Burning Love (Elvis)

[babyganja]

So I recently saw the new Elvis movie (3 times lmfao) and I think I can speak for everyone when I say it literally made me feral?? I’ve loved the King and his music/movies since I was a little girl so I was stoked when this movie came out- Austin Butler was literally incredible, he ate this role up and licked the plate clean (and is fine as hell I might add lawd have mercy) Anyway all this to say, after I saw it I wanted to write something- this is my first story I’ve ever posted on here so I’m a little nervous. Part 2 features some vapor rub and has a little more sneezing in it-This whole fic in general has quite a bit of coughing so if that’s not your thing I might skip this one. You can read it as Elvis himself, or Austin’s portrayal of him- I hope y’all enjoy lmk what u think

 

 

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It’s still raining. The misty sprinkle that had covered Graceland this morning turned into a downpour by mid-afternoon, and it’s been coming down like this since. The wood in the fireplace pops and crackles, filling the bedroom with warm orange light and the sweet, smoky smell of cedar. 

Priscilla lays a hand on her new husband’s forehead and scowls in disapproval. She can’t remember what she did with their old thermometer, but the fiery heat of his  brow tells her all she needs to know. He’s been burning up like this since Friday when they got home from Portland, delirious, frustrated, and laid up since- at least when she can coax him to stay in bed anyway. Doctors orders. 

“You’re burning up.”

“ ‘m fine ‘Scilla” he mumbles, Tennessee accent thick, his already low voice rough and deep, as if he’s been shouting. It sounds like his sinuses have been blocked off with cement. Congestion rumbles deep in his chest and he releases a few awful crackly coughs into his elbow the wet sound muffled by his pajama sleeve. 

It’s so contradictory that she can’t help but laugh a little at him good-naturedly. “Do you even hear yourself, Elvis? You sound like you can hardly breathe.”

He looks feverish and agitated. “I can’t with all these god damn covers on,” he rasps as he thrashes them half off and makes to get up yet again despite Priscilla’s dissent. “It’s too hot.” 

“Don’t. Stop it,” she says good mood gone, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice as she places an open palm to Elvis’s broad chest and firmly pushes him back down into bed. It seems like all the man wants to do is sit at that damn piano all day.

 “Don’t take those off.“ 

He squirms when she tries to tuck the covers around him again. 

“No-“ he protests, but she cuts him off, and presses a finger to his full lips to shush him.

“-I told you to quit it. In about a minute you’ll be freezing again.”

“ ‘Scilla-“

“-Stop. Stop it baby, please” she soothes him, stroking the dark hair from his burning forehead with pale delicate fingers. “Please. I’ll get you a washcloth, but please just stay in bed.”

 To her mild surprise her pleading  actually works this time and he relents with a quiet: “All right,” finally still in her arms. Priscilla sighs, relieved, and places a cool hand to his hot cheek, stroking her thumb along his temple. Elvis gazes down at her through sleepy blue eyes and thick black lashes, his lips full, pink and ever so slightly parted.  She’d almost hate to admit it given the fact that he’s so unwell, but she can’t help but think how beautiful he looks like this- flushed, vulnerable- so different than the persona he puts on in public and onstage. 

“Stay. In. Bed,” Priscilla warns him again before she gets up, kissing the top of his head as she leaves to retrieve a wet rag. “I’ll be right back.” She pauses at the doorframe and turns back to him pointing a single finger like a dagger. “And so help me God if you try to get up again I’ll call the Doctor on you.”

His big white grin makes her smile to herself as she disappears into the dark hallway.

The threat is honestly pretty empty, but it seems to work, as he doesn’t make follow her into the kitchen. She grabs a clean yellow washcloth and listens for footsteps  as she as she kneels to fetch a large porcelain bowl from the bottom cabinet. Graceland is still and silent except for the distant sound of the fireplace, crackling away.  ‘Maybe he’s finally tuckered himself out’ she thinks as she fills the bowl nearly to the brim with cold water. She pads barefoot back to the bedroom, careful not to spill. Maybe it’s a little too full. Priscilla makes her way down the hall, almost to the mouth of the bedroom when he hears his breath catch. She pauses in her tracks, curious, then peeks around the edge of the doorframe. Elvis doesn’t see her. He’s right where she left him, sitting propped up against the pillows and bedstead, his head thrown back, top lip curled. Those dark eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his chest heaves, breath wild and unsteady. She blushes a little, feeling almost indecent lurking, watching him like this from the darkened hallway so she creeps inside. He doesn’t seem to notice her enter the room, and his erratic breath turns into a big, grimacing gasp that culminates in an impressively-sized sneeze directed into his elbow.

“Huh’ishSHEU!”

“Bless you.” she tells him, making her presence known as she carefully sets the bowl and cloth on the nightstand. His head snaps back up to look at her, blue eyes hazy, and immediately Priscilla can tell that he’s not done.

“Huh'isHuhThank you- hhhHuh'ISHuh!“ that last one rattles out of him, and brings a handful of crackly coughs with it.

“Bless you, baby. Jesus,” She tells him once she’s pretty certain he’s finished, taking a seat by him on the edge of the bed smoothing out the quilt with her hands, frowning- he sounds terrible. 

“Excuse me,” he says, ever the gentleman even though he looks a little embarrassed. He sniffles thickly in the aftermath of the small fit, bringing a wrist to the underside of his nose to keep it from running. Priscilla sighs and shakes her head, tutting at him as she retrieves her own handkerchief from her pocket and hands it to him.

“Thanks ‘Scilla,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome.” 

She smirks at him and tenderly smooths the damp hair from his forehead. “You really don’t do anything by halves do you?”

“Ha!” Elvis laughs, but he just sounds exhausted. “Guess not.” He clears his throat and Priscilla can tell that he still needs to cough. She frowns again as she reaches for the cloth, and wets it in the bowl.

“Lie back a little bit would you?” she instructs him firmly- to her surprise he obeys without protest, shifting against the pillows. She quirks an eyebrow at him but says nothing as she dips the rag one more time and wrings out the excess water. He allows her to gently wipe the sweat from his brow, and closes his eyes as she lays the cool cloth over them. He’s tuckered all right. They’re both silent for a moment, and the room is quiet save for the patter of rain and his soft congested breathing. He can’t see her, but he feels eyes on him and cracks a big mischievous grin, white teeth glinting in the firelight. 

“What are you lookin so serious for ‘Scilla?”

Priscilla scoffs. “Oh please Elvis, you can’t even see me under there.” 

“Don’t need to.” He lifts the edge of the  washcloth with a slender finger to reveal one blue eye, grinning wider when she rolls her eyes at him. “See?” He laughs. Hearing that laugh makes her smile a little but there’s still a pit in her stomach- worry eats away at her insides. She takes one of his large, warm hands in hers, and bites the inside of her cheek nervously. 

“I just think you’re overworked is all,” she admits softly, honestly. 

He lowers the edge of the cloth obscuring his eyes again, unbothered. “I think you worry too much.”

“No, I don’t,” Priscilla snaps, surprised at herself for doing so, annoyed at him for dismissing her when she’s trying to talk about something important, “All right? I’m serious.” She softens, sighs, and says very quietly: “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

The sorrow in her voice immediately gives him cause for alarm, and he sits back up quickly, head swimming as he sets the rag aside so he can meet her eyes. They’re big and sad.

“Nothin’ bad is gonna happen to me ‘Scilla. Why do you look so sad, baby? Come here.” He reaches over, puts an arm around her narrow shoulders and shifts away from the edge of the bed to make room for her to lie down. Priscilla feels a little like she wants to cry. She swallows, gets under the covers and cuddles in beside him, wrapping an arm around his torso and burying her face into his chest. His skin is damp with sweat and hot as a coal stove. 

“You’re talented- you have a gift,” she whispers. “There are lots of people who want to take advantage of that. Of you.” A tear slips down her nose, and she wipes it away, embarrassed. “Don’t let them, okay?.” 

“I wont. I promise,” he swears, soothing her, rubbing her back with an open palm and squeezing her tight. Priscilla squeezes him back and breathes him in.

“Where’s this all coming from? Huh?” He wonders out loud, kissing the top of her head. “You seen me like this before and you weren’t cryin’ then.”’ He’s right- they’ve known each other for years, and she’s seen him sick, well and everything in between and she had never shed any tears then. But everything had changed so quickly, so drastically. That was before the tour, before she had seen him night after night, dripping in sweat, looking like he might collapse from exhaustion. Before they were married for god’s sake.  Now that it feels like everything is directly taking a toll on his health, she feels fear that she can’t quite place or explain. It feels scary. It feels stupid.

“I just worry about you,” she whispers. “I don’t know, it just makes me sad.” 

“Aw don’t cry, ‘Scilla. I’m all right. Don’t cry baby, please.” He sounds a little sad himself.

Priscilla wipes the tears from her eyes and takes another deep breath in through her nose, out through her mouth. Even though he’s damp and feverish his scent is comforting to her. Like sweat and something sweet like pine or maybe linen. They lay there for a long moment, drinking each other in as he strokes her hair and rubs her back. She snuggles into him closer, growing a little sleepy. Silence. Rain. 

“Y’know ‘Scilla…” he says softly, breaking the quiet. “-people don’t really die from influenza anymore. You know that don’t you?” He teases her gently and there’s a smile in his voice.

Priscilla can’t help but take the bait. He walked right into it after all. “Yeah…” she says thoughtfully, wiping any remaining moisture from her face. “Only old timers like you right?”

“Ha!” 

He laughs heartily at that and tickles her ribs playfully. She can’t help but laugh along with him when he says, “I think I… I see a light!”

Elvis pretends to swoon against the headboard, playing dead. Within a second he cracks one blue eye open with a shit eating grin. He’s obviously trying to make her feel better, but if she’s being honest it’s definitely working- it feels good to laugh with him like this. 

She doesn’t say anything else, just holds him tight, and another comfortable silence washes over them. Some time passes-she doesn’t know how much- and she’s dozing, almost dreaming when she hears his breath catch again. He sniffles and she can feel him bring a hand off of her back and to his face to scrub at his nose. She cracks an eye open to peek at him. 

“Hold on ‘Scilla, get off me,” Elvis tells her, suddenly trying to shift her aside. 

“Why?” She whines, unrelenting, squeezing him even tighter. Her eyelids are so heavy and she’s comfortable.

“Priscilla I mean it,” he says using her full name, sounding exasperated. “I’m ser- hhuh'kKXngt!-I’m serious.” He stifles the sneeze forcefully between his forefinger and thumb. ‘That’s why’ she thinks to herself as he involuntarily takes another sharp intake of breath.

“hhh'kkxngt!“ his chest expands and contracts again and she can hear him bite back a groan after that one. She opens both her eyes slowly, and looks up at him frowning.

“Don’t hold them in like that Elvis,” she scolds him sleepily, although she doesn’t make any effort to move. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” 

“Then get off-hhhHuh'ISHuh-of me“ he retorts, twisting as far away from her as he can to muffle a myriad of painful, phlegmatic coughs into his elbow. He has to take a minute to catch his breath before he finally gasps  “…C’mon ‘Scilla get off.” 

She hears that rattle in his chest and obeys somewhat begrudgingly, flipping herself off of him and onto her back. When she does, he starts to cough again, this time with a little more intensity. Now fully awake and a little concerned, Priscilla pulls herself into a sitting position and slides a hand under his back to prompt him to do the same. “Here, baby sit up.” 

He does, and she thumps him on his back a few times with a cupped palm to try and loosen up the crap in his lungs. The fit finally abates after a little while, and he sits back into the pillows, looking spent and red in the face. 

“Christ.” Priscilla rubs big soothing circles into his back. “Let’s try some vapor rub,” she suggests, trying to remember where she put that stupid jar- the downstairs bathroom maybe? “I’m sure we have some. I actually know we do.”

 “Don’t want it.”

This gives her pause and Priscilla’s raises an eyebrow at him, a little surprised. “…Well why not?” 

He sniffles and shrugs, looking a little disoriented. “Makes my nose run. I don’t want to be coughing and sneezin’ all over you.”

“You’ve been doing that since Friday,” she points out without missing a beat. “-And besides, that’s what it’s supposed to do. Loosen everything up“ she reassures him. “It’ll make you feel so much better, I promise.” Priscilla crawls over him to the edge of the bed, and makes to get up to search the bathroom, but as soon as she stands Elvis swiftly catches her hand in his. “I don’t want it I said.”

 His palm is slick with sweat.

She turns back to him, a little perturbed as she looks him over carefully- His drawl is thick as molasses and he’s starting to not make any sense- there’s a high crimson flush on his cheeks, and his eyes look glassy and a little too bright. She can’t recall how much time has passed since they fell asleep. Perhaps she really should phone the doctor- just for a little advice if not anything else. What time is it anyway? 

Ironically, he sounds worried when he says, “I don’t wanna give this to you.” 

Despite her apprehension, she can’t help but laugh- actually laugh at that. She shakes her head because the notion is just so ridiculous, if not a little sweet. “Elvis, if I’m going to catch it, I’ve already caught it. We sleep in the same bed you know.”

“Don’t say that ‘Scilla-“ He tells her looking stricken. “I would feel terrible.”

 “Hmm…” she hums sympathetically laying a palm to his forehead yet again- just as she suspected, his skin is scalding hot under her touch. She really needs to find that old thermometer too while she’s at it. 

Priscilla sits back down on the edge of the bed taking his hot face in her hands. 

“Elvis, listen to me. You’re my husband, and I love you. If it comes to that, I know you’ll help me like I’ve been helping you,” she plants a tender kiss to his temple and recounts, “Remember our vows? In sickness and in health, right?”

“Right,” he concedes quietly.

“Right,” she echoes with a sigh, running her fingers through his dark hair. “I’m gonna go get the vicks and that thermometer. You’re really burning up. I won’t be long at all, just stay here.” 

His blue eyes look wild and glazed. “Don’t leave,” he whispers.

Her heart pangs- his temperature has got to be through the roof if he’s this delirious. She can’t actually remember ever seeing him this unwell and it honestly scares her a little.  “I’m not going anywhere-“ she reassures him yet again. “Just relax baby, please. I’ll be right back, I promise. Don’t get up.” 

“All right,” he says, still looking a little uncertain. Priscilla stands in the center of the room for a moment as a brilliant idea comes to mind- if she can’t console him, she knows exactly what will.

“Do you want to listen to a record?” She offers, padding over to the victrola and kneeling down to select a record from the box beside it. “I’ll be back before the first track is over. What should I put on?” 

He coughs a little into his fist as he contemplates before he decides: “Gospel.”

“Gospel?” She gives him a dubious look as she flips through his records- there’s probably about a hundred in here- until she finds a J.D. Sumner album. She gently pulls the vinyl out of its sleeve, taking care not to scratch it, and places it on the platter of the turntable. As she turns it on and lowers the needle, she shoots him another look. “You’re not gonna die on me are you?”

In the dim light of the fire, a smile ghosts across Elvis’s full lips, his eyes gleaming. He clutches his chest. “I’m cold ‘Scilla… so cold.”

It seems like a little bit of music might have done the trick. Maybe he’s not on his deathbed quite yet if he’s kept his sense of humor. 

“You’re a real comedian you know that?” she rolls her eyes affectionately, almost out the door when deep voice stops her dead in her tracks for a second. 

“Love you, Priscilla.”

“I love you too,” she says from the hallway, as the dark swallows her up. “Now stay. I’ll be right back.” 

 

**End of pt 1?? 
 

 

 

lmk if I should post part 2 lol I like it a little better tbh 

 

 

 

 

[beau34]

OMG PLEASE I NEED MORE WITH CONTAGION

[Just Older]

Oh! More please!

He's just so .... I don't even know the words to use. He's calm, and sweet, and funny. I think you've captured Elvis nicely!

[babyganja]

Hi I'm sorry it took me so long to update this, and I apologize for any cringe or grammatical mistakes in part 1! Part 2 is a little shorter, (sorry if the end seems rushed I was pulling a blank on what to say lol) but it's pretty cute and features some Vicks vapor rub 🤪 I heard that it messes with your blood vessels to relieve congestion which is why it makes some ppl sneeze? lol I just thought that was way too cute so I had to use it in this lol

Anyway here's part 2 lmk if you guys like it and want a part 3? thanks for the support  

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Priscilla finds the vapor rub almost immediately, but that stupid thermometer is a different story entirely. After nearly half an hour of rifling through every single drawer and cabinet she can think of to look in, she finally finds it tucked away in the first aid kit nestled amongst gauze and bandages. The bathroom is practically torn to pieces by the time she spots it, but she could care less- She laughs triumphantly when she finds it, holding it up to the light like a prize. Without wasting a minute, she flips the light off and quickly scurries down the darkened hall with her loot in hand, well aware that she broke her “one track” promise. If he’s not still in bed by the time she makes it back she’s gonna lose it. The first thing she notices when she steps foot into the bedroom is how damn hot it is- as soon as she enters the threshold a wave of heat hits her all at once like she just stepped into a sauna. ‘His Hand’- , the second to last track on the album plays softly from their record player, and the fire roars. She sighs in relief and thanks her lucky stars when she sees Elvis right where she left him, sitting propped up against the headboard- he looks a little bored, flipping through the pages of a book disinterestedly, but his face brightens immediately when he spots her.

“Hey ‘Scilla.”

“Hey yourself,” she says cautiously, eyeing him closely as she approaches. He looks and sounds much calmer than he did before she left- thank goodness for gospel and some light reading- but something else gives her pause. Maybe she just hadn’t observed it earlier, but now that she’s looking at him- really looking at him- his color isn’t good. He’s white as a sheet, save for the ruddy crimson flush that sits high on cheeks like a sunburn. A sheen of sweat has broken out across his forehead and upper lip, and when she steps closer, she realizes that he’s shivering a little.

“You’re shaking,” she says softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, and placing the vapor rub and the thermometer on the nightstand. “You wanna tell me why it’s so hot in here? You didn’t put more wood on the fire did you?” She strokes the damp hair off of his forehead, and presses the back of her hand to his brow. Maybe it’s just because it’s so hot in the bedroom, but he’s even warmer if that’s possible- it’s like his temperature is climbing by the minute. Elvis leans into her cool, comforting touch, cracking a sheepish little grin.

“Turned up the thermostat,” he admits hoarsely.

“The one in the kitchen?” Priscilla sighs at him, exasperated. What the hell happened to ‘stay here, don’t get up’? The man doesn’t listen to anyone, and as much as she’d like to deny it, she’s not always an exception. “You should have let me do that. Jesus, Elvis I wasn’t even gone for that long. You look like death warmed over.”

“Would you relax ‘Scilla?” He rolls his eyes. “I walked to the kitchen, not halfway to Nashville.”

“You’re sweating like you walked to Nashville and back.”

He shrugs, nonchalant, coughing a little into his fist to hide a chuckle. “Well it’s uh… a little warm in here.”

Priscilla shoots him a look, but she has to bite back a grin. “I noticed, actually. Put this under your tongue, would you?” He raises an eyebrow at her with a smirk when she hands him the thermometer, but does as he’s told. He slides it into the corner of his mouth, toying with it with his tongue like it’s a toothpick. “So serious ‘Scil-“

“-And also shut up,” she interrupts him putting a finger to the center of his mouth to shush him. “Or else it won’t work.”

He can’t help but laugh at that a little behind closed lips, blue eyes crinkling merrily at the corners. Priscilla counts to sixty, then one-twenty, then one-eighty before she snatches the thermometer out of his mouth to inspect it. She takes it in both hands, and knits her brows as she studies the red line on the glass with intense scrutiny. It reads about 102.8- Nearly 103. Not good. Actually, pretty bad.

“I think I should phone the Doctor,” she decides after thinking for a second, a little alarmed and ready to head to the kitchen to place a call on their landline but Elvis shakes his head.

“He won’t be awake ‘Scilla-it’s nearly three.”

She immediately looks back at the clock to confirm the time and her face falls. Damn- three o’clock already? How long were they out for?

She bites her bottom lip, dismayed. “Maybe I could leave a message?”

“Priscilla, baby, relax,” he soothes her. “It don’t make a difference if you call right now or tomorrow morning- I’m all right. I’m not gonna die between now and nine o’clock.” He clears his throat, and strokes her hair, coaxing her back in bed with him. She relents with a sigh, and grabs the jar of Vicks from the nightstand, popping the lid open. As much as she would hate to admit it, he honestly has a point- it won’t make a difference if she calls right this minute or tomorrow morning. When did he get so sensible? Priscilla shifts herself to sit with criss-cross opposite to him, and carefully undoes the rest of the buttons on his blue flannel pajamas, peeling them back. They’re sticking a little to his damp skin, and a shiver runs through him. “You cold?”

“No.” 

She tsk’s at him, and pulls the quilt up to his waist. She the dips two dainty fingers into the jar and scoops out a small amount of the clear pungent balm, warming it in between her palms. The strong smell of menthol and eucalyptus fills the air between them- even though they’ve known each other for years, she honestly feels a little nervous for a reason she can’t quite place. This is a different type of intimacy, and it’s one that they’ve only shared on rare, fleeting occasions. Cautiously, like she’s trying not to break him, she presses her hands to his chest, and rubs the salve in using long strokes, up to his collarbones and down to his obliques. Elvis sighs a little and she looks up at him, meeting his gaze timidly.

“Is this all right?” She asks. “I can run you a bath if you don’t like it.”

“No, it’s all right-“ he reassures her with a soft smile. “It feels warm. It’s nice.”

Priscilla smiles a little too, feeling a bit more at ease, and continues to massage the vapor rub into his skin. The wind howls outside and the fireplace crackles. She nearly jumps out of her skin when suddenly and without warning he takes a sharp, involuntary intake of breath and sneezes with a startling ferocity. He turns away and throws an elbow up to cover his face, but is a little late, and Priscilla can feel a fine mist settle on her right arm. A few wet coughs rattle out of him in the aftermath and Priscilla waits for him to taper off, willing herself not to blush. “‘Scuse me- I’m sorry ‘Scilla,” he says hastily as soon as he’s finished, turning pink to the tips of his ears. “That one snuck up on me. I didn’t get you did I?”

“No, not at all,” she lies, not wanting to embarrass him further. “Bless you, baby.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls over them as they look at each other for a minute, both a little flushed. Electricity crackles in the air between them and Priscilla is struck with an overwhelming urge to kiss him. She doesn’t, knowing he’ll protest since he’s contagious- not that it matters anyway- so instead she dips her finger in the jar again, and reaches towards his face.

“Hold still,” she tells him.

He immediately turns his head to the side, avoiding her touch. “Stop-“ he says as he shrinks away from her hand. “Don’t put that on my nose, ‘Scilla.“

“Jesus, Elvis relax. I’m not, look-“ She takes his chin in one hand and uses her other pointer finger to gently wipe the small smear of strong-smelling balm on the space between his full top lip and the bottom of his nose, taking care not to get too close to it since it’s starting to look chapped.

“There,” she says cheekily once she’s finished, looking pleased with herself. “See? It’s on your lip.”

“You’re gonna regret that in a minute,” he warns her as the menthol immediately starts to bug him- his sensitive blue eyes water and he rapidly blinks away the moisture, tears sticking to his thick black lashes.

She scoffs at him, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll thank me later when you can actually breathe.”

Elvis gives shoots her a look and he starts to sniffle a little, gingerly nudging his septum with his knuckle. Priscilla looks away politely, pretending not to notice the thin trickle of clear liquid that’s comes away on his hand, suddenly rather interested in the wall. Her scrutiny doesn’t last that long though- she hears his breath catch again a minute later and looks back over at him curiously, unable to help herself. That hazy, faraway look has come back into his eyes, and he coughs shallowly before he meets her gaze knowingly, breath starting to become uneven. “I told you,” he says to her, voice withering a little at the end as his eyes slip closed. His top lip curls up ever so slightly exposing white eyeteeth and he takes a sharp intake of breath, once, twice, throwing his head back towards the light. It’s definitely quite the spectacle, and Priscilla almost feels like she should look away, feeling like she’s watching something very intimate.

With one last gasp, he pitches forward into his elbow, sneezing twice in crushing succession. “Huh'isHuh- hhhHuh'ISHuh!“

“Bless y-“ she starts to say, but Elvis interrupts her with another one before the words can even leave her lips.

“Huh’ishSHEU!!” He shakes his head afterwards like a wet dog, trying to clear the irritation, but his breath catches again. He sighs, seeming a little frustrated, squinting up at the light, and pausing for a moment as if he’s trying to contemplate if another is coming or not.

“You done?” Priscilla quirks an eyebrow at him, not certain he’s finished.

“Hang on, one more-“ he exhales, breath guttering as he gears up for another.

“huhHRSSHHHuh! hhHISHHH’uh— … hhhHuh'ISHuh!— Jesus.“ He blows his nose into Priscilla’s initialed handkerchief, and she smirks at him in spite of herself. That was one more?

“There,” he sighs in relief, sounding exhausted, but satisfied at last.

Priscilla can’t help but laugh. “That was not one.”

Elvis sniffles back the flow of congestion and shakes his head. “It’s that balm.”

The Vicks is definitely starting to work, but it seems like the menthol is bugging him. “Is it bothering you?“ she asks sympathetically. “You can wipe it off if it’s making you itchy.”

“It’s just strong is all,” He says dismissively, smiling that crooked smile at her and roughly running her handkerchief under his nose with another liquid sniffle. “Makes my nose run.”

“You’re kidding,” she teases him dryly, pressing a hand to her lips to hide a smile when Elvis shoots her a look, blue eyes beginning to look hazy again. He scrubs the underside of his nose and wrinkles the bridge of it, embroidered linen grasped in his knuckles. She observes him carefully, almost waiting for him to throw his head back towards the ceiling, but he just coughs shallowly, and sinks back into the pillows with a shudder. His color hasn’t improved much- if anything, he looks a little worse. Sweat beads on his chest and she frowns, thinking some hot water and steam might do him some good.

“Let me run you a bath,” she offers as she tests his forehead again- it’s hot as a coal stove.

“That’s awful nice of you ‘Scilla,” he tells her quietly, as he brings a large hand up to her face to stroke her rosy cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to do that.”

Priscilla almost wants to blush again- he’s not even trying to work her up, but he’s so damn charming without trying to be that she still feels starry eyed after all this time. She’d kill or die for him, and certainly has no qualms running a bath.
“Of course I do-“ she stands up, feeling flustered, and pulls away from his touch so she can put another record on the Victrola. The J.D. Sumner album has been over for a little while, but it’s still spinning, the vinyl crackling along with the roar of the firewood. She turns it off hastily, takes it off the turntable and replaces it with Aretha Franklin, glancing back at him from over her shoulder.

“You look like you’re freezing.”

“I’m— HRSSHHHuh!”

“Bless you! My goodness, you sound it too,” Priscilla smoothes her thick dark hair and pink nightgown with her palms, cursing herself as she remembers the state of their master bathroom. She’d left the cabinets flung open and everything strewn across the floor in the heat of her quest. She makes a mental note to herself to clean everything up while the hot water is running.

“I’ll come get you when it’s ready,” she warns him, narrowing her eyes sternly. Now that she can’t threaten him with the promise of a physician, she’ll just have to be scary enough on her lonesome.

“Just stay here this time, damn it. And don’t touch that thermostat.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tada that's part 2 sorry it was a little short! What do y'all think? Should I do a part 3? I have a few ideas but nothing written yet, so please let me know if you have any suggestions and I'll use them  

 

 

[babyganja]

On 8/17/2022 at 5:27 AM, Just Older said:

Oh! More please!

He's just so .... I don't even know the words to use. He's calm, and sweet, and funny. I think you've captured Elvis nicely!

Thank you so much you're so kind 🥺 I'm glad u thought so lmk if you have any suggestions

[babyganja]

On 8/17/2022 at 12:57 AM, sneezelover32 said:

OMG PLEASE I NEED MORE WITH CONTAGION

I can make that happen hehe 😈

[Just Older]

I have no ideas ... you're the writer, certainly not me. That's why I just read!

Well, I do have one. If Priscilla ends up sick, can she kind of guide Elvis in how to take care of her? Not because he's a useless man, but because "way back then," it really wasn't a man's job to do the caring for and he'd probably feel lost.

[Volt]

Ah i love this fic! I just watched Elvis like a week and a half ago and I’m so thankful that someone wrote something for it! I don’t really have any ideas but I’d love to see it continued!! ❤️ 

[HowFitting]

😮 this is quite possibly my favorite I’ve ever read. Just love it so much. Please continue with Elvis

[DB19]

Please can u do a part 3 with some nose blowing from them both?