clueless of the vibrating anxiety you could now detect building beneath his easy stance.

“No, it wasn’t.” he snarled.

“Really I have to protest, Captain!” she teased but he didn’t manage to smile this time, he just raised his eyes to yours finally and, shockingly, he looked pleading.

“No goddamn yellow.” he nearly begged and his voice had gone rough.

Maddy. That was Maddy’s color wasn’t it? Something you’d forgotten about your own sister was projected in his face like a sorcerer’s ball. His eyes were so vibrant and so expressive in their sentimental melancholy you could almost see the scene yourself -some barn on the plantation and her skirts hiked up and his youthful sandy hair gleaming in the rays of the sun beaming through the wooden slats and-

“No yellow.” you confirmed to the lady still holding the bolt of cloth.

The incident turned him as weary as you had already been, and the last bit of the proceedings were shuffled through with blaise. Not even the corsets could animate him fully and Mrs. Peabody soon took her leave, feeling uncomfortable with his sullenness and citing her need to help with the function this evening. You rolled your eyes at her excuses when she left and he caught it, making you freeze in worry until you saw the tiniest little smile tug up his own mouth in return.

Equipped with corsets, hats, a few ready made dresses and a supply of boots and slippers, the two of you exited La Chardenauex’s and found the crowd outside had only grown. Swinging an impossible amount of boxes from his arms, with you tucked beneath one, he patiently compelled the mass to part by sheer determined magnetism alone.

“Ya going to marry her, sir?”

“Do you prefer St. Louis’ fashions to New Orleans?”

“You’re a pride to Memphis, sir!” One voice called and the Captain stalled in handing you into the carriage at that one, his face perking up and his chin ducking in appreciation.

He poured the boxes on the opposite seat and slumped into the velvet bench beside you, door slamming shut, curtains drawn. As was typical with you two, even in the middle of a tiff, there was a natural draw to search out the other to steady each other, breaths syncing and hands entwining, squeezing in a rhythmic gesture of comfort.

“That was entirely more exhausting than it needed to be.” he yawned into the stillness of the unmoving carriage, head falling back and the pretty white line of his throat peeking out of his high collar.

You lifted a leaden arm and traced your finger down the warm line of it and he hummed to tickle the tip of your finger at his throat. “Tell me you can spare an hour or two to rest?” you pleaded, “Before this function.”

“Was about to ask you the same.” he snorted, still slumped though he raised his arm and pounded the roof in a signal to the driver to walk on from the deafening crowd outside.

“It’s a date then,” you smiled, “you me, Sweet Pea and the pillows.”

He turned his head to look at you, mouth smiling and eyes searching and you thought of blurting out your truth right then, right at this moment but then he resigned whatever study he was making of you and laid his head on your shoulder. That old feeling of being responsible for him and his peace of mind took over and forced back your confession. You bit your tongue bloody as little snores reached your ears, all the way until the carriage drew up to the gangway again and you had to pat his face and tell him you were back at the boat.

He blearily shook himself awake, rubbing at his nose as he gathered up the boxes, looking you over to make sure you were ready for another bout of frenzied greetings. Seeing your confidant smile he threw open the door and handed you out, shoving his way through the crowd with the boxes and a belying smile. Waiting on deck at the top of the gangway was the specter of an ogre, bulbous and threatening, and Jerry beside him looking none too pleased.

“My boy!” he trundled up to greet Elvis with a profusion of relief that the Captain received with sleepy confusion, “Thank God you’re alright!”

“What’s the big to do about?” Elvis grunted, hat box digging into his side from the way the Colonel had embraced him, effectively dislodging you from the captain’s arm.

“I cannot believe this imbecile would allow you out there without proper security measures.” The Colonel bemoaned and Jerry, the imbecile in question, gave you an exasperated look of sympathy.

“You’ve got my security measures digging into my sternum right now, Colonel.” Elvis laughed, good naturedly extracting himself from the embrace, righting his coat and the pistol beneath.

“A pistol?” the Colonel was aghast and Elvis rolled his eyes like a child who’s heard this sermon repeatedly in different keys. “ A mere pistol alone is supposed to be all seeing, all guarding of your precious life while you are busy gallivanting in public spaces?—“

“If I’m gonna get offed, colonel,” Elvis replied gently and with a sleepy grin, “I can think of no better time than when I’m neck deep in organdy.”

“This is something we need to remedy.” The colonel was not swayed by that smile like the rest of the population, “Another matter that must be discussed and remedied, another aspect of this venture I return from my hard labors to find has fallen into disarray.”

“Now look here-“ Jerry attempted before the Colonel sent him a withering glare and,

“You have no right to comment on this! You who risk him heedlessly! Does no one care about him but me? Does no one else’s heart quake at the thought of loosing so bright a personality-“

“I do.” You chirped in agreement, and Jerry nearly let out the laugh blowing up in his cheeks.

“What?” The colonel was dazed to be interrupted mid tirade.

“I care.” you smiled warmly at the Colonel and Elvis’ tongue poked through his lips with barely suppressed mirth, relieved someone had shut the fellow up as his ranting was growing loud enough for those on the docks to hear. “And in that vein, our bright star needs some rest before tonight. Do excuse us.”

You relooped your arm through the Captain’s and gently tugged his swaying frame away from the blustering.

“-now wait a moment there is business still to be discussed!”

“After.” you smiled at your enemy from over your shoulder before letting your expression drop into a sneer which Jerry did not miss.

You had a plan for the these few hours before the function and you had to enact them speedily. But remain unhurried, it would never do to excite the Captain's suspicion and dispel his current groggy compliance.

He let you lead him to the suite and he dumped the pretty boxes all in a heap at the foot of the bed, immediately tugging off his warm outerwear and giving a small smirk as you did the same. You busied yourself with pulling back the sheets, shucking your dress and guiding him to sit on the bed, undoing his vest as you attempted conversation.

“The colonel is rather-“

“Protective, I know.” he chuckled.

“Overbearing is what came to mind.”

“Well, that’s how you think of a parent and then you grow up and realise they were just trying to keep ya safe. After years of no one giving a shit if I lived or died, it’s rather nice to have someone care.”

“You have an entire boat of people who would care!” you protested and you stripped him down to nothing but his shirt.

“Do I?” he asked sullenly.

“Yes! And some folks on the docks, too, or have you forgotten? And also, you did not just compare that grabby toad to your mother!”

“Damn, you really don’t like him.” he grinned up at you and his lashes fluttered as you scratched his scalp and wedged your way between his legs.

“No, not particularly. But I loved your mother and I won’t stand for such a comparison.”

“Mm, well,” he nearly purred and let his eyes close, his body swaying back to lay down and you plastered yourself atop him, “ain’t no one gonna ever care as much as her.”

“Maybe not quite as much. But nearly.”

“How nearly?” his eyes snapped open as he felt your hand brushing up under his shirt.

“Very, very nearly.”

“How nearl- ooooh.” His mouth state puckered and a look of bliss flitted across his face as you found his soft length and thumbed at his head, causing it to jerk and swell.

“Nearly, just in a little different way.” you teased, knocking your nose against his, playfully.

“You’re not about ta-“

“I most definitely am. Scootch back and get comfy.”

He complied with a sudden bout of eager energy that made you laugh, scoping up a sleeping Sweet Pea in his arms on the way. He made grabby hands and you pounced on him again, kissing him soundly and pulling back to whisper,

“Thank you for my pretty new things.”

He licked his lips and stared at the wet seam of your mouth, “Thanks for understandin’ -about the yellow.”

You felt caught out again, confused again as to how he would know that you knew that detail about Maddy, if you were merely the mistress of the plantation to her. You reached down and asked as you grasped his length again,

“Do you think of her when I’m-“ and you thumbed over his dribbling slit, eyebrows raised in significance.

“No.” he whispered back fiercely, “And I don’t wanna. So, no yellow.”

“No yellow.” you agreed, heart feeling lighter than it had since you came aboard, lighter until your other haunted fear returned to the fore.

Scotty, you needed to find Scotty. And so you needed Elvis to fall asleep, soundly.

He kept kissing at you, fierce and then lazy and then open mouthed pants as you tried your hand at stroking him, swiveling your wrist and your thumb rubbing at that little place right below his puffy head that made him whine and jerk.

You felt his hand fold over yours, long fingers gliding over your own as he encouraged your grip on him, guiding you in a pleasing rhythm, his hips lifting to meet each upward stroke.

“This lil palm,” he groaned as your slick little hand squeezed each vein and ridge, “I’ll never tire of this lil palm. Used to sneak in to speak with Rosetta just as an excuse to watch these lil hands grippin’ the damn pens.”

You chuckled in disbelief, nipping at his jaw.

“Nah, I’m tellin’ the truth.” he insisted his hand tightening around yours, his thumb encouraging yours to swirl around his tip under his hood, he sucked his teeth before going on in a shaky voice, “I was a desperate man, Rosey, watching you quiver and blush in the daylight and mewl sadly in the nighttime.”

“I was hardly any better, desperate for a thing I had no notion of.” you laughed. “My how times have changed.”

“Ah, now you’re a worldly woman of the world, hmm?

“Well. I-“ that gave you pause as he had a mocking expression on his face and you sensed danger brewing in him, of the delicious kind.

“How bout,” he leaned up a little on his elbows and his face was mere inches from your own again, “how ‘bout you show me those worldly tricks and kiss my cock, hmm? Show your daddy all the skills you’ve picked up in your extensive career as a courtesan.” his eyebrows were arched and his voice sing songed mockingly and you felt riled up and hungry.

You pulled away to show him a lesson and turned to position yourself but he yanked you back by the neck, for the second time that day with a “hey c’mere honey” and he craned your neck back until his face hovered over yours. Right when you expected his puckered lips to press another kiss to your parted ones, you felt the warm, unmistakable drip of spit on your tongue instead.

“To help with the slide” he supplied and closed your shocked mouth with his fingers. “Down you go, lil one.” he pushed at your head and you went in a daze. You were a very different woman from ten seconds ago when you’d so bravely moved to please him, now you were a panting, unsteady little thing with his spit in your mouth and his dark eyes pinning you down. It was weak of him to enjoy your fawn-like compliance, but with the world spinning out of his control and the colonel making him feel small in the way only he could, it was nice to spook a fellow creature who could take it in stride.

The thought came to you as you settled down there with his hand on your head and pressed your lips to him, that he had figured you out in an entirely surprising way. You were in the habit, and you knew it thanks to Rosetta’s admonishments, of making excuses for anything enjoyable. It was a plain fact that for the majority of your life, fun had been an extravagance and pleasure it’s tempting by-product. No pleasure could be attempted by you without a practical reason behind it, and in your mind those reasons still came, no matter how pathetic or flimsy their excuse. The Captain, it seemed, had learned you and was now adopting the same measures to coax your enamoured little head to satisfy his wants. Widening your mouth to take him into the wet heat of it, you were forced to agree that there was some practicality to his pagan impulse to spit on your polite little tongue, but the heat in his eyes when he did it suggested he knew how to play you to accept his filthiest whims.

Feeling the heavy, warm weight of him on your tongue was every bit as heady and sensual as you had remembered, though the man above you was far more in possession of himself than he had been before. His hands threatened to undo the handiwork of your braided hair as he guided you further and further down until you panicked from the feel of him blocking your airflow. He denied your jerk to raise up and kept you on him with a firm hand,

“Open that throat up, darlin,” he told your reddening face and glassy eyes, “c’mon do it.” One hand moved to the delicate column of your throat and massaged it, causing you to involuntarily swallow around him which gave him such a shock of pleasure you were granted the upper hand for a brief moment, pulling up and choking down some much needed air.

“Gotta open that throat up.” he repeated with a tsk, and you fought the impulse to smack him where it hurt.

Perhaps you had been too cocky before, thinking that what had worked before in his impaired state was the normal way of things, but this treatment was almost heartlessly condescending and you felt filthy for enjoying it, feeding off of it as fuel your determination. Because no matter how he used you to get there, you both knew the ending of this always resulted in him crying out and whining like a little bitch in ecstasy.

“I am trying.” you punctuated your words coldly and rubbed your jaw for a brief moment before readying to return to your endeavor.

“I love fuckin’ that prim mouth of yours.” he informed you conversationally and it was a sore trial to your patience that the more you relied on your decorum the more he ate it up. Even that defense was stripped from you in his presence. So in little fit of rage over the unfairness of it all, of life and him and the beautiful ungainliness of cocks, you took him back into your mouth with a vengeance, trying to recall every sweet meanness that had worked before and you were rewarded with the sound of his cry and jab of his hips, sending him deeper.

You recalled the way the scrape of teeth had sent him hurtling over the edge before and did it purposefully this time, receiving a head yank this time instead.

“No teeth, Rosey, keep those things tucked away.” he commanded, hooking his fingers in the bottom row of your teeth and making you nod by pulling your jaw, before he pushed you back down.

He guided you, not unkindly and always shallowly, up and down the length of him, telling you to suckle the tip and sounding akin to a wildcat when you nibbled at the extra skin of him. You’d nearly grown used to it, enjoying and relishing the familiarity of making him twitch and dribble, nothing in his firm guidance giving you cause for alarm, his salty musk pervading your every sense when all at once that guiding hand pushed you firmly but inexorable: down, down, down.

You sucked in a breath through your nose as you sensed what he was doing, filling your diaphragm to bursting right as he nudged so far back you might as well have swallowed clay, so impossible was it for you to draw another breath.

“You better relax that throat before you run outta air.” he griped, looking down at you expectantly as if you were the well versed woman of the world he had mocked you as.

You glared up at him and hit your fists against the top of his thighs in protest that you were indeed trying. He did not look sympathetic, indeed he looked more ominous in the shadows of the bed with the overcast window providing a gloomy impression inside, than you had ever seen him since you first came aboard. You were rather certain the Captain would not kill you on his cock, that if you truly ran out of air before figuring out the mechanics of what he wanted you would be spared by his generosity. But the sensation of burning lungs and an impeded throat was so close to the feeling of being choked to death by the ubiquitous Colonel Parker all those years ago, that you felt yourself start to shake from some physical manifestation of your terror at the memory.

“Your eyes are gonna start going dim soon if you don’t manage this.” that rich and familiar voice grounded you back into the present and you blinked away an errant tear. His heavy hand took up the whole width of your skull and you focused on the comforting feel of his thumb rubbing your temple, soothing and all encompassing, “I’ll give ya a hint, honey. They say all the uptight ones got tight throats, go figure. I had to learn this the hard way, and if I hadn’t been a singer since birth I mighta not made it out of an alleyway or two.”

Confused as you were by his instructions you let the implication of that reference to his past sink in with wide eyes and a noise of anguish for him muffled as it was around his cock and he hissed pleasurably.

“That’s nearly it, just lower, hum lower, like you’re gonna hit a low note.”

After a stunned moment of inaction your own desperate need to be let up for air, and to please him, superseded all embarrassment and you did as you were told, humming as low as you thought possible with a massive obstruction in your way.

“Lower, lower,” he groaned and you saw his belly had begun to shake, “you’re out here doin’ Puccini when the moment requires Verdi, c’mon you can do this, you ain’t some dumb whore, lower!”

Somehow, and perhaps merely to distinguish yourself from dumb whores, you managed it and your throat opened and he slipped down further and further until there was indeed enough of a gap for you to heave back in the breath you had hummed out around him.

“Fuuuck.” he whined high and broken and flopped on his back so hard you thought he may have given his neck whiplash. “Oh that’s it. That’s it, you keep that up and I ain’t ever gonna cum down another throat all my days, you hear me? You don’t want me to go nowhere, right? keep that up then, lil one, oh that’s it, goddamn.”

Sweet Pea gave a series of concerned yaps at his agonized face before he grabbed her and held onto her like a child would a teddy bear during a moment of crisis. He drew his knees up and planted his feet on the bed, bracketing your little body and giving him leverage to thrust into your slobbering mouth as you sucked him down savagely, nails biting into his thighs and tears leaking out of your eyes from the sheer muchness of it all. Bizarrely it was rather empowering to replace the memory of your near death with something this heated, for if it was not a tender moment it was certainly a vulnerable one and the shaky hand he took from your hair and used to clasp your own told you he felt the same.

“The tip now, honey, just the tip.” he gasped out urgently and you pulled off him to obey, arms shaking from exertion and the fright he gave you and you did as he said, relishing the feel of the puffy and weeping head against your tongue, dipping into the leaking slit and that was sufficient. With a holler of praise his beautiful body bowed up and then crashed down, boneless and spent, eyes watching with feral satisfaction as you gagged and choked his seed down.

He yanked you atop him again with a hand in your chemise, and indulged his filthy habit of licking your mouth clean of him.

“Rosey, my Rosey, where would I be without my Rosey….” he groaned into your neck as his fatigue overtook his passion yet again, greater this time around and he settled you into his side, Sweet Pea obliging curling up atop his chest. The warm feeling of his hand on your aching belly and the raw beat of your heart over what had just transpired, kept you tethered to his cozy heat for a longer amount of time than you could spare.

But after you heard steady snores from both Sweet Pea and the Captain, you painstakingly extracted yourself from his grip, years of practice rolling away from little Charlie coming in handy. You pried open a candy striped box and pulled away the lid, extracting the pretty coat within and wrapped yourself in it, covering your stripped down petticoats. Your boots were harder to manage silently, and once you donned them you kicked yourself for not fetching your revolver from across the room before putting them on. The weight of the gun heavy in your pocket, you tiptoed across his carpeted floors and laid your hand on the doorknob, looking back to the bed and its dear occupant. For dear he was.

You thumbed at the corners of your mouth, making certain all pearly traces of him were collected and swore to yourself you were not going to lose him. And just like that, a stupid little bravery bloomed in your heart, watered by love rather than fear, for the first time your life. You creaked open the door, a bright shaft of light from the hall’s oil lamp piercing his little haven for a brief moment before you slipped out and left him to his rest.

Masterlist

Taglist…I so hope this is complete, if I missed you or you wish to be added, please leave a comment to that effect, it’d be a pleasure to add you.🌸

@missmaywemeetagain

@steph-speaks

@heartbrake-hotel

@oh-my-front-door

@blurredcolour

@beccalynn711

@pearlparty

@eliseinmemphis

@star-shard

@foreverdolly

@bisexualwvtson

@powerofelvis

@tyne18

@myradiaz

@briege93

@kanik-arson

@lindszeppelin

@2lekk

@emmymaehereeeeee

@notstefaniepresley

@captainthisamericamain

@dkayfixates

@crash-and-cure

@groovydeputyfestivalkid

@vintagewrld

@horror-movieshoes

@ab4eva

@lillypink

@leanleather

@cigaretess

@butlervol6

@moonlitbanditqueen

@coolgirl462

@artlover8992

@vinnvered

@butlervol6

@babylovepresley

@ash-omalley

@robinismywife

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@jelliedonut

@woundmetender

@jessthepolarbear

@stylesmendeshearted

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when two musicians sing into the same microphone and lean in very close to each other… like omg are you guys gonna kiss now to relieve the homoerotic tension?😳

Austin Butler accepts his ‘The Drama Movie Star of 2022’ award from the @peopleschoice (#PCAs)