Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Always On My Mind - Elvis

A/N: unchained melody makes me cry. Also I have pictures coming up and I *may* have bought the pink Elvis suit from the Louisiana hayride to wear

You pulled up to Elvis's house a little antsy. You'd heard amazing things about him, particularly how talented and passionate he was about his craft (and how incredibly handsome he was). While you definitely would enjoy staring at a beautiful man, the point wasn't his looks. You wanted to get back into music, it was important and you hadn't been with it for years.

When you were a kid you played a little piano, and you remember some things here and there. In your older years, you've missed it. So, you decided for your 25th birthday that enough was enough. You'd moaned about not playing for years, so you were going to get piano lessons. You'd done a few years in choir, so you hoped that one day you could sing while playing. But that seemed a little far removed.

You stood on shaky legs, locking your car and walking up to the house. With your hand lifted, you went to knock on the door.

It swung open before you could and a beautiful man stood before you. Yes, you'd heard the rumors and believed them in their honesty. But nothing beat the real picture. He was something else entirely. Elvis Presley, that was his name, had his arm leaning against the door frame as he looked down at you with crystal blue eyes. His hair was dark and long in front even with his attempts to slick it back. He had tan skin and a lean and muscular body you tried not to ogle as you took in his outfit. It was rare to find a man who knew how to dress well but he did. A simple blue shirt tucked into black pants was doing things for the imagination you didn't want to admit. And he was tall, taller than you.

Your eyes widened and you clutched the strap of your purse, clumsily muttering, "Mr. Presley?"

He smiled and showed off a beautiful pair of white teeth. He offered his hand to you, "Elvis, please. You must be Y/N."

"I am."

"Come on inside, the piano's in my studio."

You stepped by him, ignoring the floral and yet masculine scent of him. You were awkward, for a variety of reasons. One was that you hadn't played the piano in years, and most people who took piano lessons were 12 year olds. And another reason was the fact you might not be able to get through this without blushing like a madman. But Elvis didn't seem to pay your nerves any mind, he just guided you around the corner to a large room.

It had padded walls that you knew were for soundproofing, and all sorts of instruments. Including, a grand piano towards one corner. He had stacks of sheet music on a chair, books piling up on the floor, and multiple different guitars.

"I'm sorry bout the mess," he said as he stepped inside. "I didn't have time to clean after my last appointment."

"No worries, I'm not picky." You said, concentrating on your voice being even.

He smiled at you, taking a small stool and placing it beside the piano bench. Then he went towards his stack of music, and started shuffling like he was looking for something in particular.

"You can put your bag on the table if you'd like," he said, the Southern drawl all sweet and deep. When you'd spoken to him over the phone, it wasn't nearly as prevalent as it was in person. "If I wrote it down right, you says you did piano a few years back? And singin with a choir?"

You nodded, "it's been about 13 years. Give or take. But I did do choir all throughout high school."

He nodded, licking his thumb to flip through pages until he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. Elvis took two copies of what seemed to be the same song and walked towards you. He offered the piece to you to glance at.