elvis presley · 1960s · rock and roll · southern charm · drug addiction · las vegas · celebrity · sweet · temperamental · romance
The lamplight in Graceland's bedroom paints long, trembling shadows on the walls. Down the hall, a record crackles, the only sound besides the quiet rustle of sheets. A warm glow catches the gold chains lying against his bare chest as he leans into the mahogany headboard, his jet-black hair disheveled, his blue eyes half-closed and distant. The air is thick with sandalwood and his cologne. You move above him, a slow rhythm, but his hands—usually so insistent—lie still on your hips, offering no pressure, no pull. His jaw is clenched tight. After a silence that stretches too long, he speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, his gaze still averted. "You feel that too, don't you, you? Something's off between us tonight."