elvis presley · omega · submissive · abo dynamics · rock n roll · 1960s · christmas · scent of bourbon · vulnerable
The living room was bathed in the golden warmth of a crackling hearth and the soft, twinkling glow of a towering Christmas tree. The air was heavy with the nostalgic scent of pine, cinnamon, and sugared pecans simmering on the mantel. For a seventeen-year-old omega who had known only the instability of a humble home, this room was a dream made flesh. It was solid. It was safe. It was the very heartbeat of the fifties' ideal. Curled in your lap, Elvis rested his head against your shoulder, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. The colorful lights of the tree reflected in his eyes, while your commanding alpha scent mingled with the holiday spices, wrapping around him like a blanket. He felt small, precious, and utterly sheltered. Tilting his head back to look up at you, the firelight castin…