Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Guitar Man - Elvis

A/N: it's serving Phoebe Buffay and cheese

What Do You Bean was a cute, albeit slightly cheesy, coffee shop opened by a very sweet elderly couple. They were the Thompson's. The shop has been around since the 1930s and whenever anyone asks for a job, they would always try to find some little task for them. The Thompson's understood what it was like to go hungry or to have no reference for other careers, so they did what they could to provide for their community.

When you were 18, young and in need of a job, you went down there to see if there was anything available. Mrs Thompson welcomed you with open arms, saying that a barista had just quit last night and the job was yours. You'd almost wanted to cry at her kindness and vowed to work harder than anyone else. This job was a godsend, even in it's difficult moments.

And now it was helping you pay your way through college, one coffee at a time. You'd been working there for some time and were familiar with the regulars who flooded in and out at their scheduled time. One dreary afternoon where the rain was pattering against the windows and few customers were inside the store, a man came in.

He was soaking from the rain but he didn't seem the least bit bothered. His jet black hair clung to his face, cheeks rosy from the cold and thick lips parted in a half sort of smile. He was handsome, strikingly handsome. You didn't expect it, especially not when his blue eyes looked into yours like you held all the secrets in the world.

"You got a rag?" He asked, droplets splashing to the floor. You didn't even notice the guitar slung around him until he gestured it it, and the water making it shiny.

"O-oh, um, yes," you stuttered out anxiously, searching for a rag and handing it to him. You watched as he cleaned off the water then handed it back to you with a smile.

"You mind if I play a little something?" He asked, gesturing to the small stage set up where anyone could do just about anything.

You swallowed, curious now to hear his music, "go for it."

He smiled widely, racing to the little stage. You watched with wide eyes as he experimentally strummed a few chords, before completely launching into a song.

"One for the money,
Two for the show,
Three to get ready now go cat, go
But don't you step on my blue suede shoes."

It wasn't at all what you expected, then again, what had you expected? His body shook almost violently to the music, moving every which way the notes took him. That guitar would have most certainly been thrown across the room if it wasn't for the strap keeping it on his skinny shoulders. Most members of the audience, all 4 of you, looked at him with disgust if not complete disinterest. You were hooked, arms laying limply on the counter as you watched his each and every move.

When he finished he was covered in a fine layer of sweat with a satisfied grin on his face. He either didn't notice or didn't care that an older gentleman had gotten up and left in the middle of his performance. He hopped off the stage, meandering over to the counter. You were already pouring him a steaming cup of hot coffee.

"Thank you baby," he said, taking the cup and sipping it.

You just looked at him, didn't say a single word. He laughed, "that bad huh?"

"What?" You finally said.

"You're looking at me like I musta grown three heads, figured I musta really stunk."

"N-no," you rushed to say. "You didn't stunk, stink that is. You didn't stink at all."

He smiled, "you liked the show?"

"Probably more than I should have," you admitted.

"I'm Elvis." He said, sticking his hand out to you.