Elvis One Shots/Imagines

I Got Stung - Elvis

A/N : these aren't the exact words/situation from the movie - it is fanfic after all

The whole of Elvis's family and friends were propped in front of the television as the credits announced the Steve Allen show. You were on the edge of the couch, needing to get as close to Elvis as you could despite him not even touching the screen yet. Steve Allen's voice announcing him droned on, but you didn't care about any of that.

Then Elvis came from the left. You could immediately tell how uncomfortable he was, but he was trying to cover it. They'd dressed him in this God awful suit that had long coattails, he kept pulling at it slightly like it was causing him pain. You realized they were probably trying to limit his movement, which made you frustrated.

Gladys shook her head at the sight of the suit, "it's God-given what he does."

"He will do what he needs to," Colonel Tom Parker said from the corner of the living room he was creeping in. His fingers drummed against his cane.

Steve Allen introduced him, then stepped to the side as a basset hound was rolled onto the stage on a little cart. Elvis's entire body tensed, and you watched his eyes dart between Steve and the dog. He was singing 'Hound Dog.' Based on his expression, he didn't know about the dog ahead of time. There's no way he would have known. Not with the way his entire body stood rigid at the creature.

Then Steve Allen stepped away and the small snippet of the song started to play, the band coming alive behind him. He seemed to transform with the music, his body moving as he sang the lyrics. But he was struggling to not move the way he was used to, the way he was comfortable with. He kept bouncing on his feet to stop from shaking his hips or making any movements they might find offensive. As 'Hound Dog' played, Elvis even interacted a bit with the pet. He scratched his ears then pulled him in a for a kiss on the head before practically running off stage when the song ended.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This was not good. You knew it wouldn't be long before Elvis came home, and you had no clue what his mood was going to be. Elvis was a sensitive man, which was a trait you loved, but it made it a little difficult to gauge how to react in certain situation. You wanted to comfort him but what did he need in the moment?

The group waited in the living room for the next hour, Gladys took steady swigs from her bottle. When she belched, then apologized profusely, you knew Elvis was going to be even more upset to see the bottle in her hand. Tonight was just not going to be a good night, and everyone seemed to cope with it in their own way. Vernon was picking at the skin of his hands and you saw that his nails were bleeding but he hadn't noticed. Tom Parker just kept drumming his fingers along his cane like he didn't have a care in the world, but you knew that he felt the same anxiety you felt - his reasoning was just different.

Then, the sound of a car coming up the long driveway seemed to alert everyone all at once. You stood from the couch, glancing out the window as the pink Cadillac parked. Elvis came out from the drivers side, still in that stiff suit, and raging up the pathway. The front door slammed open and his red face came into view. Tears were in his eyes.

"Most humiliating moment in my career!" He screamed, throwing the car keys on the little table in the hallway. Elvis was pacing, the stupid coat tails hitting the back of his thighs as he walked.

"It wasn't that bad," Vernon offered, but Elvis turned with a passionate anger in his eyes.

"It was humiliating," Elvis repeated. His voice shook, his body shook, as he spat his words like they were venom. "Why didn't they tell me bout the dog? I coulda made it work, I coulda made it funny!"

Tom Parker spoke up, echoing his words from earlier, "You did what you needed to do."

"Fuck that!" He shouted back, ripping at his coat to just get it off his body. Elvis threw it to the floor.

"Language, booby!" Gladys said, holding her hand to her chest.

Elvis saw the bottle in her hand and snatched it from her, holding it up angrily. "I wish you wouldn't drink so damn much, it isn't good for you!"

He slammed the bottle to the table and some of the beer splashed up and over, but he didn't care. He just stalked away from everyone, needing to be anywhere but there. Tom just nodded his head and hummed, before leaving the house. Gladys murmured something incoherent then took a long sip from her bottle. You got up from your seat and went after Elvis. You didn't want to bother him, but if he needed someone to vent to, or hug, or cry, you could do that.

Elvis was sat on the bed. He'd taken the top off and was just sitting in his undershirt and pants, holding his head in his hands. He was fuming with embarrassment and anger.

"Elvis?" You asked tentatively, poking your head in.

"What?" His voice sounded like a whine.

You stepped in but stayed at the door, "do you need anything? You don't have to talk, you can send me away, I just wanna be there for you."

Elvis nodded, wiping at his tears a little. You and him had a little code every time one of you were upset, and even if you didn't spell it out he knew that you were offering one of three things. A distraction, someone to talk it out with, and to leave you alone. There was always an unspoken fourth one that included just being there physically even if you didn't say anything, and Elvis opted for that one.

"Can you just sit with me?"

You nodded, sitting on the bed beside him. He didn't make for you, and you didn't move to touch him either. This was on his terms.

Elvis leaned his head on your shoulder, and his hand found yours. You ran your thumb along his knuckles, soothing him. His breathing started to even out a little and the tears that had once been overwhelming were now drying up.

He said softly, "it was the most embarrassin thang."

His accent always got thicker when he was upset. You squeezed his hand, "it wasn't all bad."

"I don' wanna be remembered for this shit."

"Oh baby, you won't be remembered for this," you kissed his forehead. "You're the Elvis Presley. They'll remember your songs, your movies, your life. They ain't gonna care about one stupid show."

You felt a small smile against your shoulder, and Elvis nuzzled into you. For the next few minutes, you just sat in peace. Elvis seemed to take your words to heart, or at least appreciated them in the moment. That was all you could really ask for. You squeezed his hand again.